Tomorrow i exit civilization (apparently)
But didnt someone say that this wasnt the place to discuss existentialist philosophy?
Obviously im not tuned in enough.
What to do?
Im influenced very easily, linguistically speaking. When you meet me next you shall know what i'm talking about. Quite literally. Just don't hate me okay, i'm only human, only less so.
So, anyway i'm not doing anything i should be doing. Come to think of it, i'm not doing anything i shouldn't be doing either. What am i doing again? Ah, there is that question again. No discussion, sorry madam.
So anyway, the last two weeks or so have been a little disoriented. Like, how do i explain? I thought and felt adult but then i wasnt really. A fine ride happened instead. What a fun!
I need to start going to the gym again, or playing or something. There's too much wasted energy thats heading straight for the head. Not nice.
Someone once said-No good can come of this.
Profound. And how true.
Okbye.

If i could, i swear I'd try writing a little everyday. Maybe just a paragraph or something. Its a part of me I try to remain in touch with. I mean, how difficult can it be? I've been writing for as long as i can remember. The queen of the not-passers, that was me, yes.
The thing is, when i write, I can hear myself think. Its very soft nowadays, very very soft, but its there nevertheless, and I do hear it. When I don't...theres just an uncomfortable silence. And thats not very nice. Silence with other people I can handle. And you know why? Because there are more than ten thousand voices in my head all the time, some talking, some laughing, some being mean, some cribbing, and some waiting for their turn to talk. And I can only hear them best when i write. Or sit down, pretending to write. Like now.
Its unsettling not being able to hear my own voice. To hear myself think. And thats why i try to write. In marketing classes, in boring journalism lectures, in whatever. I try to scribble random lines that sound beautiful and mean nothing. Its just a small way of keeping in touch.
Therefor, it is important that you dont take this blog post seriously. Or anything I say, write or feel seriously. I'm just doing it for practice so that I dont go deaf and empty. Like I'm likely to go very soon.

Silence. Painful. Painful.

Lucy

Perhaps…some blue
Some red, some gold
A formless identity
A shapeless force
Perhaps…some orange,
Some ochre, some green
Twirling the sunshine
In your fingers
Squinting, blinking
Laughing in leaps.
The last time I lost you,
I left you, I loved you
Drunk in the madness
Soaked in the sadness
Perhaps…some violet
Some black, some white
Perhaps your mad eyes
Were never meant to lie—
Rain washed eyelids
Sand washed souls
Lucy…who took you?
On a night without stars?
Creeping below the window
In clandestine chains
When the sky doesn’t answer?
What part of you remains?
Perhaps…some grey
Some purple, some blue
Perhaps they never understood
Somebody like you.

Swan Song

I try to refrain. But there are times when temptation must be given in to. You have to listen to this song if you haven't already. I cannot get it out of my head.

Cyrus Jones 1810 to 1913
Made his great grandchildren believe
You could live to a hundred and three
A hundred and three is forever when you're just a little kid
So Cyrus Jones lived forever

Gravedigger
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger

Muriel Stonewall1903 to 1954
She lost both of her babies in the second great war
Now you should never have to watch
Your only children lowered in the ground
I mean you should never have to bury your own babies

Gravedigger
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger

Ring around the rosey
Pocket full of posey
Ashes to ashes
We all fall down

Gravedigger
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger

Little Mikey Carson 67 to 75
He rode hisBike like the devil until the day he bike
When he grows up he wants to be Mr. Vertigo on the flying
Ohhh, 1940 to 1992

Gravedigger
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain

-Dave Mathews Band

Craazy shit. I listen to some great music nowadays. Putting them all up is tedious. I shall put in other tedious stuff instead. Like the great deal of crap i seem to come up with every class. Invaluable crap, i tell you. Priceless. Maybe next time.

I kind of hate everything right now. And i keep meaning to call my grandparents everyday but something keeps happening.
I miss a couple of old people I knew. My stomach hurts. I feel kinda sick. And its not just in my head.

