Coffee, Creativity & Me

2007-09-23T22:07:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-08-20T20:45:00.000+05:30

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? ;)

2007-08-17T14:37:00.001+05:30

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

2007-06-25T13:42:00.000+05:30

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

2007-06-22T20:41:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-06-19T23:52:00.000+05:30

quiet time

you. trapped in my mind.

i. trapped in yours.

(amin mela ille)

2007-06-17T21:15:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-06-13T17:26:00.000+05:30

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

click here for the lyrics.

2007-06-10T00:14:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-06-04T19:19:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-06-03T17:02:00.000+05:30

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

no matter. it will end- it always does.

2007-05-30T19:49:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-29T20:29:00.000+05:30

i'msoinlovewithyou:)

2007-05-26T22:48:00.000+05:30

[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.]

2007-05-25T22:06:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-24T15:34:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-24T15:30:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-24T13:07:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-24T08:15:00.000+05:30

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!!!!!!

2007-05-20T23:40:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-15T13:37:00.000+05:30

esse est percipi.

2007-05-12T19:44:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-11T16:36:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-09T12:24:00.000+05:30

cresent moon, silver shoon.

a broken nail and a ripped heel.

...life!

2007-05-07T14:17:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-04T15:59:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-03T10:20:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-05-01T13:42:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-04-29T18:27:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-04-26T19:57:00.000+05:30

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'

2007-04-25T19:40:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-04-22T22:36:00.000+05:30

goodnight week- and goodbye.

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

2007-04-21T22:40:00.001+05:30

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.

2007-04-21T22:06:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-04-20T20:50:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-04-11T21:53:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-04-08T08:21:00.000+05:30

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. !!!

2007-04-03T20:40:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-03-31T22:37:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-03-26T00:13:00.001+05:30

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?

2007-03-25T23:55:00.000+05:30

SWOT.

SWOT.

SWOT.

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

2007-03-25T20:20:00.000+05:30

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

2007-03-23T20:22:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-03-22T21:55:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-03-21T22:23:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-03-20T23:08:00.000+05:30

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

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

2007-03-20T10:09:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-03-19T08:24:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-03-19T08:22:00.000+05:30

you ain't never gonna burn my heart out

2007-03-16T00:23:00.000+05:30

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.

2006-03-29T23:13:00.000+05:30

i'm moving. blogs, not homes.

cheerio!

2006-03-29T04:24:00.000+05:30

A few of the many(!) things that bug me.

(yo, S- you listening?)

1. I HATE being patronised, especially with pseudo intellectual bullshit.

2. Being called 'buddy'. I ain't a dog, yeh?

3. People looking for autobiographical links to my writing. Give it up. I just wallow in the darker emotions, I'm not a mental case...not yet anyway.

4. People asking me what relation coffee has to my work. None, except that it keeps me awake.

5. Being blog tagged. It really, REALLY irks me. No, I can't think of another 7- 9- 11 people to tag. And no, I can't randomly list my favourite books or music, nor can I presume to guess why others find me attractive or the reverse.

6. Being given strange nicknames. Caffeine Addict's been chosen because I choose not to reveal my name here, but that doesn't mean that you can mangle it anyhow.

7. Being asked why I'm so angry. If I knew why, I'd probably have done somethnig about it by now.

8. Being asked 'are you indian'? what dpes that have to do with anything?

9. comments like nice blog u got here....drop by mine...courtesy demands that i do anyway.

gnite, all.

2006-03-28T13:39:00.000+05:30

you flew in from a land of mists
with tears in your eyes
for the angels you left behind.

over tea and chilli we talked
about husbands and lovers
and a distant mysitc land.

you drove me up north
up to where the sky hangs low
and "peace comes dropping slow."

i danced for you; but your hips
are welded close, and your giggles
drowned out the music.

long walks, and Quadrant tours
are passed, and we relax
into our Easter rhythm.

So much time, so little of it,
has gone by. and the angels
call to you in dreams.

Returning home is easy
and i smile into my cup
knowing we'll meet again.

For Gaki...

2006-03-27T17:30:00.000+05:30

Misericordia!

2006-03-26T01:32:00.000+05:30

all is asleep, all slumber softly
hope and peace nestle side by side
my sister tosses and turns this way
and i grimace on the other side

all is asleep, all sleep quietly
within our hearts is some despair
she tosses this way, i the other
and we punch the bolster in the way

all is asleep, softly snoring
and i've got a fug in my eye
i look for you to tuck me in
but no, you're out of sight

all is asleep, all tu whit to whoo
a solitary owlet cries
i punch an imagined pillow mate
leaking tears for that empty side.

2006-03-24T01:42:00.000+05:30

Written in a bleak (and broke) mood

Mansi sits at her laptop, calmly ignoring the pain clawing its bloody way up her left side. An old Lata Mangeshkar song plays, and scented oil clouds the air of her room. It is late March, and by all accounts, spring has sprung. She is glad of her green sweater top, and shudders at the glistening raindrops winking at her window.

A stubborn piece of code is acting up, putting her CSS design right out of reckoning. She frowns, and tests it again, on a different browser. It still does not work. She would have liked to get up and have a cup of tea, but there’s no one to make it for her. Her assignment list is miles high, and her room like a mini dump. Clothes needing laundering mix cheerfully with freshly washed ones, and the iron looks dolefully at a solitary boot. Mansi stretches her legs, and inadvertently kicks over the rubbish bin again.

