there's no fighting fate, i suppose. i got terribly tired of blogger, i think grey depresses me. not monsoon clouds, but grey backdrops with morgue faced coffee cups. and rediff has kicked me- well everyone off its blog servers. or so it would appear.

i am listeningnto bong music, chatting with my sis on YM, scratching my face and wearing a vest with butterflies on it.

public opinion can be the damnedest thing---make a man a monarch, or a scullion a king!

not just waxing poetic here--if indeed that deserves to be called poetry. here you have an ordinary, average bloke. unnamed, of indeterminate age, weight, sexuality and aptitude. then he goes and starts to blog. and within months, he has amassed a fan following like none other--except maybe 'i can has cheezburger' of wordpress infamy. a matter of 2 years and he has his own website, wins blogger awards (dubious though, i think those would be) and a fan following, like none other--if i might be allowed to repeat myself.

which just goes to show that he probably does nothing else except stay online in his free time. sad, that.

i used to be slightly like that bloke. my blog was my world--almost my life. and hey- i don't regret a thing. i met some nice people through it, aired my thoughts, expressed myself without inhibition for the first time, and even came closer to my significant other. yup- i would never admit this anywhere else--we met on my first blog, at least 4+ years ago.

sigh....

awright. you never heard that. anyway, its not an online relationship now--hasn't been for years. :)

what exactly am i ranting about here--if at all that? the fact that some loser someplace with little grammatical knowledge and practically no sense of wordplay garners a fan following of hundreds (ha ha) while i languish unknown(!)

maybe. envy--thou art the darnedest thing!

maybe not. after all, he really probably has no life.

P.S--it really could be a 'she'...i tell no tales, remember? ;)

The reason for the new look: I am feeling dark and dangerous nowadays. I do have cause for this for once, I must say. Or well, maybe I don’t. Won’t think about it.

I am susceptible to mood and atmosphere. Maybe more so than the average person. So although my current state of mind wants me to go heavy on blacks and reds and gothic style ethno-punk, I will NOT let myself do that. I will pull myself out of this. I will be pink and white and cheery again. Someday.

For your sake.

Suresh C Mantri.

R. I. P

blog sabbatical. for personal stuff only. i will be available at wordpress- off and on.

this has been a curious week. on monday, i thought that nothing could possibly move at all, that work would be as dull as ever. i have not, i mut say, been proved wrong. it has been dull as ditchwater, seemingly everyone is fast asleep!

the week went on. i had an interview on tueday with a charming lady...and it has led to some fantastic results. excelt that i cant seem to convince anyone of them!

curiouser and curiouser, the days slipped by. i would be free all day, reading old sherock holmes ebooks and yawning openly, hiding my disgust...and of course this lassitude told on my sleep. well if you dont do a jot of work at day, youy cant sleep peacefully at night, yeah? of course, the reverse is true too, and extreme exhaustion can also rob one of the ZZZs one craves. still, thats not important now.

but it was the most disgusting day ever. i wrapped up 2 files....child's play..and then to my utter horror, i discovered the beginnigns of a zit on my lower lip. yes, actually on the line where lip joins skin.

it has been a ghastly day. i am most displeased...and as one of my characters would say


we are NOT amused.

quiet time

you. trapped in my mind.

i. trapped in yours.



(amin mela ille)

empty skin
smiles within

smiling skin
empty within

i wish i had the power to rip off the mask you wear, just for an instant and see you as you really are, not what you make yourself out to be or what i want you to be. the blood, the pain, the ghosts and shadows. the smiles, the scars. everything.

i wish i knew how you really felt. how you felt about me.

i guess it isnt really possible.
that doesnt stop me from wishing it.

