Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Me.Now
They told us back in school, everything had its own time. There was no paying heed, the time was ours to kill, the days were ours through wakefulness. Four and a half months since I last held a job, about two since I last wrote something and perhaps a year since something accidentally meaningful resulted out of a compulsive typed babble. When in a rush life sometimes has its own ways of slowing you down. For now it's my time to sit and watch things pass, for life to take its course as I settle into every day. Every day is an event, almost an achievement to pass with about two items in my to-do-list. Everything comes a full circle to indicate its end in the most explicit way, there is little one needs to wait for hints to. Perhaps it's time, to build myself a new contraption, a brand new series of events that will eventually come back to right where I started from to its natural end. There's a passiveness that has built over the years to bring it to its present state where there is not much that calls for reaction, there is very little that does not lead to something familiar. It's all seen, all done, I can almost feel and taste everything that is mentioned around me. Most writing feels bland too, most days plain dates. The cycle of change will soon begin, the rush will soon be back. I will be back on my feet to tread a stranger aimless path. Little things will soon be little again.
Me. Now
1. Awaiting Xmas
2. Watching sitcoms clad in my nightgown
3. Loving December rains
4. Postponing work
5. Ignoring the state of my house
6. Rediscovering Come Undone- Duran Duran
7. Driving
8. Sleeping
Me. Now
1. Awaiting Xmas
2. Watching sitcoms clad in my nightgown
3. Loving December rains
4. Postponing work
5. Ignoring the state of my house
6. Rediscovering Come Undone- Duran Duran
7. Driving
8. Sleeping
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Phew!
I've concluded I need recuperation after a day of this sort, where every one of your strongly held beliefs is proven the other way....Murphy presides over the happenings of each day of mine...Hail you...but let me be!
1. 'Twinkies' are kids I discover after being subject to 150 of them, with their parents in a single room, all screaming at the same time and relentlessly clad in sarongs set for a fashion show that was about to begin and never really did. Worse, I was there looking for something to place on my much esteemed page 3 for the next day.
2. After a series of American interns I've been subject to, I've been able to establish a rough pattern in the average questions per minute with them going as high as 10 for the American non-jews. After the aforementioned encounter with the twinkies I was subject to oversee one such at a film screening cum exhibition cum socialite-we-are-all-arty-farty-get-together where so many linked into one was a cause of much concern and many more questions.
3. All seemed within limits of handling until an outbreak which was to reveal the lack of anything page 3 worthy for the next day. Now Sunday in a sleepy Tam-brahm driven city is not particularly the perfect day to catch the skimpily clad in the photographable spots. Without much ado the emptiness of the watering holes was established and other options were witnessed being explored. Three hours of solving dire P3 crisis finally ended in the arty-farty posing p3. The next task in hand of course was to explain to the wannabe- journo- art critic- suddenly enlightened American that the to-be 500 word art piece was going to make it no more than a 150 word 'party piece'. And this I miserably failed at resorting to offering to do the smaller piece myself and letting him divulge as much info he wanted to through his first-hand journalistic attempt.
4. After the p3 for the next day was tackled, we headed out for coffee, in desperate need of it to calm my achin nerves I paid little attention to the road ahead, ending up crossroads where I was lost on my way out. The firang graciously offered to guide me back by directing me towards a cow he had seen on his way in. Screaming at that point and location did not seem advisable.
5. Coffee was a story in itself when the American, met the very American-like by far the two people who get onto my nerves the most in this city over conversations bordering around everything and leading to absolutely nothing.
6. There was little left to be done except down my coffee as soon as I could and vanish from this otherwise attempt to relax.
7. Leaving the American under the care of a friend, I said, "Please take care of him, and make sure he gets nowhere but home". To which he retorted, "In what way". Every bit of sanity and patience seemed to have escaped my nerves and I darted out of the door.
1. 'Twinkies' are kids I discover after being subject to 150 of them, with their parents in a single room, all screaming at the same time and relentlessly clad in sarongs set for a fashion show that was about to begin and never really did. Worse, I was there looking for something to place on my much esteemed page 3 for the next day.
2. After a series of American interns I've been subject to, I've been able to establish a rough pattern in the average questions per minute with them going as high as 10 for the American non-jews. After the aforementioned encounter with the twinkies I was subject to oversee one such at a film screening cum exhibition cum socialite-we-are-all-arty-farty-get-together where so many linked into one was a cause of much concern and many more questions.
3. All seemed within limits of handling until an outbreak which was to reveal the lack of anything page 3 worthy for the next day. Now Sunday in a sleepy Tam-brahm driven city is not particularly the perfect day to catch the skimpily clad in the photographable spots. Without much ado the emptiness of the watering holes was established and other options were witnessed being explored. Three hours of solving dire P3 crisis finally ended in the arty-farty posing p3. The next task in hand of course was to explain to the wannabe- journo- art critic- suddenly enlightened American that the to-be 500 word art piece was going to make it no more than a 150 word 'party piece'. And this I miserably failed at resorting to offering to do the smaller piece myself and letting him divulge as much info he wanted to through his first-hand journalistic attempt.
4. After the p3 for the next day was tackled, we headed out for coffee, in desperate need of it to calm my achin nerves I paid little attention to the road ahead, ending up crossroads where I was lost on my way out. The firang graciously offered to guide me back by directing me towards a cow he had seen on his way in. Screaming at that point and location did not seem advisable.
