Well, i got "tagged". And since there is nothing to do but study...
Couldnt be wittier...too much headache. Literally.
1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:
On my right knee, when I was 5 or 6. 5 i think. Playing gully chor police. Dham!
2. What is on the walls in your room?
Relatively bare. There's an ancient year planner which I've been thinking of taking off, and a cross-stitch wall-hanging made by my mum.
3. What does your phone look like?
Rather sleek. With zero features. Ocassionally you can make calls without getting rudely disconnected.
4. What music do you listen to?
Oh, all. Recently there's been a Neil Young overdose.
5. What is your current desktop picture?
It keeps circulating by itself. Right now it shows the Neuschwanstein Castle in Winter, Bavaria, Germany.
6. What do you want more than anything right now?
To go away. I mean, travel, not run away.
7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Is this like a do-you-believe-in-fairies question?
8. What time were you born?
Morning. Don't know the time.
9. Are your parents still together?
Yes. Meant for each other absolutely. In more ways than just "awww.."
10. What are you listening to?
There's a wind storming outside. And faint TV sounds from below.
12. The last person to make you cry?
Wont say. Do movies count?
13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Brut. Old Spice. Wet earth. Sandalwood. Old books. This particular one whose name i dont know, it has loads of memories. Kinda woody.
14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
I have a weakness for brown eyes. But i'm not choosy. Hair anything. As long as its clean and finger-run-through-able.
15. Do you like pain killers?
No. I detest.
16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
Always. Never have.
17. Fave pizza topping?
Mushrooms. And red pepper.
18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Well, now that you mention pizza... also kulfi. I'm dying for some kulfi. In a matka.
19. Who was the last person you made mad?
No one recently. People always keep me happy during exams.
20. Is anyone in love with you?
They only think they are.
I tag anybody who reads this. Even those who don't leave comments ;-) It isnt that bad, really. Loads of soul searching and epiphany in store.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Yeah-but
Yesterday when I came home, besides wanting to drop off immediately, I also felt this weird uncomfortable gut feeling. Well, not exactly uncomfortable. More like, sad. Helpless sad. Cant-d0-anything-about-it sad. I realized as i was writing, no struggling, to write that last answer, on that stupid paper, that it was the last time I would be studying drama. Its just...I know i can always read plays, and watch them and all that. But.
I miss my classroom discussions. Or even telephone conversations. Even if we are trained to think only in terms of question answers. Not all the time though. Yes, so I know i 'yeah-but'. But look at it this way. There arent too many things that can get me excited or enthused. I shall miss yeah-butting. Somehow I cant picture myself yeah-butting press laws.
Plays are so much more real somehow. I love poetry too, but that is such a personal thing. If i like a play, I'll talk about it to everyone till they get tired of it. Poems, I'll consider who I'm talking to. Maybe its the live thing that works. When i'm reading it, I'm always seeing it as well. And thinking sets, and costumes, and where would someone stand, and what colours could be used. And who would play what. Its happened so many times that I have met people who would be perfect for some role, random people totally.
But then, I like being taught as well. Even if I learn nothing new, its amazing how what you think can be said by someone else in such an exciting way. And there's so much more life to it. I already said that i think. Oh, i cant explain it. I'm just not done with it. (Whine, whine)
Ah, anyway.
These are the last plays I saw and liked: Macbeth, Intro, Kangal Malshat, Homecoming, BroadwayBound, Evita, Feriwala-r Mrityu. I wish I could link them all.
These are the plays I want to see performed: Look Back in Anger, The Glass Menagerie, Pygmalion, The Caretaker, The Birthday Party, Ghosts, Dr. Faustus, What Where, Rock 'n' Roll. Oh and so many more.
Anyway, its raining now. So i shall presently try to stick my head out of that infernal roof cover in such a manner that i can catch the raindrops on my face without breaking my neck.
Oh, and I'm also attempting to put one of those online library things on my blog. Keep looking. Funny, how you cant remember the names of books you've had for years. The pressure is too much. I have more books.
I miss my classroom discussions. Or even telephone conversations. Even if we are trained to think only in terms of question answers. Not all the time though. Yes, so I know i 'yeah-but'. But look at it this way. There arent too many things that can get me excited or enthused. I shall miss yeah-butting. Somehow I cant picture myself yeah-butting press laws.