This may very well be the song that sums up my life (and NOT lagi aaj sawan ki).

click here for the lyrics.

are friends expendable? for that matter, are people expendable?

no, this is nto a rant- never meant it to b one, no way no how. just is. true for me, true for at least a small section of our poor little generation lost. i have never had a friend who has kept by my side. no regrets, no loneliness, no schmaltz. it is, because it just is like that.
i'm no loner. nor do i move in a pack. while i'm comfortable with myself, i get tired of my silences sometimes. silences which are not uncomfortable, just as goddamn familiar as my skin- i have grown into them, and while they fit snugly, i long for change sometimes.
everyone has a busy life. so do i. i work hard on weekdays and try to sleep hard on weekends. insomnia and general disturbances aside. i'm lousy with remembering phone numbers or email addresses. i do not go out orkutting and IMing people.
my fault? perhaps- but theres always another side to the equation. a side tat forgets my birthdays [that really bugs me, i need TLC on that day considering how blue it makes me feel]. a side that never responds to my few surprise messages and phone calls.
a part of me has given up on human relationships- or at least friendships. nothing lasts, and thats part of nature, growth development and all that psychobabble-bullshit.
i called G the other day, someone who was like a sister/friend/mother/child when we were abroad. she sounded extremely annoyed to have heard of my existence (!) and couldnt let go early enough...pardon the english.
life is beautiful if you'l excuse the cliche. maybe i should enjoy whatever beaty i can drink in and whatever curveballs it flings- alone.
i dont have any companionship. maybe i dont relly need it. mybe i do. but ive trained myself to live without it.
i dont have any readers either. they come in hordes, oohand ah and disgst me...see my archives...remember my rediff usage? and then they go becasue i dont pander to their expectatinos of me.

how can i? i dont even pander to my own expectations of me.
making and losing out on people is too tiring. i cant make the effort anymore.

ergo a blog which no one reads...a mute spectator? a relic of a wasted life? something else?

i can't really bring myself to care.

you think you know me?

do you really?

words, my words, that's who i am, you think, you say, nd then you think you've read me like a book, unravelled all my texts,subtexts and contexts. think again, intrepid reader. you don't know me at all.

this is who i am- here i am, unclothed, spelling ot the truth. a truth which i dont blame you for not understanding, a truth that i denied all my life.

i am a writer. this is who i am, this is what i was born to be, meant to be, bred to be. fed on the nectar and ambrosia of books, tales, dreams and myths. faeries and elves and daemons that delve.

greys.

you think you KNOW me? think again!

if these words are what i am..here's a parting shot for you.

these words are nothing. zippo, zilchh.

they're like loose change lying unheeded on the pavement.

by putting a bar on your expectations you have successfully blocked me out from my thoughts.

no matter. it will end- it always does.

welcome to the new breed.

our mothers were fantastic. admit it, its a fact. they brought us up- and heaven- or hell knows that we were peppery handfuls!

but we are a new breed, mom.

here's why.

...

walking down the road, the same familiar theme, the same scheme of things, the same old me. i let the cab go early today, needed to pick up some groceries and stuff. how hilarious, the men must have thought, women will be housewives! nah, come off it. better hussif than stomach upset. oh well. facts will be fact, no matter how you bend or warp the,. there they are, staring sternly at me, decreeing that i am my mother all over again.

no, never. not me, uh huh, screams something inside which i tamp down on. now is not the time.

it never is.

potatoes, tomatoes, bread, toothpaste, onions, eggs, etc later. a big bag, plastic, non eco friendly weighing one side down, a slim black leather bag swinging cheerily from the other. a strange silhouette winks at me- or wold if silhouettes and shadows had eyes. i see a lumpy form, short skirted, high heeled, with longish flowing hair, great hair, that, i think. oddly weighted. the slim straps on her sandals slip and slide and threaten to break but she gets home in one piece without accident- not before stopping to scold the dhobi about his tardiness though.

it is me, of course.

and that's why i'm not my mother. sorry, ma.

i'msoinlovewithyou:)

[disclaimer: this post is written by someone who is madly in love. pls take complicated prejudices elsewhere]

love em, live with em, leave em.

the new mantra of today, if bollywood and all the other associated woods are to be believed. even if taken with a big spoonful- a mere pinch won't do- of salt, the impression it makes on me is well, disturbing.

husbands, wives, mistresses, boyfriends (what are adulterous wives' lovers called? paramours? yuk!) the whole gamut of sleaze, sex and skin. how horrid. prudish that may sound, but that's just how it is.

call me old fashioned. i don't care. i don't believe in god or divine justice. i don't know much about my morals- or those of the world around me. i don't even believe in stuff like forever sometimes.

but i do believe in promises and keeping my word. 'and i promise to love honour and obey'...

call me old fashioned again if i say i wold not trust an adulterous man in his business practices. honour, hah. joke. same goes for the woman.

i know that all relationships- whether they've led to marriage or not- do not last forever. some sour, some crumble into indifference...and in some sad cases, people just drift apart.

loneliness is like a cancer. i know, I've been there. its a natural desire to want someone of your own, to have and to hold and make love to on cold winter nights.

not at the expense of your commitments.

