You know what i dont have? One of those 4 a.m.-friends. Realized it sometime around 4 a.m.(ah...thats why the name!) this morning.
Its all a little ironic. And i thought somebody would do something. But then i have these crazy expectations from the most unlikely people. And lets face it. People sleep at 4 a.m. And they arent likely to read my mind either...i keep all telepathic lines firmly shut.
But then...i guess what really matters is not that people are asleep, but that i really couldnt think of anyone to wake up. As in, what would i say? "Help!?!?"
Its weird. If only a little. All these years on the planet and i couldnt think of anyone i could wake up. At 4 a.m. Or p.m.
What a profound epiphanic moment. am i going to see fireworks now?
Too bad, theres daylight.
Oh, and my throat hurts.

This blog has died its natural death. Just like so many other things that die everyday--stuff you wouldnt notice if it dangled before your nose.
Come for the funeral if you are free. Ah, but then, you probably wouldnt be.

Wheeeee....gift!!!!!!!

YAY! my first ever 20th birthday gift!! Don gave. The bear is called Begun, because it looks a little like Don, and i call him Begun sometimes. So in his very own words, i 'transfer' the epiteth. It is too adorable for words, even though the photo quality may not vouch for that.
The book is In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It is the book upon which the film Capote is based. Pretty good choice, though i have a strong hunch that the reason he gave this to me is coz he wants to get his hands on it soon after.
So..yay! I got vudday gift too. I can be such a kid sometimes, but little things like birthdays are so darn important.
Oh, and i also got a card...which does not present me in an extremely flattering light as it bears heavy references to my...errr...situation on Saturday. (Funny..ok..get over it!)
Butbutbut yayyy...am happy, all's good...happy birthday to me again...and I'll treat u for sure, and not just in Barista and not just beer. Ki fun!! I finally feel 20. Or 19. Or whatever! I feel a year older. Thanksthanksthanks.

Pathetic is not the word. More like downright disgusting. Is how i have been today.
With two of the few people who mean anything to me. And now i understand why sorry is never enough.
Birthdays are big overrated bullshit. And it took me 20 years to get that in.

This is to me me me! Not coz its today. But because i didnt see anyone else closeby. Bacause i was running too fast. Bacause slow walking is not in my system. Because i said that. Time to be fly again. Only it gets harder with every passing year.

Goodnight and goodbye kid. Its finally over.

Strangely enough, this time i am really sad to be leaving bombay. its something i cannot quite reconcile myself to. i never really have much feelings for this place.
But...its weird. i'll miss the folks too. and everything else. this has been one of the best breaks ever. and i wish it wasnt going to get over so soon. quite a neat little suspension of reality.
Oh well...one can only hold out so long.

i wish i knew stuff before that i know now. maybe i would have come up with a different equation then. right now its all a horrible tiresome Sudoku puzzle. Where at the last moment i find two 7s in the same row. back to square One kid! oh wait...not kid. not anymore. cant hold on forever, i guess.

from this side to that

Note to Pretty Boys on the Street:

Thank you for being patient enough for this hearing. It is of utmost importance that I get this through to you now before u die thinking that all is right with the world inside your pretty little head.

I saw u at a crowded pub looking err…dishy. Cute, very cute I say to myself. Just the right height, clean stuff-free teeth, great hair, great eyes and all other blah blahs. Lingering glances, hint of a smile. And the evening is more or less set. 2 beers and 3 cocktails down I finally swallow all my inhibitions (well ok, not all, almost) to look up and actually do a weak wave. And before I realize things are set into motion, and you are walking upto me flashing a wonky grin, things are going weak in my knees, and I could swear that the whole room is suddenly dancing with rainbow colors (hic!). Its all just about right, I’m already someplace else inside my head with you, my friends have left me alone with knowing grins, you are here…almost, almost…there’s that cute smile again…you sit down: You speak—

“ Your looks are vairry beaootiphul. Want to dance? Chick? ”

And suddenly all my thoughts are in a whirlwind—cute grin, white tee, wonky smile, three cocktails, friends, glances, all collaboratively cumulating in a head rush while I struggle to stand up steady. And all this is apparently not clear to you since you so obviously live in a different dimension that can only be occupied by great looking guys who cannot spell c-o-n-v-e-r-s-a-t-i-o-n.
Since you still look cute and I’m still quite high I make another weak attempt at sanity:
-Er…sorry?
-(flashy grin again) I wazs stearing at you all night from other side. I wish u to dance with me. We can be vairy good friends.
-MY spaceship awaits and I must leave.

Hasty retreat. Disbelieving silence. And all that jazz.

Pretty boy 2:

Me: What about Pulp Fiction?
PB2: Ermm…
Me: You have seen it haven’t you?
PB2: sure. With all those rewind things and loads of blood, huh?
Me: Maybe you mean Kill Bill.
PB2: eh…Kilbil?
Me: (Sigh!) Don’t you see films at all?
PB2: Sure I do. I thought KANK was pretty good. Did u see that?

I rest my case.

Pretty Boy 3:

(talking to his reflection) Maybe I need to get my sideburns trimmed. If only I were 2 inches taller. (to me) Is my nose too shiny? Do I need to use a facewash? Do you think this hair gel makes my scalp oily? You don’t think I should powder my neck?
(to himself again) Darn, I shouldn’t have stayed out in the sun for too long. I’m too tanned for words.

Eeeks!
Repeat actions. Hasty retreat. Inward groan.

It concerns me to a deep, earth-shattering tragic extent that most of the males I encounter today who are inbetween wearing nappies and showing later signs of grey hair have temporarily (I hope temporarily) lost all powers of intelligent communications. That the so-called men of today have for some unknown obscure reason have forgotten how to talk. Really talk. Not as in move those jaw muscles and go “duh-duh-duh” but really talk. Communicate. Something that would make me think. Or atleast raise my eyebrows. And I don’t mean in disgust.
There isn’t any decent guy that I have seen in the last godknowshowmanydays who happened to have opened their mouths to speak and not made me cringe as an afterthought.
What have you done with the real men, you weirdlings? The ones who knew another way of using their tongues besides going yap-yap-yap.

It helps sometimes if you would talk about stuff that you actually know about, leave yourself out of the conversation most…well actually all the time, stop obsessing about your looks, and be in general a little well-read, with an IQ that’s scraped the average mark. And try also not to show off coz you will pretty much end up falling flat on your face and then I can only laugh and tell u to get a life depending on whether I’m sloshed or stoned. And if your bloodstream cannot handle alchohol, it would really be a wise idea to trust it and not consume so much that it becomes difficult to say if you are a duck or a geese, coz either way you are going Quack [hahah! That was ingenious!]
And if you are trying to impress anybody with some brains in their head by strutting your cell phone, it would be a wiser idea to put it on silent before it rings out and ends your sad game. And while we are on the topic of ring tones, an MP3 version of Jhalak Dikhla Ja (with clarity sound and disco beats and all that) isn’t really the height of cool. And stuff like opening doors, and saying ‘after you’ isn’t likely to kill you immediately as much as you would think it might.