She sighs, and leans towards it, and slides off her chair.

“Bloody FAKKIN hell!”

She straightens and hits her head against the table, which immediately causes the mounds of paper perched atop it to wobble. A paper landslide ensues.

“I HATE deadlines,” is followed by a string of fruity expletives. She manages to restore some order to the chaotic mess on the floor and swings up to her chair again, wincing at its hardness on her now tender arse. The music is abruptly turned off as she blinks her sleep fug off, and gets back to typing.

“Aha! A simple, stupid error. Forgot to close that bracket…” she lights her sixth fag of the day. Strictly speaking, smoking isn’t allowed in any of the university’s accommodation, but she’s wrapped a plastic bag around the smoke detector. She draws deeply, sighing with pleasure.

The rest of the code works like a dream. She tests it out on Firefox, brilliant. Firefox is the most unforgiving browser…it’s a nightmare if you’ve made any errors…

Hidden somewhere among all the junk is her mobile phone. It rings now, and she jumps. It’s past midnight, too late for her family to be calling.

“Hullo!” –snarled.

“Hello, missus, you comin out tonight?”

It’s her classmate Betty. “No, it’s late dammit, we have a project to hand in tomorrow, it’s pissin it down with rain and I’m fuckin broke. So no, I am not coming out tonight.”

She grits her teeth, and punches the wall.

2006-03-23T00:49:00.000+05:30

...Thank you for being there, always.
And for being mine.

2006-03-22T03:48:00.000+05:30

I don't quite know anything much. I don't know anything, as a matter of fact. I'm just your average loser.

Spudheaded.

I don't know why I went on and on about postgraduate study...a PhD, blah. I don't quite think I belong in here. Anywhere perhaps.

My world is with you...but then your world has no room for me.

Isn't it?

I don't fit into any tradition. I overdo things, underestimate other things..and walk around in a brainfreeze. I can't write. I can't market.

I can't do anything.

Maybe we're better off alone?

2006-03-21T14:50:00.000+05:30

the words are going, fading fast.
un coeur brise.

shadows knocking at the locked gate to my memories, wrapped in the sable folds of everlasting night. they demand entry, they demand recognition...they claw at my memories.

and i must unfasten the door and wash the filth of their graves off them.
and i must give them my last words.

and then...stop, forget Lexia and my pitiful scribbles.

maktub.
'tis writ.

un coeur brise...

2006-03-18T21:05:00.000+05:30

Silences scream so loudly sometimes
yours touched me most of all.

And still I watched as you regressed
Into a mockeried babyhood
In silence.

And still I watched as they fed you
Through drip tubes and knocked out your teeth
In silence.

And still I watched as they bore you home
Dressed in flowers and crimson streaks
In silence.

And quietly crying, watched you leave
On that final journey
From whence, none return.
As you left, in silence.

2006-03-15T03:28:00.000+05:30

haiku

high heeled boot-
stuck to the sole,
a leaf.

lamplight reflected,
a twin for
my room.

a webcam winks
weighted down
with a pebble

frying fish
flesh gleaming as if
hit by sunshine.

C. A.
14.03.2006

2006-03-14T03:27:00.000+05:30

I'm not happy.

don't ask me the whys and the wherefores, I am not an animated Doordarshan television programme.

why
why
why
why

do i

W R I T E? ? ?

when its all so full of

S H I T E ? ?

2006-03-12T01:41:00.000+05:30

Juvenalia

“Why did Sherlock murder Bugs Bunny? “

“Objection, me lord!” Watson exploded. “Unless it is proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the defendant, my client, was actually responsible for the death of the deceased, the question is not only out of bounds, but, but,” Watson floundered a bit, then added with a sudden burst of creativity, “but also absurd!”

Judge Porky Pig had had enough.

“I throw this case out of court!”

Yes, yes, well done, Watson, thought Holmes abstractedly. That was the way, keep em guessing and then confound them at the end. That was the way to do things. It wasn’t as if anyone really cared about what happened to a stupid rabbit anyway. All he used to do was munch carrots the whole day and bug people no end with his quintessential line- “What’s up, doc?”

Asinine question, what’s up. I mean it was so obvious, Watson. The sun, the moon, the stars, they were all UP, weren’t they? And if it irritated me, I know it must have been hell on you. I sympathize, Watson. Completely. Imagine him insulting your intelligence with that awful question, when all the reading public of the world knows that you’re a doctor, for Christ’s sake! M.D! Or was it M.B.B.S? What was it, Watson, old buddy, old friend, old pal? Well I can be forgiven for forgetting! I’m aging, slowly, but surely. Ripening like fine wine, maturing, but aging all the same. Yes, thanks, the morphia helped my gout.

That rabbit was a pest, was he not? Disgusting habit of spewing carrot slivers whenever he munched and talked simultaneously. And that was often enough! No table manners, obviously a finishing school dropout. Why he ruined my last Waterford crystal, totally jammed up the finish with desiccated carrot. I haven’t got all the bits out yet.

And that absurd question of his drove you crazy didn’t it? I know you retired long back, on my account. His question brought it all back didn’t it? The thrill of chase, the feint and counter feint of the pursuit. You missed it didn’t you? And his questions only made things worse. Reminded you of what you and I couldn’t do. Reminded you of all the roaring good times we used to have. You, me and old Basks.

