all that jazz

This post comes in weeks late. I hadn’t thought of it till yesterday: I met up with faddy and spied on his phone friend, who refused to meet him. We came to talk of liars: lie because you fear judgement, consequence, losing. I know I am not going back there coz I lied about who I was! Why do we feel the need to create and cover up? Size 34 for 36, 5 feet 5.5inches for 5-6, plump for fat, subtlety for rage, discipline for boredom; luxury for can’t have; then there are bigger fantasies incorporated to spice up life or tune it down; hey why?

Fear of being judged, left out, accused and then abused… silently maybe, in actions or whispers… what I feel right now is: mortified. Family does that to you; they have a special grapevine of aunts and onkels, who use Bell’s invention to its maximum cruelty: emphatic question marks, exclamations, fake jaw drops, accusations. I have over-heard them and jeered at mom and she has jeered back. “You r stupid, naive and trust people too soon; one needs is a donkey’s IQ to tie u around a ninny.” In a vague context, she may be right.

Let me reiterate Jesus's Q “Are u flawless to judge?” have u never tripped? Never loved someone who didn't give you another option? Never trusted the wrong people? Never fell flat on your face?

Style Icon was returning to the heart of the big apple and I went to have dinner with the family an hour before his departure. I had discussions with the wise capitalist throughout the day; her patent ‘why bother’ violated my desire. I was unsure, when there was no need to be- dad at the same time, with his undying enthusiasm couldn't make it. I did go and had a nice time too… a drink with the boys’ chats with uncle and aunt: I saw how things were crumbling and how they were building, slowly.

I love family functions, small gatherings, meeting cousins. I am also heavily influenced by the wise capitalist; I like her cold pragmatism, it works for her. I don’t know if it does for me that well. I think I am too much of a family leech.

Comfortably numb

Yup, that is what i feel right now. the office air conditioning is chilling my toes; covered with thick Nike, within Fila sports. The death around me is boring me out-- feels like drudgery or punk, maybe both.

Made myself smile by reading random blogs, reviewing movies on flixter and throwing sheep. For someone who is at unrest with any sort of feeling, esp.pain -- today i am comfortably senseless. Apex mailed in to say she will revert in case she is interested... my dream went boink. The monk is lolling in grief; has distanced me: was pissed yesterday, carried it today. Black Pearl called for inane information and i knew i had done the right thing... PS. thanks dad, mom, bills n sis. Sunshine's on her way back from Deutschland and dying to meet the girls... me too. Paris is "super-excited" jumping with joy planning a sojourn, i so badly need one~
Drama King is picking me up; to cheer me n chauffeur me around the city to hunt his transgender, phone friend (transgender is my addition)

I may run out of luck, work and love but may never run out of drama, even on a dead day --nope not in this life.

Bad day continues..

There are good times and then there are times, when you feel incompetent and dispensable. I am going through those times when my confidence has hit the bottom most pit and the my self esteem is garbed in a faux suede. Chain smoker makes me feel like a fool, sometimes i think it is good- he enhances my competence; gently though, to better my work. He ensures i have fears and i invariably fall and he states: see, this is what i said would happen! Sometimes, I think I should sit there and face it, not mull over it. Sometimes, i think he can help fill my basic lack in writing , sometimes i think he is showing off or he just needs a puppet.

Sometimes, its just me playing on my mind. i fail to understand what he wishes to achieve, i fail to understand what i know/don't know.

It's bad enough that we have horse's arse as bosses, worse is that we have nasty women bosses- a must watch when they both push you to achieve an unrealistic deadline. It's almost like u can visualize them battling in the 1st class compartment at 9:21 in the morning. However they don't travel by trains... but i do and everyday!

MiL

When the mocking bird don't sing mama will get you a diamond ring, when the diamond ring loses it's shine, mama will get you a crystal chime...
College years-- lit class: 5 friends, 1 tough group to break.
Mil (mother-in-law) of the group, was the only bitch who hit me, called me names and loved me like an idiot. Mil loved kids, I hated them: she rapped me for my dead baby jokes and yelled out from the first floor when i sat in the lawn or dated the wrong guy--, cursed me for licking arse, blessed me for being a silent spy: the practical, grounded hard-working bitch from the land of few good women.
Mil also wore the most amazing firang bars~, lived in plush bandra n stood by what she believed no matter who said what/ where! Dear Mil, you have a happy life and that will be complete with many happy babies, who look just as pretty as you. love you in bundles, babes!

