Revision

This one is really old, I discovered it today scribbled on a note pad. However, it was just the right time to see it - just like the 'sign posts' mentioned in here...

The couple of months have been quite a tutorial. So many things in my life were revised, so many ideals thrown in the bin - so many new rules...

Then of course there are the ones that I always practice but was never really so kicked about them. Now I seem to be prepared, patience and persistence are quite the golden rules for me to follow. I am reassured in faith, in karma and the fantastic pragmatic belief of paradoxes, cosmos and tit-for-tat! Interestingly, I get calls from friends or a silly update in the otherwise insignificant Horoscope or a random one-liner appear like post-its and sign-posts.

People somehow never mattered to me as much as I have made it out to be - but it's not them that is what I realise now - it's me! We all look for bits and pieces of ourselves in people and the ones around me are the temples of everything behind my fence.

I have also discovered silence, the peaceful silence, the anticipating 'yes or no' silence, the gnawing 'pick-up and talk to me' silence, the military unyielding silence, the insecure silence, the practiced 'I will say nothing' silence, the 'never' silence, the 'maintain space' silence, the warm hug 'crazy friends' silence and the understanding silence. Silence also in ways makes me feel a better human being than the others who talk too much. Also, I have recently learnt that you can hold more with distance and silence than you can with by being a leech!

Also the power of desire and letting go is by far the best thing that has happened to my fractured and protected mind. All of this has come from the cosmos of thoughts and people around me - the ones that make me insecure, jealous, fragile, very sad, the ones that make me laugh and very happy!

For the Monk

Verse now runs in adjectives,
our generation demands
a dadaist silence.
Description is often cryptic.
I nod and join them - in Hm, yes, okay ...
Frugality of expression, restrained emotions
~ I can't do the latter.
I remember you and practice the former.

Here's for you -
Empty head, dead lines, pages vacant, false blaster, mind whooper, Hermes monster, Bacchus god, tigers and a flower pod, pretzel plaid, eccentric eye, insipid grin, briny moon... All await the first ray of sun, son of God, Mephistopheles of tomorrow, Lucifer, I command you - Rise today.

Important Randomness

During an insipid journey returning home, K bumped into a neighbor who she has had mixed feelings of sympathy and stagnant dislike for.

She was happy to know that the lisp was gone, however the nasal sound won't budge. The other realization was very related to my last post 'class-apart'. [Btw, the previous post is a bias (however, its my bias, on my blog, with no malicious intention.)]

This lady was on a 'thinking aloud' spree - something that I have observed in some post menopausal irate, unheard, unoccupied women. With her, I did not know what it was - but I registered it as nervousness. The silly nervousness that you compels faux pas in the presence of glamorous authority.

Nervousness, I realized then, compels a certain palaver with a meek garishness. While confidence is silent and commands respect for the void and restrain.

Thank you Oyster Seeker and the Monk - I would have not learnt it with out observing you.

Class Apart

Two days, a forgetful mind and four trips to and fro the city's blood line in a second class compartment made me realize a whole lot of things. I would've otherwise lived under the impression of my innate natural goodness.

I begin with a premise to clear the air - Am not the nicest person you've, you'll ever meet (irrespective of your perspectives).

1. Apart from the smelly crowd, the compartment feels damp (all the bloody time)!

2. The people like the seats are hard, I do not mean inflexible but hard, in ways that you can feel like it's their second skin.

3. A class does not teach a woman the art of Verbal squalor, the women are just as descriptive, prolific and diverse as anywhere.

4. Long ago (7 years), I too traveled in a second class compartment and had the idea that I could blend in with the tight lipped and the smacky mouths seamlessly. Now, I am wrong.

5. I like the silence (sometimes dead cold) in the 1st class, the no-interference even in a nasty fight or weeping bosoms.

6. The small talk bothered me, I did not want to tell my neighbor why and what I was reading. It was beyond her to understand that people can read without really 'studying for exams'.

7. I lost feeling when another lady in front kept talking to me and I kept reading Vogue. Or when I was urged to take a side in a your leg is touching me fight, and I simply ignored.

8 The grave difference that I found in both the compartments was - the green striped women look for support, agreement and approval - be it if they are shopping for 30 bucks bangles, a verbal banter, an over heard conversation, or a space between the third seat and the passage.

The red and blue stripped women read,listen to music, sleep and never really know who is seated beside them. They rarely talk, if they buy from a visiting vendor, they do so quietly and leave with out a line of insult or gratitude.


Childmom called it the over friendly against the reticent. I felt neither. The green stripped ladies had nothing to ponder about (constructive or not), and did not seek to change it. While the red and blue stripped dammes had interests other than vegetable peeling and jabbering.

I have very gradually belonged to the latter. I have chosen my side. I have sucked in my cheeks and raised my left eye brow unconsciously and have unsurfaced someone who did not care to be pretentiously friendly. I have no reason to be nice or not nice to people who have nothing to do with my skin. It's a hard achieved nuetrality and am comfortable with it.

Man, Woman and the Shape of things.

In a recent article by Alex Blimes, and an editorial by Priya Tanna, both tom tom(ed) about women' obsession with their body's thin or thickness. K personally likes her voluptuous self - there are only passages in her silhouette that she'd like to nip and tuck. The clothes otherwise look stupid and the images look swollen.

Returning to Blimes and Tanna - 'fit' is better than 'fat', which is better than 'thin'. At the gym, men take to Narcissus, they stare, check-out, adore, pull-in their paunches and reflect on how they can beat that bulge. Women, on the other hand, are removed from the flashing mirrors, in the oblivion of the nooks, sweating silently, not wanting their lard to jiggle in public view, as they push themselves to run for that another minute.

K is unsure if men are less conscious of their shape than women. She knows for a fact that they appreciate themselves a little more than women - but that again is a sweeping generalization.

On a similar note, the pendulum is now swinging to celebrating 'full-bodied' women. Twiggy, Moss, Jolie, Kapoor are suddenly not in vogue. Varushka, Bellucci and their likes are! It's the after effect of food consumerism. The linear movement of time demands that we now direct our vision to the clothes rack, skin firming lotions, Herbal life, Masters in Yoga and a cross-trainer.

Women blame men for their shape, men blame the mind of a woman. Emotional binges, pill poppers, hunger curbing chimneys or carrot chewing goats - all look for an affirmation that they are not sure they'd be happy with in the long run (if there is one).

Men' competition is not with other Alpha males, it's with Hercules. It's with the power to make a woman feel petite and another man a limp.

The obsession with shape was always there and it shall remain. Voluptuous/ curvaceous , hour glass, slim, athletic. We, humans, have a tendency to move in circles, in our heads and our evolution. Reading into things - Shape bespeaks a mental fantasy of a perfection, it is not necessarily the bearers', though, it would like to be. Its the new power over every thing that is yours.

K believes that the body, like the mind is a temple of sensuous enjoyment. It is there to be used, abused, loved, hated and lived-in, not with. Then whether it's the corset that's sculpting you or the surgeon's knife, the burnt webbed feet or the implanted steel scales. It's the shape that your mind wants to define its mood in.

Conclusions will be averted this time. Epicureans do not complain against Bacchus.

Survival of the Fullest punctuation 'STOP'

I like the full stop, fool(stop)! It makes me happy to decide the end and start a new beginning.

But along the digression of writing styles and persnickety editors - commas have taken over the reign. My only problem with the comma is that it is a wimp. The backside of a mollusc dog with its tail between the hind legs. There is so much leftover once you place a comma, so much unfulfilled.

It's interesting how Punctuation can peak or plummet your satisfaction levels.