Monday, December 29, 2008

This is horrible! I'm SURE Priyanka's put a curse on me.
And I churn out yet another Post-Promise-Post.

Eta ektu silly but bear with me.
Also, I'll leave out forewords in the future.


He was madly, badly in love.
His love was so great, it could not be contained and soared into the skies above.

He stared at her face.
It was more beautiful than anyone else of her race or of any other race.

He leant towards her, he grew very near.
Her liberated heart did not mind physicality, so he was without fear.

As he grew closer, her large limpid eyes
Seemed to grow larger, and all talk of Aparna Sen having the largest eyes seemed nothing more than scandalous lies.

Then her eyes appeared to merge and become one.
And though most great things are solitary (for example- the Victoria Memorial, Brian May's guitar, and the sun),

She suddenly resembled a cyclops.
And it is during moments like these that romance falters, or even stops.

P.S- This is inspired by the time I peered too closely into my cat's eyes, and they really appeared to merge! It looked scary.

I can explain!

Before you start sniggering....

I have modified my resolution. I will not come on MSN. I will continue to Blog. Yes, now snigger.

Ok, so here's a piece that was written earlier but held back. I had to let it out. What right did I have to restrain it's freedom?


He was so happy, it made me sick. I never saw him look miserable, not even when he had toothache. 

I thought his world was one of racing cars and comic books, ping-pong bolls and bubble-gum. In my head, I called him 'half-witted', 'depraved'.....
Surely, I asked myself, it was better to live a sad truth than a comfortable lie? And his life was a lie. It had to be.

No abuse of politics... no intellectual outrage at the hopless state of our education system... he was blind to everything that was going wrong!

Then one day I asked him why he thought the world was perfect. I'll never forget his reply.

'The world's a shithole. I've always known that. 
But optimists like YOU think there's hope. That's why the angst.

You think a change is coming... I don't.
You think working yourself upto fever pitch will bring the change. For me, it's a bloody waste of time. Almost everything's a waste of time, really.

The only thing worth being is happy. Good for the digestion. You should try it sometime.'

I tried. It didn't work. But I've stopped calling people optimists.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

I grow old, I grow old. I will not wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Finally, I turn 18.
I can't make corny 'Oh then toh I will call you didi' jokes anymore.

People asked me if I had a party or not. I'm not really sure of what to say... I ate a lot. That's half the party won, right?

Funny, I don't feel like particularly like an adult. I think it's because I felt like an adult years ago. I came across this picture of me today. I was little then, and reading a book with an extremely pesudo-intellectual expression my face. Prophetic, one might have called it. The book was titled- 'I love pet animals.' I repeat- 'prophetic.'

But then, now that I am LEGALLY an adult, there are lots of things I can do. 

Vote- Doesn't excite me too much. Who the hell do I vote for? The earthquake or the hurricane?

Drive- THIS, I am really eager to do. And YES, I CAN reach the accelerator. 

Have a bank account without benevolent guardianship looming over my shoulder- This reminds me.
I am DYING to make a movie, and I need to fund it. My fame must spread beyond YouTube and Facebook Videos.

Marry- YECH >.<
To talk of marrying when I I haven't dated anyone as a non-adult.... Which is alright, I suppose, and it'll make the first relationship special, and yada yada yada. 
But then again, I've had to hear jokes about me and the school peon. Who has more personality than half the teaching staff, but you get my point.

Ooh, and there's one more thing I can do. I don't even need the law for that. 
Boss around my brother :D 
He's going to grow taller than me soon, and he's starting to get better than me at punja. I need to establish my superiority in some way, right?

Anyway, Happy Birthday to me. These are the occasions when one starts a new blog. I can't do that, but I'll make a compromise. This is my last blogpost before the ISC.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Ruddy dose, achig head.

Bloody colds should be shod dead.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

What's in a name?

Nisha first saw her when she reached the bus-stand before time.

Nisha was hardly ever early. With stray curls flying in every possible direction, and a half-zipped bag slipping off her shoulders, she would meet the schoolbus just as it appeared around the corner. Having entered the bus, she would proceed to empty her skirt pocket.

The makers of her school uniform had shown some foresight in making the pocket capacious. However, even they couldn't have predicted the level on which it would be exploited.

Poking its head out of Nisha's pocket was an object that vaguely resembled a spiked club. It was a hairbrush, a monster hairbrush designed specially for straightening out stubborn tangles. Somewhere in the cavernous depths of navy blue, rested a rubber-band and hairpins.

Besides these hair-flattening weapons were the house-badges. In these few moments that they weren't pinned onto a shirt front, they co-existed harmoniously, even harmonically, clinking and clanking against each other!

The final inhabitants of the pocket were a cell phone, handkerchief, and occasionally- a pair of socks.