Now don’t tell me your memory’s failing. You remember Basks don’t you? Why how could you forget your old best friend? The hound of the Baskervilles? For shame, old chap. Stiff uppers, let not anyone see you cry. Be a man, by Jove!

Ah leaving so soon? I know you’ll be hungry. You had a hard couple of hours, Watson. Join me at Baker Street. We’ll have a nice time of it. You, me and Morphia. Oh, can’t stir a step without it now. Old Hudson made some stew yesterday. Good stew it was too. I know you’ll enjoy it.

Oh yes, it has parsnips. And potatoes, onions, leeks and meat. What’s a stew without meat, old chap? It’s just a little stew with a bit of everything in it.

Oh no, not lamb. I’m allergic to it remember? It’s rabbit stew. Very good too, I must say.

2006-03-11T03:07:00.000+05:30

its surprising, the rubbish that tesco will palm off to you, pretending it's wine.

its vinegar!

(i'm tipsy)

tumtitumtitum...

life keeps pushin and pulling me from past to future, and past and present and whoa...instant vertigo.

i think james stewart is HOT.

mmphh.....he's so adorable as mr. smith!

huh watwasiatagain?

oh yeh. the tenses. people id dropped on the way...well i got dropped too, keep comin back. one of em is T- dont mind my lang girl, i've been takin the piss, who reads my blog...TeeBee.

i like the way my mouth smirks wen i say T.

do you remember maaroing free booze and fags off gaurav the orge, girl? him with his black lips n pot belly...UGH

i hate my boyfriend. :(

i want it to be 20 degrees here too.

do ye think i cud be an ice queen?!?!?!

findin old ppl messaging....akshay messagin among others...

damn im bad at keepin in touch

suds pal gettin married finally! after going about with a married man et al...

funny how all my classmates always thot id be first...

it seems nice n idyllic to be married young sometimes.

not.

some part of my legs has just turned to jelly. raspberry flavored, i hope.

i want my mummy

except shed slap me silly if she saw me boozed up.

any one wantin to do a proxy?

2006-03-10T03:02:00.000+05:30

NOTICE

Please note that henceforth, I shall not comment upon any blogs that have word verification turned on. It might help you to junk any spam comments that you might or might not recieve; but it is HELL on my eyes, regardless of whether it is day or night.

You are free to return the 'favour' by not commenting on mine either- although, as you might note, I don't have the miserable thing turned on.

Pax,

Caffeine Addict

2006-03-08T01:01:00.000+05:30

What this started out as was a personal love poem; and while it remains that, it has morphed into a terza rima (of sorts). I have taken liberties with the form, (feel justified to have done so), and this is now a sort of apostrophe- an address. This is part of the theme for my next poetry portfolio- apostrophes. Of course they're not all going to be for him; that would just make it a mutilated sort of canzonierre- but willalso include address poems to people I've loved over the past years- especially my family.

Hope Anup especially enjoys this, as a poet himself. I'm waiting (eagerly, I might add) for the promised villanelle, Anup.

Poem for Sh---

You feel like a child reaching for the moon.
Last year you were invincible; nothing
Could hurt you. The bubble burst too soon
Maybe.

You look about you dazzled; with loathing.
The moon was a toy and the stars silver dust,
And the sex and the filth could not bring
Happiness.

You are saddened and sickened by the lust
And barrenness you see; this daily grind
Makes you forget yourself, and then you thrust
Me out.

Escape into the Shangri La of your mind,
I know you will pull through and smile again.
Retreat now with me and pull down the blind
And be as you were.

Till the next post; whenever that may be...I have my screenwriting module submission deadlines leering at me...help!

2006-03-07T01:34:00.000+05:30

conished priory; ulverston; cumbria and me

i do not believe in god. this is a fact that must be clearly understood. i do not believe in god, fate or anything of the sort. i do not believe in rebirth or karma. i simply believe in cause and effect.

why then was i daft enough to go to a buddhist meditation centre for the long weekend, spending ten odd hours on the road either way in the freezing snows of english winter?

it was a quest of sorts- my own search for a holy grail of sorts. i want answers.

i was not an agnostic before! oh yeah i had as much blind faith as any average brainwashed (unthinking if you like) mortal.

then i started to ask questions. which remained unanswered.

it was a long and painful process. stripping myself of my values and beliefs felt like stripping my skin off; and i wasnt moulting...in ways i'm still raw.

i would like answers that satisfy me. i would like to believe. how often have i wished that i could just fuckin believe!

but it doesnt happen any more.

two years back, my then 17 yr old nephew laughted at me for my long discourses on the bhavgvat gita and faith with his grandmum...

how are thou fallen, o caffeineaddict!

i feared sin. i feared hell. i feared the unknown, i suppose; i feared for my immortal soul.

i dont think i have a soul.

reading paradise lost nearly killed me.

or not.

no one could satisfy me.

not meditation. it brought back troubled memories i'd blocked out for years.

the blind faith of most people infuriated me.

yeah on the surface it was very civilised; lovely really. a gothic priory with vaulted ceilings and stained glass and wood with a silky patina. morecambe bay with shingles and snow. the fells.

but an unquiet mind...

unquiet mind
never at peace.

