Silent Dreams & Sacred Screams

Over Flow

2011-02-12T21:21:00.000+05:30

My life's just overflowing right now!! What with all the family and friends and love and happiness just pouring in from everywhere. :) My heart feels like it's about to burst! Here's to the crazy ride ahead.

Unlike Me

2010-06-08T20:38:00.002+05:30

I could be Jeanine.

I could be Charlene, thiamine, a vitamin or anybody else.

For my name doesn’t breathe like it did before.

Nor is it whispered like was before.

Or treated like a wispy coloured streamer

Flapping in the winds of lore

It doesn’t look up and embrace the skies.

Nor does it call to the sea.

It doesn’t clink like glass marbles on a rainy roof

It doesn’t even caress the wooded trees,

Doesn’t echo through speaker boxes.

My name’s not taken in lusty glee

It isn’t used, it isn’t fused.

Feels so unlike me.

Where have all the flowers gone?

2010-02-15T21:34:00.000+05:30

The first time I visited the German Bakery, the trepidation with which my friend's excited plan was met was most certainly no measure of what it would come to mean to me in the years ahead. We were fresh out of school back then, and were put up at my dad's friend's bungalow in lane 8. Nirvana, it was called, an osho follower he was. This vacation had already had its fair share of shocking experiences for us sheltered SoBo residents. With the first time we drank sherry over giggles at Prem's and what not.
So here we are, sitting disdainfully at this "filthy hang out, with the dirty hippies". Looking down on the unfinished wood benches, and munching on brownies. When all of us agree upon one thing, the swedish guy filling his bottle at the cooler inside is wayyyy hot. One little wave from my extremely outgoing best friend- T and Pedro was a hop- skip and jump seated beside me. Through girly giggles and curious questions, we have our first "conversation" with an ashram follower, discovering the secrets of "free love". All's going well, up until it's time to leave. Back then, the bakery had an open air seating area, from where you could feel the smoky breeze of cars that slowly pottered down North Main Road. Back then, the bakery was rocking till late. So it was 1:30 am when we were finally thrown out by the tiny Nepali waiters who slammed the benches upside down onto the table tops. So we took our little square paper- plate of brownies on to the street outside, still in conversation with Pedro, who by now was sure he was "walking us home" tonight. Thanks to my over enthusiastic best friend, he now knew we were staying 2 lanes down the road. After all of us shot her some very nasty looks, she finally got the hint, and I still laugh uncontrollably at the sensitive manner in which she tried to broach the topic with Pedro. "umm, but we're not Oshoiites you know, we're straight." And she tried hard to elucidate her point, with several hand gestures that I'm sure were lost on him.
That 10 day vacation made sure we frequented the bakery often, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. I recall another friend's pet name that's stuck on till this day- "Hot Lips" had been bestowed upon her by a group of lusty boys of African origin. That she had just purchased a red lip gloss didnt help the situation.
I've lost track of how often I visited the bakery since. And it was the single determinant factor that got me super excited about actually moving to Pune 2 years later.
Little did I know that our house was at the other end of Pune. But that didn't deter me. Oh no, Once I moved to Pune, I had 100% attendance at the German Bakery, and some 5% in college. And the friends I made there. Friends of Friends of Friends of friends. Every one was a friend there. Even if it was the first time you were speaking. I met some really good friends there. The last table at the end, was reserved for us. Not that anything was ever exclusive at the bakery. We gladly accommodated anyone who arrived. There was a croatian, some 5-6 Indians, a whole group of Sudanese, and some Brits in our "gang", who'd frequently meet up just to hang out, talk, grab a cup of coffee, a packet of cigarettes, and my usual- The Truthful Chocolate Cake. Yumm.. The guy at the counter even knew my name, and promptly nodded to me when he saw me and sent out my piece of cake. This was where we'd meet up before venturing further towards the watering holes. But money or no money, I went to the bakery everyday. Even if I had just enough for half the auto fare. Nothing deterred me from my evening fix.
Whenever we had an event, we knew, all we needed to do was grab a bit of tape and paste the poster on that yellow wall. And then the no smoking area opened up. That sucked, coz it was usually the only free table on random afternoons. But in the evenings, we knew for sure. Someone from the group would have taken first dibs on that table. So we sat there, day in day out. Often trotted down to the cremation grounds for a slightly "higher" experience.
And then the days of the rave, when we'd hang around there, waiting to hear about tonight's party location. Waiting to find out what trips were on the market tonight. Maybe getting a little pre-party discount. Picking up something to wear for the night from the Dragon Gallerie upstairs. Picking up a new chillum for parties when we had the money.I never once picked up any jewellry. Money had other uses. I remember losing my Ngage gaming cellphone at the little STD booth downstairs. :( I did spend long afternoons at the cyber cafe once it opened. And that parking lot out back for the more discreet rendezvous. We'd have banana milkshake and mashed potato for breakfast on the mornings returning from all night raves. We'd be sitting there, blown out of our minds. Staring in to oblivion. A common vibe uniting us all. We'd play with the hippie children. We'd converse with strangers.