Nisha was lucky too. She had missed the bus a few times, but so had everyone. She was convinced that she had a guardian angel who allowed her an extra half-hour of sleep each morning, something The Efficient Ones lost out on.

But on that particular morning, Nisha was early. And just a few feet away from her was the little girl- a streetchild.
She was playing with a puppy. She was thin, quite thin but there was a peculiar grace in her movements. She rolled about, scraping her skin against the roughly hewn stone, streaking her dress with dust and grime.
She was so unconscious of herself, so devoid of restraint, that every fling of her limbs seemed to speak of a glorious freedom.

Half the girls at school were always fiddling with their hair, adjusting their shirts.
They would cast surreptitious glances at any surface that was remotely reflective. A new pimple could ruin a day, a satisfactory image evoked smug little smiles.

The young girl was smiling too. But the difference!
Her teeth stood out startlingly white against her dusky face, her eyes glittered with pure, unadulterated joy. The puppy seemed to be smiling back at her as it bounced about, its tongue lolling, its miniscule tail a blur.

Nisha suddenly felt a tremendous unpsurge of tenderness towards the girl.
Who WAS she? Did she have any parents? Was she cruelly treated, unwanted, the stray animals her only playmates?
Was she the illegitimate child of a flourishing businessman and a poor dancer? (The girl's movements were a joy to watch.)

Maybe she was an undiscovered genius! Those long eyelashes, those waves of hair- surely they hinted at a latent sensitivity, a natural refinement.

Minakshi! That was her name. It didn't matter what her parents called her. Every person was born for a name. This child was a Minakshi.

In a haze of dreams, Nisha hardly noticed the arrival of the bus. All the way to school, she was lost in thought.

The following week, Nisha continued being nearly-late-but-really-not. In spite of that, she couldn't help wishing for another glimpse of Minakshi. Maybe one day, she wold discover Minakshi making chalk drawings on the road- they would be intriguing, enchanting... artistic masterpieces, all! And then, she, Nisha would introduce her to the world. She would become Minakshi's patron, mentor, an older sister of sorts!

Sometimes, Nisha would laugh at herself for being so fanciful. She was on the brink of obsession! She could hear her some of her friends' responses to her thoughts-

"Fuck man, how cheesy can you get?"
"Some day, the world will have more social activicts than poor people. THEN what will you do?"
"A paedophile, and a lesbian one at that!"

Ah well... she could've been worse- suicidal... exam-phobic! Her obsession was a poetic kind.

Then, there came the day when she saw Minakshi again. This time, she wasn't early, the bus was late- also a rarity.

She nearly didn't recognise Minakshi. The girl's hair was neatly tied back into a ponytail. Her frock, though faded and ill-fitting, was perfectly clean. And on her shoulders was a brand new schoolbag.

Accompanying Minakshi was a woman. There was no mistaking that small, bony figure, those feminine features. And the eyes- large, dark with a dancing spark in their centre. Undoubtedly, she was Minakshi's mother.

Minakshi was saying something in Bengali- rapidly, with vigour. Nisha wasn't really paying attention, when a certain word caught her ears.
The mother replied, saying- 'Na Tuktuk. Amar dara hobe na.'

'PLEASE'? The girl spoke English!
'TUKTUK!' Cute. Comical.

As the whimsically gifted name of Minakshi whithered in an instant, so did the aura of romance about the child.

Suddenly,the whole affair seemed grossly ridiculous. The 'please', so incongruous on Tuktuk's lips, rang in Nisha's ears like a jarring alarm bell. The name Tuktuk itself... the very sound of it was hopelessly lacking in glamour or elegance.
The colours of the schoolbag glared in the sunlight. All of a sudden, Nisha noticed the cartoons on it. They were garish, crude. For a second, their frozen smiles and glassy stares were pos'tively frightening. They seemed to be leering at her, mocking her stupidity.

'Really, some day I should go see a psychiatrist' Nisha thought to herself. Then, with the familiar rumble, her schoolbus appeared around the corner, and the whole incident passed out of her mind.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Did You Know?

People think I'm overflowing with the milk of human kindness. What did I ever do to give that impression?

I'm smiling all the time. Well, I like keeping myself happy. How magnanimous is that?

People say I never lose my temper. I'm hardly ever rude. There's a blooming difference. I DO get mad. Sometimes I get so mad, that I feel like sitting on a monster elephant and just trampling over any miserable little creature that crosses my path. But I prefer not being rude, because it spares me from listening to stupid or hurtful replies. Also because I enjoy my popularity.

And I listen to all the sorrows of the world. Well, the world DECIDES to unburden their sorrows to me, because they like my advice. My advice is sound because I have an unhealthy curiosity in human psychology. 

