in the same breath

he bumps into men
black white yellow
hardly notices, eyes far away...
a child by the road
glumly inspecting his soaked and tearing
lil paper boat.
he bends down to touch a tear
fumbles for paper
a 10 buck note
crisp like needed
a new boat new stories
sail down the puddle
smiles at that smile
that clap and that jump.

"the boy's a jew"
hope he doesn't learn
white from yellow
and the line through jerusalem
let his religion be the sailing
and the puddle his land.

i don't have a name for them

they've done it again. all together managed a brilliant illusory trick. the coin that started with my palm, its metal body having become warm with the contact with my skin in this weather, left no mark no feeling when it slipped off unknown to me into their exhibitive fingers. once more they prove it. i could run and pant for miles and they could simply with a fillip of their fingers, put me back still panting where i started. just a fillip, thats what it takes to turn everything ineffectual. well at least the superciliatory air is considerate and puts me two steps ahead when i stumble and can't make it. but they decide when that's to be done. they decide where i need to be. huh.

all i can do is grin and be thankful i was graced with their favours

objectivity

two different people. aquaintances. but poles apart. me: something they share.

two different versions to what should have been the same narrative. coz it was the same place. the same people. the same time. both together.

what one loved the other hated. what remain fond memories for one is what the other loathed. they each see in the other what the mirror doesnt show them. nor what is revealed to me. i am just a medium. on which both paint pictures with their words. the strokes clash. confuse. bewilder.

probably each caused the anger with which the other hand held the brush...

one positive saved from coming underfoot and picked up, infects all negatives to find pairs. those that don't, fizzle out

the magic against those demons doesn’t work like before
but something weaker supplants it.
fingertips still meet
like both effervescence and a calmness.

whats gone wasn’t the only thing out of this world
an unseen thread communicates.
smiles tears and a longing
felt intimacy, yet this heart waits.

hey angel bringing tenderness
stop will you this time.
stay put by my side
tie your wings with mine.

or should you fly fly away
time is catching on.
earth and air meet
there, your belief i don.

i know bush n israel wont listen to jimmy carter or care to talk with hamas. i'm concerned. looks like the end of the earth will not need vogons

its nearing. the gift. that someone will drop into my lap. out of pity. let me lovingly finger it for a while before taking it back. sometimes i think i'll smash it when its given to me. sometimes i just drink it back in before it turns into such imagined destruction. and sometimes out of the greyness a sudden streak of sunlight illuminates a rainbow. intangible and evanescent and loving and warm

sadness

it strikes suddenly
when u halt to think
permeates into every pore
every cell every muscle
in the voice
even the smile
sets a lethargy in
theres no antidote

its that time of the year when i throw away my chair cushions. and its that time of the night when i'm wondering whether i'll be able to run tom morning this way. and i dismiss that prospect. running is like writing for me (though i'm better at the first). it just keeps me feeling better. only that it takes more effort to jump out of bed. today i realised it wasnt me who decided if it was possible for me to jump out or not. it was just possibility itself. that clears me of the guilt of not running most days in the last 2 months (btw i ran today). and anyway all muscles that i can feel are still in that i-grip-the-bones state. so which means i can bunk some more. and my hair having crossed the first stage of intolerance successfully is cleverly preparing a second stronger attack. i even bought a hairband to just hold it all. why can't i simply gift it to that friend who is paying a trichologist some good money to get rid of what he calls a case of premature baldness in a male pattern in a female? ah well. guess wouldnt even fit in up there with her thin strands. and i wanted to go this play with tom alter in it but i didn't have company as usual. not that i am dying to see tom alter. saw him once in college long back. dont know why many of these people came there unannounced. and actually i'm a little tired of hindi plays. but could have given this a try actually the last good play i saw was in december (or november?). and i'm sure this would have been better than what i saw recently by asmita. that something by the way was a typical satire on indian corruption. i'm sick of those now. and i want my boyfriend near me. (that last sentence had more amplitude in my thoughts than those others gone by. it was almost a shout). but our stars are always in different locations. now countries. and my test score also slipped pathetically down today. and my dad has been harassing me a little about being more presentable for a girl my age (read marriageable). that reminds me that yesterday's bride was actually made to practise smiles!!! the walk smile and the jaimal smile and the general smile saved for photographs which will become topics of wonder and admiration for years to come. the process that leads to those photos meanwhile blocked the jaimal from most of our view and i heard some relatives complaining to the photographers. i'v faced that a number of times. frankly i have a lot of respect for photographers in general but not those who come to weddings. i'm almost always at war with them. especially if the wedding in question is closer home and i am banking on getting good pics myself. besides the fact that others are banking on me. there was a cousin's wedding and the final photo and video cd that came processed had scenes of valleys and mountains and flowers and rivers and birds and what not before the movie began. they actually had credits of all those involved in the movie making while those scenes floated before our eyes. and i just killed a mosquito with a deft slap on my arm. oh well. its past the time when i can afford reading my book. and on second thoughts i think i'll go for my run. will plonk off after morning chores. am jobless anyway. and did you know that the way these shaadi lehengas are draped around you these days with 'zillion pins' in the bride's words, the husband is ensured a tough time. is that the first comma i've used here. i always hated those punctuate the following paragraph exercises. full stop.

