yes, i do not know how to operate a bloody electric kettle. whatever the reasons. my personal belief: i never needed to use the robotic thing. have always had lpg or/and a microwave at home and somehow in previous offices and colleges, have simply ordered tea or at least had access to free flowing hot water in which to dip dip in. now this is the first time i have been left to battle with one. that too in a pantry where there were others present.
scene yesterday: pantry in the afternoon with sleepy peons making tea for themselves and a couple of white collar workers arousing from slumber as they sip and talk about work. i enter head toward where i see cups and saucers (give me some doodh-bhaat in the whole story. its my first day here and i dont have 'friends' though i know some random ppl). i ask the peon closest if i can pick up any cup/mug (in 'the bank' ppl were possessive of their 'own' mugs) and where the sugar is. after being allowed i search for the largest then compromise n take the cleanest and wholest mug. i see THE KETTLE. think the angels (or the peons) must have done the job and kept hot water ready for me. pour it into my mug. mix my heaps of sugar and dip dip earl grey after peeping into the tetley carton and rejecting it. i have to help the tea bag to sink. it refuses to on its own and refuses to paint my water coz as i soon realise its not hot. the angel says 'aap yahan ki cheezon se naye ho?' i smile confessingly. 'aaj pehli baar aayi hoon. tabhi to pooch rahi hoon kya kahan hai.' he says 'aapki yeh chai to kharab ho gayi'. i reply as sweetly 'mujhe dikh raha hai'. he switches the kettle on and i wait. then comes again and switches the main red switch on. i was waiting for godot. then he wants to explain something about the switch. i nod dismissively to say i will manage. kettle boiling now. i switch off. upper switch not complying. i switch red off. breathe. lift the kettle wondering what if i drench myself with this. it comes off its electric stand. now i am scared. i thought it was to stay put on it. i call one of the angels (bhaiya) wondering what did i break.
5 mins later, with not a blush on my cheeks (indian brown) i leave the pantry with my tea. it was v good by the way
update:
scene today: my friend angel is making his tea when i enter the pantry at about the same time fighting off afternoon dreams that my unemployment has helped seep into my being. i ask him what the status is with the kettle while fiddling with the upper switch. i answer my own question saying 'abhi to isme garam paani hai na'. he nods then smiles at me. lifts the kettle. puts it onto the electric stand and says 'yeh button ab garam karega' (intending that in case i needed to heat which luckily i don't, and implying that i am a rural fool). i actually say 'woh to hai'. i get my good tea again anyway
Thursday, May 29, 2008
a perspective to employment
its like i am sitting in the heart of a nature park. with birds twittering outside my window incessantly. pigeons gutturally walking on the ledge unaware of my presence within. and the red building of the Habitat smiling at me from across in the sun. not to forget the mass of green rounded tree tops beyond that. that make me forget this is an office complex in the heart of delhi. i have been wondering which side my window overlooked. now i think i finally figure; with the blue kite shaded courtyard a little way to my left and to my right the isolated side entrance with that strange white stone sculpture that is almost unrecognisable here from my fourth floor window.
and then to believe that just one more person in my horizon of vision (which is blocked behind by an unnatural yet wooden aspiring partition) has chosen to pull aside the drapes. who says i am bored of work. i believe this lil deviation will invigorate me, satiate me; and help ignore the pigeons by my right elbow and dig into the sly chinese policies. a chinki grin. i think there's a nest here.
and then to believe that just one more person in my horizon of vision (which is blocked behind by an unnatural yet wooden aspiring partition) has chosen to pull aside the drapes. who says i am bored of work. i believe this lil deviation will invigorate me, satiate me; and help ignore the pigeons by my right elbow and dig into the sly chinese policies. a chinki grin. i think there's a nest here.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
(spoilt the final goddess' face. my version of an imitation of Botticelli's Primavera. chinese whisper outcome)
Friday, May 16, 2008
someone's crumb is someone's backload of supplies
i flicked an ant with my hand to realise that she lost her load of food in the event. i got a few crumbs from the remains of my breakfast and brushed them off my hand near the ant. she was still searching for her lost food. i took one lil dot of bread and followed the poor insect. till she climed on it, smelled it and then lifted it and proceeded as before.