Just a few things they never taught you at school as they already assumed you would know it! Their mistake for sure…but its never too late to learn, is it? And while we are at it…a few last bits. As much as you would like to ‘make friendship’ with me—spelling the noun as f-r-I-E-n-d isn’t going to make me think of you in a better light, howmuchever ingenious it might have appeared to you! And a full length conversation about the last time you had pet-kharap doesn’t do wonders either. Really.

Thank you for the time, Pretty Boy, and for staying with me through what I agree has been a fairly lengthy discourse—one that at first might not have made a great deal of sense in your head. But I promise, that if you would bother to go over it, slowly, with an uncluttered mind, keeping an Oxford dictionary at hand (just in case)—there will be a time that it will all be clear. As clear as you want your scalp to be. Yes, yes the shahid kapoor type.

PS: Sigh!

Its strange how you can feel both both extremely proud and extremely angry at the same time. The more that I show off before the firangs, the more proud I feel of this place that I was born in. And angry too, of an equal degree, if not more. For being another chip off the block, or stone off the whatever. For not being able to preserve what is, or rather was.
For not being able to gauge its value in any terms. For not understanding the significance, the beauty, and the transcience.
I saw breathtaking frescoes dating back to 2 B.C. defiled by cheap meaningless graphiti—that was not in any other language, but my own. I saw solid stupas with an empty silence where their original statue used to be. Vanished. Transacted like vegetables. Obviously adorning the living room of some eccentric, filthy-rich American. And what makes it even further tragic that you can blame the American only till a certain point. What about him, the insider who carried off this heinous crime in the dead of the night? What about them, the immigration officials who walked off with a blind eye and a fat pocket? What about the people who know about all of this, and yet, let it happen? Cave no. 17 in Ajanta had nothing within it. Except for this laminated painting with the caption- This 2nd century B.C. Buddhist painting has been defiled by graphiti and is beyond restoration.
Makes u sick? Your blood boil? But that’s about it isn’t it? You’ll ‘tsk-tsk’ shake your head awhile and then move on to lunch.
When I went to UK I saw stuff that was not even half , not even quarter as old as what I saw over the last few days…and I saw how beautifully stuff was kept there. And we have stuff in every nook, every corner of every darn city here lying and going to waste like this one. And its obviously not an issue important enough to be taken seriously by anyone anywhere.
The only thing we noticed was a lot of security in both the places. Because of suspected terrorist activity. Apparently there is a huge conspiracy of terrorist threats to blow up Ellora. And so as a protective measure, the authorities put up a couple of puny ‘security’ guards with no weapons who didn’t even know the way to each of the caves.
And I fail to get why any terrorist would want to blow up the caves. Its not a major place of worship, nor does it attract that huge a number of tourists. Destroying it wouldn’t mean hurting national sentiment because there are very few people in the country who really appreciate its worth as national treasure. No, more than any patriotic feeling, what they would be destroying is actually a lot simpler, and a lot more tragic. What they would be destroying is Art, an art whose form we can only imitate now, an art that is so ancient that reconstruction of any form would only be a ridiculous joke, an art that is so beautifully simple that it is beyond any of us today to understand its value.

I remember this particular bit from Aguntuk, where Utpal Dutta’s character talks about this prehistoric painting of a bison that he had chanced upon that was starkly beautiful. And he had vowed that whatever he would do with his life, he would never be an artist as no art school in the world could teach him to paint like that.
Why dont people understand that this kind of thing is never going to come back? Ever?
I just feel too disgusted to go on. I know I should have blogged about the better bits…but…

Warning: Boring, Unrelated, Corny and Absolutely Irrelevant to You!

Swamped, drowned, enmeshed, immersed, suffocated in guilt.
When i will meet her 19 and a half years later...i will not know her, thats for sure. She'll look the same i know...she always has...but she has changed so much already...that she looks as though she isnt, even though she is.
Traumatic adolescence? Check. Fat? Check. Average? Check. Ordinary? Check. Double check. Triple check. Check check check. Ok, u can enter. Third door to your left. And be silent.
But then...she said, "Its always the brave who go first." She didnt say where.
-So whats your cause?
-Upliftment of the poor.
-Hmmm. Poverty.
-Errr...not really. More like women.
-Sexual abuse. Violent marriages.
-Err...more like widows.
-Eh?
-Betterment of their conditions. Remarriage. All that.
-Ram Mohan Roy, are you?
-Ehhh? Who?

Nyam.Nyam.Nyam. Yes, yes, Eliot and all that. Nyam nyam. Ei ekta cha hobe? Tagore's? Shesher Kobita. Sheki? Poroni? Nyam nyam nyam. Arre dhur moshai, Proust! Keats, only Keats. "Fled is that vision...ei..cha ta ki holo? Fled is the vision...tarpor ta ki jano?"

-And what now?
-Coffee?
-Nahh..
-My place?
-Call it a night maybe.
-Ok. Call me.
-Ok. Bye.

The thing that i love most about being in Bombay, or rather to put it more accurately, dislike the least is the immense amount of indulgence here, so much, that its not even funny. And after my extremely frugal lifestyle in Cal (well, almost) its a big deal when i order a coffee for 50 bucks without flinching. Ah, les parents! Where would we be without them? Ahem..not to ponder on that one very literally ofcourse.
Train rides are the best. Next time i'm only taking the train...it just feels so much more like travelling. I love everything, the crowds, the smelly sweaty iron handle smell, the train foods (non-veg thali: Rs 37/-), having garam-chai 20 times a day, listening to wailing, impatient kids, standing by the door (that is the best part), window seats, upper berths, every darn thing!
And and...theres just so much more to see. So many shades of green. I mean its alright reading about it in a geography text book or something, but when you actually pass stations like Rourkela and Bhillai, and you remember about steel mills and the likes..well, i dont know, its a nicer feeling. And there is a sense of belonging. In some obscure way. Inspite of paan stained basins and suspicious loo-seats that i made sure i didnt touch!! And even though i looked all bedraggled and harassed at the end of it, i remember how it felt standing at the door 20 mins before pulling into CST...
Oh and i got off at Nagpur too to see if they sold fresh puris anymore...but sighh...frying stuff on the platforms have been banned!