Plays are so much more real somehow. I love poetry too, but that is such a personal thing. If i like a play, I'll talk about it to everyone till they get tired of it. Poems, I'll consider who I'm talking to. Maybe its the live thing that works. When i'm reading it, I'm always seeing it as well. And thinking sets, and costumes, and where would someone stand, and what colours could be used. And who would play what. Its happened so many times that I have met people who would be perfect for some role, random people totally.
But then, I like being taught as well. Even if I learn nothing new, its amazing how what you think can be said by someone else in such an exciting way. And there's so much more life to it. I already said that i think. Oh, i cant explain it. I'm just not done with it. (Whine, whine)
Ah, anyway.
These are the last plays I saw and liked: Macbeth, Intro, Kangal Malshat, Homecoming, BroadwayBound, Evita, Feriwala-r Mrityu. I wish I could link them all.
These are the plays I want to see performed: Look Back in Anger, The Glass Menagerie, Pygmalion, The Caretaker, The Birthday Party, Ghosts, Dr. Faustus, What Where, Rock 'n' Roll. Oh and so many more.
Anyway, its raining now. So i shall presently try to stick my head out of that infernal roof cover in such a manner that i can catch the raindrops on my face without breaking my neck.
Oh, and I'm also attempting to put one of those online library things on my blog. Keep looking. Funny, how you cant remember the names of books you've had for years. The pressure is too much. I have more books.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Grant me an old man's Frenzy
I know my very own Acre of Grass old man. Who vehemently denies being old. With a great deal of frenzy too. So, he isnt much of a poet. Or an artist. Even though he designed bridges. That count?
But I think he and the old Dubloo Bee would have quite a lot in common. For one, he taught me to distinguish between an eagle and a kite. And he isn't scared of mice. And he's the last person I know who will complain about the "rag and bone shop of the heart".
Yesterday he complained as to why Shahrukh said "Ladies and Gentlemen" and "Boys and Girls". And told me to send an e-mail to Siddharth Basu from Grandfather K.C Ghosh.
He is the most grandfatherly person i know, and the least elderly.
I could tell you a lot about him. About how he walked from Burma to India after independance. And how on the way, he lost his friend, and his sister to typhoid, and was one of the few to make it across. And how he took his wife and three kids travelling every weekend, in his own little jalopy. And how he used to walk around the lake four times unfailingly every morning, come rain, sun or hail, at a speed that would make you giddy even thinking of it.
But i wont.
I'm extremely possessive about my memories. And too scared of not being able to express them properly.
But this one is to him. With all his frenzy and zest and anger-oh yes, loads of anger. I wouldnt change you for the world.
Rockabye-baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.
But I think he and the old Dubloo Bee would have quite a lot in common. For one, he taught me to distinguish between an eagle and a kite. And he isn't scared of mice. And he's the last person I know who will complain about the "rag and bone shop of the heart".
Yesterday he complained as to why Shahrukh said "Ladies and Gentlemen" and "Boys and Girls". And told me to send an e-mail to Siddharth Basu from Grandfather K.C Ghosh.
He is the most grandfatherly person i know, and the least elderly.
I could tell you a lot about him. About how he walked from Burma to India after independance. And how on the way, he lost his friend, and his sister to typhoid, and was one of the few to make it across. And how he took his wife and three kids travelling every weekend, in his own little jalopy. And how he used to walk around the lake four times unfailingly every morning, come rain, sun or hail, at a speed that would make you giddy even thinking of it.
But i wont.
I'm extremely possessive about my memories. And too scared of not being able to express them properly.
But this one is to him. With all his frenzy and zest and anger-oh yes, loads of anger. I wouldnt change you for the world.
Rockabye-baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Helpless (!)
There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Helpless, helpless, helpless
Baby can you hear me now?
The chains are locked
And tied across the door,
Baby, sing with me somehow
Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Helpless, helpless, helpless.
-Bertie, Mel and Fuzz [originally Neil Young :) ]
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind
I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Helpless, helpless, helpless
Baby can you hear me now?
The chains are locked
And tied across the door,
Baby, sing with me somehow
Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Helpless, helpless, helpless.