Bad Day

Waking up was a task, 05:30.. snoozed to 07:30. woke up to curse myself and went back to sleep in the chaos of home's morning schedule. Dad insisted on screwing my mood by singing loudly that Sia's fat maternal aunt should wake up and work! Later took time to coo with her and she puked on me, then laughed, then peed.
All of this amidst my breakfast and NO Chai! Barely browsed through the papers... dismissed them and moved to get over with stuff.
I got an auto real easy today- that got me suspicious--- the end of happiness; this small gesture was going to be avenged! Kay Serra Serra. The trains were late, the college girls were doltishly annoying and while boarding the train my raw silk kurti sleeve caught in the window grill and ttrrrroooore. I seated folded it to deceitful style and turned to face: a dick and a pair of jugs drawn in red- it killed my day. a straight silent line curses and decided I should go home and watch sex and city all day! But then my masochistic, daring self held on. Half way through the journey and the ticket collector checks my quarterly and says “u have expired, yesterday”-- that was it! 330 rs. Fine. I asked her if i could get off and take another ticket- “no, maddum”. Thankfully, I was dressed well or else the women around me would stare at me like they do at lepers and eunuchs.

Got off at Mahim and it was sunny as hell: What did i expect at 11:30am? The only right thing that i did was, wear C.K's one summer! Now at work and have absolutely nothing to do: worse thing to no work is crazy amounts of work.

The pop-up said i received an email form MiL. An old chick friend- married and moved to middle east. Was thrilled to read her opening line “ kaisi hai meri safed kabootri ” only to know that she can't make it to India as decided, coz she had a miscarriage.

personal/impersonal

Blogs aren't e-diaries anymore: maybe they were never meant to be.

So many posts on things personal yet very impersonal to blogists-- say photography, politics, fashion, mothering, location, technology, marathon: for god sake! i was befuddled by this colleague's blog-- nothing negative about it, but it challenged my reason for giving mine some direction :~))

i know, I know. Me super-confused, greedy, mere mortal has never made a directional change! What to do i was born in 1982, the year of consumerism.

Back on track, the Q is: can our blog spaces be closed and personal?

I was pulled up last evening for scribbling about-- .sin, the monk, married men and boobs, by my friends. Paris asked something incredibly honest, "Why is it up there, miss opinion ?" Am i manking a point? Not at all, am I? I am filling the void with my all the shit that i cant say or all the mess that i feel. Also, I am perpetually bothered about judgement; even though i am careless about it posthumously. Then again, does it halt here?

for .sin

A post that may never see tomorrow because the owner is lost today.

Rage … Often have many quizzed me on my choice of mood in my prose, wondering if life was in actuality quite as despondent as portrayed. I really have no answer to that, except that I breathe in conflict: in every emotion, state, choice or mood. Umpteen times I am confused by the multiplicity of choices that are present in my head at any given point in time. Annoyingly enough most of them contradict each other leaving me terribly confused. Reality is that having lived so many lives over the years I seem to have lost track of my own identity, sucked into a whirlpool of emotions that assault my every sense day after day, numbing every feeling. Who am I ? do you know ? for I don’t, a mortal fear looms of its existence, of discovering that I fall quite short of my perceived image or exceed (both terrifying thoughts although there is a feeling of cynical humor in my mind as I jot this down, laughing at this ironically desperate state of mind) Why the hell would I want to find out anyway, what difference does it make. even if I do ever find out, would it change anything ? would I want to change anything, not quite I think. Comfortable in a safe complacent state of mind. Taken enough stupid risks in my life already, now everything that seemed exciting, fun seems risky, nonsensical or plain stupid. Mornings, huh … Waking every morning to supposedly a new world, when I’m not even sure if I have stopped dreaming of the older. Living in hope, that’s what we do – really? Are we supposed to believe in our hopes , knowing fully well the stupidity they present! Secretly hoping , praying for those ‘godly’ interventions that would change the very direction of our lives. 5 seconds of reflection and back to reality, where the fuck are my socks man ? Sardar …. I need socks … despondent lives , empty existences repeated lies, accepted too

Dear Sin,

in my thoughtless attempt, i stole ur post. On the bright side... it flows, its good writing even though the end is visibly contrived.

happiness is a vague feeling-- a fleeting emotion whose existence is cherished in afterthought. some live in a birdcage/in a fantasy world/ in brutal memories and some in unassumed realities. there may be no intervention, maybe no hope, but the act gives courage to live another day that died in another continent hours ago.

ps. nothing in this existence has any name or meaning until u give it one.

remains of an evening

a caffeine shot on a muddy block, in a cafe beneath a pouring sky.
weekend couples, holding hands, Carpe Diem, wet hearts.
surging confusions, sprawling giggles, deferred emotions.
pragmatic distances, cultivated conversations, reigned and resigned to ventilation.
safety belts strapped, calm as d ocean bed, unruffled by nerves.
moods and muses cower away around the furniture called Sunday.