I have a houseguest, and i have to share my room...and since i'm not the type to mince my words..let me tell u, i hate it!! I hate not being able to play music in my own bloody room at 2 am, and having to blog in the dark (like now) coz someone needs their precious sleep!! Grrrrr....
Went around Bombay today, Lands End, Colaba Causeway, Churchgate...a lot of the South mainly. This place always gives me such mixed feelings. When i'm dissing it, i'm never entirely convinced, and when i'm heaping praises...i know i sound false. But i cannot tolerate other people dissing it either. What are u expecting to see here anyway? Old castles, elephants, and poor people earning their living through weaving handloom fabrics?? So..we have Louis Vuittons and Jane Shilton and 10 flyovers and malls and high rises and sports cars? Did u expect us to remain in the 19th century forever? Yes, we have progressed and we have worked bloody darn hard for it. And if Bombay is the way it is and looks the way it does...well, the credit is entirely its own. No matter how much i complain about its lack of certain things...Bombay's vibrancy, its colours, its success are undeniable facets of its magnetism. Its a symbol for sure...of how this country can grow forward and ahead. Sure, it isnt all black and white...and there are patches of extreme duality...but so what? we are getting there...its a beacon, and it makes me so mad when people cant commend the positive as easily as they can demean the negative.

Oh anyway...I am bored. As always. And i thought Woh Lamhe was besh sad. Inspite of Shiney Ahuja. And especially because of that chick whose name i dont see any reason of mentioning on my blog. Though i must admit, she has great legs.
Tomorrow is an important day. Hope everything goes well. For everyone, in more ways than one. I suddenly want to go to Sunderban. Maybe in December.
(Grrrr....houseguests!! I hate sharing my room..otherwise i'm usually nice. Really.)
Ok bye.

Sometimes...i just don't know. I mean can there always always be a logical explanation for everything? I swear I am a rationalist at heart...never mind my so-called romantic tendencies. There are really few things in life that i have done on impulse...everything else that seemed impulsive was carefully carefully thought out much before. As in, they might have appeared to be one of those spur-of-the-moment things, but thats just because my brain was working overtime even before you could say 'good-morning sunshine!' Yeah, i have a fast brain, get over it! Even when you think that I'm sleeping or dreaming or high...my mind's not on vacation. The only time that i dont think is when i'm angry...which is another story again.
So yeah anyway, impulse. I am not the most impulsive person, and thats the truth. Except for a few teeny times. That have inevitably inevitably led to severe repurcussions. (Do u realize how i keep repeatin words in this post? Its so funny.)
I tell u, i think way too much. It cannot be good for health, i just know it. Except before i talk. I barely ever think before i speak. And the consequences are, well..hilarious, disastrous whatever your perspective may be. Its funny coz, its always the truth that comes out...and awkward, coz its never really a pleasant truth. And sometimes i can ask really embarassing questions without realizing what is coming. But thats another story,too, which i dont particularly feel like relating.
And whats the point of this post? I dont know, i just got tired of seeing the previous one. Am ektu Eliot-obsessed right now (howmuchever presumptious that might sound) and i feel like i want to quote it everywhere. But i shall refrain for i know that in a few months time i shall be embarassed about it. Except for these two lines that i simply adore:
"Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room"
I probably got the punctuation wrong, but whatever. Aren' those wonderful lines?
I have so many things to do, but i have only one thing on my mind. One track. Ajkei bolchhilam. Never mind. I hate definitions. Boyle's Law and all that. Ugh!
There are some people i'm really happy for. the yay-yay types! And there are somethings really really bugging me. The last time life felt puro perfect was...well, a long time back. Not for too long, but oh well. Absolute perfect...as in, you know, no pet-batha, no slight headache, no chin-chine feeling, like that. Just a nice pleasant buzz. Sigh! Nowadays only beer gives me that. Along with 300 or so calories.
I am going to Bombay. Yay-yay!! Anything to be outta here. Its been crazy since May. Insufferable. Except a few times and a few days and a few things. Bad bad times.
Ummm...i blogged. Now what?

Random again.

I seem to have this sudden obsession of reading other people's blogs. Not unknown people. People i know. And not the fancy type blogs either. Just what they have been doing all day, and what they ate for breakfast types. And to see if I can figure out who the obscurely hinted personalities they mention are, and if they are anyone i know. And oh ok...I am curious as well. To see if i'm mentioned anywhere. It all comes back to me!

I love being asked to do things. Even though i think i'm really lazy, i still like being asked. Like i was so happy, when i was asked to help serve the dishes today. Sure i wobbled them and everything, but nothing broke.

I love receiving e-mails, that are not fwd types. In fact, i hate fwd types. I like long newsy e-mails about nothing in particular. It makes me feel happy.

It really doesnt take a lot to make me happy. I love a good funny conversation, which neednt always be terribly intellectual, but mustnt quite be "duh" either. I'm very particular about duhs! I love chocolate chip and walnut cookies with cold coffee. I love coffee. I love being pampered when i'm sick. (Sick of..?) I love being pampered in general. I love it when my dad calls just like that. I love planning certain things even though they are like far away and never likely to happen. Like a friends wedding in 2011, or an unlikely sleepover.

Oh, and i love classes (eeeks...not all). I so prefer regular happy things sometimes. And things that make me think. And I dont know what to make Poryphria's lover after having read it thrice now. Its a little psychotic, i conclude. And leave it at that. I hate it when people tend to over complicate Peter Pan, and over simplify politics. Its not right.

But, i still stick by the blogs. I love reading other people's everyday blogs where i can guess who or what they are talking about. And...if I'm ever mentioned, it totally makes my day! :)

Tarra-da da!!

I do not like playing victim. I'd much rather play indifferent. Sorry, did i say 'play'? I would much rather be indifferent. I think its the easier option anyway.
College was so much fun today. The surprising kind of fun. The not-expecting-it-to-be-fun kind of fun. Could have a bit to do with the fact that there werent any classes. But also the weather.sitting under the tree.listening to music.talking.real-talk, not small-talk.Delights.muriwala.school kids running about.Zen.
It would be much easier if all issues could be solved through some sort of a sport. Once you are out there, sweating it out, really, nothing matters. That drive is so missing. Its like, ok i would like to win, but whatever, even if i dont. Out there, suddenly it isnt about the winning either, but atleast there isnt a whatever. No whatever whatsoever. Whatever is the saddest thing in life. Not terrorism. But whatever.
I hate this growing up feeling. Its too blatantly staring me in the face. And if i ever hear another "...but thats life!" in another 2 days, i will seriously lose it. Sure u philosophic guru, u have life all figured out, defined and tied with strings in a brown paper bag (coz plastic is toxic!), but i havent, so let me just do it myself will you?? From everything, to the figuring out, to choosing the paper bag. I shall have blue if i want, and thats that!
Maths, i need maths back in my life. And i need to go back to being good at it. Which..is a pretty long way back to be going.
And i really want to say sorry to somebody, who probably wont even be seeing this blog. I know you want to help, and i know how hard you try. And i'm sorry. For being me.

: (


Sigh!

The world is in shackles,
And yet we call ourselves Free...
Happy 'Independance' Day, all.