I'm not old fashioned or narrow enough to think that all relationships should last forever. you cut off a gangrenous limb don't you [disgusting analogy eh]...I'm not an advocate of divorce, but if you must sleep around, do so as a free agent without fucking around with someone else's trust.

get a goddamn divorce, for chrissake!

[disclaimer #2- I've just seen life in a metro and more than disturbing me, it pissed me off. and like i said- take complicated questions elsewhere.]

my lot is an odd one.

i wish i could call myself a writer. but words fail me too often, and silence is all that rings inside my skull. he weight of the word frightens me. what, i, me, myself- if i exist at all- a writer?

a human perhaps, a person maybe, an editor definitely. but writer- that's one label that would scare the pants off of me if i wore any. ahem, never mind that.

writers, we are told, taught and made to remember are responsible. they [re]invent the wheel, they force social change and foster unease and unrest. they are activists, they are the zeitgeist.

they are dangerous. they can wrap you in coccons of the softest silk, they can ensnare you and guile you with words. they can lead you up to humpty's great fall. and leave someone else to pick up the pieces- they're far too busy picking up royalties, pulitzer's and contracts.

they cheat you. and you still love them and crave for more.

more stories, more webs, more enchantments. more lies.

bt then, what's so enticing about trth anyway? we've all lusted after it, sought it and thoght we had it, only to discover that it was fool's gold. no, truth is bleak and bitter. it may not ensnare you but it cannot enchant you either.

the scribe pushes you out into a cold, hard world. the writer pulls you into the comforting warmth of a fleecy duvet.

i know i'm committing the fallacy of petitio principii- arging in a circle...inclining towards the begining. but then, to begin is to end, and to end is to begin. period.

and the answer to the original question- i still don't know if i want the weight of the word resting on my puny [albeit rounded] shoulders. but then, that's life! to begin is to end, but before that end there must be a middle.

if i am at the middle, i cannot foresee the end. i will know it only at the end.

prior to that- substance is unknown and unknowable....and i suppose this, like death, is a question i can have no apriori knowledge of!

call me writer. call me ishmael. i don't care.

i curl up within myself and exult. if i had arms or legs i would kick and flail and make my presence felt and announce to the world- i exist! here i am, a microscopic zygote, the most important member of my little family, and there you go- my parents don't even know that i have been concieved, that i too am a blip on their radar. Parents!

Never mind that. I exist!

ignore the last post-actually don't. it might turn out to be the truest thing i wrote today.

if i were to say that the world was my oyster, i might be laughed out of court- yeah yeah sure, what the heck so it ain't- but what would i do with an oyster in any case? they don't make brilliant pets- no noise, no motion, no huggability- bo-oring! i suppose i could eat it, but why murder a family of mussels to vent your angst against your dumb unpettable pet? not much chance of finding pearls or making ornaments out of a single piece of sclocky-shcmuck either!

venting on oysters- bless their silent little souls- has completely made me lose track.

why can't i be me?

rag and bone- dog-and bone-hank of hair- lady fair.

[you asked for this one. It was bound to happen, sooner or later]

i don't want to be another t.s. eliot or virginia woolf sliding to her death with stones in her pockets. i don't want to be as one with the cowslips, reading or reciting poetry to a bovine audience, or stick my head in the gas either. i don't want to drink off the hippocrene and lull myself into escape, and writes odes to dejection and melancholy. at times, i sdon't even want to write a blazon to your eyebrows (heavenly though they might be).

i dont want to be daddy's lil gal sucking the life blood out of him as slowly as if it were my favorite sucker. i don't want to be your doormat and meekly do as you want either.