2006-03-02T18:01:00.000+05:30

Snow in Swansea

(The real deal might or might not show properly- but hopefully you can make out the flakes falling)

I leave for Ulverston tomorrow a.m. For a Buddhist retreat- to discover inner peace- if such a thing exists- and a time out from illness and dependence.

Have a good weekend.

2006-03-01T01:09:00.000+05:30

I thought I would write something terribly clever, oohing and aahing over my own magnificence. Oh yeah, I thought to myself, come out with a kicker.
But it didn’t happen.
Swansea has seen some snow this season.
And when I wrote that I decided that I was being a bit too clever. Consonance and assonance and all that. But I don’t owe this cleverness to myself. No, I owe it to Mrs. Nathani of school, who set us exercise after exercise of metonymy and synecdoche, made us go through entire chapters of the ubiquitous Bose & Sterling book of rhetoric and prosody.
I did not know that some seeds were being sown.
But there I go being clever again.
Cynghanedd and englyn- what Nigel, my poetry tutor calls Welsh S & M. Singing in chains. Singing songs in chains of silk.
I was not trying to be clever, honest.
In my own roundabout, half bureaucratic way, I suppose I am thanking Mrs. N- wherever she may be, for instilling a love of language into me. Not literature- although it was she who introduced me to Keats- but language. Sounds. Phonetics. Ejukashun.
Creating links between rudra and red; me and mein. What’s mine is mine; what’s yours is also mein. English as an absorbent, evolving entity.
There I go again- and without even trying!

Diolch I Mrs. Nathani.
I owe you so much.

2006-02-26T11:25:00.000+05:30

Enfold me in a silver glow
A Villanelle

Enfold me in a silver glow

Tomorrow, yesterday and today

Hold me close when I am low.

Our time is short, don’t you know

We’ll fall like flowers on the way

Enfold me in a silver glow.

Tramp with me through ice and snow,

Or summery fields full of hay

Hold me close when I am low.

And, from the first cock crow

Drink from me, be blithe and gay

Enfold me in a silver glow.

Till cranky, withered and old we grow

And all we have is memories of May

Hold me close when I am low.

Shield me from life’s little blows

Today, tomorrow and yesterday

Enfold me in a silver glow

Hold me close when I am low.

2006-02-24T21:58:00.000+05:30

AS I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP!!!

jagged, distorted images flash before the eye. sleep, visions, get thee gone.

the stripper, the ripper, the candlestick maker...

gangbanging on the narrowbarrel; off with you.

give me novocaine; get thee gone.

enduring love with justify

the alcopops that went over your tops.

screams of fruition.

that bind you and i.

flesh of my flesh and all that.

fizz and double sided knitting needles.

and dreams of sex in a field of violets.

2006-02-23T21:13:00.000+05:30

it is a starry night but the bed is cold. three pillows crumpled under my head, the fourth crowning my tousled curls. soft white sheets under icy feet, releasing hidden vapours of tesco original washing powder.

this is it, i think. this is one of those making memories moments.

the laptop winks back confidentially at me. ym status is set to OI GOT A BLINKIN EDAIKE!!!

tumhe koi aur dekhe
to jalta he dil

unbidden his image comes to mind. i try to push the phantom out. no; you're not welcome right now; i need some sleep; i...i...

stop haunting me, dammit!

and i drift off into wonderland. tra la bloomin la.

chocolate kisses come to mind. the sandman and the mad man grapple.

they come to an impasse. i sleep; but i dream.

and wake. something digging into some part of my anatomy. sleep fugged brain refusing to respond. well the hallway's cold; the loo's gonna freeze yer arse; you best think dry and sleep.

push straps back onto shoulders.

was it a vision or a waking dream?
fled is that music
do i wake or sleep?

eyes shut. black inside and out.

and then skype rings.

oh for goodness sake, stop haunting me will ya!!!!!

badi mushkilo se fir
sambhalta he dil

no i can't let you off so easy.

2006-02-22T01:43:00.000+05:30

remembering home...

walking down the road. Calcutta's roads. with a C A L and drop the friggin Ks. The Left front acting precursor to ekta bloody kapoor's k mania.

it rained last night; the potholes are filled; little grey puddles; a private swimming pool for every bloody crow the city breeds. splash, splish splosh, and someone rams their heavily shod foot through one; displacing the little corner of sky it had reflected.

exiting the train station. sol smiles and all the world is gay.

busy and bitter perhaps; not gay. not unless you count metsex man standing beside his boyfriend, pierced ears glinting silver. i count five studs. five studs, wasted on a man who aint never gonna sire anything.

bloody waste.

the heat, the heat. it slam dunks into my astonished face. i am not ready for this- i dont have my sunglasses on yet; no hanky at the ready, black office trousers letting sol's intrusive rays into my pale skin cells, sweat popping from every pore.

the earth sweats too. slowly releasing pheromone like vapours into the mucousy air.

her dampness reminds me of something.

i am suddenly reminded of my own femininity.

2006-02-21T03:43:00.000+05:30

Every morning as I wake

And feel the swirling mists of morn

You are the first thing that I see.

And the last as well as I retire

And lay trembling in my rickety bed

Missing the velvet of your voice.

You are the stranger I fled from

Through all my childhood dreams

Creeping under the bed in fear.

United with me and my destiny

Tangled up in the skeins

Of my unromantic existence.