Go

Its one of those moments when you just sit back and look at the magnamity of the calamity that you are a part of. That you are solely responsible for. That is, in fact, you. I have done some pretty stupid things in the past, but this has to take the cake. I am in a place i have absolutely no interest in, i am trying to learn things i do not understand (yes i do understand thats the sole purpose of learning it, but sigh, if thats the question in your mind its obvious u don’t get me) Just leave, why don’t you? Just go away and leave me to ponder upon my goals and communication skills and be a deer caught in the headlight. Only except that this deer is in a tunnel and the headlights are those of an approaching train. Ah, how easy it is to draw analogies when you are in deep shit. Is deep shit an analogy too?
Have you seen Clockwork Orange? I did my first ever presentation on that. Its ironic because thats exactly how i feel. Trapped. Forced to listen to jargon. Like somebody has clamped m eyes and ears open and tied me to a chair. I hate this place much much much more than you can ever imagine. And not just because it sucks, even though thats a major reason. Because i understand as days move by, that this is something i’m just not meant to do. To quote a friend, “this isn’t me”. And so it isn’t. Not even a little. Not even a microscopic bacteria. And to think i chose to come here on my own volition. Without being dragged in kicking and screaming, that is.
2 years of my life. 2 WHOLE years. It amazes me with what fluidity i can see my youth slipping away in front of me. It would amaze you too. Let go of the brand equity. Just let go. Go. Leave. Scram. Out.

I'm in Poo-na now. I dislike most of it. I like my room. And my roommate. And some other humans in the other floors.
I dislike a lot of things. Mostly attitudes that make me want to jump off the earth. Or push them off.
I haven't been around much. I dont have wi-fi. I miss the gym. There will soon be loads of work to do.
I shall presently kill Bob Dylan.
Thats all folks!

Goosebumps are those words said in a particular way at a particular time that get underneath your skin, and refuse to leave.

You will travel to many places
-is my Orkut fortune of the Day.

I went to Mocha and had a hookah!
-that rhymed.

If i promise to be madly in love with you for the whole day, will you buy me all the happiness you can find? If i only pretend to, do you promise to pretend as well?

Lets go in an Alto.
-and have Alphonso mangoes on the way.

Like, dude! Watch it.
What?
It.
Oh, it. I beg your pardon.

Interesting thing to note.
I hate Bombay traffic. This isn't like those "I hate this weather" bit, though i do hate the weather.
I genuinely hate Bombay traffic. I never want to live here. There are too many cars on the road. Thats way too environment unfriendly, for one. Besides, you can never reach anywhere on time. No matter, how early you leave.
I hate being late. My time is precious, even if i'm wasting it. Other people's times are precious too. Even if they are wasting it. Thats their business. I hate keeping people waiting. I try not to.
This has to be the worst place for keeping appointments. It took me 30 minutes to cross a stretch that is probably not more than a 12 minute walk.
I walked.
Life is good when I can walk it.
But the air is horrible.
I hate Bombay traffic. Its much worse than Calcutta traffic. I dont want a car. I want a plane. Or a submarine.
This city depresses me.
But i had hookah at Mocha. Doesnt it sound like hooker?
I didnt have a hooker, i assure you.

Goosebumps are special.
I don't wanna lose you,
But i don't wanna use you
Just to have somebody by my side

It can't be that bad now, can it? I can handle it. I can handle anything.
Except Bombay traffic.

Prints

Books books books. New ones, old ones, really cheap ones, not-so-cheap ones, bought-with-my-own-dough ones, mommy-gifted ones, scrounging-in-the-footpath ones, discovered-amidst-trash ones, wanted-to-buy-forever ones, pretentious-(perhaps)-but-i-dont-care ones, hoping-it-will-be-good ones.
These are it.

Brand new ones-

• No Exit and Three Other Plays: Jean-Paul Sartre
• The Sound and the Fury: Faulkner

Discovered amidst trash-

• Four Plays: Tennessee Williams
• Men Without Women- Hemmingway

Scrounged from the footpath, but brand new with amazing bargains-

• Tintin and The Calculus Affair
• Tintin and The Castafiore Emerald

Books still waiting to be finished- (Sigh!)