what do i want? i don't know. there- its out in the open. yeah i don't know what the hell i want to do in a year's time or five year's time or even what i'll wear to work tomorrow (i might be tempted to shave my legs and wear a skirt- but then again, i might not and hide the peach fuzz somehow).

don't browbeat me. i won't put up with it for too long.

i don't want to lose the I that I've been for 24 plus years because of an 'us' that may never be.

holidays are many splendored things. they can make you dance, leap, sing, jump, WALK- like you've never walked before, sleep, eat, doze, snooze- well, just about anything you wouldn't really do on a normal work day. and i have the sore ankles to prove it!

words would- well not be insufficient exactly, ut it would take me a good day to describe all our adventures on any sort of detail. and anyhting else would nto do it justice.

well proof- here are some snapshots.

drinking coconut water straight from the coconut, laboring under the delusion that there are no straws available. me havinbg the giggles and my plight. and setting everyone else off too. and then, after we had completely splashed ourselves, to discover (with only some chagrin), a pile of bright orange straws tucked by the vendor's seat.

deciding to be the real trail blazer and walknig across a river (by a waterfall) on a set of half sunken and very slimy rocks. with trainers that had NO traction. and slipping and sliding and then splash! falling into the river. and then realising that the river was crocidile infested.

spending 12k plus of shopping- at commercial street! my wallet would have wept tears of blood- if it could!

bingeing on sponge cake....ahhhh!!!!!!

i am on vacation until wednesday, may 23 with no access to email/voicemail. for assistance please contact XX@XX.xom [placeholder].

njoi banni maadi!

esse est percipi.

strange world, duble sided, twin faced and creepy crawly.

life is another walk, not the same as yesterday's that wouldnt be good no,change is the keystone-word-whateverthefuckyouwannacallit, thats how it goes. streams, no scratch that, reverse it wonka style, floods of consciousness, and there goes jim porter's old landlady again, swinging on those bloody churchbells- i must look up camelias and graduation gowns. who da fuck- you da girl, ahem ahem thanks all very bhery berry much indeed.

i am hungry. end of rant.

indian bureaucracy may have come a long way since 1947 but indian delays are still the same.


it will be done today ma'an

it will be done tomorrow maam

i PROMISe it will be done today!

and a week's gone by and i still don't jhave my internet connection.

india inc. zindabad!

cresent moon, silver shoon.

a broken nail and a ripped heel.

...life!

a headache is a curious thing. it comes on gently like a lover sometimes, like a violent wife basher sometime else. it can color your vision with a pretty golden (although painful) haze,but it can also deaden sensation, make every digit feel leaden and tinge your vision mustard, puke green or angry red (depending on your own personal reaction to one).

sometimes it makes a light footed couple dance a conga inside your brain, but usually its like two sumo wrestlers and a piano gone crazy. or the hulk, the undertaker and king kong playing smashing pumpkins real hard. or like jethro tull gone mad.

i think i'm hallucinating.

ek garam chai, that's what this day needs, with a stiff shot of whisky coloring it.

the world is an illusion, the realest one you ever did see. bhang colors it all, and that it does with truth. everything else is maya!

there's something in pain, they say. nothing, nothing at all, say i. there's no glory in ignominy, and nothing celestial or even quasi divine about lying in a pool of your own excrement, rats nibbling at your toes- an honour once reserved only for corpses.

there's nothying in pain, no end of silent suffering.

i was sick and tired of everything; when i called you last night from Strasbourg [Bangalore?]
all i do is eat and sleep and sing[ work?]
wishing every show[ day] was the last show [ditto]

funny, isn't it, how old songs intrude on your consciousness when you're at work on a public holiday, making you feel festive and restive and wishing you were anywhere but here...

but i shall not rant. many others share my fate. i do wish they had told us that we could wear casuals though. the sight of jeans is making me feel all sad [for want of a more forceful word; i am feeling very dazed and sleepy right now].

something someone once said about my blog comes back to me- its so you, they say. well, and who else would it be?

helter skelter

i'm not talknig about the japanese cover [whatever] that oasis did. im talkngi about my life! well, correction. the past few days. ruts, endless ruts and bumps and back breaking adventures. no, i cant say more. its a stupid secret...

