"All i wanna do..."

It has been established by people far smarter that- no writer writes in a vacuum.
Translation- Anything and everything written has buried deep in it a discourse it either conforms to...or attempts to rebel against (only to fail, later... tsk)
Further Translation- A writer Is influenced by his/her surroundings/environment/society..... Yes, even if you go and hide in the Himalayas and survive on a diet of Mountain Air and Goat milk.

According to Eliot, if you attempt to be a poet after the age of 25 you must be familiar with the classical tradition in order to either inculcate it in your work for a deeper understanding of the world or reject it for the same reason. (counts- okay, have about four years and a bit left before i panic..*breathes*)

But what i'm saying (rather painfully slowly actually) is that though writing is affected by lalalala.... blabla (how very unscholarly of me to not repeat)... Actions too Are influenced by the same... BUT, (and here is the fun part, feel free to re-define 'fun')... BUT another persons interpretation of our actions and what they stem from is what leads to-

a) A executing B when he had to slaughter C (lucky day for C.. Psst. *run now*)
b) Relationships Breaking (the most obvious one)
c) Relationships Surviving (you'll be surprised at how often the foundation for the 'forever' relationship is delusion and shared ignorance about reality)
d) Long phone conversations
e) 9 hour coffee dates
f) blog posts (many, and they'll keep coming)

On a different topic altogether, another 7 km walk home (voluntary, mood-ily)
gave me enough things to chew upon, right from the marvellous benefits of sunscreen and the idiocy of the person who forgets to apply it (oops) to how some things just weren't always worth fighting for. The Battle has been long and hard troops comments the bard, but now after only 8 years of the new age Trojan war/5 seasons of waiting for Godot/two weeks of Prufrock musing over coffee.... quit the field we should? The answer will await us all at the very end of the path, oh wait... I think we're already there.

I'm not caught between the moon and new york city (alternative once pointed out by Chandler to Monica, Friends... I must get out of this habit to provide references like this. Esh, assignment hangover).... But definitely scruffy around the edges at being glued to a pendulum.
One side slamming against Music and Lyrics...while Estelle's art beckons..and then the reverse.

Horrible parallels i know, but the best my cold-ed out self could come up with... *atishoo*....

Dayum, hate bloody kinda-winter-maybe-summer colds. Can the season Please make up its mind? Someone should.

Dee-rum-roll

Jean and i had a discussion bout existentialism and absurdity for about 100 texts which led absolutely nowhere (as is obvious). Sw and i figured it out in 3.
Sw- It doesn't make sense to kill yourself, regardless of Camus' idea.
Me- Yup.
Sw- We are brilliant :)

When it was discovered that an E51 has a 'Listen' feature in messages
S forwarded this -
"Ek chumma tu mujhko udhar de de. Badle mein UP bihar le le"
(Our tummy still hurts from laughing)

During Exams when stress levels tend to build up
S (to Sw and i both)- Conrad is probably laughing at all of us right now. From hell.
We never found out the truth about Conrad but it did drag a half choked laugh out of me...

Melancholic cause of a petty-phase that takes over everything and the advice is?
Sh-Drown yourself in something obviously bigger than yourself. Genocide, human rights has always done it for me. Puts everything in focus and slaps me into place. My problems are specks. I will live. So will you. And follow a path you're meant to.

Makes sense-eth plenty?
I love my friends.

Ps- S, have a great trip... and you'de better be back with uber-spicy-o stories.
*love*