Over the years, I saw the bakery begin catering to a different crowd alltogether. For one, the number of Indians around had gone up exponentially. From young students to sleazy men just there to eyeball the blondes and redheads in their skimpy attire. The vibe was fading. Later on, when I left a certain part of my life behind, I still visited the German Bakery. With different friends this time. Not ravers, not free spirits, not ashram followers. Students. In the city just to get an education and jobs to take them away from their small town upbringing. And just this weekend. Terrorists. To take them away through what they believe is a mission.
The sad truth- Nothing is sacred anymore. Nothing. Maybe the next time I push my fingers in to the rods at the temple behind, I'll find a bomb instead of Smoking paper. This is the time of a different kind of brother hood. An intolerable kind.

Outstanding

2009-11-24T23:57:00.003+05:30

The last weekend saw me whiling away a lazy afternoon, and finally catching a movie that had been on my to- watch list for a while now. Taare Zameen Par, was highly accredited and I’d heard much about Amir Khan and Darsheel Safary’s exemplary acting. The film was a pleasure to watch. Hell, I’ll even admit, sitting alone on that couch, with nobody to mock me, my eyes welled up unabashedly. The flip side though, brings me to a certain philosophy I have begun to believe off late. The more hyped any film is, the quicker you go watch it, the better. If you’ve heard enough reviews at the office, read reviews online or even watched trailers on youtube, a certain extraordinary level of expectancy sets in. Which, let’s face it, are seldom met. Let’s look at some of the recent releases:

Kaminey: Reviews- Fantabulous. Mine: Umm.. ok it was nice, I don’t see what the hullabaloo was all about though. (saw it too late)

Wake up Sid: Reviews: None. Except for the fact that the film opened with that We’re sorry Bombay, err Mumbai slide) Mine: Nice. Pleasant. Worth a single watch. (considering I watched it the week it was released)

2012: Just a couple of reviews- great promo and buildup, it’s allright, no storyline, great effects though. My verdict: Not bad. Hilarious dialogue writing, but excellent cinematography. (I watched it in the first week)

Coming back to my mid weekend solitary sobfest with dyslexia, I must say, there were certain nuances to the film that took me back to my school days. The kid’s classroom in his first school- those floor tiles at St. Anne’s that I’d memorise during those long math Unit tests. (Another concept from the film that I relate to my first school- the SSC one). Those lovely wood cabinets flanking the teacher’s desk that stocked our notebooks, projects and other crafts. (I remember being entrusted with the keys to that cupboard once, held by a glistening green crystal. And that was the one time I forgot it at home (I have a knack for keeping things so safe, even I can’t misplace them). So frantic calls were made home during the short break from the PCO under the stairs till mother sent them neatly cell-o taped in a plastic envelope with my name, class and division neatly labeled on it. (My mother was the most meticulous and caring epitome of perfection).