i really dont know about gnostic, agnostic, atheist, acrostic, anagram, code etc. i just know that i hate serets esp hiding things from mum.

she walks in beauty
like a prufrockian night, smoky, hazy, cluttered up.

disturbing rutting dogs and yowling cats,
she walks.

asian cook tucked under her arm, tempura bubbling madly in her brain,
she is sly; she is shy
she walks.

flick, click, inhale and blow. with her jazz singer's voice she sings
a childhood melody under stinking breath. she stops, and flinches.
murder in high heels.

one of her mates against a wall, looking bored
ignoring the bucking male plastered to her body

ta! their eyes signal. they'll have bangers and mash
(she sniggers at that) for a late nght supper.

she walks and whispers as she goes on
fuckin, fuckin, fuck you bloody mindfucked byron

she ain't gonna walk in beauty like HIS night no more.

'you got a nice arse, kid'

she slaps his hand from her butt and snaps
'i ain't for hire you son of a bitch'

noise annoys me. i lose my threads of thought when noise disturbs me.

eor [end of rant]

the last few days have left me mind fcked if nto brain dead. which is worse, i wonder- althogh i've been feeling bodily and sexually dead for so long now that its a wonder that spiders aren't spinning their webs on me. at which point i wonder if i dare to bring in marvel- had we but world enough and time....except that a role reversal has occred and i am not the coy maiden of his song. my poor man! what he must suffer when he reads this!

perhaps there's something about DIY spa treatments after all. just slathering a horribly tingly face pack seems to have done wonders for my femininity!

ive sweated off some steam by packing. although i wonder how the cartons will hold up when i load them with my books. its getting rather warm here, surprising, as people (you know who you are)kept raving about the 'awesome' weather here! if awesome is simply awe inspiring the epithet is not wholly undeserved, as every time it rains i an awestruck at how my home is flooded. and when i begin to sloooowly bake, i wonderat myself. ah well.

its perfect weather for being naked- too bad we're such a nation of prudes!

goodnight week- and goodbye.

you were one of the worst i've lived through, but at last, you're over.

Life is an idyll, spent tapping at the keyboard, the flavour of coffee still bursting in the mouth…coffee, laced with candy, peppermint, breath-mint, breathless eh…breathy voices, breathless kisses, panting, gasping, air gushing in, gushing out, panting on the treadmill, panting upstairs and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber, building up….on, on, on for evermore…no, stop, hang on, you can’t so don’t stop, don’t ever stop..yeah, this is life, the glorious sweat and salt and all that jazz…why jazz though, why not rock or soul ballads that wring tears from your eyes….but tears are salt too and so that can’t be good..can it….are we still going on, are we still doing it, ah yes….its building up now, your eyes are bugging out of your head, and my nails have suddenly become talons. And music pours out of every pore, winding some weird, sinuous way through my body, and somehow suddenly, its fusing to yours, electric and muddy green sparks flying about, fizzing and foaming and then the scent of men’s cologne in that no-man’s land, the gully between my nose and upper lip…and the softer scent of roses and fruity body butter. The toss of head and streaming hair, the corded muscles in the neck and softer than baby’s touch, your lips…raspy day old beard, throw your razor away honey, its gone blunt, and what rot you say and we go on, and on and on again, and again, and again. And the hand writhing restlessly about and the diamond glinting violently in the cold winter sunlight. And diamonds are forever they say, do they, well something to that effect, and so, and so, and are we diamonds now…if I were to be transmogrified wouldn’t I love to be a chip of ice, but one that doesn’t melt, one that will never melt, but will rip out men’s gullets and grace the icy white hands of a stiff upper lipped queen, and light the fire in a pasha’s hot, hungry eyes. And ah…the hard ice that robbers rob and coppers catch. And then another assault on my senses, as a sugar rich, caffeine laced tongue snakes out, and no, not that, I’ll catch my death of cold, but no, there we are, plunged in icy water, icy air, wrapping us in a chilly embrace and goosebumps gracing my skin and hard pebbled hair roots springing to life and shuddering and shivering, an naughtier still, and I groan, your feet are like ice I complain, and enjoy the delicious warmth of my own, encased in sensible cotton socks, and mourn the duvet that lies like a discarded lover on the carpeted floor .and no, ah no, and I don’t want it to end, but I cant stop it from ending and I want the torment to end and I never want it to end, and suddenly I'm flushing, suddenly I'm too hot, too damn hot, and a sweaty river, look, snakes its way down the warm valleys and crests of my chest, and look a raft floating…no its only your tongue and im still struggling not to end it and still struggling to get it over with and at last it is finished, and desire and denial both have their way and desire and denial are both left lamenting, and you groan and you collapse and you say I look like a cat that ate the cream and I say, nothing because your weight has squashed the air full out of my lungs and all I can do is pant and gasp and make funny noises like a goldfish out of water and maybe I pucker up too because you take that very moment to steal another kiss and im too cold on one side and too hot on another, gerrof me, and bring me my blanket, but no don’t leave me now, don’t you ever let me go, no, I want you and stay put right here, right now, and then a snore, another, a little tiny one and im still waiting for breath but sleep comes instead and so, and so, and so.