5. Coffee was a story in itself when the American, met the very American-like by far the two people who get onto my nerves the most in this city over conversations bordering around everything and leading to absolutely nothing.
6. There was little left to be done except down my coffee as soon as I could and vanish from this otherwise attempt to relax.
7. Leaving the American under the care of a friend, I said, "Please take care of him, and make sure he gets nowhere but home". To which he retorted, "In what way". Every bit of sanity and patience seemed to have escaped my nerves and I darted out of the door.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Ramblings
I look outside,
sunshine demands sleep
I wanna look out but I refrain
I spend the hours in slumber
there's so much demanding attention
the early hours, are tender
there's a world outside
waiting to gobble me,
waiting so I don't sleep
so I feel, unlike me
the warm baths are easy,
the warm water, the soothing aromas
caressing, a memory of some perhaps
there ain't so much to do
there's no time to watch
run run, its the buzz, its another day
the world outside is pleasant
welcoming at first,
harsher soon, there's no sparing
the sounds are beautiful
the sights regular, passing magic
its second nature, to just keep going
no directions, none need taking
i drive, i walk, i think little
a swarm engulfs you
the keyboards start ticking,
the tv blares,
the black n white papers are all around
as far as I can see
I drown in them, in a flurry of escaping thoughts
the red marks are a blur,
I dream of them sometimes
I see many faces, I barely stop
I laugh, the pen empowers me
there's so much beneath it
there's so much I could do
with what lies beneath it
with the world tomorrow
a flick can do the job, sometimes lesser
I refrain, I work, I do the ordinary
I run away sometimes,
when the text begins to blind me
the last command is a relief,
an accomplishment, small yet fulfilling
the rhythm outside, a signal
the cycle now begins
ends only when the damage is done,even undone
the rustle is nostslgic,
the evenings are bliss, heady
the flickering lights ease me
the music makes me merge
in a bigger swarm,
in the life of a city
many spent at places
that remind me of times
many I can't remember
many play with my memory
I can't stay, and I do
I wait, I dread the people
I talk with ease,
my mind plays tricks, there aint a brink
on thought, on action
I've stuck the face on, with care
it doesn't fall so easy, it stays
it will, as long as you will
I've let it slip, rarely
I don't want to remember
Here I've discovered myself,
Here I've lived, loved and learnt to forget
Here's where all has been lost
here's where I matter
I am no speck in the swarm
I've seen heads turn
I've turned away
I know I've let it grow
I know I've always known how to fit
I know I could alienate
the sights are overwhelming
there's little knowledge of tomorrow
too much small talk, too much to keep from hearing
I've wanted to grip at some hand
in the remote crowd, squeeze just to keep there
I've walked out too many times
I've returned,
there is nowhere to go from here
there's this consciousness that rules
there's alwas someone who waits
always someone who cares
understands even
but there's little to talk
little that can be said
much else to share
the day ahead will not wait
the night will die
the glitter will fade
my dreams will resort to monochrome again
I wish to wake up
to colour, to voices
to a smile, even anger
the tears have stayed
the vague pictures too
there's much I dream
there's little I ask for
sunshine demands sleep
I wanna look out but I refrain
I spend the hours in slumber
there's so much demanding attention
the early hours, are tender
there's a world outside
waiting to gobble me,
waiting so I don't sleep
so I feel, unlike me
the warm baths are easy,
the warm water, the soothing aromas
caressing, a memory of some perhaps
there ain't so much to do
there's no time to watch
run run, its the buzz, its another day
the world outside is pleasant
welcoming at first,
harsher soon, there's no sparing
the sounds are beautiful
the sights regular, passing magic
its second nature, to just keep going
no directions, none need taking
i drive, i walk, i think little
a swarm engulfs you
the keyboards start ticking,
the tv blares,
the black n white papers are all around
as far as I can see
I drown in them, in a flurry of escaping thoughts
the red marks are a blur,
I dream of them sometimes
I see many faces, I barely stop
I laugh, the pen empowers me
there's so much beneath it
there's so much I could do
with what lies beneath it
with the world tomorrow
a flick can do the job, sometimes lesser
I refrain, I work, I do the ordinary
I run away sometimes,
when the text begins to blind me
the last command is a relief,
an accomplishment, small yet fulfilling
the rhythm outside, a signal
the cycle now begins
ends only when the damage is done,even undone
the rustle is nostslgic,
the evenings are bliss, heady
the flickering lights ease me
the music makes me merge
in a bigger swarm,
in the life of a city
many spent at places
that remind me of times
many I can't remember
many play with my memory
I can't stay, and I do
I wait, I dread the people
I talk with ease,
my mind plays tricks, there aint a brink
on thought, on action
I've stuck the face on, with care
it doesn't fall so easy, it stays
it will, as long as you will
I've let it slip, rarely
I don't want to remember
Here I've discovered myself,
Here I've lived, loved and learnt to forget
Here's where all has been lost
here's where I matter
I am no speck in the swarm
I've seen heads turn
I've turned away
I know I've let it grow
I know I've always known how to fit
I know I could alienate
the sights are overwhelming
there's little knowledge of tomorrow
too much small talk, too much to keep from hearing
I've wanted to grip at some hand
in the remote crowd, squeeze just to keep there
I've walked out too many times
I've returned,
there is nowhere to go from here
there's this consciousness that rules
there's alwas someone who waits
always someone who cares
understands even
but there's little to talk
little that can be said
much else to share
the day ahead will not wait
the night will die
the glitter will fade
my dreams will resort to monochrome again
I wish to wake up
to colour, to voices
to a smile, even anger
the tears have stayed
the vague pictures too
there's much I dream
there's little I ask for
Friday, April 3, 2009
Notes to myself
I write notes to myself every night(my phone lets me do that) so I wake up to read them and let them stay in my head.