Running around Trees

I am a hindi-movie-person, and there's no denying the fact. Just saw Gangster (alovestory) and liked it a whole lot. Even the corny end when she falls evanescence style into the world of after life and is reunited with her lover and kid both aptly dressed in white. I thought it was a pretty good film. Am not going to go into how it could've been a whole deal better, blah-blah...coz i just realized that i know nothing about movies at all. I can never sit and count the number of frames, and shots and cuts, and i am most likely to miss a 180 degree aberration and the likes. Instead what i see in a film is how it makes me feel, and how far i can laugh and cry with it. Not that i dont enjoy alternative cinema, but i cannot sit through atlami i dont get and then shake my head at the end of it. For example, i have till date not figured out Pierrot Le Fou, howmuchever little i saw of it. Ohh, i can write answers on it thanks to that wonderfully weird SRC note, and i can bhatao about French New Wave and the like, but i dont get it, know what i mean? Like, i get A Clockwork Orange, or that crazy Renoir film where everybody slept with everybody, and Caligari, but I so didnt get Stalker. Like i get Portrait of an Artist, but Ulysses is lost on me. Or that Plath makes so much sense, but Virginia Woolf, i cannot comprehend. Its just one of those things.
Coming back to Gangster (ALoveStory), i loved the way the film looked. Ofcourse the female cannot act for nuts, she is even worse than Ami(ee?)sha Patel who I think is the limit, Emraan Hashmi is ahem...but Shiney Ahuja makes me cry (thats a good thing!).
I like Hindi movies in general--not all, ofcourse, but the well-made ones. Like Dil Chahta Hai is one of my fave films, Hindi or English. And not beacuse it was technically superior and all that jazz, but because of its simplicity, i thought it was incomparable. Also Hazaron Khwahishey Aisi, which i have still not been able to get over. I still see DDLJ and KKHH whenever they show it on TV, i know almost all the lines by heart.
I like Bangla films too. Not the new ones because they are just a bad copy of Hindi, but the so called alternative ones. I liked Saanjhbatir Roopkathara, and Nishijapon and Herbert. I did not like Antarmahal, except for one particular scene which freaked the shit out of me. Doshar was quite sad too.
I wasnt allowed to see too many films as a kid. But i got my love for cinema from my dad, who use to record all the good films shown on DD7, i think. So on school holidays with no one home, I used to see all those recorded films. Unishe April, Shakha-Proshakha, Ghare-Baire are one of the few i remember i loved. I was quite young then, around 11 or 12, and those were my first encounter with 'A' films, though not in the way one might imagine. English films happened to me much much later, except for the patent ones like Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, and Ben Hur.
Even today when i discuss films with dad, it often surprises me that he doesnt wonder how or when i saw all of them. Maybe he knows. And maybe he doesnt really mind.
I was this film crazy person since birth. I saw whatever was acessible to me, whenever i could, whenver no one was watching. Sometimes i think i watch a lot less films now than what i used to. I wonder why. Probably the same reason why i read much lesser books now, than before. It was so much easier to find peace in words and stories.
Anyway, if that last line is not a perfect hindi-movie ending to a completely arbit post, i dont know what is!!

PS: I am completely in love with James' voice. I adore the way he says 'tuta-tuta sab'....there is something really sexy about him.

Surely life is supposed to have more meaning than this?
Isnt it?

Rather Random.

Maybe its a step in the right direction, maybe its not.
I know the golden rules, but its hard to follow.
I get so frustrated when i cant be good at something. I usually only do things i'm good at. Its a cover up.
I don't like being complicated. Most people nowadays seem to take that as some sort of a compliment. Its not, really. No matter how much u kid yourself.
Most people u talk to, want to talk about themselves. Which i think is a blessing in disguise.
I'm play acting all my life. I would be a great asset in soccer.
I want to do something really strenuous, walk for 10 miles, climb a hill, anything. Then i want to come home with pleasantly aching limbs and sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I need to sleep. Period.
I suddenly want to do Saraswati Pujo type programmes: Rabindrasangeet dance, lal-paar sari, smudgy angry makeup, recitation, plays, giggles, radhabollobi-alur dum.
There was this one really bitchy girl there, who always gave me a complex about not being able to dance as well as the others. Its still there, the complex.
I recently discovered voice chat. Issgood.

Where's the party tonight?

The very first thing that she had ever wanted to be was a spy. This was 3 years before she had wanted to be in the air-force, and almost 4 years before she had dreamt of being a parachutist. In the end, she settled for a receptionist, for as she merrily told others "Well, somebody's got to manage the groundwork too".

He was commercial pilot. Lufthansa was it, or...? She kept mixing it up. But she loved him anyway. He was tall, he had nice shoulders and a wonky easy smile. Sha hadnt been on a plane before. He hadnt been in that hotel before. It was one of those hit-or-miss meetings. And it was a hit.

So they walked among clouds and dined amidst stars. When she closed her eyes she could see him at the controls, navigating 11,000 metres over ground level, bearing the responsibility of 300 lives. She soared along with him, higher, higher until she floated into oblivion. He stood on board and thought of her in the brown worn leather chair, with cloudy eyes and sky blue dreams.

They decided on Paris as their honeymoon destination. He said he would take leave. She wanted that he should fly the craft.
About a week before the wedding, she found a letter on her bed.
" I searched three worlds till eternity,
I found a girl who loved to fly...
She looked at me through rose-cloured eyes,
Her heart alas, belonged to the skies."

She searched for him for a whole year, offices, airports everywhere. It was as though he had evaporated. Even years later, everytime she heard the drone of a craft, she wondered if it was him at the cockpit.

He had taken a transfer to Charles de Gaulle, Paris. Even now, when he scanned passenger lists he wondered if he would ever see her name.
Inflight, as the plane completed take off he relaxed. Moving forward with confident, measured steps looking dapper in the crisp uniform, he bent slightly.
"Yes ma'am, would that be tea or coffe?"

Down below, a girl at the reception welcomed people with warm smiles, cloudy eyes and sky blue dreams.

"Aren't you ever going to be tired of acting your way through life?" the big C asked on a lazy afternoon, not too far from last week, on a day that was definitely not Monday.
I ignored it as i usally do. You give such things attention and they have a tendency to sit on your head. If u dont respond, it usually leaves.
Only this time it had this entire list of faults drawn up and seemed determined to stay put.

• You have no life. Get a life.
• You have no self-respect. Get that too.
• Useless waste of time is your forte. Get a new forte.
• Lose weight. Or atleast lose the complacency.
• Accept.
• Move on.
• Look for newer avenues. Diss the sidewalk, take the road.

I honestly dont know what the last one meant. Must be copy-pasted from someone else's list as usual. Typical.

Here is my own list:

• I have 8 new books, 3 new movies, and a new computer system waiting to be explored. I dont need a 'life'.
• I suffer from too much self-respect. Obviously you screwed up somewhere.
• Wasting time is not my forte. Crying over wasted time is. Time for u to get an update.
• Working on the weight loss bit. Trying reverse psychology.
• Complaceny is shattered, so you neednt jitter. This one's a fake 2-penny, i got on sale.
• Cant accept. Will ignore.
• Move on...where to?