-Bertie, Mel and Fuzz [originally Neil Young :) ]
There goes my resolution to refrain from quoting lyrics on my blog.
What i really wanted to do was put up the lyrics to Tina Marie and Motorcar Blues and Moonlight Lady. Oh and also Tin Pan Alley.
And i will, too as soon as I get my hands on the CD.
Shit! Shit, shit SHIT!
What i really wanted to do was put up the lyrics to Tina Marie and Motorcar Blues and Moonlight Lady. Oh and also Tin Pan Alley.
And i will, too as soon as I get my hands on the CD.
Shit! Shit, shit SHIT!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Blogpost
Somethings are just not fair. They truly arent. And i wont explain that. You wouldnt care anyway. You would just nod your head and think of all the times when you thought the same thing.
I'm tired of the herd mentality. I never really wanted to be a cow. Or a goat.
And i am perfectly pissed off. And thats an alliteration in case you didnt guess. In which case you must be really dumb.
I wish blogger was like MSword. I hate having to capitalize.
Its the easiest things in life that are so difficult somehow. Ok, so that wasnt entirely original. But it is entirely true.
And that is what matters, really. No matter how much you deny it.
I'm half in love with Wilde. Men should have a way with words and wit. Alliteration again, by the way. I bet you missed it. Yes, men should be, must be witty. Even if they are hopelessly gay.
And this is a pointless post. So what? It makes sense to me. And it'll make sense to you too. When you write it. Except that you wont. Thats the whole point of it.
I'm tired of the herd mentality. I never really wanted to be a cow. Or a goat.
And i am perfectly pissed off. And thats an alliteration in case you didnt guess. In which case you must be really dumb.
I wish blogger was like MSword. I hate having to capitalize.
Its the easiest things in life that are so difficult somehow. Ok, so that wasnt entirely original. But it is entirely true.
And that is what matters, really. No matter how much you deny it.
I'm half in love with Wilde. Men should have a way with words and wit. Alliteration again, by the way. I bet you missed it. Yes, men should be, must be witty. Even if they are hopelessly gay.
And this is a pointless post. So what? It makes sense to me. And it'll make sense to you too. When you write it. Except that you wont. Thats the whole point of it.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Have you ever noticed how noisy women are? Have you? the way they kick the floor about, simply walking over it? Or have you watched them sitting at their dressing tables, dropping their weapons and banging down their bits of boxes and brushes and lipsticks?
I've watched her doing it night after night. When you see a woman in front of her bedroom mirror, you realize what a refined sort of butcher she is....
You've got to be fundamentally insensitive to be as noisy and clumsy as that...Slamming their doors, stamping their high heels, banging their irons and saucepans--the eternal flaming racket of the female.
- Mr. James Porter, age 25, a lost cause.
(Ouch! *wince* But you know, its all true.)
I may be a lost cause, but I thought if you loved me, it needn't matter.
(And i shall be quoting again. I would quote the entire book if i could. But i wont. You will read it for yourself if u want to do something meaningful with you life. Or if you simply want to get mindfucked. I dont care which. Just read it.)
I've watched her doing it night after night. When you see a woman in front of her bedroom mirror, you realize what a refined sort of butcher she is....
You've got to be fundamentally insensitive to be as noisy and clumsy as that...Slamming their doors, stamping their high heels, banging their irons and saucepans--the eternal flaming racket of the female.
- Mr. James Porter, age 25, a lost cause.
(Ouch! *wince* But you know, its all true.)
I may be a lost cause, but I thought if you loved me, it needn't matter.
(And i shall be quoting again. I would quote the entire book if i could. But i wont. You will read it for yourself if u want to do something meaningful with you life. Or if you simply want to get mindfucked. I dont care which. Just read it.)
Sunday, April 01, 2007
L'Après-midi de la folie
Talking to a friend last night made me realize/accept/understand that i had got it all wrong. This isn't what it is about. What anything is about.
The reason for last few days' worth of madness had been a simple case of misappropriation of priorities. Oh, I don't blame myself. It is easy to get swept away when the tide is flowing only one way.
Truth is, that sometimes, we underrate ourselves too much. It's okay to set high goals, infact the higher the better. Just dont kill yourself trying to get that high. It is evidently, not worth it.