Maybe its that time of the year. The time when you look down at your shoelaces and want to walk home just because it'll take you longer to get there. When you're buzzed into the happy zone, want to crawl out or rather lock the room..pull down the blinds..and pretend. Pretend that you don't have things to do.
When any form of conversation outside of your conscience is
a) a waste of time B- frustrating c) ridiculously inappropriate
When crummi-ness has reached a new peak in its (ironic) lowness. No, you want to not feel good about your marks even. Not even they deserve a pat on the head. Or maybe an ear fondle, like a dogs. Like a young dogs.
When eating too much and praying too hard have both passed as phases will.
When writing ridiculous nonsense fifteen times a day becomes just-another activity. When you're mad, but not quite sure what for or who at.
Wait, do know that. The self. Angry at self. Mad at self. Annoyed with self.
Royally pi***d with self (yehp, apparently p***** is now a banned word in the loving home).
You know in college, there are always those fantastic (girl-gang)moments when 3 bestfriends (forgive the cliche') sit down with the 4th and spend hours just talking out her woes. Though 2 of them had somewhere to go (for post-grad application work)... the third (yours truly) naturally just wanted to curl up in the sun... and the 4th. The 4th bore the brunt of our analysis. She seems happier now. The thing is, no ones life seems to be sans complications as of now.
Its either career-worry, boy-troubles, i-dont-care about anything dilemma or just plain i-wish-i-cared-enough-about-self. I don't know. These moments of bonding, they're great and all (probably helpful too) but somehow this phase doesn't see me wanting to let someone else figure this out for me.
Each time i let slide the responsibility of my Own actions, it comes back. Badly.
What would i love the most-est-est-est?
Beyond the obvious, i would love for life to stop being a bloody Ionesco play.
Anu wrote in her Rhino answer something to the effect of language as nonsensical and SK (teacher) scribbled a 'no' on that. I think that is a fantastic parallel (forgive the vanity).. Language has now Become nonsensical... not because of any innate flaw but because of the people who are using it.
Some to veil. Some to taunt. And yes, some to 'vent'.
Because of all the bloody jargon the sense (if ever it was there) gets lost.
I am sick and tired and sick some more of these 'Foolish Games'.
I'm sick of them.
I'm sick of second guessing if i made the right call by not giving every entrance exam in the country.
Sick of thinking about people who Indulge wholeheartedly in the same childish games. I am 20. and i am So over the games.
I don't want to care anymore.
I don't want to wonder why i Did care for ever so long.

At this point, i don't want to keep questioning myself.
There is a feeling lurking somewhere deep, that if this stuff doesn't clear up... chances of an implosion are high. And i'll make sure the people i care for aren't around to get burned. However, that being said... The chaos post it, should successfully erase those niggling doubts and probabilities.

Yes. And its never about weakness or strength... its not about becoming 'stronger' or otherwise. It is SO not about these things.
When i figure out what it IS about, a post shall appear. (naturally)
The baggage is too much now... might crumple.

Blu Blue Blu

I want to spill my guts- go into great detail about everything.
what i feel i've lost
what i feel i never had
the things i want
the things that i'll probably get
how the things aren't tangible
how they're more like ideas
i want to read tolstoy
i want to read sartre
i want to read kinsella
i want to read wodehouse
want to tell the world just how sucky the day was
how it had no right to be so
how i planned on this post being utterly meaningless
how that is nearly always my intention on a 'public' forum (rolls eyes)
i want to put into words, several hours
but that, is not gonna happen

feel low, sad and have no right to be any of that.
i don't like the sand and how deep my head is buried in it.
i want to not forget stuff,
not forget my notes
but i want to let go too
let go of all that doesn't replay well in my brain.

i think its time for winter to go.
i want to chuck the baggage.
and i don't care what colour it is.

ps- haw, said too much. *chuckles at the absurdity*

pps- i want to go back to painting
i miss how great it felt, even that aching back
it fooled one into believing that something worthy was being done.

Tch. how fancy. i miss the canvas and i miss the paint. bas.

(i am So gonna go read Kinsella now, one wish fulfilled) :)

Since there are simply too many things to say/think/blah-ify, i think this post will explode in a billion different colours of orange.

(pause)

Here is the basic problem. I want to dissect Slumdog Millionaire and throw it to a wild pig to poo over. While seeing it was able to appreciate the style and effect as a whole... However, the more i think about it (ideologically speaking) the more mad i get. It was just plain .... Grr.. okay, this is a very Achebe take on Conrad. To simplify, you're showing a tiny sliver of a humongous country to people (the audience abroad) who aren't necessarily aware of it (India) beyond the stereotypes of poverty, corruption and basic filth. Thank you for highlighting the largest slum in India but perhaps if a larger picture was considered then this effin exoticisation would stop. Stop.

Secondly, am getting tired of this accusation that the study of literature is in no way relevant to the 'real' world. But maybe its something of a relief to not care who the minister of foreign trade is. I don't see the great joy that it brought anyone. (okay, i'm just being grumpy because my current affairs knowledge needs to be brushed up) So, this is officially disqualified as complaining.

The pictures for the huge-family get together are out and posted all over (in secure albums online of course) Would like to post em here, but probably not the best idea. (duh)
Rest assured all cousins are faithfully portrayed as attempting the impossible (a fully un-choreographed dance in under 60 minutes of preparation)

The feeling of being pulled into different directions as well as pushed into a corner is getting a lot stronger. I want relief, please?