I am not trying to put myself down. I frickin' love myself. And that's the point.
I can be self-centred, shallow and hopelessly egotistical. 
I can be jealous, and just plain mean-minded.
If I had more guts, you'd know how nasty I really am. Not nastier than the average human being, but not too much better either.

There you have it. Digest it. Believe it. And if you still love me like you always did, then I'm thankful to have you for a friend.

I agree, the image of Anushka Florence Nightingale Sen is far pleasanter to believe in. But it doesn't exist. Like the Easter Bunny. So grow up already.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Stray thoughts on a winter morning

I'm a canvas for the world.

The sunlight forms ripples on my skin,
Streaks my hair golden-brown.
As my elbow digs into the bed,
The matted covers print it
With a psychedelic pattern.

The scruffy flower
Drawn on my arm by a friend
Is still there.
Faded but content-
A grand tribute to the last row.
The 'FLOWER' label scrawled next to it
Laughs cheekily,
Enjoying its lack of subtlety.

And the music.
As it washes over me,
It paints me with so many colours-
A velvet plum, 
Canary yellow,
The green of woods on a misty winter morning.

If you look carefully, you'll notice them.
They glow when I smile.

Yesterday's conversation 
Has been carefully written out 
On my mind.
The letters entangle themselves
In one another;
Straighten out, skip and spin.

I feel like I can sense the earth spin,
Hear it hum.
Not a twitch escapes me,
Not a whisper goes unheard.

And I know I'm not alone.
Do you know it too?
I can hear you listening,
I see you seeing.

P.S- I have to say something else. It's semi-relevant, because it's to do with winter. From now on, I will wear shawls.
I am never going to be thin, and giving up on birthday/christmas cake is a leetuhl too painful. Hence, I am going to be resourceful. La Shawle will come to my rescue.
It hides bulges. In case you're wondering, stoles aren't as flattering.
It actually looks pretty sexy.
It is ethnic. I am tired of the abundance of western-wear. 
I hope I have the guts to carry out my resolution, because the idea IS appealing. I just have to find the right kind of shawl-manufacturer. Modify the garment, to make it more teenagerish. 

Thursday, December 4, 2008

My Rollercoaster (from Juno)

This song really makes me feel strange, in a good way. 


you were on my mind at least nine tenths of yesterday
it seemed as if perhaps I'd gone insane
what is it about you that has commandeered my brain?
maybe it's your awesome songs or maybe it's the way
when I look at your face I can tell that you're not going to be stopping soon or even slowing down
and if we keep up this pace pretty soon we'll know the name of every kid and every grown up booking house shows in their town

and if home is really where the heart is
then wer're the smartest kids I know
because wherever we are in this great big world
we'll never be more than a few hours from home
and that's important because I need to travel
I've had this itchin in my shoes since I was just a little kid
and before I had a mini van I road the Greyhound bus
my mom would say "I hope some day you get paid for being Kimya Dawson"

and now I do and it's not much
but it's enough
I've got my Scrabble game, food on my plate, good friends and family
and now there's you understanding why I do the things I do
knowing that you do them too makes me really happy

on the road again
just can't wait to get on the road again
the life I love is makin' music with my friends
and I can't wait to get on the road again

on the road again
just can't wait to get on the road again
the life I love is makin' music with my friends
and I can't wait to get on the road again

from a distance, the world looks blue and green
and the snow capped mountains white
from a distance, the ocean meets the stream
and the eagle takes to flight

Darkness imprisoning me
All that I see
Absolute horror
I cannot live
I cannot die
Trapped in myself
Body my holding cell

do do do do do do do
do do do do do do do
do do do do do do do
do do do do do do do
I'll be your cryin' shoulder
I'll be love's suicide
I'll be do do do do do do
I'll be the greatest man of your life

'cause I like going for hikes and riding bikes
and playing video games in the middle of the night
and I'll stay up late and I wont even care
that we're getting up early to go to the state fair
I'm gonna ride the biggest ride it'll be out of sight
then I'll share an elephant ear with you if you'd like
because we are alive so we've gotta live life
to the fullest you spin the bottle and I'll dim the lights
four five six seven minutes in the closet

you were on my mind at least nine tenths of yesterday
it seemed as if perhaps I'd gone insane
what is it about you that has commandeered my brain?
maybe it's your awesome songs or maybe it's the way
you go straight to the top you're not scared of getting squashed
you know just when to jump off
you're so brave
and then you run to the right it seems there's no hope in sight
and you drop down to the tube that takes you right to level eight

life is a highway and I'm gonna ride it
every day's a winding road yeah
my rollercoaster's got the biggest ups and downs
as long as it keeps goin' round its unbelievable

life is a highway and I'm gonna ride it
every day's a winding road yeah
my rollercoaster's got the biggest ups and downs
as long as it keeps goin' round its unbelievable


Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Suddenly, I have this overwhelming desire for Mango Bite. Not for it's taste. I'm not even sure I'll enjoy that chemical tang and sugar sweetness anymore. I just happen to miss it.