I am going right back to my workaholic self, little sleep doesn't bother anymore, the heat yes, has tanned one arm to a shade I have never seen on myself.
I set myself on a light board for the first time, it was a gallore I had never been exposed to before, the switches, the dimmers, gave me a weird kick, much unlike the high of performing on stage but an incomperable appeal. It was a world of possibilites, like a canvas, where I could play around and render a perspective to an entire performance. I would love to go back and do it with a tad bit of expertise, but this aint the time. Theatre is slowly taking a back seat. Time is running out, for what I can't see, but I can hear the clock ticking somewhere and every moment is a rush.
I am not writing much, I am waiting for something, something big that will make me fall in love with my work again and it's taking time.
I don't read the papers, I haven't missed much, its phenomenal how much one can learn by just over-hearing.
I love the drive back home more than ever, the music is a given, it calms me enough to get back in contact with people.
Every day lived is like a landmark, life is getting unpredictable, the moment will never return, and I don't want to let any pass without a notice.
I've sipped endless cups of coffee alone, it's become a soothing part of my otherwise non-existent routine. The smell of coffee is enticing all over again. There are a few places that make you get away from the rush and watch time stand still. Amethyst will be etched in my memory for longer than I can forsee.
The more I rever this city, the lesser it demands reverance from me. I can never belong, but I feel inseparably linked.
I am beginning to regard Rasam rice and curd rice as regular food, and I give into cravings of it at 3am or some hour as unearthly at that.
The ECR will remain my little unexplored secret, something I shall traverse once surity sets in.
I can't get myself to switch channels when Tamil music plays on the FM, it seems to have seeped into deeper levels of acceptance, almost synonymous with normalcy.
I am safe, undoubtedly, and that's a feeling beyond expression.
Colours still speak loud about my moods.
I am hooked to Tere Bin by Rabbi, it plays on loop on my comp and phone, all day long.
I've seen so much wear off, I've begun doubting anything stays. I've developed an ability to detach, something I considered myself incapable of.
I've begun sounding busy when I am, or would rather not talk.
I visit art galleries more often that I ever did, I spend hours in them and I can tell an artist by a painting.
An unsettling feeling grips me at the mention of a place in the city I haven't visited.
I've developed a strange, almost obsessive liking for mushrooms.
I've begun disregarding corporate culture and flout every norm I thought I couldn't.
I haven't slept or worken up on the same time on two consecutive days in a long long time.
I love walking barefoot on the office floor, I love standing outside the press in the evenings and listening to rhythm.
I take an intentional detour almost everytime I drive in the evenings.
I dream of a getaway all by myself, and I can't seem to supress the urge.
I haven't tied up my hair in a month( I've lost every clip/ band) and the smell of my own hair makes me heady.
I've spent an evening where everything I sipped or ate had a flavouring of cinnamon from whiskey with cinnamon to crepes to cakes.
I've left quite a few calls unreturned, and I still remember the date and time of each.
I've decided to spend an entire day shopping for things I desperately need, it includes clips, a tin opener and many knick-knacks I've been listing.
I still wake up wishing it rained. I dream in the mornings and don't disconnect for hours of wakefullness.
I am going right back to my workaholic self, little sleep doesn't bother anymore, the heat yes, has tanned one arm to a shade I have never seen on myself.
I set myself on a light board for the first time, it was a gallore I had never been exposed to before, the switches, the dimmers, gave me a weird kick, much unlike the high of performing on stage but an incomperable appeal. It was a world of possibilites, like a canvas, where I could play around and render a perspective to an entire performance. I would love to go back and do it with a tad bit of expertise, but this aint the time. Theatre is slowly taking a back seat. Time is running out, for what I can't see, but I can hear the clock ticking somewhere and every moment is a rush.
I am not writing much, I am waiting for something, something big that will make me fall in love with my work again and it's taking time.
I don't read the papers, I haven't missed much, its phenomenal how much one can learn by just over-hearing.
I love the drive back home more than ever, the music is a given, it calms me enough to get back in contact with people.
Every day lived is like a landmark, life is getting unpredictable, the moment will never return, and I don't want to let any pass without a notice.
I've sipped endless cups of coffee alone, it's become a soothing part of my otherwise non-existent routine. The smell of coffee is enticing all over again. There are a few places that make you get away from the rush and watch time stand still. Amethyst will be etched in my memory for longer than I can forsee.
The more I rever this city, the lesser it demands reverance from me. I can never belong, but I feel inseparably linked.
I am beginning to regard Rasam rice and curd rice as regular food, and I give into cravings of it at 3am or some hour as unearthly at that.
The ECR will remain my little unexplored secret, something I shall traverse once surity sets in.
I can't get myself to switch channels when Tamil music plays on the FM, it seems to have seeped into deeper levels of acceptance, almost synonymous with normalcy.
I am safe, undoubtedly, and that's a feeling beyond expression.
Colours still speak loud about my moods.
I am hooked to Tere Bin by Rabbi, it plays on loop on my comp and phone, all day long.
I've seen so much wear off, I've begun doubting anything stays. I've developed an ability to detach, something I considered myself incapable of.
