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
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Memory
' I don't wanna move a thing....
It might change my memory'... Dido
Amongst the many weird things I relate to.....I wouldn't move a speck to let those memories remain.
It might change my memory'... Dido
Amongst the many weird things I relate to.....I wouldn't move a speck to let those memories remain.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
In monochrome
Someone said I should write...a little more readable, minus all those continuities...sentences, grammar driven. I am beyond repair, I am over writing to be read, reminds me of work. Work.. none now.
There's nothing predictable, the things you do, the results and whatever comes in between.
I love my home, I love the way it looks, I love how it screams out ME!! from every nook of it. I hate unlocking doors, doors that open into darkness and hardly a world beyond. I love noise, music sometimes sounds like a blurr, early after a sleepless night when you lie close to a speaker, maybe its just my disorientation.
There's nothing on my mind, except the thought of the next day, the new morning/ afternoon, the after-taste of the night and a tingling pain.
I can't define my needs, I've spent days in yonder, I've cried over and over in shock for someone I barely knew but can't ever forget.
I've walked out of a show coz I couldn't contain my tears.
Will I ever stop associating people with the places I see everyday, the clothes I wear, the sounds I hear? The distinct smell?
I want to write more often, I am sleepless enough. I want to sleep, but that's another thing.
The course of my life might forever change with the things I do today, now. I refuse to take notice. There's a passivness, in my voice. A detachment, it's a part of me. Nothing seems to deserve reaction. Its a world in monochrome, a life in black and white as he put it. Clear lines, hazy at the edges yet devoid of any bursts of colour that evoke reaction.
Days and nights are passing, quick, I want them to be fuller, fuller so I don't lose them so soon.
There's nothing predictable, the things you do, the results and whatever comes in between.
I love my home, I love the way it looks, I love how it screams out ME!! from every nook of it. I hate unlocking doors, doors that open into darkness and hardly a world beyond. I love noise, music sometimes sounds like a blurr, early after a sleepless night when you lie close to a speaker, maybe its just my disorientation.
There's nothing on my mind, except the thought of the next day, the new morning/ afternoon, the after-taste of the night and a tingling pain.
I can't define my needs, I've spent days in yonder, I've cried over and over in shock for someone I barely knew but can't ever forget.
I've walked out of a show coz I couldn't contain my tears.
Will I ever stop associating people with the places I see everyday, the clothes I wear, the sounds I hear? The distinct smell?
I want to write more often, I am sleepless enough. I want to sleep, but that's another thing.
The course of my life might forever change with the things I do today, now. I refuse to take notice. There's a passivness, in my voice. A detachment, it's a part of me. Nothing seems to deserve reaction. Its a world in monochrome, a life in black and white as he put it. Clear lines, hazy at the edges yet devoid of any bursts of colour that evoke reaction.
Days and nights are passing, quick, I want them to be fuller, fuller so I don't lose them so soon.
Monday, July 7, 2008
in love...again
Two months have flown, literally...work...forms a part of me...somewhere within...occupies my being my consciousness and fills the bits of the lack of it...its like living work...the life non- existent...
Hate to admit this...but I love the constant pressure...the paradox of each day....and the city..making me fall in love with itself...over and over again....at the end of everyday...
As immaterial as the person who said this to me would be I find it the truest ever....this city grows onto you...into your conscience in a way it's almost a fear gripping you...the thought of having to do without it....of things that make you connect and disconnect surpassing your own existence..
And sometimes the realisation strikes you at those moments you'd truly call nonchalant...a discussion...where I see myself defending it in a way I'd never do for something I held onto and would refuse to let go...
It is perhaps something about letting go that makes me fall in love...clutch harder...grow fonder...relive...recall...
I've loved...lost...broken...rebuilt...learnt....felt...thought...realised ..grown....and in everything it seems impossible to isolate...far from remove the city...the backdrop...its being...as patient as ever...waiting...perhaps longing for acceptance....like I did...
The small changes that came with everyday...make me sit back and notice....of the changes that developed in me...out of habit...and yet a certain consciousness that comes out of calling something my own.
I still have my share of cravings....of wanting to go 'home'....to a place where belongingness surpases the fondness...the viability of living with it....and its capability of fulfilling what I now call my needs.