So what? I get a first-class degree, an education with some of the best names in the country and/or the world, a high-paying job, blah blah. Surely that cannot be it? It could be, if you are not willing to look beyond it. And in that case, all the best. I am sure you will be very happy.
What I received in all that restriction, was severe denial. Some things are so simple, you wonder why you dont know it. Its not about that vision, or any vision. Its about you. You make the vision, you break it, live it, decorate it or dismiss it.
Life so far has been spent in searching for inspiration. It isnt that elusive. I have spotted it in words, in mu
sic, in pictures, in colours, in dreams. Spotted a hint, a promise of something more. Maybe your inspiration lies in a plush corner office, in a small house by the sea, in your leatherbound diary. Truth is, you wont know unless you go look for it. Its one of those things that wont come looking for you.
Dont promise a road for yourself and then expect you dreams to fall in place. It doesnt work that way, even though uptil the last moment, i thought it did. And though this might seem like a last minute bubble of optimism, it isnt really.
I realize, that I can always travel and always read. That i can always meet new people who are like me, or unlike me, and i can still have thought-provoking conversation. That i can always watch films and make plays, learn pottery and listen to music. That there will always be lessons to learn, and I dont need classrooms for that. I dont need to to well because that is what one must do, as long as I am happy and learning something new each day.
After all it is literature, it's theatre, it's poetry, stories, books. It's life and it is limitless. I am not giving it up, because that is not even an option. Its a part of my being. It doesnt matter if i go on to become a nuclear physicist or a banker, it shall be there, in me, as me.
Maybe I wont find inspiration in my work. Maybe i will. Maybe i'll find it in a wayward conversation, in "one of those mad, insane moments of life". Maybe in my sleep or while taking a walk. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. Maybe right now. Maybe where i'm going next, or maybe when i'm 40 at a cafe, solving sudoku puzzles.
I haven't given up on it, yet. It wont let me. Cheers to the dream, and to the last 10 years, especially the last three. And thank you. It wont be the last.
The reason for last few days' worth of madness had been a simple case of misappropriation of priorities. Oh, I don't blame myself. It is easy to get swept away when the tide is flowing only one way.
Truth is, that sometimes, we underrate ourselves too much. It's okay to set high goals, infact the higher the better. Just dont kill yourself trying to get that high. It is evidently, not worth it.
So what? I get a first-class degree, an education with some of the best names in the country and/or the world, a high-paying job, blah blah. Surely that cannot be it? It could be, if you are not willing to look beyond it. And in that case, all the best. I am sure you will be very happy.
What I received in all that restriction, was severe denial. Some things are so simple, you wonder why you dont know it. Its not about that vision, or any vision. Its about you. You make the vision, you break it, live it, decorate it or dismiss it.
Life so far has been spent in searching for inspiration. It isnt that elusive. I have spotted it in words, in mu
sic, in pictures, in colours, in dreams. Spotted a hint, a promise of something more. Maybe your inspiration lies in a plush corner office, in a small house by the sea, in your leatherbound diary. Truth is, you wont know unless you go look for it. Its one of those things that wont come looking for you.Dont promise a road for yourself and then expect you dreams to fall in place. It doesnt work that way, even though uptil the last moment, i thought it did. And though this might seem like a last minute bubble of optimism, it isnt really.
I realize, that I can always travel and always read. That i can always meet new people who are like me, or unlike me, and i can still have thought-provoking conversation. That i can always watch films and make plays, learn pottery and listen to music. That there will always be lessons to learn, and I dont need classrooms for that. I dont need to to well because that is what one must do, as long as I am happy and learning something new each day.
After all it is literature, it's theatre, it's poetry, stories, books. It's life and it is limitless. I am not giving it up, because that is not even an option. Its a part of my being. It doesnt matter if i go on to become a nuclear physicist or a banker, it shall be there, in me, as me.
Maybe I wont find inspiration in my work. Maybe i will. Maybe i'll find it in a wayward conversation, in "one of those mad, insane moments of life". Maybe in my sleep or while taking a walk. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. Maybe right now. Maybe where i'm going next, or maybe when i'm 40 at a cafe, solving sudoku puzzles.
I haven't given up on it, yet. It wont let me. Cheers to the dream, and to the last 10 years, especially the last three. And thank you. It wont be the last.
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