Friday, May 9, 2008
enjoy the maya in life
when i write it ends up depressing even when it drives it out of my head and i end up smiling. hmm. so today when i'm happy i won't let it confuse. i recently wrote out all 10 songs of led zeppelin 3 coz the cd i bought didn't have lyrics. and i wrote them so small they fit on a folded bit of paper which i can slip into the cd cover. yes! i'm so unemployed. and im surprised iv started liking rock now.
"Friends"
Bright light almost blinding, black night still there shining,
I can't stop, keep on climbing, looking for what I knew.
Had a friend, she once told me, "You got love, you ain't lonely,"
Now she's gone and left me only looking for what I knew.
Mmm, I'm telling you now, The greatest thing you ever can do now,
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now, It's very easy just...
Met a man on the roadside crying, without a friend, there's no denying,
You're incomplete, they'll be no finding looking for what you knew.
So anytime somebody needs you, don't let them down, although it grieves you,
Some day you'll need someone like they do, looking for what you knew.
Mmm, I'm telling you now, The greatest thing you ever can do now,
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now, It's very easy just...
mmm i remember putting off someone in the very first 'date' (was it a date now?) because i muttered somethings drunk like theres noone for anyone in this world. and we are all alone and by ourselves, and generally something totally in contradiction with these lyrics... (there that gets depressing again!!! happy bit: we are still together. grin.)
update: the other party says that wasn't a 'date'. he just wanted a 'cute' girl to drink with. we didn't drink much though, did we 'other party'?
"Friends"
Bright light almost blinding, black night still there shining,
I can't stop, keep on climbing, looking for what I knew.
Had a friend, she once told me, "You got love, you ain't lonely,"
Now she's gone and left me only looking for what I knew.
Mmm, I'm telling you now, The greatest thing you ever can do now,
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now, It's very easy just...
Met a man on the roadside crying, without a friend, there's no denying,
You're incomplete, they'll be no finding looking for what you knew.
So anytime somebody needs you, don't let them down, although it grieves you,
Some day you'll need someone like they do, looking for what you knew.
Mmm, I'm telling you now, The greatest thing you ever can do now,
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now, It's very easy just...
mmm i remember putting off someone in the very first 'date' (was it a date now?) because i muttered somethings drunk like theres noone for anyone in this world. and we are all alone and by ourselves, and generally something totally in contradiction with these lyrics... (there that gets depressing again!!! happy bit: we are still together. grin.)
update: the other party says that wasn't a 'date'. he just wanted a 'cute' girl to drink with. we didn't drink much though, did we 'other party'?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
if
if
was a dead seed
that never bore leaves
a barren womb
nohow pleased
these tiny hands did not believe
gave it cold earth
warm sun and drink to make it weep
it cracked a little
and a sapling arose
was there a minute ago
hands with axes hacked and did their job
satisfied went home to rape their wives
meanwhile if gave a sorry sigh
these shiny eyes saw dense bush in its place some day
these little hands continue the ritual
believing another 'ling on its way
was a dead seed
that never bore leaves
a barren womb
nohow pleased
these tiny hands did not believe
gave it cold earth
warm sun and drink to make it weep
it cracked a little
and a sapling arose
was there a minute ago
hands with axes hacked and did their job
satisfied went home to rape their wives
meanwhile if gave a sorry sigh
these shiny eyes saw dense bush in its place some day
these little hands continue the ritual
believing another 'ling on its way
Saturday, May 3, 2008
somethings don't need titles
cupping my hands around it
to save it's last breaths from blowing out
slowing time
numbing time
so it cannot kill
waiting with a stillness unnatural
for it to revive.
it will.
to save it's last breaths from blowing out
slowing time
numbing time
so it cannot kill
waiting with a stillness unnatural
for it to revive.
it will.