addictus

My newest addiction is a monk with beads. D avatar of common man in cold bonsai city. his impenetrable robe is porous with burns from incense sticks. he is formidable, charming, shallow with heart wrenching sense of chivalry. he is charred, disparate, unforgettably poor. but there is solace in all the oriental talk- the talk may not be real but emptiness is. he is a monk waking up with dreams, walking in circles repeatedly and rust iron locked beneath that robe. his chanting voice is like a tiger's growl in the morn, hands like a teddy's cuddle in the nigh and he smells of an old oak in the rain. hence...

I AM

I am
I become
I betray
I am conflict
I am greed
I am pain
I am choice
I am empty spaces
I am voice
destiny's friendly child
i am a kaleidoscope of emotions
Pandora of desires
i am an easy prayer
Sibyl of fate
I am what you love best
i am what you understand the least
i am trust
I am illusion
the head of a Gorgon
i am faith
I am death
i am hope
I am dreams
I am the comforter you want to sneak into
i am holding the earth
and kissing the stars
I am tad difficult
i am GOD.

PS.God-- spin the globe, i am here, look at me and smile:))!

Gestern, heute, morgan... want more.

Solitaires, peanut butter with honey sandwiches, forgetful amounts of money, comfortable strappy sandals, pani-puri at parle market, shopping at Hill Road, driving in mumbai at night, films at Y.B, trekking in Himalaya, stargazing, no potholes, no 'i want to fuck you' signs in the woman's first class compartment, dawn, dawn at Babulnath, CC's digressing lectures on Elizabeth, free-tight- loving hugs, good strong coffee, friends at the univ, vada paao at Ruparel, katta at Ruparel- University campus in the rain, milind soman running at six around Shivaji Park, morchas to mantralaya, Theobroma's brownie, slimmer thighs- flat tummy, better eyesight, more time, wild desires, more books, more love, Arey's Lassi, Jaffer bhai's biryani, praying at mount Mary, fights with Pj, holding mom, worli seaface, sundance's au gratin, ciggi and soup in the rain, lunch with sis at Tosa, carrying Siya, Pigeons at the Jain temple, soft toys... more, wisdom... a lot more, more smiles, even though my jaw hurts, art musings gallery, cruise ride into the bay, old times at Prithvi- , rupali, reading Cavafy/ Eliot (burnt Norton, waste land) on town hall steps, paao bhaji anywhere, aimless walks around Ballard estate, local trains, Shoba's classes in the canteen, Black BMW, my mini-pink shorts, comforter, midnight snack at Hilton, Darjeeling roads, mount Abu, mute silences at BPT gardens, wine(millions of bottles), Vino with Drama King, listening to Shashi talk on literary history, NCPA sunken gardens and Monaco biscuits, family gatherings, street theatre, love poetry, quiet walks with Vish, plush personified, inane conversations, philosophy with papa and soul sister, improved gait, humour, uncontrollable laugh-a thons while sipping coffee with Sunshine and jaw breaker, everything and more. Yesterday, Today, Everyday...

Freedom?

A colour merges.
Gooey tarmac shadow.

Soul flows through crevices

warm mercury
Contrasting, shaping
Wings, claws, beak.
Leapt in flight, thrust

Into wind, storm, sea
dive, pare, dissolve,float.

Night crouches, buoy sinks,
Infinite trench, slips into caves,
Lullaby and slumber.

Moon ceases reflection
A humm, a voice, an echo, a rise.
Moon swallowed, absorbed, porous.
Tungsten cast over the sea bed glows
Frozen sediment molasses.

Psychedelic princess
Hung by the neck on

the mast, of skein love.

"Queen, Queen---where is the Queen?"

Xanadu

Xanadu, Ithaca, Helios, Olympia… imagined habitats, worlds filled with magic and happiness, and then there is our world! The real world—which is not so real sometimes. We don’t know the amount of orbits we exist in, subjective, relative, subjectively relative, situational, justifiable, normative, deviant, involved, pragmatically involved, crashed, hyped, loved, blessed, hoax, spontaneous-- multiple layers, rolling out characters every single day with every single person walking on the kerb.

Is it easy to custom-make yourself to the needs of the other in your orbit? On a random basis I don’t think so. But then again don’t we do it? Persephone (daughter), Athena (working women), Aphrodite (girlfriend), Hira (wife), Demeter (mother), Diana/ Hestia (you) -- I am in a conflict--- to be or not to be who I think I am; is the question!