I've begun sounding busy when I am, or would rather not talk.
I visit art galleries more often that I ever did, I spend hours in them and I can tell an artist by a painting.
An unsettling feeling grips me at the mention of a place in the city I haven't visited.
I've developed a strange, almost obsessive liking for mushrooms.
I've begun disregarding corporate culture and flout every norm I thought I couldn't.
I haven't slept or worken up on the same time on two consecutive days in a long long time.
I love walking barefoot on the office floor, I love standing outside the press in the evenings and listening to rhythm.
I take an intentional detour almost everytime I drive in the evenings.
I dream of a getaway all by myself, and I can't seem to supress the urge.
I haven't tied up my hair in a month( I've lost every clip/ band) and the smell of my own hair makes me heady.
I've spent an evening where everything I sipped or ate had a flavouring of cinnamon from whiskey with cinnamon to crepes to cakes.
I've left quite a few calls unreturned, and I still remember the date and time of each.
I've decided to spend an entire day shopping for things I desperately need, it includes clips, a tin opener and many knick-knacks I've been listing.
I still wake up wishing it rained. I dream in the mornings and don't disconnect for hours of wakefullness.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Chocolates can be psychic
What do you do when a chocolate wrapper tells you You need to get your feet massaged or Look at yourself in the mirror and smile! I don’t know how anyone else would react to that but I am convinced they can see and are psychic, and also mum’s little prank on me (this is what happens when you have a mom who can look through and has a sense of humour to make matters worse).
It’s perhaps those times when every thing seems like it has underlying signals, books, music, billboards, places, conversations, smell…..even chocolate. (And then they call me paranoid!) For now its been four days of Zara’s, chocolates, work, a purple obsession and Dev D uninterrupted!
It’s perhaps those times when every thing seems like it has underlying signals, books, music, billboards, places, conversations, smell…..even chocolate. (And then they call me paranoid!) For now its been four days of Zara’s, chocolates, work, a purple obsession and Dev D uninterrupted!
Friday, March 6, 2009
I watch
I've been watching films lately, watching everything around me actually, with an eye that perhaps never existed before. Everything feels different when you don't evade the many layers it might have and create an illusion entirely your own, finding in it a meaning that is so specific to your life and yet seems like it is out there in the open put together perfectly by someone who you don't and may not have any relation to. Its beautiful to let something symbolic remain symbolic and not a means of leading you on to incidents/ parts in your life. Its true nothing really evokes emotion strong enough unless related to something directly affecting your being/ evolving at some stage in life.
The point here being sometimes it helps to just watch, be that silent spectator, without a set of preconcieved notions or expectations. It's perhaps this they meant in all those lessons of objectivity towards being the oh-so- perfect journalist.
In about two days I have watched four absolutely diverse Indian films that take you through a plethora of communities, customs, religious associations and circumstancial concerns.
From Kaya Taran, a film on a Sikh-Catholic conversion during the 84 anti-Sikh riots to a documentary Sole Voice, Soul Voice about the first Rajasthani Manganaik female performer all the way to a documentary about Gulmohar Avenue, a Muslim dominated residential locality commonly called mini-Pakistan in Delhi and a feature Naseem set in the times of the demolition of Babri Masjid. The diversity of the films in itself left me warped and gazing into space for long hours merely trying to recollect all that I saw. There were times when I felt a connection, a deep relation to the movements on the screen which disappeared in a short span the moment my attention shifted to other details that made the words disappear to sound nothing close to understandable, almost inaudible. My mind seemed to be playing tricks with images appearing in flashes to never appear again, and voices, a babble of sorts. The little things I noticed made me laugh to myself, almost giggle loud enough to let the person in the next seat spring up in surprise. Devoid of thought attached to them films are a string of disconnected images that cloud your vision, with subtitles doing the trick with the speed making it feel like one optical illusion after the other.
More often than not I've drawn meaning out of things I have watched, tried to at least, making the visual display fade into nothingness with hours of discussing concepts and forgoing almost everything in filmmaking that comes in the steps to follow.
It's a rare feeling, a rarer chance of it staying, for now everything I watch is giving me a high and beckoning me into a new dimension. I can't help but enter the theatres with child-like excitement and douse myself in cups of coffee as I stare at the screen in complete rapture.
The point here being sometimes it helps to just watch, be that silent spectator, without a set of preconcieved notions or expectations. It's perhaps this they meant in all those lessons of objectivity towards being the oh-so- perfect journalist.
In about two days I have watched four absolutely diverse Indian films that take you through a plethora of communities, customs, religious associations and circumstancial concerns.
From Kaya Taran, a film on a Sikh-Catholic conversion during the 84 anti-Sikh riots to a documentary Sole Voice, Soul Voice about the first Rajasthani Manganaik female performer all the way to a documentary about Gulmohar Avenue, a Muslim dominated residential locality commonly called mini-Pakistan in Delhi and a feature Naseem set in the times of the demolition of Babri Masjid. The diversity of the films in itself left me warped and gazing into space for long hours merely trying to recollect all that I saw. There were times when I felt a connection, a deep relation to the movements on the screen which disappeared in a short span the moment my attention shifted to other details that made the words disappear to sound nothing close to understandable, almost inaudible. My mind seemed to be playing tricks with images appearing in flashes to never appear again, and voices, a babble of sorts. The little things I noticed made me laugh to myself, almost giggle loud enough to let the person in the next seat spring up in surprise. Devoid of thought attached to them films are a string of disconnected images that cloud your vision, with subtitles doing the trick with the speed making it feel like one optical illusion after the other.