Been penning random thoughts on MsWord for the last 3-4 days, working out horrible with the whole spell-check thing mocking me and qualifying my work as 'fragmented'. apparently it's never heard of Indian english. (the 'e' is small deliberately, part of cultural assimilation bla)

On the bright-er side (note this is in bullet points and not mini-para's)

-I didn't watch Chandani Chowk to I-don't-care
-I didn't watch Ghaji-I-Forget-Thy-Name
-I did watch Accidental Husband but the blessed traffic jam made me miss 40 minutes out of 120... (thank god)
-I'm sticking to the main clause of my 7 day agreement with self (shh, its a secret)
-Slumdog Millionaire made me grumpy enough to blog again
-I'm gradually learning the political history of Latin America (gradually)
-With a friends help, i now know how to respond to a text sayin 'wuff' (i asked the text-er, hah)
-H-boy is in Shimla just soaking in the joy of an Art of Living course which i will later grill out of him. (I win, ultimately)
-Jean has to update me about the Jaipur Lit Fest (which sounds fabulous btw)
-Tomorrow is a Sunday :)

Sigh. Life Life Life.

The Blame Game- Sun Stands Accused

I blame the sun and hence light for all of this.

If there was no sun (light) there would be no life.

There would be no micro-organisms taking shape (as the theory of evolution suggests) and certainly no little creatures waddling about…of course no Adam or Eve (as the Bible propagates) and then no us since our initial parents wouldn’t exist (as the Bible continues to press)

There would be no pain or sorrow, no heartbreak or movies, no wide roads or messy cars

There would also be no sleepovers with 2 hours of sleep,
no rum and coke to toast your friends birthday to,
no comfortable mattresses to rest your behind on a cold winter night,
no music to sway to as the clock chimes a mournful 1 am,
no paneer rolls to munch on to ward off the nausea,
no wild speeches and groovi-er dance moves,
no cell phone videos to capture those pricelessly hilarious moments

There would be no next-morning shopping
No change in plans (as you’d rather walk home on a surprisingly sunny afternoon, and since you hate shopping anyway)
No sneakers to give you blisters
No headphones and no bollywood music
No Bollywood
No you buying your mum a book she really wants to read

No judgments, no opinions
No classifications at first glance
But also no friends who have your back
(and will scratch those who stab yours)

No moments when you hate everyone
(cuz they s*** and lie and are not good people)
But also no moments when you care about people other than you

No sense of nostalgia for the past, No living in the past
But also no happy memories to giggle over
(or smile serenely,whatever ones style)

No tears, no anger, no negativity at all
But also no scope to shape something positive
No initiative or learning
No joy,
No cosy talks till quarter to 6 in the morning

No calling friends at 1 am (just a LIL high)
No gabbing on the phone for hours and threshing out life plans
No 60.000 minutes spent, later, convincing the world that you in fact are totally not hung over
No diamonds to admire
No filth to despise

I don’t know how scientifically accurate this all is…
I shall continue to believe, that sun(light) is to blame

This same light that can shine upon the water and liven up the ripples
the same can brighten up reality and make it impossibly hard to evade
Like the fire in Frankenstein, it has in it the potential to destroy and also, Create

Hey You Sun there, the jury' out trying to figure out the verdict…
Till then, I shall get myself a snack
(or maybe sleep a little)

Ps- Kansha Happy Birthday again, thank you so much for everything
And just so it’s VERY clear, you are loved MUCH! (hah, awkward phrasing)
(and yes, the sleepover was beyond perfect!) :D

*Warmest Hug*

(Pps- Faith in certain spheres has most certainly been used up/eroded/taken away, either time will replinish it...or i will live without the trick knee that makes me buckle each time. In fact, screw it... that faith is rejected and thrown into the garbage- Bloody enlightening Sunlight, leaves no scope for doubt)

Finally- A Worthy Quote

As we flip the calendar, we need to keep flipping our mind as well. Often, our diaries are full of memories. Ensure that you don't fill your future dates with past events. Learn and unlearn from the past, and move on.- Ravi Shankar Ji

(Couldn't come at a better time. Thank you)

Lost

fingers of winter tighten their grip
the darkest hour before dawn
around me flits

In Freezing January
words are barely passing
with a 'D' on the scribbled score sheet
they fail me,
nearly tippin over the ledge
from the slippery point
where once, the moss used to rest
on its back, eyes fixed firmly ahead

colder with the breeze
and the river rushing past
over and around the steady black rocks
Oh Peter, you are an image of discomfort

i want the shawl and the welcoming fire
the cosy armchair i still desire
a canvas to paint
a thought to hold
to skip past the post
where thoughts are controlled

Fives miles down and then to the left
leaving all else behind
except that dead phone
a testament,
to the cord of connection snapped
by a once vulnerable
now firm and willing hand.
PEACE

Oh, plus a lil something i once wrote about Woolf. Purely Opinion based.