consciousness of desirability
an interest
effort (small)
response. with it smugness
excuses
lead. maybe also some apathetic ego feeding
something resembling self predicted victory
just a little sympathy
growing concern. also fully developed strong affection (maybe achronologically placed)
self blame
futility, desperation. insanity. trappedness.
an effort at disentanglement
nostalgia stabbing solitude guilt... & a sense of wrong
disarmament
desire
surrender
peace
treasure
bliss with a tinge of fear/insecurity
(my feet are big and flat. enough to trample underfoot)
(a prayer against)

honest

some people give me quite a complex. and its so from so far what would it be like if i knew them up close. they are younger than me, much better read (obviously) and clearer expressers of whats within them. and they are bongs! sorry but dschool gave me this idea of a bong which doesnt allow for such appreciation. rather envy. they make me feel my childhood was quite a waste (which it was) and that i'm slow with what i manage(d) to do with my life. slow and lagging behind and panting for no good reason. and the more i peek into them the more such people i find. its like theres this sea of brilliant clones i would have liked to model myself on. and i dont know even one of them personally...? this huge population totally hidden somewhere??? what i'm wondering about is, why dont i feel like this about people i know. and there are and have been so many many they tire me sometimes. often. is the phenomenon similar to 'an audience deserves the art thrown at it'? or is it just familiarity with those i know that makes them ghar ki murgi daal barabar.

(turning up the level of honesty, one person i know gives me a complex about living. till i think of maths. levels out then. grin)

ek billi

its pretty all around
in bloom
the ball is advancing
black
bouncing
bigger yet still
its all i can see now.
splinters pink!
blow away
random as autumn leaves
a breeze soft
playing around.
all of it is gone
i'm left alone
smiling
catching the leaf on my head
its got the answers
all settles back
awakes
for a minute the world halted just for me

(was it the dislike or the 'feeling' that came first and caused the other?)

ill let them flow for once
so what if i attract an audience
for once i'll just not care
if a pool collects
touch my hand let go
its ok i can be
its ok
i'm just me
and i know all i need is a reach
when i'm done and through
being alone
when i'm done and through
being true
oh come on give me a smile
there i laugh between tears
that'll get you by
i want to know what its like
how long it'll be
if its over when it is
who is this who cries

pigeons feeding
suddenly rising together
flying full circle
a scene pasted on my mornings
half shut eyes taking it in
confusing memory of one morn with another

idealism helps. its given me a lot out of life. unlike people who say they are 'tired running'. i never realised i was running. never looked at it that way. i juiced out every situation, every place, every phase of life hungrily, to get out of it, what could best please me. maybe i didnt direct my sails anywhichway, but i took in all the sights that my journey led me through, with equal excitement. yes, i allowed myself to be swept away with the direction of the wind after just a little bit of steering in some direction, usually. may be thats why i never ran. but i think that was happier. just going with the flow. and living where i went. sometimes by sheer luck it led to dreams. so what if they were continuously threatened with morning alarms of disappointment, disappointemnt that reeked of allegations that they were not mine to embrace but were duty to perform. that it was illegal to house my heart in them. that they were meant to simply busy my head in, in preset ways before life moved on. i am glad i got involved with life. i am glad i let it lead me to bounty. its ever since i decided to take the reins in my hands, because it looked like the journey had come to a standstill, that i seemed to have lost my way. and its not even that every direction beckons, in which case i would be more than delighted to stop by and explore, maybe never really get on. this has been a long stillness. im sure there is a purpose. and already at times i feel im growing as a person day by day. and the growth doesnt mean accumulation of bitterness, unlike some people who surprise me.
but im dying to get on board and sail again. if this break is to prepare for a longer journey ahead, i am already packing my bags well. but im dying to feel the wind caused by my motion, on my face. im yearning for speed and novelty. and weather that will throw me off balance enticing me with what it can offer if tamed. my successes have not always been what could be flaunted to the world. but that doesnt reduce the idealism in them for me