no promises.

i don't know if any literary agent exist in this country. i don't know if they'd accept me if they did. i don't have the required contacts. i don't know if they would help.

all i can say is i'll try.

My dearly beloved blog,

Although I’ve posted on you, scribbled, ranted, raved and generally let myself loose on your shiny grey self, this is the first time that I am actually writing to you. I am doing this partly because I want to prove something and partly because I need to let out [oops, caught in the act] to someone who can’t holler back, since no one will understand.

I don’t remember conception, gestation, birth and my first few days. Heck, I can barely recall yesterday! And I am desperately afraid that I’ve forgotten the girl I was in my rush to be the woman I am.

I do not claim genius. It is not my lot or cross. But if I look back and reopen the few words I locked up somewhere within my consciousness, I remember being a shiny person. People gravitated towards me. I was young, I was YOUTH. I was intelligent and popular. I had angst, existential and otherwise. I had a perfect cacophony of words inside, all screaming to be let out, all writhing within my head until I relented and poured them out on paper.

But growing up isn't easy they say. And ive only grown up in habit. In years. My mind is still as chaotic, only I’ve learnt to hug responsibilities closer then anything else.

I don’t chain smoke anymore. Well, I never did, I just said that for glamour. Scratch that, I hate to cough. I rarely drink, I don’t touch the hash or the ash or whatever it is people trip on these days. I haven’t been to a club in years and would feel like an old fogy if I did. I wonder at the clothes girls wear nowadays- at the sage old age of24!

Ive got a job now, responsibilities. I need to do this for myself is what I reasoned when I was totting up the pros and cons of moving cities and living alone. I had something to prove.

I don’t know what it was anymore. I live clean; I pay my rent and other bills on time. I did go wild with my credit card but apart from my wedding clothes [for a wedding that may never happen] I swiped only for trips home and sundry domestic stuff. A bed, a washing machine et al. how boring!

I wake up before the alarm buzzes and go to work everyday, even when I feel like shite or completely brain dead or ill. I stick out my 40 plus hours of work each week, and the weekend goes with cooking, cleaning, playing laundress etc. where’s my youth now?

Here’s self realization for you. Ever since I started writing all I ever wanted was to be normal. To be mediocre and forget the pain inside.

I succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. I am normal. I am mediocre.

I am boring.

P.S- I would have preferred writing to Boo to be honest. Bt there’s, this slight problem see. Boo can’t read. How could he- he’s only a toy pup!

wilkommen zum mein Welt!

i admit it, in fact some of my acquaintance would be surprised to see me talk so. the fact still remains though that i am a klutzomaniac. don't bother googling for it, i coined it awhile backas i searched for that one perfect adjective to describe- well me.

i am the girl who falls down the stairs and bonks her head against any given srface if she posibly can. not contant with that, i scratch myself with my nails while bathing...in fact every time i wash m hair i drive one nail into the cuticle of another. know how tender that skin is? if i reach for a towl i take some plaster from the wall with me. i cant even fry an egg withot the hot fat nearly blinding me. something to be learnt from v for vendetta i suppose.

so muh for klutz. ill describe the maniac bit after awhile, im terribly sleepy.

or i could finish it off now.

later.


now.


later.


you can probably guess my other title. yeah its princess of procrastination.