Out of the possible million things veiled in Woolf’s writing, one fantastic excerpt would be the thoughts of Peter as he walks away from Clarissa thinking “I can’t keep up with them…. Life, with its varieties, its irreticences, had been laid under a pavement of monuments and wreaths and drugged into a stiff yet staring corpse by discipline… One had to respect it.”

What I personally penned down (guided by A Ma’am) on a slim purple post-it was “History as exercising control over human beings. Cite tradition. Ironic- mind as controlled by strings. Choices are contained. (we)Assume we have youth and possibility.”

Yes, I can write a 10 mark answer using just that as a base, unfortunately we only have 15 and 20 mark answers… so will have to brush up on the other 155 pages as well. When people wonder what studying literature can possibly help with, I gargle out the possibility that information written centuries ago is not completely obsolete. What I really mean (and rarely articulate, barring class) is that it’s actually universally applicable and hides very current concerns. Through the thoughts of Peter, Woolf manages to talk about the fact that we all remain convinced that with youth and an apparent lack of obvious obstacles…we have, in us, the ability to make a choice and one that is not intruded upon by society. The illusion that we are ‘free’ when the word exists not, for each action that we decide to go forward with is already influenced by centuries of tradition weighing down upon us, so deeply internalized that it convinces one that the choice we finally pick is one that we innately want… not knowing that what we want has already been shaped for us before we could stammer out ‘momma’ aged a few months.

One had to respect it, thinks Peter… whether we think it consciously or not, we end up treading on the same worn out path time and again. Regardless of how many epiphanies we claim to have undergone, the crossroads are really not debatable. Hopelessly fatalistic is it? Or is it simply too uncomfortable a truth to accept immediately?

No one likes the pinch of the inevitable… I no longer wonder why Woolf ultimately killed herself… if the discomfort of acknowledging her thoughts as a possibility is so high… the pain of thinking them up only to write them out to feed to the prowling (ungrateful) masses must have given more strength to her stumbling journey towards that river which gurgled up to claim her.

In a fairly intense (even poetic) conversation with Jean, I happened to mention a dormant thought… one that I apparently felt very strongly for. I said to him, if you look at the essence of a person (their soul probably) as water or a flowing liquid that seems to travel over gravel and soil with experiences acting as the same… with each circumstance we go through being represented as the so called pollutants of the liquid- sand, soil, twigs, leaves. Then, and this is purely my opinion, the essence itself may carry these intruders on in life as the water keeps flowing to places new… however, the essence is not affected permanently by them but what they do manage to maneuver is how the past baggage allows us to stare at the new. Experiences of the essence as eventually affecting the perception of all that is to follow. The thing is, having always considered taking ones life a mortal ‘sin’ if the concept exists, how can I honestly let the word ‘strength’ rub shoulders with one who has willingly taken her own life? It’s possible, keeping in mind a belief of the essence and its journey, that the sheer weight of the discoveries Woolf made, was enough to push her over the edge, literally. Not advocating any form of massacring the self, but perhaps leaving a window open for Woolf and not condemning her totally… for in all fairness… the journey she undertook was littered perhaps with too many heavy branches and piles of mud that most would have crumpled under.

(Current in-mind Quote "a word after a word after a word is power")

magic

Things seem to be coming together, and how!
The exams are truly finally deeply happily totally over.
Well, the mocks anyway.

I have magically found the place at the back of the somethingjig where the speaker-thing-headphone cord has to go...so if i crane my neck to the left...umm, i can hear stuff now.

Thanks to H-boy, have managed to get my paws on a software that'll allow some kinda transfer of music from any place to my ipod without it takin up space on the pc! :)...how fabulous! Did you all know about this?
Was i the only one who didn't know?
Is this like a secret-club thing?
Well, anyway its 91% over so lets see what happens.