i am looking for a job but the sight of office workdesks makes me want to turn around n run for my life. fear and loathing and a job search

am i young or just small

Two kids in rabindra nagar today. See my car and start playing with it, dodging as i slowly curve in. I flash a smile at them. Both smile back. “didi aap chala lete ho”. I shoo them to get out of the way. The question is repeated, “didi aap chala leto ho?”. Then one to the other, “didi chala leti hai” (with a look that says its high time they began learning) as i bring the automobile to a hault. I am wondering at my youth, to get such incredulous looks from them about my ability to chala lena.

(even yday someone used the adjective 'small' for someone. then they rejected it coz i define the word and the person mentioned dint come close)

growing up

of friends and people falling apart. of urdu poetry and nihilism. and paradoxes and nuances. and betrayal. of photographs and wandering empty lanes. of just doing nothing with the ppl you once knew. of driving and difficulty when parking. of sunglasses and shopping. of 'sitting pretty before marriage'. of wondering if you ever got ppl right. of opinions. of changing prejudices and traditional practices. of 'never seen a haapily married couple'. of ideals and stamina wearing off. of gaining weight. of the love in his voice. of nothing else mattering.

powerprep not compatible with windows vista?

its on days like this that i realise the brilliance of the internet. when i type in a technical issue with my comp on the google searchbar and find more students who cudnt run the software on the blasted windows version. and from the various solutions listed by them, the easiest suddenly shows up on my comp and works! after hours of snapping at ppl unable to help me, and after nearly crying and then laughing at my exasperation. god bless those souls. get them 1600s.

i'm suddenly so happy i love the world. who could ask for anything more?

i got sunshine,
i got blue sky.
i got my guy,
who could ask for anything more?

tourist in my own country

god should have programmed every body's fate to deliver kicks at regular intervals. esp at the age of 25.
would it work if someone rounded up all those romeos of my life and they still worshipped me? errrr. on second thoughts i'd rather not see their faces ever again. i'v been unlucky even with the set of romeos in my life. not even material for good memories

the subject of the post below

when i sketch i dont notice time going by. its just the stub of my pencil and the bluntness of the lead that takes all the attention. theres a sadistic pleasure in dirtying the paper. in darkening the lines repeatedly. in little straight strokes that eventually take the shape of curves or are let be. i feel a surge of energy, of anxiety and a heightened concentration. sometimes zzzzzzzzzzzzing helps steady the brutality of the pencil. theres no time for the eraser. misdrawn lines are covered up with yet more bold greying of the paper. till i've spilled beyond the frame and yes then i do give in.
after its done i just keep staring at it for some time. very often for quite a lot of time. its that jubilant sense of ownership (unless its so bad i tear it up then n there in my urgency to disown). im not claiming they are so good. its just that i fall in love with what has come into being out of the pencil in my hand. though the resembalnce to the originals is what matters most in a way, its the grey strokes that im obsessive about. very often i'll trace darkness over them after months or years.

the human body is the most amazing to outline. i tried a difficult one after years - lately i'd been copying pencil strokes from a book. today this was a photograph from a mag. will post it after i stop feeling insecure about it and i can manage to click it well.

happiness was running groggy eyed and getting back into bed with my phone in my ear. reading lord of the rings on my pot unconcerned about the world. fresh flowers every weekend. stir frying capsicum onions and chicken sausages with soya sauce n fabindia italian seasoning. getting tipsy with you on wine n olives. also getting equally high on andhra chillies. standing lost with you in coorg at 4 in the morning and laughing at your fear. desmond's cheese cake melting in our mouths at the airport. coming home to you with all our food in your tummy. walking sliding tumbling on our way to the glen. fighting over the choice of movie and then abandoning it midway while watching. feeling at home in spiga. bumming around cp feeling spoilt on my birthday. waiting under a tree for the rain to stop and when it wouldnt, running drenched to nirula's. pahar ganj and narnia. flying over simla watching the mountains (and clouds) cast shadows. riding pinion at >100kms/hr on empty streets on a bandh day. sitting with you in my balcony on these cane chairs. being your saviour from stray dogs and monkeys. talking william talk