When I read I usually skim through descriptions of the surroundings, enough to just get into the mood that the author intended for me. Unless may be it is a description of something catastrophic or an answer to some long building suspense of sorts. Somehow I am not interested in the beauty that the author’s eyes saw or imagined. That I’d rather see with my own eyes. Or maybe I’ve already seen so much of nature’s magic that it’s not what I thirst for. What I do crave for is drama, human emotions, normal, abnormal, exhibited, suppressed, uncontrolled, beyond reason, and yet some so mechanical. What excites me about stories is the characters, how they felt, what they did in response, someone’s knitted brow, a slight frown on someone’s face, desire, longing, lethargy, energy, scorn, words, the littlest touch and what it could lead to... These are what remain in my mind after the last page is read and the book shut for good. Sometimes I mark some of these parts that moved me, in books. Today strangely I found a description marked out in a book I had read some time back. Reading the bit again I figured why this was underlined. Its such a normal yet such a special beginning of a day. And its so small so simple yet so visual you cant help seeing and feeling the air and the dust and the morning around you. Raja Rao in Kanthapura:
“The day dawned over the Ghats, the day rose over the Blue Mountain, and churning through the grey, rapt valleys, swirled up and swam across the whole air. The day rose into the air and with it rose the dust of the morning, and the carts began to creak round the bulging rocks and the coppery peaks, and the sun fell into the river and pierced it to the pebbles, ...”
I’m sure I must have come across more such descriptions that I paused over but there haven’t been too many that didn’t bore me with their length, and that i didn't want to hurry through to get to the characters.
“The day dawned over the Ghats, the day rose over the Blue Mountain, and churning through the grey, rapt valleys, swirled up and swam across the whole air. The day rose into the air and with it rose the dust of the morning, and the carts began to creak round the bulging rocks and the coppery peaks, and the sun fell into the river and pierced it to the pebbles, ...”
I’m sure I must have come across more such descriptions that I paused over but there haven’t been too many that didn’t bore me with their length, and that i didn't want to hurry through to get to the characters.
Friday, May 2, 2008
as a kid i was so scared of fire that it was quite late by the time i could successfully light a match! and some diwalis back i held a candle in my left hand and a chocolate bomb in my right and touched the wick of the right with the flame of the left before throwing the right into the air far away. only to have my right ear tingling for the next half hour. today my younger sis pointed out that i still am a loser at lighting a match
verbose randomness
The glen beckons.
Finger tapping soft rhythmic elevation. Home alone. Pum pum pumpum. Pum pum pumpum pumpum. Ting da di ting da ting da. Faster. Faster.
The busy world outside. Someone driving thankful for the invention of air conditioning. Some standing under that characteristic blue thick square stretched out on bamboos. Selling vegetables, fruits, nimboo pani. My eyes through the window. My hands drawing the green and cream curtains together. Yeah the same ones that looked so pretty some time back. Need a wash which needs someone to take the pains of pulling them down.
Hey this is beautiful. This slight guitar strumming to break the rythm of the drums. Coming back to curtains what i’v done till now is pulled them down to replace with a fresh set from sarojini but that was hostel and Bangalore whimsical austere living and much fewer curtains. Those boring old home ones then pink then yellow now orange.
The greenery outside is just shrubbery made too much of. The criminal heat leaves no trace even of guilt, hanging in the morning air. Does it also effectively weaken gravity, has anyone thought. Seems like otherwise all of us have lost weight. That reminds me of my favourite guava Tropicana nectar. Which never fails to remind me of that lingering taste of my nani’s guava murabba. No nani anymore. No guava murabba. Will all these recipes become myths by the next generation?
Grandparents made such a fuss of the slightest talent in us. Took such pride. Now no one bothers.
Those dancing monkeys and snake charmers visiting their colony. I still remember those bridge sessions. And that little room at the back with the lemon tree lending its fragrance through the little window. And all that khus in the old cooler. And that spray of cool water when you turned the speed to max. That wooden khat. Those human horses i’v ridden. And that splurge of peanut butter. Prutina.