• Snow: Orhan Pamuk
• Tough Guys Don't Dance: Norman Mailer
• Jude the Obscure: Hardy
• Women in Love- D.H. Lawrence

Books I suddenly want to read again, this instant-

• The Colour Purple: Alice Walker
• Beloved: Toni Morrison
• Feluda: Ray
• Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: Roald Dahl
• Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: Joyce

Books I saw and wanted to buy and couldnt because of the guilt and no money-

• Endless, exhaustive and extensive.

Dear God, in my next life, make me a book. Its so much easier (and faster) to read people.

I can either blog or mail. I can't do both. I have a life. And an extremely slow dial-up. Ok, scratch the first, I just have an extremely slow dial up.
My folks and I can get on each others' nerves with amazing alacrity. It doesnt take too much, just a little overwork, hot weather, and well, me. But i love the fact that we are such a hang-up free, low-maintanance family. Non air-conditioned dhabas and rolls for lunch, are okay. So are autorickshaws in which three of us can barely fit into. Budget hotel, even no hotels are cool. 3-tier train rides? Done that. Calcutta buses, local trains? Check. Metros, a blessing. Non-bisleri water at restaurants, well, what else? Sure we all would love to travel in style and eat in style, etc etc. But sometimes it cannot be afforded. And thats cool too. My parents have always been painfully honest with me about these matters. I've been told what i can get and what I cant, and its pretty much no use arguing. Its a lot like Central Bank selective credit schemes. Branded designerwear that could pass off as street wear, for no particular ocassion is out. Books, worth the same amount or even double, are in, before you can bat your eyelids. Their logic sometimes goes beyond logic. I haven't been denied anything, ofcourse, but I've never floated in what you would call, plenty. There's always been room for wanting, but never needing. Not badly enough to die for. Besides, whenever I've gotten anything really big, they've always given me the feeling that i've earned it, somehow or the other. Birthdays are usually out, i dont think my dad's ever given me anything on my birthday since i turned 5. There are always those no-occassion surprises too, like surprise visits and cookouts and chocolates! We're not boring, predictable people, us. We try.
There's a song I wanted to quote because it perfectly sums up how I feel about a particular something. But i realize its way too revealing, and I shall save it for the mailbox. No sense wearing your heart on your blog, i always said. There are undoubtedly a lot of advantages to being your own person, chiefly a guilt-free head. But i miss some things, that I'd started to take for granted. Like phone calls, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. And someone to always talk to without the formality. As in "Hello...no, just." You can't do that even with the closest friends. They're bound to get tired sooner or later. Mostly I guess i miss being off my guard and comfortable. Sort of like propping your legs on someone else's leg, quite unconsciously, and not removing it. Or being comfortable enough to go to sleep mid sentence. Or to read a book without worrying about making conversation. When i think of all the effort that goes into making a relationship reach this state, i want to go right back into hibernation. Sure, there's always room for spark, excitement, chemistry and thrills and whatnot. But sometimes, i think i would just be okay with a book and someone to go for walks with. With whom i wouldnt need to worry about fat days or funny repartees. I could just talk about the weather, or i could just shut up and walk in comfortable silence.
Meeting new people brings out the worst in me, i think. With D i think we began comfortable. Or maybe it was the uncynical-then-me. Whatever. There has never been much effort there. Which is probably why it survived what it did. About 0% credit for that goes to me. I miss sweet-nothings. Sometimes gestures are enough. I've had it with deep, meaningful people, i think. They always have issues of their own to deal with. Suchaniceboy.Wheredidhego?

This is what I wrote in my journal (in the days of Anne Frank and bloglessness) a little more than 5 years ago when i was shifting base in a big way.
9th June 2002: ....I always knew I would have to leave here, I suppose. A part of me has always been an outsider in Bombay, sometimes trying to fit in, mostly looking on with detached indifference since an age where I couldnt even spell those words, let alone knowing what they mean. I dont know if where I'm going to will be any different. I don't know if I care. I just want to get away from the people i'v known all my life. Its not been all bad, it never is all bad. Its just never been close enough. I can't think here. Or maybe I think, too much. Maybe thats the problem. I want to go somewhere that I can do things besides thinking. Maybe, just maybe, inspite of what everyone says, I'll actually like it there. Who knows? Who can say?...