reason for rant- ramming my toe into the wall and hearing an ominous crack. i shall update this tomorrow, whn i know for sure if i have broken a bone or not.

there are cycles and then, there are cycles. everythign goers through them, birth, growth, decay death. the economy and the markets go through theirs. moods swing, seasons change, and the amount of dandruff o your scalp waxes and wanes depending on the state of the moon.

i made that last bit up.

there are seasonal shifts in my personality. i am something which i could never be at work when i am at home and lounging about the house in my new nightclothes, hair dishevelled, stuffing my face with gorgeous food(!)

when i am at bangalore i am an altogether diferent person...more take charge, more aggressive (if thats possible for a wimp like me to be). at home i may well be apathetic..and thats fine.


thats what holidays are for, yeah?

its 8 am on a sunday morning and im typing..what rubbish..i need to go back to bed. !!!

i tried damn hard to be a diamond in the rough,
but i'm not that kinda girl.
fee fie fo fuck
i'm not that kinda girl.

i can't walk like a slut or talk like a slut
and i don't set ot to be deliberately mean
i could have paid you back with interest
bt im not that kind of girl/

she's hyper communicative,
she's smart, sexy and sublime
everything that isn't me

i'm sugar and spice and clotted cream
the spring in your step, the smile in your eye
i'm peevish and sulky, cross and contrary
and i wish the world were a simpler place.
but that

is not the world
and that

is me

i'm that kinda girl.

letter to mi amore (if one might excuse the mush)

i didnt want to write to you- write write you know. i didnt want to put down what i felt, i didnt want to express myself in black and white (and grey). i didnt even want to grandstand.

it just happened. i am high with glee right now. so glad that i finally fond my tablets of sinus medicine that i could sing. the 2 soda pops i had for dinner might also have something to do with this.

i ont want to be conventional- to an extent i guess im not, we're not, bt neither is this post/letter/rant/ramble. it begins with i dont instead of i do. i didnt, to be precise.

so here is a list of things i didnt do today.

i didnt buy cough medicine. nor did i get any rest.

i didnt talk to regis either though. if thats any consolation.

i didnt shop today, except to buy a funny wooden thingie for mum- to take home.

i didnt not buy a pair of tan shoes on sale, which saili convinced me not to let go of. pathetic sentence construction yes, but they were at half price. and i paid using cash. i didnt buy the sexy little knickers or the funny little pink pajamas. i didnt buy any arbit clothes, jewellery or makeup. nor even snglasses.

i didnt think ofyou for a complete half hour (i was helping saili buy sneakers and shoes etc)...until she asked me about you

i didnt discard the idea of viitng you as impossible. i think its rather workable as a matter of fact.

i didnt say i love you once in this post/letter/rant/ramble/whateverthefuckyouwannacallit.

i didt even say call me when you get back from brunch/whatever.

come to think of it, i didnt even say that i missed you.

Why do I let you hurt me?

Why do I let you see me cry?

Where is the magic that used to be us-

Was that wishful thinking on my part?

why can’t I see that you’re tired of me

that this whirligig has come full circle?

How is it that I can never be me

When did all of that start?

Why don’t you notice how I ache for you

That I’m trying so hard to stop

Laying my head on your naked chest

Looking around me for another life

Why can’t we be happy apart?

SWOT.

SWOT.

SWOT.


No. None. Never. Nein. Nicht. Nyet. De Nada. Na.

sickness is misery. the color of despair, go-make-me-die,and i wish i were dead disgust. it is the color of infected phlegm.

i sniff and cough and try to inhale without feelnig as if im breathing in hot ash. doesnt work. maybe the dust of the city doesnt agree with me- im sure it doesnt- becasue since ive come here ive downed endless bottles of cogh syrp, scalded my nostrils taking steam and rubbed pot pon pot of viks on me.

i wish i were back in a damp place again..breathing was such an agreeable activity there

you're a great girlfriend, he said to me, and i still agree. (i would probably be more convinced if he were still with me but that i think is more to do with him than me)

push, don't shove. either way you'll be called a nag!

the best thing to do, i think, is to know when to ask/caress/nag and when not to. i m not saying im perfect at this- is that even possible?! but i try. with mixed results...

