Me (to friend who just moved to London): How is life there?
Friend: You can smoke in bed and kiss on tubes, the rest is the same.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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!
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