Oh the glen beckons! Those chir pines. Those hanging streamer like slight branches with gold orange and green leaves. Those needles softened and yellowed under foot. That green vastness of cones till as far as the peak reveals. That little lane carpeted with yellow leaves. Sliding sliding till i’d fall roll gently rise holding some tree trunk for support.
Knock knock
Memories let me in
What did you do with all the pain
Where did you flush it all
No traces remain
This is golden softness
Not the yellow that hurts the eye
Its the cushiony grass pampering my feet
The perfumed air that attracts the butterfly
That sudden sighting of the mountain stream
The soothing gurgle in the dead of the night
A wild horizon of purple flowers
Little sunbirds twittering in flight
Finger tapping soft rhythmic elevation. Home alone. Pum pum pumpum. Pum pum pumpum pumpum. Ting da di ting da ting da. Faster. Faster.
The busy world outside. Someone driving thankful for the invention of air conditioning. Some standing under that characteristic blue thick square stretched out on bamboos. Selling vegetables, fruits, nimboo pani. My eyes through the window. My hands drawing the green and cream curtains together. Yeah the same ones that looked so pretty some time back. Need a wash which needs someone to take the pains of pulling them down.
Hey this is beautiful. This slight guitar strumming to break the rythm of the drums. Coming back to curtains what i’v done till now is pulled them down to replace with a fresh set from sarojini but that was hostel and Bangalore whimsical austere living and much fewer curtains. Those boring old home ones then pink then yellow now orange.
The greenery outside is just shrubbery made too much of. The criminal heat leaves no trace even of guilt, hanging in the morning air. Does it also effectively weaken gravity, has anyone thought. Seems like otherwise all of us have lost weight. That reminds me of my favourite guava Tropicana nectar. Which never fails to remind me of that lingering taste of my nani’s guava murabba. No nani anymore. No guava murabba. Will all these recipes become myths by the next generation?
Grandparents made such a fuss of the slightest talent in us. Took such pride. Now no one bothers.
Those dancing monkeys and snake charmers visiting their colony. I still remember those bridge sessions. And that little room at the back with the lemon tree lending its fragrance through the little window. And all that khus in the old cooler. And that spray of cool water when you turned the speed to max. That wooden khat. Those human horses i’v ridden. And that splurge of peanut butter. Prutina.
Oh the glen beckons! Those chir pines. Those hanging streamer like slight branches with gold orange and green leaves. Those needles softened and yellowed under foot. That green vastness of cones till as far as the peak reveals. That little lane carpeted with yellow leaves. Sliding sliding till i’d fall roll gently rise holding some tree trunk for support.
Knock knock
Memories let me in
What did you do with all the pain
Where did you flush it all
No traces remain
This is golden softness
Not the yellow that hurts the eye
Its the cushiony grass pampering my feet
The perfumed air that attracts the butterfly
That sudden sighting of the mountain stream
The soothing gurgle in the dead of the night
A wild horizon of purple flowers
Little sunbirds twittering in flight
Thursday, May 1, 2008
childhood's end
so will we one day just turn inhuman
may not be we
but ours to follow.
and will we be abandoned
and split into atoms, If breathing
such a discontinuity
such an imbalance
frightening overthrow of logic and reason
and of religion
the gods will grind us for their higher end
will there really be such violence
a rudeness tearing the soul with the matter
the eggs spewing monsters we fear.
that calm power of supernatural
that terrestrial insurance
all torn asunder
will the skin split
and the pulp burst through
without that regret without that sigh
will nothing care and nothing try
and all that’ll remain of our home our sun
and that dear bluish white moon
will be memories in the hearts of those dead so soon
may not be we
but ours to follow.
and will we be abandoned
and split into atoms, If breathing
such a discontinuity
such an imbalance
frightening overthrow of logic and reason
and of religion
the gods will grind us for their higher end
will there really be such violence
a rudeness tearing the soul with the matter
the eggs spewing monsters we fear.
that calm power of supernatural
that terrestrial insurance
all torn asunder
will the skin split
and the pulp burst through
without that regret without that sigh
will nothing care and nothing try
and all that’ll remain of our home our sun
and that dear bluish white moon
will be memories in the hearts of those dead so soon
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