5-years-ago-little-me had quite a way with words, methinks. You can never, never tell whats coming. Do not try.
I always knew I would have to leave here too, but i wish i still had the 5-year-back enthusiasm of looking forward. I don't mind the going away, if only i were going away for something more meaningful. Bitterness just creeps in like horrid black smoke.
Its all ego, really. All ego. And a little of missing the grandparents and my little room by the chhat. Don't kid yourself though. Mostly ego. And self-love. Isn't that what it all is?

Adieu

Today felt like the end of something huge. Like the whole of 16-17-18. The giggle-years. Total bye bye. The no look back types. Because what would you look back at? What, indeed I ask?

There cant be anything worse than a lump the size of a cricket ball down your throat when you're trying your best to be brave for other people, and holding their hand and telling them not to cry. When all you really want to do is break down and howl and don't care who sees you at it.

Haha. When was the last time you did that, i wonder? When did it become not-okay to show how you feel? Ever since the 16-17-18 passed? But we're grown ups now aren't we? We have futures to live and money to make. Oh and some life to live, along the way. If you can spare the time, that is. Thursday at 5, then? Maybe we could take a walk. Eat an ice-cream? No? But ofcourse.

But who will i walk with now? And behind whose back will i cry? And what will become of you? Who will look after that mad little mass of all heart and no brains?

Okbye then? Take care. No, you take care. And call me. Sometimes? Once a week? A month then? Oh okay, on my birthday. Yes?

Painted Pinecones

I am painting pine cones silver and gold and playing out a few imaginary phone conversations in my head. You know the kind where you can say all you want to and not look stupid or needy? Like i said, imaginary.
There must be something about life on a higher altitude. I wish i was born on the hills. In some tea garden or some such. Picking tea leaves with that huge basket thing on my head. Physical, utterly fulfilling labour. Where I wouldn't have to pretend to think. I would be so much fitter, for one and not puff and pant after climbing a few stairs. Besides there would be long hill road walks, and early sunsets, and goats cheese (atleast I hope there would be goat cheese). I love it how perfectly people outside the city learn to adapt. I wonder where we lost ours.
Travelling always gives me a high, but there is just something special about hills. I think its the green. I could never get tired of it. And the roads. As much as i support 6-lane expressways, there is something so uber-exciting about those windy sharp bends, especially if you are driving at night, with pale headlights on. And the rains. There is nothing more to add in that.

I am a very bad storyteller of things that really happened. I can't tell you how my trip went, not even on this blog, because the moment factual details start coming in, its not me writing anymore. I haven't talked about it with my friends or the folks at home, whenever anybody asks, i have evaded it with my trademark i'm-busy-dont-bother-me look. Maybe a part of me is worried that you, being not there, will not understand it, and i will have to work hard at convincing you how beautiful it all really was. But maybe you will still not be convinced, maybe you will nod your head lamely and say something entirely inappropriate, maybe you will not break into the raptures i shall expect you to break into. And then i shall be in danger for hating you the rest of my life (or atleast the rest of the day).
I don't blame you. I know you try your best, I'm even willing to believe that you are genuinely interested and not just making conversation. But i still cannot tell you. It is the reason why I do not take photographs either. Because they never match up to the moment. (I am also not a very good photographer) Its me. I don't want you or anyone, animate or inaimate to take away from me what i cherish in my head. The feeling and all that. Which is why I can never tell you what exactly happened. And that does not mean I'm a snob or a recluse or anything of that sort. Alright, so maybe I am. But not for those reasons. Okay? Okay.
I do not think life in the city is for me. I have always been the slow sort. I prefer Cal over Bombay. I am not even remotely fascinated by New York or London (except for the architecture) and I will live there only if you make me an offer I cannot refuse. I will also run away as often as i can. I do love Paris, but the reasons are different. And because it has more character to it, besides its city life. I need a room with a view, one that is not of other rooms with views. I prefer small houses over apartments. I need green paths and fresh air, maybe a kind of place where everyone either walks or cycles to work. I need silence at night so that I can sleep. I do not need to be in touch with everyone all the time. You dont need it either, believe me.
Maybe I'll make enough money to buy a tea plantation and live there by myself, a modern Miss Havisham or some such sort. Do not get scared will you? I bake the most perfect pumpkin-and-hazelnut pies and sell them anonymously ofcourse, so that it may not tarnish my eh-keep-off-my-estate-you-bugger image. And yes, i brew the most perfect tea too. Come see me sometimes, when i'm not too lost in the greens. I'll make you some and we'll talk about far away worlds that do not have anything to do with reality.