Perhaps you know me and mine

Quite as well as no one will

Sometimes that scares me too…

Deride me when I am drunk

Or eat a chocolate muffin too many

I might then agree that you are real.

Real. And not a djinn of the night

Haunting my consciousness

With your gleaming ebony skin.

Several ages of development have passed

And fairy stories are myths

And I am not a Cinderella.

But stewing softly in the hearth of my mind

With the ugly sisters of life about

Perhaps you may yet charm me…

But no, I will not idolize you

You have feet of clay as well

And I see you weeping in my dark…

And whispering memories of pain

That you and I would do well

To forget and efface.

Forget and efface. Can it be done?

But maybe we can stop looking back

And thumb Jim Porter in the eye.

2006-02-19T02:31:00.000+05:30

tanhaiyaan aaj bhi hain aur kal bhi thi
fir aaj yeh akelapan kyun kaat raha he?

zindagi kal bhi yuhi chal rahi thi
fir aaj maut kyun haseen lagti he?

ye raat apni parchayi mere paas chod jaati he
subah ki dhoop bhi ise aag nahi laga pati

kagaz ki zindagi aur khoon ke phool
dhundhli si zindagi
aur...
aur kya?

2006-02-18T05:15:00.000+05:30

grant me my frenzy.

"grant me an old man's frenzy
myself must i remake
till i am timon or lear
or that william blake
who beat upon the wall
till truth obeyed his call. "

frenzy to jump into the clear blue beyond...

"and singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest..."

to climb higher and higher, like a ball of fire.

i want it all. i will not be content with a mouthful of sky.

...

on the non impressionistic level- alan plater's play. only a matter of time.

hilarity combined with philosophy- history- a little bit of every -tory and -sophy.

the best laughter is the kind that provokes thought, like a springboard produces splashes and ripples.

i love the welsh!

2006-02-16T19:31:00.000+05:30

dinner with david cobb and ken jones. THE haikuists and haibunists of britain.
i should have been overwhelmed- but i was not.
i should have been at my sparkling best- but i was not.

there is something about this country itself that overwhemls me. the people; the cultural contexts and the linguistic subtexts are alien to me; and conversatino with people i dont know scares the bloody hell out of me.

you feel judged. slid under a scanner and considered. like a piece of old haddock at the fishmarket. accepted- but nly just. not marginalised; but subtly patronised.

silence is the only defense.

this is not my land. these are not my people.

it is only living abroad that gives you this perspective. i was so bloody sure of myself back home; so damn secure in my place in the intelligentsia.

here i might as well be the ethiopian with little english and no grammar.

why; they ask; when i tell them that i hope to return home and work.

why not?

it is not a weakness; a refusal or an inability to adjust. coping and changing are different ball games altogether.

i can cope. i dont want to change.

even the rain is different. damn right.

its sucked all the creativity out of me. im too busy coping; adjusting to work; defeating the entire purpose of my being here.

work without hope draws nectar in a sieve.

but sieves by nature will sift it off. and all that will be left will be the dregs of my dreams; aspirations; hopes and all those other big and emotionally charged words.

life is not only about adjustment, change...surviving.

life is also meant for living, dammit.

fun in the sun and rain.

why cant you get that?

2006-02-15T00:41:00.000+05:30

CAFFEINE ADDICT smiled and all the world was gay!

the vapours arose from the shiny cup
COFFEE! that makes the politician wise
and see through all things with half shut eyes...

2006-02-14T15:57:00.000+05:30

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning; Sonnets from the Portuguese)

Happy, happy Valentine's Day S-.
With all my love.

Happy Valentine's, everyone.

2006-02-14T02:42:00.000+05:30

recover post? i wish i could recover me.

why is it so hard to be your daughter? why the excesses of psychosis that damage all our lives?

its hard to let go of you; but its harder still to live here; alone; while you slowly kill yourself there- and trigger a chain reaction here.
you're killing me as well.

marriage. is it a joke to you? on and off...something to do for the lack of any other way to kill time?
i'm not ready to be manipulated like this- and yet...and yet..you manipulate me every damn second; every damn day of my life.

whats compassion and affection got to do with it?

you cant divorce emotion from action. you think you can right now.
i hope you cant do it.

it seeps through me slowly. whats your agenda anyhow?

i'm so tired of defending myself; my actions; my choices to you.

i'm tired of justifying his presence in my life..what do you want me to do- get rid of him?

i wish it were that easy.
i wish you were easier to manage.

what do i say to him anyhow...marry me or else?
else what, huh, dad?

you'll tie me down to someone else?
or throw me off the damn howrah bridge- i wudnt put it past you.

i give up.
you havent even left me achoice.

not you. not him.

no one.

very well then.

2006-02-13T19:01:00.000+05:30

this I promise you

I will be there.

Always and forever.

I will be yours.

2006-02-12T23:52:00.000+05:30

why are we all so angry?

you. me. the original rebel without a cause.

seems that anger at the unnatural order is the rule of the day.

and anger is so damn impotent.

2006-02-12T14:18:00.000+05:30

God is born of an inherent necessity in the majority of the human race to believe that we are not mere accidents of evolution and that our being here has some purpose; most men need faith to ward off the fear that we are only another link in a mechanistic chain of evolution.