It's a marvel...looking back at a day at the end of it...just one day...and the every little thing I've learnt throught it...the little warmth every thing/ person made me feel through it. The paradox of co-existence...the extent of it...boggles me...and yet it has turned unspeakable..more now than ever before...
A time when I felt expressing the difference in me was the hardest thing to do...has turned to one when the simple things that have crept into me have turned harder to express.
Concealed on the surface...like the charm of that first crush...that you fear might lessen when expressed...I refuse to open up with this long embedded - new found love
Art as it is...an inherent part of a being...is burried deep...in the core...in every aspect of the life of this place...spurting out at the edges in forms unimaginable...in ways that strike you and baffle you with how close you are really to it.
Observing your surroundings..in a large way enhances the learning..of yourself...of the hidden parts in you that need perhaps excavation which comes out of relating to an existence in front of you.
Enough and more...in all days has brought me to this...back to those times...I speak less...write lesser...the words cease when the boundaries of expression become seamless.
On a lighter side...I am at a loss of ways to describe how just a typical day leaves me at a high...
Its the signs....the exploring beyond my restricted physical boundaries...when I take a step ahead...and I am shocked at the lack of the anticipated fear...of the very little or no resistance I receive to them.
My room is back to its... paranomal...cleanliness deprived...paper littered...smoke filled state...I feel at home...
I am up at night...with a day ahead....and work enough to fill every minute I spend typing this....and I feel at ease...
The longings remain...the forgotten ones...the newfound ones...and I plan to blog more often...
Hate to admit this...but I love the constant pressure...the paradox of each day....and the city..making me fall in love with itself...over and over again....at the end of everyday...
As immaterial as the person who said this to me would be I find it the truest ever....this city grows onto you...into your conscience in a way it's almost a fear gripping you...the thought of having to do without it....of things that make you connect and disconnect surpassing your own existence..
And sometimes the realisation strikes you at those moments you'd truly call nonchalant...a discussion...where I see myself defending it in a way I'd never do for something I held onto and would refuse to let go...
It is perhaps something about letting go that makes me fall in love...clutch harder...grow fonder...relive...recall...
I've loved...lost...broken...rebuilt...learnt....felt...thought...realised ..grown....and in everything it seems impossible to isolate...far from remove the city...the backdrop...its being...as patient as ever...waiting...perhaps longing for acceptance....like I did...
The small changes that came with everyday...make me sit back and notice....of the changes that developed in me...out of habit...and yet a certain consciousness that comes out of calling something my own.
I still have my share of cravings....of wanting to go 'home'....to a place where belongingness surpases the fondness...the viability of living with it....and its capability of fulfilling what I now call my needs.
It's a marvel...looking back at a day at the end of it...just one day...and the every little thing I've learnt throught it...the little warmth every thing/ person made me feel through it. The paradox of co-existence...the extent of it...boggles me...and yet it has turned unspeakable..more now than ever before...
A time when I felt expressing the difference in me was the hardest thing to do...has turned to one when the simple things that have crept into me have turned harder to express.
Concealed on the surface...like the charm of that first crush...that you fear might lessen when expressed...I refuse to open up with this long embedded - new found love
Art as it is...an inherent part of a being...is burried deep...in the core...in every aspect of the life of this place...spurting out at the edges in forms unimaginable...in ways that strike you and baffle you with how close you are really to it.
Observing your surroundings..in a large way enhances the learning..of yourself...of the hidden parts in you that need perhaps excavation which comes out of relating to an existence in front of you.
Enough and more...in all days has brought me to this...back to those times...I speak less...write lesser...the words cease when the boundaries of expression become seamless.
On a lighter side...I am at a loss of ways to describe how just a typical day leaves me at a high...
Its the signs....the exploring beyond my restricted physical boundaries...when I take a step ahead...and I am shocked at the lack of the anticipated fear...of the very little or no resistance I receive to them.
My room is back to its... paranomal...cleanliness deprived...paper littered...smoke filled state...I feel at home...
I am up at night...with a day ahead....and work enough to fill every minute I spend typing this....and I feel at ease...
The longings remain...the forgotten ones...the newfound ones...and I plan to blog more often...
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