Big C has retired for the time being. Its going to try the hard-to-get approach next time, i heard. Some things just dont know when to give up.

Go go go. Shooo! Get a life! Duh! ok bye! Tum ti tum ti tum. TI TUM!

I feel stupidly sentimental.
Held Ribbon on my lap for 30 minutes and he didnt die or cry, instead kept yawning and flashing toothless grins. [Ribbon, by the way, is my nephew and not a dog! He turned 21 days today]
Went to City Centre all by myself. Realized survival isn't as hard as anyone makes it out to be.Refreshed. Rejuvenated. Replenished. Quite like the Dove ad.
Came home really really late. Took a bus, an auto, a tram and a cab. Ate bhutta.
A very very nice phone conversation. Incomplete, but nice. Ancient Scottish tribe comes through. Mmmuuahh!
I will I will I will. I wont I wont I wont.
I feel like being a kid and sticking my thumb out. "kach kola" Only i wont. I never did that ever. Even when it was ok too.
I think Peanuts is the best. Charlie Brown is so cluless. I am a little clueless now. But it feels nice. Clueless is good. knowing too much--now thats the problem.
Okspacebye :)

NOTHING

Nothing must change. Nothing must remain as it is. Nothing is what it was.
'Nothing' says- "Im fucking tired of listening to you. I quit."

A can of dead fish, an ancient Scottish tribe, a flickering light in Southern Europe, a demigod i've never met is all i am left with. Not too sure about the light though. It might go out any time. Not too sure about the others either. They might just pull a 'nothing' .

If only i could get a nose job done, i'd like to think things would be better. But a new nose wouldnt go with the rest of my face. A face lift wouldnt go with the rest of my body. A complete makeover wouldnt go with the soul. And i still havent heard of any place where they do 'souls'.

So I turn back to the nothingness. Only it quit. Leaving this void behind. And what is the value of a space left by what used to be nothing? Will take maths to solve this one.
Like if nothing=X, and we assume an imaginary figure i to be the initial value of the space :
Dont have the brains to proceed though it seems like it would lead somewhere.
Unfortunately, dont know any place where they do 'brains' either.

Too many self-reflective posts in too few days. That cant be good for anyone. Time to go back to the all objective impersonal self again.

Yesterday (that is 29th) was my grandparents 61st marriage anniversary. 61!!! I dont even want to live that long! I cant imagine what it would be like, to live with somebody for that long, day after day, year after year. Granted that they probably got married really early, and all that. But you should see them even today. Every evening after all the soaps have been watched, and eyedrops have been given, and medicines have been taken...they lie down next to each other on the bed and talk and talk and talk. About everything under the sun. Politics, serials, grocery-list, relatives, me, neighbourhood people. Didun cant hear too well and she also keeps forgettin what she said 5 minutes back, but she can remember every birthday and wedding date of every single person that she has known. Dadun used to be this hot blooded young man, and he can still manage to get pretty angry sometimes, but for her, he repeats the same trivial fact over and over again. He is the only one in the family who deals kindly with her forgetfulness, it seems like Alzheimers but we are more or less comforting ourselves with the old-age theory. If that is like not the most dedicated kind of commitment, i dont know what is. Some people would hate it...being helpless, dependant, basically feeling unwanted, unloved...but something tells me these two 'oldies' are enjoying a second round of their twenties, without the least bit of care about all of those above mentioned things. They're happy, carefree, raring to live...
As long as they have each other.

I feel so so so mad right now...
Somethings bugging me. Somethings chewing away at my brains at regular intervals of time. Somethings going to drive me over the edge.
And it isnt a big something really. But but but...

I wish i had something to distract myself with.
I hate speaking Hindi. I wont anymore.
I hate exams.
I hate having to pretend everythings ok when its obviously not.
I hate having to be dependant on certain things.
I wish i could be uncivilized and not care.
I want to start over again.
I'm having to eat some of my own words even though no one knows it yet. And its not pleasant.
Damn it...nothings ever ever perfect. Not even the little things that you dont even expect would be perfect.

Theres simply too much anger in me right now. And a little bit of hurt. And a little bit of denial. And a little bit of realization... this is how it has always been and always will be.
Geography can only change this much.

I feel cynical, skeptical and all other things that i have countlessly told other people not to feel. Irony hits you real hard doesnt it?

Its like all your life u believe in something, or someone or some instituition- and then one fine day, totally out of the blue, it comes crashing down all around you like a pack of cards. And then you feel stupid, because, why on earth had you been living in a card castle in the first place? You should have known that it would come crashing down. Its common sense. And thats just why. Nobody likes common things. They are, well...common.

Like say, you totally have this idea about a friend. Or why friend, say you totally have this idea about yourself...you have yourself all figured out, you know exactly what to think, and you are confident as to how other people see you. And then?? BAM!! Something happens? Ofcourse something happens...what is the point of this post otherwise? So you have this innocuous phone conversation, or you read an old text message, or maybe you just wake up and see things totally differently! And thats when those kings, and queens and knaves are grinning from ear to ear. See? We told u so? What are you blaming us for? We are just a pack of cards!
And indeed...who do u blame but yourself? blame the phone call, the letter, the alarm clock? No it is simply too tiresome to even begin the blaming bit. So u cry a little over the spilt cards, you sniffle and declare war against the entire race of cards, until you are bleary-eyed, breathless and exhausted.

Finally you get up, dust yourself, and make a solemn promise (yet again!) never to trust those cards ever.
Having done that...you sit in front of the computer and with immense concentration, come up with a ridiculous story about a metaphorical pack of cards and their fall!

I feel that a man may be happy in This World. And I know that This World is a World of Imagination & Vision. I see Every thing I paint in This world, but Every body does not see alike. To the Eyes of a Miser a Guinea is far more beautiful than the Sun, & a bag worn with the use of Money has more beautiful proportions than a Vine filled with Grapes. The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the Eyes of others only a Green thing which stands in the way. Some see Nature all Ridicule & Deformity, and by these I shall not regulate my proportions; & some scarce see Nature at all. But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is, so he sees. As the Eye is formed, such are its Powers.

-William Blake

(i couldnt resist. what a man!)

Gibberish

"I paint", he said by way of introduction.
"Yeah?" I nodded, thinking about dinner.
"I direct plays too", he persisted.
"I dont watch much", I insisted.

It was a long party. And the only person i had counted on had decided to back out last minute to see a match. Hell, i wanted to see that match. It was my team playing. Instead here i was at this 5-star lounge drowning in martinis, air kisses and one-sided conversation.

"Oh honey, its been ages! Where have you been?" red-lipstick-black-hair-turned-blonde-turned-brown-asked.
"Here and there" I muttered.
"How does the color look?" she preened.
"Fascinating", I said through my teeth.