More often than not I've drawn meaning out of things I have watched, tried to at least, making the visual display fade into nothingness with hours of discussing concepts and forgoing almost everything in filmmaking that comes in the steps to follow.
It's a rare feeling, a rarer chance of it staying, for now everything I watch is giving me a high and beckoning me into a new dimension. I can't help but enter the theatres with child-like excitement and douse myself in cups of coffee as I stare at the screen in complete rapture.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Bangalore!
Its a lil surprising how drunk and dumb a city can get, you seem to find humour in the smallest things everywhere you go, anorexic women, guys wid gelled hair and low-waist jeans who look exactly like each other. Makes you wonder if there is anything people here do apart from stepping out in fancy clothes and gracing the draught counterpart of what we call beer, not that Chennai gives you anything worth classifying as actual beer.
The past few days have been a weird mix of random things, a forced vacation or rather the inability to keep up to what I have taken up as a job brought me here at a mere half hour notice.
- Shopping at the Leela Palace, a wannabe palace like just like most of the city is, satisfied with a lil glimpse of what it could/ should have been
- Three girls in a liquor shop at the Leela (no I refuse to call it a friggin palace), bad bad idea. Sula was the only thing we could settle for without risking a bad liquor day. And which one came more out of a recall of a gift I'd rather not remember.
- Purple Haze, and the singing out loud. Chasing Cars and Caesar!....aimless talks....endless beer...kicks out of an old couple getting cozy adjacent to our table.
- Aimless drive to the faaaar away airport. The aimless search for a tea stall in the middle of the night...
- Roof top curd rice
- Ice Spice and the dumb boundaries, the waiters who felt shifting a few inches would make them fall right in the legality of the smoking ban. Honestly save the few inches I salute you for obeying the law.
- Wine at the shady Scottish bar, the friendly and not-so-efficient bar tender. Golconda wine with the unusual sweetness.
- Sula on the balcony and the silence.
- The tears and the hugs.
Bangalore, subtle and loud in its own way, dumb in another. The city doesnt really make you fall in love with it or anything about yourself but the strangeness of the streets is a comfort I haven't felt in a long long time. Its soothing and scary at the same time. Walking on the streets is comforting, crossing roads isn't. No one seems to look ahead while walking the roads, looking around seems more in vogue. Metaphorical as it may sound, looking behind is worse perhaps.
The past few days have been a weird mix of random things, a forced vacation or rather the inability to keep up to what I have taken up as a job brought me here at a mere half hour notice.
- Shopping at the Leela Palace, a wannabe palace like just like most of the city is, satisfied with a lil glimpse of what it could/ should have been
- Three girls in a liquor shop at the Leela (no I refuse to call it a friggin palace), bad bad idea. Sula was the only thing we could settle for without risking a bad liquor day. And which one came more out of a recall of a gift I'd rather not remember.
- Purple Haze, and the singing out loud. Chasing Cars and Caesar!....aimless talks....endless beer...kicks out of an old couple getting cozy adjacent to our table.
- Aimless drive to the faaaar away airport. The aimless search for a tea stall in the middle of the night...
- Roof top curd rice
- Ice Spice and the dumb boundaries, the waiters who felt shifting a few inches would make them fall right in the legality of the smoking ban. Honestly save the few inches I salute you for obeying the law.
- Wine at the shady Scottish bar, the friendly and not-so-efficient bar tender. Golconda wine with the unusual sweetness.
- Sula on the balcony and the silence.
- The tears and the hugs.
Bangalore, subtle and loud in its own way, dumb in another. The city doesnt really make you fall in love with it or anything about yourself but the strangeness of the streets is a comfort I haven't felt in a long long time. Its soothing and scary at the same time. Walking on the streets is comforting, crossing roads isn't. No one seems to look ahead while walking the roads, looking around seems more in vogue. Metaphorical as it may sound, looking behind is worse perhaps.
Friday, February 27, 2009
History starts now
Anonymity shields...laugh at yourself...cry at crossroads...and walk out feeling you are one amongst many...you are not alone...
Trying to gather and restore pieces of myself....rather whatever is left of me...
Hooked to 'World' by Five For Fighting... "Careful what you wish for, History starts now"
Trying to gather and restore pieces of myself....rather whatever is left of me...
Hooked to 'World' by Five For Fighting... "Careful what you wish for, History starts now"
Sunday, February 22, 2009
This takes the cake
This had to be it I realised while I was driving around not paying so much attention to the ever-blaring song-repeating radio station in my car. When a famous city doc (my job teaches me witholding names for fear of running/bumping into them and have things fired straight back at me) who was being interviewed went into mode senti as her husband called. Also a doc by profession he was asked to drop a message for his wife, and he ever so sweetly went....she is a good wife, mother...blah...blah. The smart RJ cut him short saying I can see her blush here to which the dude reacted saying, "Am I on loudspeaker?" There was utter silence untill the RJ realised what had hit him and went, "You are on air sir". Silence again until the dude said, "So she can hear me?" The conversation was obviously interrupted by a track that had been played a few minutes ago. The loudspeaker bit indeed took me by storm and I laughed for quite a while until I was back home. It beats me, How stupid is too stupid?... And how is the extent of it always proportional to the number of people witnessing/ listening to it?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Notes
Today's not-so-happening events :P
- I woke up claiming it was 10...to discover it was 2 in the pm :0
- I sat on a flight of stairs listening to SPB crooning away 'Dil Diwaana' with orange juice and red balloons for company.