sorry about that- i was distracted by dinner- chicken biryani- they give you pitiful amounts, one half soup bowl and the chicken takes up so much room you gert only a few spoons of rice

i like biryani rice. i couldnt care less about the meat. im not that great a meat-eater.

i was ranting- was i? can't be bothered now. all i can think of is going home, getting a glass of wine [do i have any glasses? need to do chores :(] and oiling my head. yuky i know but still..and watching LOTR on dvd.

maybe i can watch all 3?

nothing scheduled for the weekend..might shop a bit for my cal trip, but honestly dont see the point. need to pick up cookies for my brotehr but theyd go bad..no i dont like cookies so i wont consume them../.have an early gym class ...sigh! so much for sleep.

life is a bit of a joke. esp wen people dump you because you're f*** ill.

i had a terrible time at work today...loads and loads of notes piling in just as i was trying to wrap p my report. but work is good, it helps you focus.

the numbness of the past week is fading away. the bravado is almost all gone and i'm still wondering how ill deal with the shock once it sinks in.

sat staring at the white guards on top of the opposite cab's wheels and thought of death. how nice, how simple it would be to forget my committments, family..everything and just lie down with a stomach pumped full of medicines....to know tht this sleep would be your last, your longest.

if only i could be certain that i wouldnt regret anything in that split second before sleep overcame me, i would do it today- ell tomorrow considering that all the medicine shops are closed by now.

'i'll die without you'

is all too easy to say. i wonder when it comes down to the final analysis, will i be able to do it?

having you was bliss

hving you and holding you was even more so- not holding you was the hardest bit of all

and now- it is no hardship to be alone
and if i love me,. why shold it be?

is a dream really a wish your heart makes
whe you're fast asleep?

poor cinderella. how decieved you were! poor, poor cinderella!

dreamt of past glories today....early morning dream the type you remember and carry with you all day.

dreams of spacious rooms wierdly distorted. personalities warped.

with only the memories of what they were remaining.


i took your pictre down today. i will not carry it in my heart anymore.

colour me silver

slowly silently now the moon,
walks the night in her silver shoon
this way and that she trnsand sees
silver fruit upon silver trees
one by one the casements catch
her beams beneath the silvery thatch
coched in his kennel like alog
with paws of silver sleeps the dog

color me black

the color of the night
and an arabian hennaed palm
faux goth nailpolish and the tinker's disgusting teeth.


color me navy

as rich a blue as a schoolgirl's skirt
or ink blotted fingers after an exam
a shade that goes beyond indigo.

color me white

but that can't be, white is for shroud and/or purity

don't color me red- the red of blood
the red of sleepless eyes, the fire of a blush.

color me all or none of these...as you please

but for one day only- color me free.

you ain't never gonna burn my heart out

je regrette

people say i have an okay life. i have an okay job, live moderately enough- so they think, i dont smoke, i rarely drink and i dont sleep with arbit strangers.

whats okay?

i live a semblance of a life. a closet dreamer, trying desperately to be pragmatic.
a shopaholic with a problem. i need to learn not to spend.
i'm in over my head with debt.

my job's all right, but the pay isn't so great. and this city, in a word, sucks.

somany regrets in such a short lfie...what did i ever get right?

i went abroad....scraped out adegree. passed. left thecountry and returned home. got a job after a while.
in a city i'll never learn to like.

i regret coming back- not even trying to struggle there.
iregret exceeding my income...so very often....

i regret having left home. why couldnt i just live with my mum?

i regret being spineless..with no will to do anything. no sense to stop ymself from falling into folly.

impotent anger bt with no desire to change myself.

stuck with a man who fears committment...even after 2 odd years. who doesnt even try...who hurts me almost all the time.

impotent desire.
languid denial.

i wish i knew the differnece between to have and to hold.

to let go.

to have peace.

to forget innisfree, and live in this world

with all her squalor, splendor and slime.

her sordid truths.


i want to live...i want to not be me...selfish little bitsch that i am.

i want to get out of this insane relationship while i can.

someone who hurts me so badly now will neer do better in the future.

i want to quit my job.

i want to go home.

and i want to pay off my debts so that i can....

go home.