2006-02-11T21:44:00.000+05:30

i guess we all wallow in shite. we love to immerse ourselves in it; we derive masochistic glee out of it; even in our misery we are supremely happy, because we know then for sure that we're alive and not yet part of the great ghostly chain of being in the beyond.

no, cheesecakes don't make you cry. but they don't hug you close and murmur be mine either.

raspberry flavoured gum doesnt blow you a bubble big enough to fly to the moon.

and bubblegum pink trainers cant make you achampion sprinter either.

i have now officially joined the ever swelling ranks of the girlie wurlies. with my colour coordinated pink shirt, socks, necklace & earrings, bag and trainers. all thats needed is hot pink knickers and ill be completely transformed into a big whorl of cotton candy.

2006-02-11T01:28:00.000+05:30

you went xx at cell division time
and yet you pretend to be a man

no skirts for you;
i guess you 'wore the pants in your house'

high tops instead of heels.
er- balls of steel instead of breasts of silicone.

you wake. you work. you sit. you stare.
dark eyed with worry and an inherited insomnia.

you chopped up your tresses and all of your dresses
and give them to the altar of duty.

sitting in vinyl covered seats chewing pencil stubs
doing the algos; working out the math.
no phone- cause of his pacemaker
no noise because they sleep light.

no placements; because you're head nurse.
no life; just work and work.

happiness is a certain state of mind.
and you've said that time and time again.
are you? or aren't you then...

neutered on the edges of youth
vitality and virility
or is fecundity a better word?

every word you say slaps me in the face.
spit bullets of steel and bile.

the last time i saw you
that day i'll always remember
a muffled sigh as you
pluck

the hundreth grey hair off your dandruffed scalp.

2006-02-10T04:00:00.000+05:30

slowly and silently the trees grow
watered and fed by the earth

a fragment.

i wish i was better.

at something.

sit by my fireside- dont mind the gas flames
let them flicker and lull you.
see my reality and hear my tale.

i'm not a writer- no, not me
i 'm too tiny to stand out in a crowd.

don't open my notebook, dont read that
poetry for now is dead.

i've filed away my confused ramblings
even archived, they hang heavy on my soul.

transpiration
like tears on my
window.

they failed, the haiku did
and something within me has died.

rejected and dejected
the I.

sporus, that thing of silk
that delicate white curd of asses milk?

flipped and flopped.

2006-02-08T20:25:00.000+05:30

stonefaced and rigid
assembly line motions
humanoid faces covered with skin
wake up, for once, goddammit!

wake wake wake up mortal
dont break on the jagged cliffs of time
deep inhale- feel some air
for one sublime moment- live!

look at the sky above you mortal
and the flowers below

look at your palms, mortal
erase those goddamned lines
let all the poison flow free
unlock the pain inside
carve new lines out for yourself
gash them out with your teeth
for one glorious moment, FEEL
live like you've never dared

wake, wake, wake, mortal
dont break upon the cliffs of life.

2006-02-07T23:52:00.000+05:30

spindrift on the sea
fish shine as if
freshly fried

the new year has seen a more somber, a more thoughtful me. a more, i would like to believe, at peace with myself me. oh no, that is not to say that i have turned into a zen zombie.

it is all a question of accepting oneself as one exists.

know thyself.

but knowing; accepting; understanding and embracing are different. each emotion has its own paradigm. and these keep shifting.

it took me forever to understand. and i am still working on - sorry to sound trite here- love.

sometimes i wish the voices in my head would just bloody shut up!

i do not know if my newly discovered affection for the haiku and haibun have anyhting to do with this- well- epiphany is too strong a word- but something near to it- or is it the reverse.

a quiet, more meditative outlook. i have never written so recklessly before- been so audacious, experimental. i have never been so in love with poetry.

funny that one leads to another- but then- everything in my life is a balance (of a sort) between contraries.

and as blake said, without contraries there is no progression.

i am the lamb, meditating in the bath.
i am the tiger, ripping open words and verse forms.
digging into the marrow of existence.

i am the babe; i the harlot.

the voice of innocence; the rasp of experience.

i am brilliant and jaded all at once.

i look. and look again.

know then thyself, presume not god to scan
the proper study of mankind is man...

2006-02-07T02:23:00.000+05:30

oh no, again?

i have struggled all my writing life to avoid being put in a box
wrapped up neatly and packed off you might say
i rebelled against metre, i rebelled against rhyme
i even rebelled against writing in a line
but powers the great they have the final word
and a SONNET, good mama is what they decreed
that my mind should wrestle with
my brain turn to mush.
BUT audacious and wily as ever i was
i hem and i haw and i put in a clause
i'll write you a SONNET, good men, i say
but rhyme, no they won't, good men, no way
unmetered and rambly my lines will be
and then my SONNET will flow free.