A man was giving me the eye from over the bar. A woman was giving him the eye from the stage. Painter-cum-play-director was conversing with model-type-bimbette.

"Oh but i absolutely adore plays" bimbette with her hands all over painter-cum-director.
"My plays always have a social message, its absolutely imperative that they do" while guzzling another whiskey-n-soda.

Rich golden kanjeevaram sarees. Clingy black tinier-than-handkerchief outfits. Bright maroon lipstick. False eyelashes. False smiles. Face lift. walking liposuction advertisements. Plastic surgery noses. Heady scent mingled sweat mingled something else.
Married-superstar sneaking glances at wannabe-starlet. Three Mercedes, 5 BMWs and a poodle called Baleno.
Blonde-fashion-designer male bonding with top-model-turned-struggling-actor.

"No ofcourse it isnt the same dress i wore last year! How could you even suggest such a thing?"
"London, dahling! London ofcourse".
"You looks so thin, you sly thing"
"What is with that oversize tee? She must be pregant."

Nose rings. False tattoos. False breasts.
Psychotic. Psychedelic. Claustrophobic.

The Dj played "Khallas" Remixed.
I texted for the score.
Pass the martini someone.

Seriously.
Everything sucks.

Wish List for the Day

I want to meet someone exciting. Someone whom i would want to meet again the day after. Whom i would want to talk to again after the first time.
I want a new soft toy. Yes, in case you were unaware of the fact, i absolutely adore them. For some odd reason people stopped giving me softoys after i turned 15.
I want to be 16 again. I loved being 16.
I want to erase some people from my past. Just because they were irritating...and i dont want to know them now.
I want to erase a bit of me in the past. i wouldnt want to know her either.
I want to do maths. Calculus actually.
I want my dad here.
I want Boomba here.
I want to go to Oxford. I really, really do.
I want to get wet in the rain.
I want to write something more meaningful/interesting/funny.

Okbye

Sid

His name was Sid. Short for something bigger. What..I don’t know. Everyone called him Sid. All his friends. His mom. His maths teacher. I called him Sid too.
One day while we were walking, I called him Siddy. Unconsciously. I hadnt even noticed. He turned to me, his eyes flashing. "Its Sid", he said.

I cowered. And nodded mutely.
We walked...him still angry, and me much disturbed.

************************************************************************************

We played together as children. He could make up brilliant stories. We had our own collection of mythical creatures more wonderful than any unicorn you might meet on the road.

When I played well, without messing up my lines he would pat my head.
Sid found a dog on the road once. A week later, he found it again.

Someone had kicked it around too much. It died.

************************************************************************************

When I was 7 and he was 9, his aunt asked Sid whom he wanted to marry. I looked away knowing very well what his answer would be. When she asked me I looked at Sid, and said "No one."
When I was 16 and had my first boyfriend, his aunt had died. Sid had left home for good.

************************************************************************************

Years later, I saw him again in a seedy bar. He bought me a beer, while his eyes danced around brightly. We didn’t speak at all. There was simply too much to say.
"Did you see Kill Bill?” he asked me, at length.
"Part 1 or 2?", I asked.
"I don’t know. Its doesn’t matter" he sighed.
He got up to leave, his glass half-empty. "Hey", I called out. "What is your full name?"
"Sid," he said without turning back. “Sid.”

A Public Matter

Not a victim of the darkness. Not accosted in isolation. Not the quarry of a pre meditated intention. Violated in broad daylight—before staring, unfeeling, unknowing eyes. He has not yet touched my body but has succeeded in destroying my soul, my dignity, my carefully nurtured self-confidence. I have been raped, fully clothed. I have witnesses, where no one will speak. My tormentor turns around to wink and leer some more. I open my mouth to speak, to scream, to protest. Instead…I just get off the bus.
Hoping at first that it is just a stray incident.
Hoping next, that I would never see him tomorrow.
Finally, just praying, that they wouldn’t go any further than that.

What is it that causes women day in and day out to feel uneasy with their own being? What makes them check and double-check the clothes they wear every morning? Every moment of the day, what makes them so conscious of the fact that they are women?

They have gone to the moon. They have reached for the stars and touched them. They have flown aeroplanes and romanced the skies. Somehow its on solid ground that they cannot quite assert their position. They are reminded repeatedly of their femininity, and its associated or simply assumed subservience.

I like the look of what’s underneath those clothes. I am bored and have nothing to do. I am appalled by your insolence. I don’t like you looking around with such confidence. I will ogle at you because you have the audacity to stand tall like I do. I do not like you staring back at me. Yes I will touch you, whenever and wherever I want.
You deserve it because I can see your calves in that skirt. You deserve it because your arms are exposed. You deserve it because it is my domain. You deserve it because you think you are better than me.
You deserve it. You are a woman.

‘Boys will be boys’? Is that the answer to every question raised and then crushed or blown away? No of course you didn’t mean any harm. It was just a one-time thing. Besides it’s being pointlessly blown out of proportion. Why make a hue and cry over such a small incident?
Patriarchy. The necessity to control, to dominate. To diminish. The reason why an average male considers himself a born ruler. At least over the women. The weaker sex. The reason why it becomes important for them to stop the women from moving forward. From leaving them behind. The dogma instilled in every masculine heart—women are born to serve. The insecurity. Of losing the control, the power.

It is never only sexual. Suppressed sexuality is only one of the excuses. There’s also the matter of showing who the actual boss is, has been and will be. Satisfying the libido is as important as satisfying the surfacing mental fears and insecurities.
If she is silent or cowering, victory is achieved. If not, lets take it to the next level.

It saddens me that they think this sort of action enhances their masculinity, asserts their dominance.
It saddens me that they think it puts them back in the race.
It saddens me for they think it can be a substitute for fairplay and hardwork.
It saddens me for they think they are using their power when they are basically displaying their insecurity before the world.

They think it makes them men.
I pity them…because it’s the last thing that they are.

PS: Sorry for the venom. But this was due for a pretty long time.

Group study Day 1 today. Not too bad...we sorted out our probable question through an infallible method--only doing the ones we like! Came up to a total of 70 odd questions. Guess we do like a lot of things.
We decided to divide n rule. Or divide n study.
We smoked up the last joint.
We deliberated whether the person yelling her head off next door was possesed.
We told ghost/spirit/pret-atma stories.
Shorty got scared-too scared to go to the loo.
Preeta scared her even further.
Both Shorty n Preeta have ghosts or like beings in their houses.
I dont. Except the person who was screaming next door. But she isnt really a ghost. Not really.
We dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. About Oxford, and NYU and Harvard. And post-modernism, and photography, and Nikon-SLRs. And decided to get into Oxford for all its worth. And then go to NYU and/or Harvard. And make a short film. And a magazine. And write a book.
We talked. about some very nice mesho (whosenameicannotremember) who said "Ami boro-lok, tumi chhoto-lok..". And Erich Segal. And Doctors. And scholarships. And back packing across Europe. And the way Preeta talks.
And ate biriyani. And some really nice coffee.
We planned a sleepover next week. My place. A study sleepover. A discussing-answers-and-explaining-Blake sleepover. A getting-through-boring-EdwardII-together sleepover. I dont think we'll get much sleeping done.
I cleaned my room and organized stuff. It looks more study-able now. But not as nice. It clouded. And looked beautiful.
Shorty finally worked up enough courage to go to the loo. The girl next door didnt yell anymore even though we waited and waited.
They left.