A lot of things are helping with my mood.
Got myself the coolest book... Mythologies of the World... like a huge coffee table version...illustrated and heavily discounted (70% off!..yay)... i realized in Bangkok that i was unusually fond of mythology so figured i'd get the expert information now :0
It was a choice b/w a Kinsella and this, sigh. I know, i would So have chosen Kinsella 6 months ago.

Today as i bounced around excitedly cuz the exams were coming to an end, V and Mum told me that i didn't exactly look 20. Which is when it struck me, in a lil bit i'd be 21 and gosh! that-is-odd!
i mean i cannot be 21 so soon.... people who are 21 are supposed to have it all together...the career the clothes the life! and i have the life but definitely not the career mapping and i hate shopping. Bummer.

I think i'm gonna miss third year so much. Its been the most dramatic (ironic, cuz i left theatre)... have learnt So much. Fallen passionately in love with my course and no one, no one has ever made me cry like i did after reading Prufrock...and never have i jumped higher than when i read Fo... These words, connected. They 'fit' and they're 'right'. They are.

I love the feeling of growing up and into this person... this person with MY skin. All flawed bit of it is loved and now, not just the grey membrane. I love how the last year has made me feel... (nope, not narcissistic)... its painted over all the dirty brown spots and made them shiny.
I love the world today... but only cuz each day has had those moments... those moments that make today love-worthy. okay, im no longer making sense...shoo. :)

Ps- i think, i think i may have made the musci thing work. people, this is an achievement for me! :D
Pps- V got me a fake pink shiny flower-thing! cuz i've been working hard, for my exams! Awww. *the love overflows*...
i love being the kid of the family!

Oh, and the three o' us (too lazy to name) totally pigged out on pizza and hot chocolate fudge today... oh-so melt in mouth YUM. Exams should end everyday..umm, or something to that effect. Umm.

FAQ's

Update-Update-Update *yells brain*

- That message, the one i wrote a gabillion years ago and never sent (thats what the 'draft' folder is for) is not gonna be repeated in thoughts ever again. ever.

-My last exam tomorrow..so (sigh).. detachment here comes moi. from all and everyone.

-That, and multiple sleepovers... Here comes I. sigh. lemme just post what i wrote y'day.

Inevitable Questions and Inadequate Answers

Why does the last bite of pizza taste the nicest?

Psychologically speaking, because you know there isn’t any more left so you savor the spices; enjoy the taste and allow it to linger longer.

Why is it that no one able to put themselves in other peoples shoes, even if they try!?!

Possibly because everyone has been through different experiences based on which they now react and behave to new circumstances. So trying to follow a completely different life is close to impossible.

Where do those tummy-invading butterflies come from?

They are directly proportional to the way you feel about the person you are meeting/going to meet or are in some way communicating with. (Daydreams included)

Where do you draw the line between taking advice and living by someone else’s standards?

If you’re comfortable with what you’re doing and not having to constantly crane your neck for approval, it’s probably on the ‘right’ track otherwise you need to get some serious alone-time to re-evaluate your situation and dependency leanings.

Why do these odd (and non-indicative) questions pop up between exams?

Possibly because of all the extra time you have when you’re not supposed to be gaping senselessly at the TV and you’re rarely moving out for there to be time enough for a refill on your cell phone balance.

Why isn’t life like a happy chick-lit novel?

It may actually be, but just feels a lot longer living through the days as opposed to thumbing through 50 pages with chips-sticky fingers and ‘living’ two years of the fictitious protagonist’s life with her. Besides, it isn’t the end until its happy right? And if in case, that isn’t true, we won’t know till it happens and then possibly it’ll be quite irrelevant.

Feeling better any?

Maybe.

Fun to use grammatically incorrect English, no?

Yesh, it be pleasurable and kind of a relief.
I rebel, I rebel. Oh Walcott and me (note- not i)
We rebel. We rebel, and that too senselessly.

*sigh*… Exams are a goddamn leech hybridized vampire mix
With fangs on their black tummy… like Rowling’s Dementors, only smaller…to avoid getting caught!

The End, Maybe.

Gordimer Re-interpreted

“I don’t believe in love… and give me a reason why I should
You left me for that skinny bitch…
The one who’s white and came to ‘help’ with our apartheid fight.
How gracious of her, how extremely nice...
To dirty her feet in the mud and in the bargain, get some heat free at night.