- I threatened to take a cop to the police station, and laughed like a maniac.
- I sipped coffee alone at Amethyst...only to run into someone about four times.
- I watched Slumdog, finally, and it reinstated my belief in gujju potential.
- I sang crazy old hindi songs aloud on Chennai streets...
All this and more...I am 21 now...and this once I feel older.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Ma knows best
Ma very cutely put it, "Your English muscles begin to ache" when I tried telling her I wanted to be home again. It may not make much sense but it couldn't get more apt. Ma you know it all. I concur.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Just another week
Here's a mere list of things/ people I have met/ rubbed shoulders with/ spoken to or rather encountered in any way through a week at work. Also I would like to mention this has been but an ordinary eventless week and could be considered a representation of any other.
- A man , an artist who paints lingerie...I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, it was lingerie indeed but distorted in a way one could easily ignore as just another painting that needs either too much effort or too much time to comprehend , (no I still don’t call it aimless modern art, they almost always have stories behind them, which though might sound the utmost irrelevant are whacky nonetheless).
The same man paints headless figures, and writes in his paintings owing to an incident from his childhood where he accidentally blinded a man.
Intriguing? Crazy?....I stopped short of going hysterical
- An Algerian DJ, in shocking red pants and a red jacket, hair a mix of grey and white tied in a bun on top with strands sweeping his face which he whisked away with his hands tucking them carefully only to do it again in a few seconds. Plays Indian devotional music in clubs remixed with Afro sounds. As cool as it may sound, the result was chaotic sounds in all directions with sudden jarring noises that made people give up wanting to dance at the club. Also the man took suggestiveness to the next level winking as he completed every sentence making me wonder if it was an actual defect, one amongst his gay attributes or plain attempts aimed at me. The entire experience left me quite aghast and in a state of trauma until long after.
- Amongst other things was yet another p3 gathering. A noted artist’s daughter launches a line of soft furnishings. Owing to my stint with a property supplement and a string of home décor oriented stories I gladly took this as an opportunity for a comeback to that line of specialization. Much to my amusement, the celebrated line of furnishings that was cause for the gathering of the who’s who of the town was a display of 20 cushion covers. When I humbly appealed to be shown the entire line, I heard a very astounded, “This is it”, from the ‘creator’ herself, making me feel like a lesser mortal who perhaps did not realise the art work that went into the piece of cloth. She further went into explaining the various themes she had chosen to segregate the pieces and her inspirations. Sure enough she went back to the Vedas, dropping words the sound of which I categorise as tantric and do not probe further into. All this for cushion covers, surely I was a mere illiterate to this field of knowledge. After the enormous display along trees in the courtyard, I happened to pass the tea counters where many a designer clad women who someone with a normal vision would clearly regard as hefty stood by ordering, “No sugar for me please, only sugar free”. Some even exclaiming to the mention of that sinful component. Sugar is indeed sinful; brownies of course aren’t classified similarly. Indulgence was never so guilt-free .
- As an aside came a regular day of work when I was required to attend the weekly meet that starts at an hour as earthly as 12 in the noon. Having skipped these weekly work piling, lame table discussions out of sheer laziness a few times I decided I was going to be goody two shoes this week, what if I had had a few drinks and kept awake till the wee hours, I couldn’t possibly be late for something that began so late I thought. Not surprisingly I woke up when the clock struck 12 to rush myself to the meeting by 1 (it finishes by 1:30 J) Shabbily dressed, hung over and yawning like I hadn’t slept in a week I quietly made my way to a chair realizing of course that I couldn’t really prevent being the centre of attraction after committing a crime as big as that. My absolutely modest boss displaying his faith in me, simply smiled and said, “I knew you’d come, I was quite sure in fact”. In my zonked state I looked up and smiled, hit by another bout of yawns which I made a much unsuccessful attempt to conceal.
- The icing on the cake came with my day at the circus. Here is how it went. I was sent to the Gemini circus for a press conference. Yes, you heard it right, circuses have press conferences, true to their nature, in tents surrounded by camels and many other animals you stand a risk of running into if you are late. I was escorted to this tent after my frazzled looks at the verbal directions. The tent house a swarm of mosquitoes and a bunch of groping old men all in serious conversation about tigers and monkeys. I decided to find a way out of cracking up by making conversation about the Russian artists I was about to meet. I must say, I wasn’t exactly humoured. Stubborn as I can get, they conceded into letting me meet the artists a half hour prior to when the show began. The first one I was introduced to was called ‘Maxim’. He seemed to be very amused with his own name and suggested I should call him ‘maximum’. Clearly the jokes don’t help when everything in the vicinity does not belong to the distinction of Homo sapiens. After this I was taken to their living spaces, on what seemed like an endless walk with clouds of DDT blinding us enough not to notice the route or even a presence as humble as that of an elephant. I stopped a few steps short of Maxim waiting for the cloud to clear only to discover I was facing an elephant a few inches away who did not seem particularly amused at someone walking straight into him. My brief moment of mortification was interrupted by Maxim warning me about the mounds on the way, elephant shit he said, you might not notice. We made our way over planks propped over uneven ground and potholes at places. I was finally shown into a room with about five Russian women and one man besides Maxim himself. I could smell something distinctly familiar and unsettling; I knew it was the smoke, weed not tobacco that reminds me of an unpleasant experience. The room was full, full of everything one could imagine and never imagine in a room. Clothes, cigarettes, tables, chairs, raw meat and mosquitoes which probably covered the larger part of it. A few brief moments of conversation that revealed their roles in the circus and their experiences and I was itching to leave. I said my friendly goodbyes and gestured to Maxim to show me the way out of the trap-like place. He smiled and said, “I hope you will find your way back, it was nice meeting you”. The look on my face went from a paleness to complete horrification at the thought of the daunting task of wading my way out surrounded by elephants. Thankfully, before my imagination leapt any further he offered to escort me to the exit, I admit I didn’t leave him much choice.