We did not know then that we were a generation.
Okbye.

"Majhkhane roga hoyechhile...abar ektu mota hoye gecho na?" Followed by irritating laughter. Grrrr....sighhh!
I need personalized diet. And swimming pool in the terrace. And gym-at-home with personal (and hot) instructor. And lots and lots of natural activity. Like walks. Cricket matches. Travelling. Playing luko-churi. or catch-catch. And picnics where u yell and run about. And motivation to get my ass off this stupid computer chair and step out of this room.
Sighhh....i need winter. And childhood.

(PS: the blogger in me is back with a vengenance. These exams....! They'll make me do anything, but study.)

i want to be normal. i am. but i dont want to be ordinary. i am that too.
i know i will never be able to sing like some people, write like some people, talk like some people, and dance and travel, and make friends and contacts, and make a difference.
i'll always be just me. just ordinary. just a little washed out piece in the woodwork.

Bad Moods...

...are contagious. Now everybodys caught one. And then its not much fun. Kind of like in school when you could visit the nurse's office, and doze off on the cot till someone came to pick you up coz u turned up with fever or something. It wouldnt be half as much fun if 10 other people in your class had fever the very same day and had to go home too! For one, there wouldnt be enough place on the cot and you would be taking turns to even sit on it. Which doesnt make it very different from taking turns on the window seat on the bus.
People are hogging my bad mood exclusivity. Now i cant even mope/sulk/make long faces. Its losing originality as well as novelty.
Bah! Humbug!

The more i stay in bombay, the more i hate it.
The more i think of going back to Calcutta, the more i want to escape.
I'm running out of places to go to.
Thats the sort of life i lead.

''...Why aren't you happy? You have no right to be unhappy. You have everything that you could possibly want. You are just ungrateful. You are thankless. Is this what we get for all that we have done for you?....''
Yeah I need to get away from this for a while. I'm a little tired of feeling guilty. You would have thought that after so many years it would grow on you.
But maybe it takes longer than i thought.

i had a good time today after ages. thanks shorty. you are the girl!

It doesnt matter that the world is coming to an end as long as you are secure in you own private little world. It doesnt matter that there's war in the country next door as long as it doesnt interfere with the party next day. It doesnt matter that there isnt enough food to go around as long as you got your right flavour of Oreos.
so what if people are dying everyday, so what if there have been 2 shattering earthquakes, an all-consuming tsunami, hurricanes et al within a span of 2 years? as long as it hasnt prevented you from going about your daily life pretending nothing has happened? Pretending...? Probably the wrong word to use. Why what could possibly be wrong? And what on earth could you do about it?

I'm just bitter. But this is not a moral judgement. The you is really me. Sometimes talking to yourself in second person helps...makes you sit up. Its not helping this time though. Momentary lapses into insanity is what this is. Tomorrow i shall go back to worrying about my hair and my life. And how much weight i've put on. And how hot it is. And i shall read this blog and consider deleting it. And maybe in 2 days i will.

For what does it matter really whatevers happening so far away?And what could i possibly do about it?

Connecting People

Lately I've managed to be with a lot of people who i know, but am unable to 'connect' with. I'm not sure what i mean by connect though-maybe, having a meaningful conversation, or taking a walk, or fingerpainting, or even a look or something. But not on my own...with someone. Anyone. Its like i've fallen out of touch with people that I meet or talk to everyday. And thats a pretty scary thought.
The thing is (as i've often been told) that i must have quality time everyday. Its a necessity...like food or something. There has to be atleast one incident everyday that i'll feel happy or atleast sad about. I dont know...maybe sing songs together, make a mess, get yelled at. Its just feeling a lot more lonely being me these days. Even the voices in my head have left i believe. You simply cant trust anyone these days.
How do you connect or re-connect with people? Its so important that i think i must know it. I cant even connect with my own thoughts. I meant to write somethin meaningful (there's that word again!) but it all turned out to be stupid and blahh!
I received a mail today that made me very happy and very sad.So i smiled and cried at the same time. Its very important to cry sometimes, even if its only behind closed doors, or loos, or whatever. You sort of get to connect with yourself.
I also made someone cry today. Which sort of makes me mean, but it helped to clear the air. Eventually however, i didnt get to 'connect'. Which brings us back to the top again.
Is it possible to fall out of love at the same time that you are in love? And can you really distinguish between the two?
I tried to write something today. And i couldnt. It requires too much effort. And that is one thing i'm lately very unwilling to put in. Everything.
I saw a few old photographs today. I wasnt very happy those days. But in them it looks as though i was. Maybe i just pose really well. Maybe i smile too much. Its very easy...only one muscle or something. Lately its been gettin a little too stretched.
I want to act out Lady Macbeths role. I want to say out those lines...that i sort of know the meaning of now. Wonder how it feels to be that evil? Holily evil? i had a feeling if she were real, I'd support her cause now. Whatever it might be.
I want to hug Boomba and go to sleep. But he's in Bombay...and right now thats too far away.

No Cheers...No Beers!

Oh boy, i was freakin out of my senses last evening!! It was bad/good/ummm... i dont know! Its like u dont have a clue as to whats happening around you. And its bloody demoralizing having to depend on somebody to even take a few steps properly! and that lady at the coffe shop must've thought i was going to die. Hell, i thought i was going to die!!And i slept for 13 hrs straight...except once in the middle when i woke up to throw out stuff frm my body (again)...stuff...i dint even knw i had eaten at any time.And most of you all dont know what i'm talkin about but most of you can guess...so i will shut up now.
Well we gave our seniors their farewell today (okbye!) And it was all rather good, they really enjoyed it (sniff!sniff!) I guess i would feel a little sad when we get our farewell.i mean...college is not a bad place really. Nah, its quite ok!
I'm too bored to write. Its a dry spell....believe me! And its not going!!!

Oh this and that....

I met an old friend today. And we sorted a few things out, within some very short time. And discovered that we were'nt so bad after all.And that somethings should be talked about and shared. And that somethngs are best left unsaid. And that you feel much closer to a person after you've fought. And that some bonds remain over time and distance. And that i'm talking too much and am in danger of letting too much spill.

Sometimes you wish some things would remain constant.Never change, never move, never get over, never begin, never leave,never die.