I’ve heard those stories of men leaving their women,
But you always professed that you would be ‘different’
You left me and the family,
Left us in the cold
When the fire went out,
Out, alone I had to go.

Like a character in those plays, they show once in a while
Or those obscure hindi movies,
Where dreams melt in the rain
But here, there was no rain
just the pellets of guns fired
and the smoke from what had transpired
but have no fear, I was told
‘your husband is committed’
Committed of course,
To pleasuring his whore.

Surprised at these words?
That I am so bitter?
But didn’t you want this?
To hear me pine?
To see me shiver?
To hear just how lonely sleeping alone gets at night?
Surely I should cry, so you feel more of a man.
And swell up with your own importance,
because thats a part of you I’ll understand?

But I’m no house cat or domesticated dog
You hold no chains to keep me to this house
I’ve survived so far and that too without ‘needing’ you
I’ve heard those whispers when I’m longing for sleep
Your breath only too clear in that half-awake mind
‘I need Hannah, not you… oh Aila if only it wasn’t for you’

So this Aila of ‘yours’, she doesn’t give a damn no more
And now sings a song that our Baby taught me
‘If I don’t believe in love’, but without the ‘if’ in between.
I sing just the first line but over and over again, just so that it’s all clear;
Crystal clear in my head.
You tore away my love and my faith in it lasting,
You snatched it away and crawled with it to her
With that precious gift I gave you
And you ask me now,
You ask me now!
With that look in your eyes…why I don’t believe in love.
And why things have changed so…”

Yours Truly :)

Context- Google, Gordimer 'My Sons Story'

Ps- Writing this, when i should be Studying! Sheesh! :P

Knowing and Looking

It occurred to me, randomly of course, that knowing less never hurt anyone... (unless its an exam, in which case.. *ouch*)

But on a more social level, knowing less about someone...or their life.. never really hurts.. and, it doesn't matter- at all!
So why the senseless curiosity...?
Why the morbid desire to rub my face in facts that i KNOW will make my eyes water?
Wouldn't i, rather, know less and be happi-er?
Erm, apparently not.

No matter how ugly the facts might be, they're far prettier than the lies.
and no matter how badly the eyes sting, it's okay, cuz better now than later.
The sooner they water, the faster they dry up. Simple.

Besides, all this talk of 'pretty'... there was a time not so long back when looking pretty became the worst thing one could do (honest)
It came down to reductionist analysis by people who liked categories (yes, i shall finally speak up...umm, write up now)
Something on the lines of, the prettier you looked ...and of course by prettier it had to be the 'conventional' blonde girl pink cheek look...well, the blonder the hair (metaphorically) and pinker the cheeks (less metaphorically)...the lower falls the IQ in the eyes of the presumptuous.

Now we can yell ourselves HOARSE screaming that it doesn't really matter and people can do what they like..say what they like...feel what they like...But.
But it changes a few things

-a- you don't like the people who do reductionist readings of you. period.
-b-you don't like them at all, and probably never will...even if that analysis changes.
-c-you get to hop around (cuz you're mad. not insane mad. angry mad. sheesh)
-d-you realize that there is nothing in the world you can do to stop people from being/acting/thinking the way they are...so you 'get' it..and yes, not like them.

There is something just so patronizing to be considered pretty and just that. And it is never about the marks you score or the books you read or even, the way you DO converse about life as a whole. You-will-be-stereotyped by the majority just because you look a certain way. Now you can either fight back by becoming just like 'them' or actually care enough to NOT convert.. to not judge people by the way they look....good/bad/apparently-ugly... there is no one who is 'ugly' in the world... no one, just some people who don't care enough bout the way they
look and others..others who might have the most aesthetically appealing face but not be a good person. That, to me is ugly...and no one can guess that based on the colour of your cheeks.

So to sum up, my hands are freezing cold and i have to go study some more and type a wee bit less. :)

*Peace*

Ps- 2 exams down, 2 more to go! :)
Ps2- Wow, i should have written that post like 7 months ago, but i guess I'm like that guy Camus talks of... the one who killed himself 5 years after his daughter died... no, not slow reflexes... but sometimes, things just hit you later and then you take action. (yes, writing it out is my action!)