The yellow-red-green, crackling wrapper. 
Comparing the translucent type to the opaque. Pretending to prefer whichever one I got, if my brother got the other kind.
Buying something for 2 rupees.

It's time to check out the parar bajar. The dogs there get chicken and rickshaw rides for free. After that, it would be a slight let down if they didn't store Mango Bite anymore.

Monday, December 1, 2008

To think or not to think.

"Thinking is what sets humankind apart from the rest of the world. It's our main weapon. Use it."

"Don't think so much! You'll only confuse yourself. Impulse is the best guide."

I keep hearing both these kinds of statements. And both are said with equal conviction, by equally intelligent people. Which goes to show, that both are correct. And both are wrong. 

If you've recuperated from the flurry of 'both's, then I'll continue with what I mean to say.


Everybody's got to do what they've got to do. 

I honestly respect soldiers, and wish I had the guts to go to war. 
I can't. I won't. 
I do believe that not being a material person has distinct advantages. (Though I think a phrase like 'material' is childishly simplistic.)
In fact, I'd love to be able to make huge sacrifices, for a simple reason. 
If every single damn thing I own is taken away from me, I want to be able to carry on.
The detachment here has NOTHING to do with the moral science classes they shove down our throats at school. It's NOTHING to do with the principles of preachers who've learnt to quote the sacred texts before they tried to understand it. This kind of detachment is power. The kind of power where nothing controls me.
BUT. I'm not capable of it. The very thought of being computer-less, and ipod-less, and book-less makes me grimace. I know that however much I try, I can't be a Swami Vivekandanda, or a Chittaranjan Das. That doesn't stop me from respecting either of the two. And it doesn't stop me from being prepared for the consequences I might have to face.

So whether you're the sort who needs to think, or the sort who doesn't, DEPENDS ON WHAT SORT OF PERSON YOU ARE. As well as the situation you're in.

"If Macbeth was Hamlet, and Hamlet was Macbeth, two great tragedies could have been averted."

As for me, I think a lot. I agree, sometimes I think excessively. But that doesn't mean ANY sort of thinking is pointless. 
For one, thinking is fun! Not everything CAN think. Thinking is a privilege. And it can lead you to discover a lot of entertaining things. 
For one, most people are so conscious of making impressions and projecting an aura, they keep a lot of things about themselves under wraps. Scratching the surface of their layers can be intriguing.
When you've held a certain opinion for years, and you suddenly realise that there's a hell of a lot more to it than you thought, it's a revelation! And it carries with it all the wonder, the frustrating but strangely thrilling confusion that any revelation does.

So there's a lot to read. I'll never be able to complete my must-read-books list. Same goes for my must-watch-movies list. And my must-hear-songs list. So what?
I won't stop reading. Or watching movies. Or listening to music.
And SO WHAT if I can never think out all my problems? Or think my way to the very core of the truth? Or discover who I really am? If I can get to see beyond what's plain for any idiot to see, then I've achieved something. 

Another thing. 
Acting on impulse ALL the time would be perfect, if I could take the results. But I'm not strong enough for that. There's still a lot of life I want to see, a lot of things I need to do. I need to keep myself intact for all of that.
There are people whose help I'm going to need, and people to whom I owe certain things. I'm not going brush EVERY bit of that away by jumping on every little whim.

There's yet another thing.
Some people HAVE to think, if the world has to go on. Scientists have to think before they're creating something. They have the right to do what their heart is telling them, but if it means there's a chance that I'll be blown off the face of this earth- SORRY. I come first.
Politicians have to do a hell lot of thinking. Freedom isn't anarchy.
Teachers have to think. They have to think, to know how to treat different students differently. How would you like being spoonfed as though you were retarded, or left in the lurch, as though there's nothing you can't manage?

And people are under the impression, that thinking means being worried all the time. Being insecure, not daring to take a risk. I agree, we're only young once, and we have to let go. We have to be prepared to make mistakes. But who says we think only because we're scared to make mistakes?
Sometimes, we want to be sure that we're doing what we really want. Because we're intense. We feel. And we don't want to treat things glibly. We know that we might end up making the wrong choice anyway, but we're lessening the odds. Sparing ourselves the regret. In those cases, we think, just a little bit so that we can listen to what our heart is saying. Oh yes, thoughts aren't all cold intellectualism. They just rummage about in our heads, tweak things a little bit into shape, so we can see what our instinct is trying to tell us. It all comes together.