Love should be uncomplicated. After all its only hormones.Lust shouldnt be mixed up with love.Lust should be lived not endured. Nothing should be endured. Except life. Life has to be endured. And made liveable. And once its made liveable it should be left.
i'm really talking all rubbish. i should sleep.

u see...?...u dont...?

I saw 15,Park Avenue today.And i was impressed, very impressed.I thought that was brilliant story-telling.Konkona was simply fabulous.Thats the National Award in her bag this year.dont u just love the way she 'acts' so normal?No theatrics at all.Just perfect.Especially coz its a sort of role where theres a lot of chance of going overboard.The film was mainly her and Shabana.Rest of the roles were pretty sidee.Rahul Bose was a little sad.Perhaps one expected too much.He was quite...i dont know....passive somehow.I really like the doctor-Dhritiman.He was good too.
A certain scene in the film made me think-about realities and how it differs from person to person.A schizophrenic (did i get it right?) has his/her own version of reality, which we who are normal(?) call delusions.Just because we dont see it that way.But she does, and does so very clearly.Who then are we to tell her that the thing she sees so absolutely is in reality, not there at all.How can we be so sure?Just because we dont see it?What if she is the normal one and we are the ones who are deprived of the sight of whatever it is that we can see?
Its a completely different world that they live in, these people.And i also agree that its dangerous, and needs to be treated.But i think a cure itself can be tragic for such a person.Imagine being told that all that you thought to be true, that you thought to be real, is actually not.Imagine the loneliness, the helplessness. being stranded in a completely new 'cured' world where they dont know anyone, and cant even find anyone they know because they have just been told that it doesnt exist.What could be more tragic than discovering, that your entire life as you had lived it so far was actually a figment of your imagination? What then would be the purpose of being cured? Perhaps its best to let such people be as they are, unless it gets life-threatening. Recognize them as special, different and privileged people with the power to see beyond what the ordinary person can. The little while that they live, they should be allowed to live like everyone and not have their entire past and present wiped out or be proved null and void.I dont think anyone deserves something quite as traumatic as that.

Moi...

Ummm...thats a very sad and unclear picture of me that i took myself when i had nothin to do, and just happened to find a cam in the vicinity!!!
I wish i knew how to make it black-n-white.Can u do it with Microsoft Editor? Or do u need a software or sumthin?

BLUE TINTED GLASS

The world whizzed past
Outside the blue-tinted glass.
Inside, the waiters gossiped
And haggled over tips.
The clatter of empty coffee cups
And the smell of stale milk;
Of old men with long bags and false teeth;
Of poetics and politics;
Of hasty love letters
Scribbled on tissue paper.
The window was cracked and ugly
Flourescent street lights swayed.
The last man had left—
To brave the world again.
Perhaps it would rain.
Perhaps, it would not.

The empty platform echoed;
The last train just left.
A beggar, curled up on the bench
Dreamt of yesterday’s binge.
Amidst discarded polythene bags,
And cigarettes hurriedly stubbed out—
The smell of weary commuters
In yesterday’s clothes.
And noisy children hurried off to dirty toilets
By anxious impatient mothers.
Of waiting, and leaving
Of a weary silence and chaotic conversations.
The whistle could still be heard
Of journeys that would not happen.
Perhaps the tunnel would end.
Perhaps, it would not.

The room had darker corners,
And lighter moments.
The sheet was white and crumpled
From yesterday night.
It smelt of locked doors,
And of morning aftershave;
Of besmeared kohl
Beneath darker, stormier eyes.
Of high-heeled shoes
Kicked off on the floor;
Of forgotten dusty wine glasses,
And whispers in the dark.
The cigarette had died out.
The music had died down.
Perhaps she would live.
Perhaps, she would not.

happy new year, folks!

So here we are on the threshhold of yet another long tedious year! somehow alternate years have very miserable starts for me. there was 2002 which really began it all with the ICSE, and then 2004 with ISC and now Part I is getting blissfully closer and closer. somehow it seems nearer from 1st jan '06 rather than 31st Dec '05. and people say its just 24 hours. People just dont know a thing! Halp! What am i gonna do????? i have no notes, i do su-doku in honours classes, i consider myself above attending most eco classes, and i sleep in FS. Doomed future to be sure!
So i had a very ho-hum new year celebration yesterday...some family friends where I was the only kid.but there's always an upside and in this case there was some amazing wine that i had. Sparkling wine straight from the vineyards of Italy. Mmmm...! what do you call it? Peg?Nah, too crude..quarts, pints? i'll settle for measure-3 measures of wine. awesome! then something struck our boring heads and we decided to go for a drive at 12 o' clock sround the city. stupid us! the going was fine, but coming back was hell! abominable traffic at 2:30 a.m. in Juhu. it was a nightmare. Looks like everybody got a brainstorm at the same time!
You know, i was reflecting yesterday, why i keep declaring my love for Calcutta and cribbing about Bombay when i should have some minimal loyalties to this place. Attachment to any place is not too different from attachment to people. its really all about a moment. Moments with a place, moments when you are romancing a city. I remember when the 4 of us (N, P, T and me) had gone for an impromptu drive in not so stable state of mind, towards the 2nd hoogly bridge. i'm not kidding, but at that moment (though i wouldnt know if it was the drink or me, though i think it was more me!) i felt this incredible bonding with Calcutta, with its crowds, its filth, its warmth and everything. it was a moment, a feeling of extreme connectedness, a feeling of standing on your roots. i wonder why i havent felt any such moment with Bombay. maybe i havent tried hard enough. and maybe thats my loss.
But i know i belong to Calcutta, no matter where i am in the world. and i also know that i'm 'furiously proud' of that fact!

So there we were in the car yesterday, stuck in indescribable traffic, trying to pretend that we were in our beds and not in the middle of the sea of humanity, and there was Kaku with his incorridgible sense of humour and endless stock of PJs (which i still laugh at!). you know, the old 'how do you put an elephant into a refrigerator? jokes! and all of us were laughing at it even though we had heard it for like the millionth time. Dad thinks it was the wine. i think it was the company. And the attitude for once to take things easy. Not to be critical. Not listen to jokes to point out its flaws. Or to keep a straight face to prove how uttterly non-funny it was! No, for once we were all being us. without covers. without the unlinching desire to be above everyone else by trampling on all others! it was strange. though it shouldnt have been.
so thats that. bombay chapter 2005 is done. i dont know when i'll be coming next. im a lil sad, coz i know i have to get working in calcutta and not get to sleep in late and all that but oh well.
this is also the last of blogging in a long time as i wont have net access in Cal unless i do something about it. and knowing me....!
oh yeah, tanaji came over today, he found my place on his own! hope he didnt get bored!!!
so anyway, happy new year folks! see u sometime next year in blogland! otherwise college
is there for the ultimate bonding! okbye!