Allegory Ignored

They say i should suspect, guard with a frown.
a frown so deep that it clearly spells out...
'hey you there trespasser, keep out! keep out!

you're no snowy bunny
nor an orange owl
not a ray of hope
bouncing off those clouds

not furry
not cuddly
not hug-prone
nor round

you're not those things
you're a suspect they've found
they said to be careful
they said be aware
they said you would sneak in
against all obstacles rare.

but you're not sneaky
or nasty
or even too proud

then why the warning?
why insist upon that guarding frown?
why demand all this secrecy
lest the world know you've escaped

they say you're what we fear
when we huddle closer in the dark
they say you'll disrupt
all thats been mellow in the past

so what? i ask
there has been change before
and scoff all i do, those who say no!

so i leave the door open
just a tiny bit...
just in case you're around
through it, you can fit

and on that very table
will be a cream coloured cup
and a brownie to go
and along with that,
will be a yellow note

a note with curly writing
and a request to not go...
so i too can face this fear
and heed not dusty myths, simply centuries old!

so listen to me now,
and listen to me good,
piffle to the warning
that i've been following
from people unknown.

they....they.... they're nobody but someone elses left toe!

Amen?

The unexpected High... walks in and shuts the door behind... it(?)

We've all known (and at times, hated) inconsistency...
but isn't it effinbloody amazing when the most monotonous thing turns out Fabulous?

So, When is it okay to do the unexpected?

-One- Post several hours of goddamn serious studying, you randomly break into a dance in your pink old navy shirt and older pj's!

-Two-When you think you're losing control and suddenly you grab the once-forsaken reins and well, back in the drivers seat you are! (or the horses back, whatever)

-Three-When from being walk-all-over-me doormat, you scream
'I'm a bitch, I'm a lover... I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed, I'm your hell, I'm your dream, I'm everything in between... So take me as I am, it may mean you'll have to be a stronger man... '
with Morissette and mean EVERY bloody word of it!

-Four-When you blog it out that very minute cuz luckily the computer was just sitting over there and this moment turned out to be too precious to not store immediately!

-Five-When nothing really changes as per the facts of life and circumstances and yet, yet the future...with or without people.... just begins to sound like a GOOD path to be on!

-Six-When from worrying about health, staple pins running out, exams, friends, weight, dogs, height, calories in a bar of dark chocolate, academics, guys, career....everything... you unexpectedly shove all the baggage and take a chance at being happy. Just like that, in the present.

-Seven-When eating dinner makes you realize you wanna go off for a pilgrimage to some religious place, like a call....thats loud and obvious. Getting louder and more obvious. Great unexpected plan!

-Eight-When from a kajal-applyin addict you go cold turkey.... and then decide that you're still passable to look at. Odd right? :-)

-Nine-When you find yourself liking Beethoven' Ode to Joy just as much as Pussycat Doll' Buttons. ie. Lots :D

-Ten-Finally, and obviously... When it makes you feel SO darn good :)... It is good to do/think/feel things that make you Happy!... Now why, why would people wanna do drugs to get this high? .... Try experiencing life as it is, Seems to work okay :)

Peace!

Love to zii Good souls!...ie. All. :)

Of Girls- Finally!

Me- *croons*

I did this whole 'Quotable Quotes' thing, where i was jotting down all the hilarious things we tend to say and then howl with laughter... they're mostly at the expense of boys, life, boys, relationships, boys.. (uhh excuse me for that, but i-dont-give-a-damn)...and generally ABOUT life, the universe and everything :)

But then, i read Swayam's Blog... and it made me wonder.. why girls never GOT it... there must have been a thousand books written... a million sitcomes aired... a billion talk shows based on it...Why don't girls just GET it?
I think its quite pointless to even attempt to express how this goes,
(but that won't stop me from trying...duh!)