2006-02-06T03:26:00.000+05:30

there are cycles to life

bang on- there was the cliche.

look past the jaded ole surface. cycles and cycles within cycles. nested loops. A leads to B and C leads you right back to A. its all to do with coming full circle anyway.

sometimes i wonder if i was born with deja vu. or is it just the realisation that things have an inner movement- and will come right back gyral like to haunt you?

being accosted by whats past is ghostly, innit?

how much of your past can you hide-efface-forget then?

the lost time (and money) you invested on ships-that-pass-in-the-night relationships/flings/whatever...

the lost nights when you got home too drunk or stoned to remember who paid or who dropped you back or who sat on your lap? all your life you wonder whether eating chocolate out of someones mouth was an x rated dream or omifuckingawd did it actually happen?

pretend you werent awake when ma and pa went at it hammer and tongs and broke every glass bottle in the house?

pretend you didnt slice yourself open every first of january just to see the blood flow...denumb yourself...pretend you were alive and a real feeling human for once?

wish you could take back the several times you called god- or something like him an uncaring puppetmaster- and worse

wish you never had a crisis of faith

wish you could just fuckin believe!!! in something?

believe in forever?

believe that you'd be loved to madness---for what you were inside and not for your tits and arse?

or courted by people who wanted to pinch your notes?

past's well...past. and it all comes around. but it doesnt necessarily have to have to power to hurt you.

it wasnt all bad.

if you could raise the past..what would it be like

to relive falling in love all over again?

feel the first kiss of the first raindrop of my first year?

the first breath of spring air...the first step?

the wonder of learning to read- to sing- to write?

writing the first poem...the first jointed paragraph...learing to write in a 'joined hand'?

the wonder of smelling my first rose

eating my first chocolate

the first bubble bath

cooking my first meal

learning how to change my first nappy...the first time naman puked on my shoulder...the first time my baby sister was put in front of me...

worshipping my baby brother from afar

loving my parents so intensely that i thought i ould burst?

hating them intensely as well at times- sadly.

baking my first rabbit cookies...and marble cakes

that first date by the seaface

first illnesses. flushed face while i puked discreetly and he just held me as i shivered later.

initial thrill...and fear while applying for the MA

getting my first- and only- gold at college

wearing a sari- trying not to trip over my high heels---being hugged by the princiapl

gunjan..my first friend..the one that got away..and i never knew where.

we dont always have to look back in anger. the pictured of edwardian summer garden parties might have been posed for and rehearsed..and damn right, jim- it must have rained sometimes. but didnt the photographer capture a portion of ephemera...in that instant when there was just a hint of rain, and old auntie meg's wig blew away and landed on top of the cream cakes?

yes. life comes full circle.

dulci et amo...

2006-02-05T02:28:00.000+05:30

well, what do i do, there's no accounting for tastes!

a lot of people i know were surprised when Sk and i got together. hang on, they said, we thought you needed a sensitive type? you know the sort of guy who dries tears, not causes them to flow as freely as the bloody danube?

sensitive, caring. a smorgasboard of qualities. he should be this and he should be that.
my ideal man?
my IDEAL.

you made one mistake in your brilliant analysis of my sometimes fucked and sometimes brilliant relationship.

ideals don't exist except in your head. they never have in mine.

ideals are yardsticks you will never measure up to. no i will not meet tall dark and handsome unless im blonde beautiful and busty.

ideals work both ways, luv.

breakfast in bed with red roses on the side?

how about semi burned eggs and toast eaten off the frying pan?

drinking champagne out of each other's glasses?

what and twist a tendon while twining arms? how aboutdrinking white straight from the bottle? a swig for me, and another for you.

romantic luncheon dates with lots of salad and finger food.

steak with all the trimmings, and guiness downed in a gulp.

long late night phone conversations.

they dont get longer or later, lah!

no, he isn't ideal but that doesnt stop him from being perfect. in just about every which way.

maybe he isnt as sensitive as you would have liked him to be, but...

what about the times he dried your tears?
when he kept awake till stupid o clock to psych you for your doctor appointments?
called you long distance just to say hi?
held you while you slept?
and while you wept?
kissed you good morning and good night?
kissed you for no reason at all?
said i love you and meant it?
what about the times you watched him sleep
and struggle to be what you wanted him to be?

i am your wonderwall you say to me, Shubhendu.

You are mine.

You're my redemption.

and i love you so....

2006-02-05T01:38:00.000+05:30

why go dancing in the dark?
when feet turn to lead and the eyes begin to cringe
when four and four make two and the worlds all nonsense
dunk your head in a barrel then; why go dancing in the dark?
philosophy and ethics make sense now
and all the worlds a bloody stage
and you're the bemused audience
drink on, keeping on then
why go dancing in the dark?

2006-02-02T02:31:00.000+05:30

the night is still young, she smiled. what do you want to do now?

my face fell. oh i dont know, S-, I mumbled. i have a curfew...i need to be home by ten.

S-s, smile wobbled. in her defence, it was a pretty good attempt to hide the laughter. it didnt last too long. i dont quite know how to describe how she laughs. part cynical snort, part disbelieving titer, part good old fashioned humour. S is my closest and oldest girl friend, but it is at times like this that i wish she weren't quite so...S like.

i downed my breezer (yeah yeah its the cheapest alcopop they have back home) and grabbed my glittery little bag. i have to go, i mumbled.

oh don't leave like that, she grinned. one last dance?

love to, babes- but me heels are fuckin killin me.

and i was gone.

....

this is the start of one of the most cynical short stories i'll have written so far- yes note the tense, it is unwritten so far. COPYRIGHT!!!

2006-02-01T00:49:00.000+05:30

I have been tagged before; I haven't much liked it. I don't like to be very up close and personal. Anyway, let's get this over and done with (I'm sorry to sound ungracious, Anup, but his is how I am).

Sex of my perfect lover: Male ( I'm straight)

Qualities he should have ( alas, ideals don't exist)

8. Accept the fact that women are born nags. But we only do it because we love you so much. :)

7. At least pretend to be clean!

6. be committed; and honor that committment. On again off again things aren't for me.