Assimilation, aberration, chutneyfication or Ghettoisation is the question. Is striking a balance d best? My bargain into the person I am and want to be. I don’t get the whole share but something is better than nothing.

Family, friends, work, me- doing the balancing act, I trip—everybody does. This is not a fantasy world of my mental construct- I may exaggerate my comfort but it’s a quest to remain happy. Writing about depression and living through it, for me, have been completely different things. Sometimes it’s just better to imagine shit -- than go through it. When in it, I can’t write about it- inspiration turns to self-disgrace n loathing.

So what if we don’t have a perfect world? I am an adorable daughter but I get grounded often. I was a fab girlfriend but the fact that it didn’t last speaks for itself. I'll make up for it and the next time, I am a little aware of the impending folly: this constant situational awareness makes me a nervous wreak and an over-excited fool!

I am going into meditation again.

Rose

Oh rose thou art sick
(lost therefore interred)
the invisible worm
of existential angst)
that flies through the night
in the glocal streets)
in the howling storm
of capitalist socialism)
has found out thy bed
stained, polluted)
of crimson joy
(indebted in consumerism)
and this dark secret love
(of multiple choices)
will thy life destroy.
(Ta Ta)
For Karma concerned- a steady attrition of the soul follows

Take a Test

1)Have u ever waited n watched the
traffic
pass by?
2) Caressed a woman's
body?
3) Hummed a tune in
public?
4) Sat still--- just
for the feeling of it
5) Touched caring the bag strap
imprint on your shoulder?
6) Hugged a friend so tight n held
him/her so close that you wanted to merge n dissolve?
7)
Slept naked above/below a warm 'made love to' body and didn't realise
how long?
8) Wore the wrong colour on the wrong day?
9) Laughed at it?
10)Held a friend's hand in public
post a fight, only to prove a point that fights' don't hurt you?
11) Kissed, talked to or hugged a girlfriend's soft toy only to
make her happy?
12) Painted a friend's/ girlfriends
nails?
13) Wore father's shirts/ mother's sarees ?
14) Waited for a call from a stranger ?
15) Was upset
when the call didn't km? Happy when it did? -- and never understood the
premise of the conflict?
16)Kissed your mom's hands?
17)Wanted to kiss a strange girl/ guy u met and never did....
because u liked him/her too much?
18) Became friends with
your ex-girlfriend's boyfriend/ husband?
19) Held an angry,
hurt, fighting, crying woman to sleep?
20) Said sorry and
meant it? Said i love u and meant it?

most
Yes-mean u have
those many reasons to celebrate life.

Most No-mean u have those many reasons to
look forward to experiencing exquisite joy.

Silly Obituary

31-10-1997 Princess Diana died, accidentally murdered by frustrated paparazzi/ by an overworked sleepy driver: the juicer truth. 4 days later Sep 5, 1997 Sister Teresa from Ireland died of heart attack.

Decade passed & the 2 women moved into oblivion. Not really now, just one did! Mother Teresa, 'the leprosy healer' from Cal is not so seriously recalled.

I know u remember her, but that's not the point: the point is --- my 12 year old friend doesn't! on the contrary she knows of Diana:" Di, princess, beautiful women, fairy tale wedding to king, king was in love with someone else, broke up, met poor kids, and one day died in a car- bike- chase with very rich boyfriend."

fairly correct, but when she asked 'who's mother Teressa?' my only way to remind her was 'remember a beauty queen resurrected this icon at Miss world?- Yup! gotcha. but she hasn't a clue this nun hailed from and what missionaries of charity was!?!

As I walked back, i thanked dad for donating all the unused, never going to be used stuff to the destitute home in Borivali, for taking us there on our birthdays. For scolding us if we cringed, for making us comfortable with uncomfortable existence of the diseased, destitute, ill and mentally challenged. They weren't pleasant, so wasn't the Cal trip n the missionaries of charity n sister nevedita.
The point is that i remember. - that history is alive for me. But then tweety was born a decade and a half later and her history is different. She never met Di but she's sad- more like a 'broken piece from a fairy tale' sad -- with much fear, i told her that 'ur Di was not a fairy and her prince wasn't a knight. Di and Charles are a projected dream reiterated by world media. She was rich, unconventionally beautiful, he was seasoned and apparently already in love with another lady, they had a very rocky marriage. The fact that Di was a bulimic was a sign of her unhappyness. Tweety refuted," But then she had a glorious death n she's freaking popular!"

That got me thinking- Does death by accident confirm that gore is glorious? U cant just die in sleep- that's boring! u have to die with drama, tragedy, controversy, burn marks, broken bones-- to leave ur mark in the society. Don't be Mata- be Mata Hari, be Gia Carangi, Frida, Protima, Plath, Woolf, be Marilyn Monroe.