A girl is born.
A girl looks in the mirror (freud...lacan....identity formation.. *read up*)
A girl experiences things- mothers love, food, throwing up, bumping against a chair, music, writing, reading... reading.
A girl reads.
Later, she watches TV. (i forgot to mention, but she talks too)
So she reads and watches TV.
She looks at her mum...her dad...her bestfriend...her brother...her barbie doll.
She looks.
She wonders what it would be like to touch that hot pan.
She touches the hot pan.
She gets burnt.
She had read about getting burnt but this feels different, more painful?
She does not know. She realizes that somethings cannot be compared until you experience both..the knowing and wondering...and then experiencing and knowing.
She is able to draw comparisons now.
She knows not to touch a hot pan.
She grows more. Reads more. Wonders more. And then each time she wants to experience something new, she wonders if the risk of knowing enough to compare will be worth the pain of the hot pan.
Sometimes, she says 'no' and turns away...the other times...she warily moves forward and her hand reaches out...
The times when she refuses to know for herself...refuses to know for sure...
Then she reads...she reads some more...She reads what all the other girls have written about THEIR hot pans and how it worked for them.
Some say, it was worth the effort...the others, they warn her not to try.
She chooses now.
She chooses different things at different times.
Always hoping, that when she looks back...she wont regret it.
She fears the awkwardness of a mistake more than the mistake itself.
She questions life, the universe and everything.
She questions why God made hot pans so hot.
She wonders if God is up there frowning each time she tries.
She wonders what God would have done in her place.
She grows up more but the choices she makes are always divided between the hot pan and the not knowing.
She doesn't know when she gets it 'right' or when its 'wrong'.
Just that some people ..they call some of her decisions 'wise'.
The little girl who used to look at her barbie dolls, she still doesn't know.
She won't know till she is dead says the Igbo tribe and their concept of chi.
But she isn't part of their tribe, will it apply to her still?
She read about them, you see... for somebody said she should.
She just wants to do what is 'right'.
But no one can really help....
For the pain of the hot pan is relative.
Relative to how you feel, what you've been through, what that has made you expect... relative in terms of how badly you want it.
The Girl, she reads more and more.
And then she writes, writes her own story...about her own hot pan
and what that did to her.
Then some other girl reads it and reaches out too....

Girls don't change...and they just never GET it.

Dark Chocolate

Of Doughnuts, Dreams and eating your Cake!

This year will be a cake
With cherries buried deep
melting Rum chocolates and brandy
Leading to immeasurable ecstasy

The pressure won’t kill
And ambitions won’t crumble
The steam shall rise
And with it, fly dreams

Salt will melt in oceans deep
Like sugar buried in coffee and cream
It’ll be happy
And oh so gay

With analysis discarded
For sense wholesale
this year, it has started with hope
And that remains, it’s sole support.

-----

'May God Bless Us All Everyone’
(Know your Christmas tales)

I pick the sweet crumbs falling off the warm dough… and that makes the sugar-rush stronger. - The philosophy of jam-doughnut munching. :)

Ps-Barry Manilow is a Genius.

The Year that Was.-:)

Then(when?..sometime ago)- There was still the odd dream that college would include racing about in an open car with the wind rushing past you... (sheesh. bollywood i tell you!)

Now- The wind whips the shivering body in the auto as an attempt is made to reach home post-sleepover the night before... (almost true)

Then- There was the idea that one would know what to do after Bachelors.

Now- We laugh at the dreams of ignorant children.

Then- Romance was a possibility lurking around the corner

Now- We laugh some more, roll over and play dead. (wuff?...*nudge*)

Then- Booze, bonfire and boys, all together on the windy terrace of a pals house sounded like the 'coolest' things. (chortles)

Now- The bonfire flickers and dies out, the booze is ignored for the diet-pepsi and the boys... boys just matter not. (really)

Then- Walcott sounded like an easy poet to study

Now- Those lectures gone by enjoy my heartfelt respect.

Then- College, *sigh* college sounded like a world unknown.. unexplored in its full potential.

Now- Now, i know... i know that it was AS magical as it had seemed from a distance.

Cheers i say, cheers to those 300 cups of cold-coffee, 216 mini-cups of hot soup, 59 hours of waiting for the 2-minute maggie to be cooked...

Cheers to the many days we slept with friends, those 10 paise phone calls till 3... the joy of just lazing in the field while moss sprouted around our discarded bags..

Cheers to the grass that stuck to our sweaters... to the cold water for which we longed (and swati refused to give)

Cheers to the time we all spent together... there was really nothing quite like it.
2008... an introduction was made by you to So many people...yet, what 7 stuck around?
But for those 7..or maybe 9... i thankyou. i thankyou so very much.

For they will last, long after I've left that grassy patch...shrugged off 80% of dry twigs clinging on...walked away from activities most loved... They will last long after the bhel-puri wale bhaiya' been crossed... the overpriced Mithas strolled past... the odd directions to our new 'home' have been taken...
for they won't follow...or tag my steps... but four winters down...when im drinking soup and thinking of today....all that'll be needed is the speed dial, to find the people i seek. They will last and that is why i thank you. again. :)

Ps- the picture, the bonfire that was. :)