5. Accept that while I'm a mind reader of sorts, I'm not the bloody Oracle. So don't sulk and pretend everything's okay when its not.

4. Don't pretend to be interested in things I like if you're not, dammit! And don't expect me to understand or like the Godfather.

3. I like romance sometimes. And compliments. But not fake or syrupy ones. And not red roses; they're so damn passe!

2. Understand that when I'm upset I retreat into my shell. Just hold me close and I'll be okay.

1. Love me like crazy...and no one else.

I'm demanding am I not? I'm not tagging another 8 odd people...this skein ends here.

Hang on- perfect lover? Tsk tsk tsk...I don't like to live in sin.

2006-01-31T04:49:00.000+05:30

oh jolly good show old girl, exceptionally well done.

brain, thou marvelous appendage. work for once, will you?

screenshot one. an idea is born in the sweltering heat of summer. madness and anarchy, a novel with a grand design and a far too complicated to be plausible plot.

ugh.

screenshot two. relocation to the united kingdom; an MA and all that. work work work on shorter peices different genres and everything else nice and nasty. that brilliant idea is pushed aside. it simmers and steams. it sticks to the stove.

enter a new module. the ART of the SHORT story. the novel is split up into two loooong stories.

too too damn complex. too many voices, too many stylistic devices. too much to say and not enough of a canvas to say it in.

me da fool.

it will never work as a short story.

brilliant, absofuckinlutely brilliant job, for le caffeine addict. jarred on by sugarless coffee( mind the diet, see)...for once that rusty old brain actually exhaled something.

a novel is born.
no.
a novel is created.
plotted; drafted and redrafted.
classical techniques. iconoclastic and melodramatic techniques.

welcome, one and all to my anagnorisis.

i would recommend you to Butcher's translation of Aristotle's Poetics to get a handle on that word.

maybe that chimney sweep was lucky...although fictional; although a movie; although Dick Van Dyke; although a terribly false cockney accent.

if this is this, then that.

how bloody logical.

gute nacht- ich muss machen gut geschlafen...excusez moi Francais, ladies and gents- no thats german...

no, not rum.

i gave birth to an idea today.

high...

on my self...

you should try it sometime.

2006-01-29T21:19:00.000+05:30

chim chiminee chim chiminee chim chim cheree
a sweep is as lucky as lucky can be...
chim chiminee chim chiminee chim chem cheroo
good luck will rub off when he shakes hands with you...

a weekend of reading. pushkin and chekov. ken jones and david cobb. haiku and haibun. of arsenic and old lace and mary poppins. frank capra and citizen kane.

the railway children and fruit salad.

diets.

the week that was.

2006-01-26T05:32:00.000+05:30

Union

The pillows are thrown far away

Icy feet

Fire within

My stomach wiggles

Cellulite’s setting in

Body blossoming slowly

Ragged nails

Filed to the quick

To minimize scarring-

Will he draw first blood tonight

Or will I?

We wrestle with the heavy duvet

It’s too cold to do without

Candles are lit.

Dig deep into his skin

Leaving half moons of desire

I’ve done it; drawn blood

He responds wildly

Slavering over my chin

Sipping at my breast

Knotting my tresses

Drawing out my sighs

I pull him in; he pushes away

And bites

I yank his ear

I climb on top

Inhale his scent

His soft, soft hair

That adorable stomach

Those lean hips

And that smug grin

Push and pull

Time flies out of the window

Beads of sweat on my body

Mine? Or his?

He collapses. Dead to the world

I’m dead. And alive.

I stretch

Newborn.

2006-01-26T00:17:00.000+05:30

give me a reason, i beg of you.

to stay or to leave. to relocate or revamp myself.

winter gales
a bird poops
on my window

i haikuist?

i writer, i poet.

the egotisitcal sublime. keatsian, oh so sensuous. abnegation of self?

not bloody likely.

abnegation of what, then?

what is love?
tis not heareafter
present mirth hath present laughter
whats to come is still unsue
in delay there lies no plenty

and yet, and yet...
a wait, an endless wait.
for SOMEone SOMEthing, something, yes.

the le lotus bleu.

cordon bleu, with roasted chicken and vegetables on the side. pavlova and shortcake for dessert,

life is a tea table.

2006-01-24T21:59:00.000+05:30

The day his world went boom

You sat placidly eating your curds and whey. I hummed along to golden oldies.

Logs cracked and fireplaces smoked. Pink Floyd strains filled the air, and the bathtub bubbled merrily. I shampooed in apple scented splendour and you shaved with the smell of rain. We played solitaire showdown on the computer and cooked spaghetti in salt water.

Mum cooked pineapple chutney and a bird crapped on my window.

Oh yes, life was good the day his world went boom.

An alien skyped me from Carmarthen, and the Jolly Roger went down with all hands.

Basho’s haiku solaced me while you fed on Impressionist art.

I cleaned my room that day.

That day when his world went boom.

2006-01-24T20:41:00.000+05:30

filibuster.

i, firecracker.

unflinching, unforgiving.

to err may be human, but to forgive isn't my job.

arsenic and old lace. violent and vituperative.

everyhting in life comes full circle- and then closes. ceases to be.

hallelujah.

bushwah.

migrained mind, jaundiced brain.