Being good is passe, being troubled is marking ur territory. So here it is- Nothing better, bigger than a beautiful, rich, in-love or love-lorn, super lonely woman whose death questions the very definition of a free feminism bound by cliches of work, family and happiness.

Like they say in journalism: shock value is the only value!

PS. oddly i feel like an idiot writing this, hmm!

loud mouth

I am liberal.
Agnostic.
Bisexual lover.

I build no walls.
I give no permissions.
I love unconditionally.
I don’t question.
I don’t ask.

I don’t make a pass at men
And don’t judge the men, who make a pass at me.
I don’t hold grudges.

I allow a threesome Orgy.
I welcome change.
Infidelity is not a crime.
Fidelity not a mandate.

Expenses like Revenues will be shared.
Equality will prevail.

If You Are Free Of Thought
You Are Half Available!

I want to fuck patriarchy in the arse.

obs

I prefer to write in a blind ‘I’ and ‘You’,
Can’t write about the ‘One’: deaf and invisible.
Fascinatingly the One is often plural.

Fools stop!

For evermore I sit amongst scholars.

Amongst the alive that will die: like Ulrich von Hutton died of syphilis.

I refrain from advertising my sympathy or respect.

They make the best they know of: and are often blind to the rest of the world.

Das interkulture ist eine grosse hoax.

It’s a counter mock on livelihood.

An opportunity for free travel, for economic providence

For cultural diplomacy.

Between herzlisch wilkommen, danke schon and guten tag:

There is danken and denken

Profundity limits itself to currency exchange.

just....

Poetry saves words.
Prose saves space.
Television saves mind.

Freaks

Are all of us freaks? Is it true that the ones who don’t appear freaky are scarier than the regular freaks?
The fact that you aren't a freak --makes you BIG one!

OCD’s, straight men who appear gay, gay men who are misogynists, women with shoe fetish, compulsive liars, closet sluts: we walk the ramp of continuous judgement.

We often strip the people we date from clothes to soul. Try different faces and fantasies, get schizo and then live up to the image. I do it too- I am friendly, loving, passionate, vague and finally scary!

For a change, I scared myself today, I haven’t gotten over him! How can that possibly be? It’s fucking freaky: it’s been 2 years, the longest post break-up time I have spent as single.

Whatever, it can't possibly be! I was always single-- even when I was dating, so what flipped now? No clue poppy. Today, I thought I saw him, I was frazzled (read dizzy). Couple of nights ago, I thought the same: I saw a guy like him with a vehical like his in the middle of the night. It didn’t strike me hard, but then i pondered --did he see me? what was he doing there? Partying? drinking? I know he smokes a lot more now! the trail of thoughts didn’t leave me till i was interrupted.

I appal myself! it took me 3 seconds to get over a childhood crush. 3 hours over a married guy and this idiot…. he still makes me… !?!

What? I am a freak, a clutch, a part of the chain-saw lineage? Why can’t I let go, I am not in love, but I held on to so many 'moments'. I don’t want to be with him, but I can’t be casual about it. I don’t think he is hot (anymore), but I just can’t freeze over.
This is not normal… I am freaking out!

Brief note of goodbye

This happens in the weirdest of times and amidst warmest of people. I feel like a dead cold pigeon. Love and trauma are being discussed with profundity. Solutions are found, strategies are chalked and arbid judgements jumped over. All for a person you genuinely want to try and improve a by-gone relationship with?

Juxtaposed to drama, my simplicity appeared complex, random, vague and corporate cold. Even as I voiced, 'I was crazy about him'-- the line that followed killed it, 'we knew it wouldn't last- we were just built differently.'

Were our good-bye's painful? LOL very! He couldn't curse me enough and I was a dying parasite: fighting hard for that last chance to live before I collapsed.
I collapsed, woke up, started to walk and never encountered love post that moment. Love is like lsd, not everybody can handle the hangover.

So here, I said a short good bye- or the vacant spaces would let angst slip away and the 'we-me' in I will go crawling back, begging for more love, more insults, more babble, more smoke, more of 'two leeches stuck forever'.

'You will ashore,I will fly away,
We will find our ways.
Of acceptance and denial,
Of half hearted truths
and Polite silences.
We won’t be crippled with opportunities
We won’t be doomed for life.
Like the rest of the settled world, we shall move on.'

I hope he has moved on, because a part of me is still shivering in the drizzle by the lake that is now reclaimed.

Hmmm again.

You have to be silly and sad and very high on dopamine ---------
There are no pragmatic love stories.