Why is it so hard to tell people how much you're going to miss them? Its mammoth, and I wish i had a script. Which is ironic considering it would be one of those truly genuine things i want to say. Its so much easier to pretend to be busy. Unfortunately however, i haven't much time (oooh, doesnt that sound melodramatic?) And like a lot of things, like most things in fact, i am afraid that this too shall remain unsaid. I only hope you will understand and not think i am an insensitive ungrateful prick.
Instead I'll give you pine cones painted silver and gold. They looked much better in the original, but i cannot give you that, for they look too raw and you might wonder. And i will not have answers to that.

City Lights

I'm in love with the City. With its dust and traffic and pollution and aimlessness. With its 3-minute long signals and overstuffed buses bursting at the seams. I'm in love with B.B.D Bag and the Grand Eastern renovations. And Bowbazar and Bidhan Sarani and weird bus numbers from far north and the GPO and the grandfatherly tram conductors.
This has been the most glorious me-day ever. I did everything on my own, inspite of the day being unimaginably hot (this is all before the heavenly thunderstorm) Walked till the ends of College Street till bookstalls had been replaced by sari stalls. Looked through a few incredibly good art books. (Note to self: Go back.) Took a tram ride through the north, all randomly ofcourse, I had no clue what I was getting on and where it was going. North Cal is so picturesque, you can almost lean out and touch it. So anyway, I got off suddenly at a place where the tram stopped, walked around for a bit, looked at old baris, shops and people. Was actually looking for some food, but it was past 12 and they weren't frying kochuris anymore, and thats what I had to have. I did have sugarcane juice though, with lime and everything in a bhar.
Then I walked on some more, I really do not know in which direction, but bus names still seemed familiar, and that gave me confidence I suppose. Intentionally, I walked off the metro route, metros are too easy. I wanted to feel lost, if you know what I mean. Never mind if I had to ask for directions, or call up my dad, it was just the sense of, I don't know...oneness? And I realized that I could not get lost here, it was all too familiar, even though I have never been into these streets before.
How do I put it? It was a connection, one that I had been looking for since a long time with people, places anything. In spite of all irritants, I was really enjoying myself. Its like re-exploring a place you already know about, but its all in your memory, and you have to know it again. It was completing. All the way through unfamiliar to familiar landmarks, Park Street, Maidan, AJC et al, as I returned to my side of the town. Only there weren’t any sides anymore. The entire place was mine.
The City is hypnotic. Just fall in with its beats. Tram beats, dust footstep beats, Conductor chant beats, people, cycles, street food. This is my place. My own.

Aye aye!

I am not always very nice to be around. I am forever impatient and always losing my temper. I went to Peter Cat for dinner yesterday (had grilled chicken sizzler, because I don't like rice). I saw a weirdly disturbing movie called Under Trial today during the interval of the ManU Chelsea match. I also saw Spidey. Total Hindi flick, with thunder, lightning, memory flashbacks, amnesia et al.
There are a lot of things I want to write about the City, before I leave. Some people are too nice to me. I dont deserve such niceness. Some people aren't. They can go lose themselves. I am a little apprehensive about what lies ahead. I hate doing things I'm not already good at. And most especially I hate doing things for a purpose. In this case, a livelihood.
I'm tired of worrying about money. I wish we could go back to the barter system instead. We dont need money. We need things. People kill for money, not for things. Why complicate lives unnecessarily?
The ISC results came out today. Mine came out on 18th May. I was supposed to go see Main Hoo Na that day but had to cancel it. I also ordered pizza after my parents left teary eyed. And then felt like a complete loser. But you don't need to know this. It really has not much to do with you.
I want a long over coat like MJ. But it must be bloody expensive, no?