Jokes apart, the trip did give me a jolt. After my endless trips to government hospitals I had concluded I couldn’t see worse until I visited the circus. I cringed with the images I had seen hours later, every flash sending a shiver down my spine. Specialised artists being treated like scum in something one would not dare call a ‘living space’. As they prepared for their next show, ten minutes away they seemed content with the surroundings, much at ease themselves minus the embarrassment of my horror at every sight. I felt a sudden sickness in my gut and ran out through the exit. Thoughts of not having probed into the issue with the authorities made me feel guilty, my work was half done, I tried but couldn’t walk back, I was for once scared, scared out of what I had seen. I craved for the comfort of my home, of the walls, the familiarity, the lack of stench, the sickening odour of life in all its many forms.
I am back home, I am safe, what I saw today will stick in my memory and replay itself to make me cringe over and over again until I go back, back there and do my job.
- A man , an artist who paints lingerie...I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, it was lingerie indeed but distorted in a way one could easily ignore as just another painting that needs either too much effort or too much time to comprehend , (no I still don’t call it aimless modern art, they almost always have stories behind them, which though might sound the utmost irrelevant are whacky nonetheless).
The same man paints headless figures, and writes in his paintings owing to an incident from his childhood where he accidentally blinded a man.
Intriguing? Crazy?....I stopped short of going hysterical
- An Algerian DJ, in shocking red pants and a red jacket, hair a mix of grey and white tied in a bun on top with strands sweeping his face which he whisked away with his hands tucking them carefully only to do it again in a few seconds. Plays Indian devotional music in clubs remixed with Afro sounds. As cool as it may sound, the result was chaotic sounds in all directions with sudden jarring noises that made people give up wanting to dance at the club. Also the man took suggestiveness to the next level winking as he completed every sentence making me wonder if it was an actual defect, one amongst his gay attributes or plain attempts aimed at me. The entire experience left me quite aghast and in a state of trauma until long after.
- Amongst other things was yet another p3 gathering. A noted artist’s daughter launches a line of soft furnishings. Owing to my stint with a property supplement and a string of home décor oriented stories I gladly took this as an opportunity for a comeback to that line of specialization. Much to my amusement, the celebrated line of furnishings that was cause for the gathering of the who’s who of the town was a display of 20 cushion covers. When I humbly appealed to be shown the entire line, I heard a very astounded, “This is it”, from the ‘creator’ herself, making me feel like a lesser mortal who perhaps did not realise the art work that went into the piece of cloth. She further went into explaining the various themes she had chosen to segregate the pieces and her inspirations. Sure enough she went back to the Vedas, dropping words the sound of which I categorise as tantric and do not probe further into. All this for cushion covers, surely I was a mere illiterate to this field of knowledge. After the enormous display along trees in the courtyard, I happened to pass the tea counters where many a designer clad women who someone with a normal vision would clearly regard as hefty stood by ordering, “No sugar for me please, only sugar free”. Some even exclaiming to the mention of that sinful component. Sugar is indeed sinful; brownies of course aren’t classified similarly. Indulgence was never so guilt-free .
- As an aside came a regular day of work when I was required to attend the weekly meet that starts at an hour as earthly as 12 in the noon. Having skipped these weekly work piling, lame table discussions out of sheer laziness a few times I decided I was going to be goody two shoes this week, what if I had had a few drinks and kept awake till the wee hours, I couldn’t possibly be late for something that began so late I thought. Not surprisingly I woke up when the clock struck 12 to rush myself to the meeting by 1 (it finishes by 1:30 J) Shabbily dressed, hung over and yawning like I hadn’t slept in a week I quietly made my way to a chair realizing of course that I couldn’t really prevent being the centre of attraction after committing a crime as big as that. My absolutely modest boss displaying his faith in me, simply smiled and said, “I knew you’d come, I was quite sure in fact”. In my zonked state I looked up and smiled, hit by another bout of yawns which I made a much unsuccessful attempt to conceal.
- The icing on the cake came with my day at the circus. Here is how it went. I was sent to the Gemini circus for a press conference. Yes, you heard it right, circuses have press conferences, true to their nature, in tents surrounded by camels and many other animals you stand a risk of running into if you are late. I was escorted to this tent after my frazzled looks at the verbal directions. The tent house a swarm of mosquitoes and a bunch of groping old men all in serious conversation about tigers and monkeys. I decided to find a way out of cracking up by making conversation about the Russian artists I was about to meet. I must say, I wasn’t exactly humoured. Stubborn as I can get, they conceded into letting me meet the artists a half hour prior to when the show began. The first one I was introduced to was called ‘Maxim’. He seemed to be very amused with his own name and suggested I should call him ‘maximum’. Clearly the jokes don’t help when everything in the vicinity does not belong to the distinction of Homo sapiens. After this I was taken to their living spaces, on what seemed like an endless walk with clouds of DDT blinding us enough not to notice the route or even a presence as humble as that of an elephant. I stopped a few steps short of Maxim waiting for the cloud to clear only to discover I was facing an elephant a few inches away who did not seem particularly amused at someone walking straight into him. My brief moment of mortification was interrupted by Maxim warning me about the mounds on the way, elephant shit he said, you might not notice. We made our way over planks propped over uneven ground and potholes at places. I was finally shown into a room with about five Russian women and one man besides Maxim himself. I could smell something distinctly familiar and unsettling; I knew it was the smoke, weed not tobacco that reminds me of an unpleasant experience. The room was full, full of everything one could imagine and never imagine in a room. Clothes, cigarettes, tables, chairs, raw meat and mosquitoes which probably covered the larger part of it. A few brief moments of conversation that revealed their roles in the circus and their experiences and I was itching to leave. I said my friendly goodbyes and gestured to Maxim to show me the way out of the trap-like place. He smiled and said, “I hope you will find your way back, it was nice meeting you”. The look on my face went from a paleness to complete horrification at the thought of the daunting task of wading my way out surrounded by elephants. Thankfully, before my imagination leapt any further he offered to escort me to the exit, I admit I didn’t leave him much choice.
Jokes apart, the trip did give me a jolt. After my endless trips to government hospitals I had concluded I couldn’t see worse until I visited the circus. I cringed with the images I had seen hours later, every flash sending a shiver down my spine. Specialised artists being treated like scum in something one would not dare call a ‘living space’. As they prepared for their next show, ten minutes away they seemed content with the surroundings, much at ease themselves minus the embarrassment of my horror at every sight. I felt a sudden sickness in my gut and ran out through the exit. Thoughts of not having probed into the issue with the authorities made me feel guilty, my work was half done, I tried but couldn’t walk back, I was for once scared, scared out of what I had seen. I craved for the comfort of my home, of the walls, the familiarity, the lack of stench, the sickening odour of life in all its many forms.
I am back home, I am safe, what I saw today will stick in my memory and replay itself to make me cringe over and over again until I go back, back there and do my job.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
aaaargh!
Writing is liberation, from a claustrophobia that comes out of too much in the mind perhaps. A little sorting helps sometimes, somethings always need to be directed right into the trash can, ya, the one thats spilling over already...
Random things
A week in Delhi...back...happy...
1. Its not cold anymore...no need for a quick fix...no matter where you go at what point in the day or night it can't possibly get any close to what you have been calling 'cold' all this while...the heat somehow feels like a blessing
2. The roads seem wider, wider than ever. Driving on them bliss...nothings a tough squeeze anymore. I feel like driving all over town with a rare overpowering confidence that comes outta having seen the worst.
3. No more contemplating where to go and when based on parking speculations which almost always give into Murphy's divine law.
4. I don't cock my ears to the sound of a few words of Hindi dropped about anywhere in the vicinity of where I am located. Hindi music now sounds normal, not an unusual luxury.
5. Windows don't need to be closed for fear of prying neighbours (read Punju women) who somehow always manage to catch you doing or saying something that can be fit into any context in any way and used to their best advantage.
6. People jostling on the roads IS cause for concern...and cannot be undermined/ ignored as a fight over stupid (read utterly important) things such as parking space.
7. It is absolutely normal to wear a jeans and a tee!...a visit to the local kiraane waala (panwadi) whatever the case may be does not require matching earrings! Flip flops are wearable and not regarded as signs of tam influence.
8. A gurudwara is a landmark! You aren't posed with daunting questions like 'which one?'
9. Surds suddenly CAN be counted without the risk of being beaten up at their mention.
10. Swearing is serious business, not way of conversation.
Things that make me wanna go back
Rampyari chai
Fruit mojitos
socks
Heaters
Quilts
Aloo tikki
Radio Mirchi
NSD
India Gate
Fab India
Costa
CP
1. Its not cold anymore...no need for a quick fix...no matter where you go at what point in the day or night it can't possibly get any close to what you have been calling 'cold' all this while...the heat somehow feels like a blessing
2. The roads seem wider, wider than ever. Driving on them bliss...nothings a tough squeeze anymore. I feel like driving all over town with a rare overpowering confidence that comes outta having seen the worst.
3. No more contemplating where to go and when based on parking speculations which almost always give into Murphy's divine law.
4. I don't cock my ears to the sound of a few words of Hindi dropped about anywhere in the vicinity of where I am located. Hindi music now sounds normal, not an unusual luxury.
5. Windows don't need to be closed for fear of prying neighbours (read Punju women) who somehow always manage to catch you doing or saying something that can be fit into any context in any way and used to their best advantage.
6. People jostling on the roads IS cause for concern...and cannot be undermined/ ignored as a fight over stupid (read utterly important) things such as parking space.
7. It is absolutely normal to wear a jeans and a tee!...a visit to the local kiraane waala (panwadi) whatever the case may be does not require matching earrings! Flip flops are wearable and not regarded as signs of tam influence.
8. A gurudwara is a landmark! You aren't posed with daunting questions like 'which one?'
9. Surds suddenly CAN be counted without the risk of being beaten up at their mention.
10. Swearing is serious business, not way of conversation.
Things that make me wanna go back
Rampyari chai
Fruit mojitos
socks
Heaters
Quilts
Aloo tikki
Radio Mirchi
NSD
India Gate
Fab India
Costa
CP
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