The dyslexic kid being thrown out of class and asked to stand outside, reminded me of the time I was still the “new girl” at JB, my second school in the 8^th grade. And the physics teacher (who was also our class teacher). Yes, delicate and propah Mrs. Dastoor with her platinum coiffure, pastel skin, pleated skirts and ruby earrings banished me from the class, sending me and my sports shoes squeaking down the old wooden staircase to take “10 rounds of the quadrilateral”. I took one. Pretty much nosed around the primary section (Having joined in the 8^th, I had never had the pleasure of being thrown out of those classrooms on the far side of the quad.) I then remember sitting at the stairs that led to the gymnasium, a small verandah with benches, a TT table and some other equipment strewn around. I spend the entire period chattering away with our sports teacher- Ms. Gupta (who chain smoked in the corners when she thought no-one was watching). Little did she realize the early exposure she was giving us brats.

The "Quad"

And then there was the History teacher, Mrs. Thyagarajan, with her salt n pepper locks that grazed her ample backside. The day she dyed her hair (and eyebrows) black was when I remember my best friend standing outside the staff room, almost charging students for visual clearance so they may feast their curious eyes on this marvel. And how someone spread a rumour that the Narial Wallah outside was related to her, and if you mentioned her name, you’d get a discount. In the 9^th, we’d all sit in her class, and walkmans and Discmans were all the rage. We’d play them on full volume, those with long straight hair would hide the cord and hook it to their ears. I was made to sit in the second row (very naughty child, this girl!) but thankfully, my chair was one of those odd staff-room rejects. A chair with wired cane so all I had to do was hook the earphones to the backrest and sit back while some boyband drowned out Mrs. Thyagarajan’s drone. And then she would suddenly stop teaching, look around perplexed, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her. She was sure she heard music. But it couldn’t be coming from this class. And why were there so many mixed sounds. So she pointed at me- You there! Turn around and sit straight.

Bbut I am sitting straight.

Oh. But you were’nt in the last class.

How the entire batch of 47 girls roared with laughter as she turned beetroot.

Then there was Mrs. Seervai. Ah. Mona Seervai, of Chemistry. My nemesis. Both, the subject and the bearer. I remember the time I got a 0 out of 20 in a class test on Chlorine. And she called my parents in. “It’s impossible. This was just a revision test. We’ve done chlorine in the last academic year! This girl has no aptitude for science.”

“Your mistaken Mrs. Seervai. Don’t let her fool you. Our daughter is just acting up because she wants to drop science and take up business studies like the rest of her friends.”

The squeaky staircase

“Well, then if she can’t manage Chemistry, maybe she should. And if she has the guts, drop out of school while she’s at it.”

“I’ll decide what my daughter will or won’t do. You leave that to me Mrs. Seervai.”

And with that, my father, shocked at the fact that I didn’t know the formula for Sodium Chloride a 8:00pm the night before my Chemistry ICSE (that’s Std 10 Board Exam) took the task upon himself. We stayed up till 4 am. I had to stand up and kick myself in the ass for every mistake I made. I cried for sleep. So it was granted. Only to be woken up by a sharp rap on my door 2 hours later. Was it worth it? Most definitely worth the look on her face, when my best friend (who also happened to be her Godchild) called her up the day of the results to announce “And did you know, she got an A plus (that’s 90 or above)’’. The very memory of it makes me chuckle in delight even to this very day.

On to the subject of dropping science, yes. I had no interest in science whatsoever. All those equations and ray diagrams and strange names. I however did have the best Biology journal in class. (I loved those little beaker diagrams so much, I remember drawing them for my brother 2 years later). My father though, was convince my “excellent analytical mind” would take me to my real calling- scientific research. Accounts was my forte. Nothing short of a 90. Ever. (That I lost interest halfway through my CA, was a different story entirely.) The primary reason I wanted to “drop science’’ was that in the 9^th grade, someone, who wished to find a loophole in the entire system, had researched the Delhi board syllabus thoroughly enough to find out, that we could indeed drop science (that’s three periods of Bio, Chem and Physics) in favour of Business Studies. The school agreed, that if enough students opted for this, they’d introduce Business Studies into the curriculum. And so it happened. And most of the class, most of my friends could be found wandering down the hall as they got kicked out of the classroom during 3 periods in a day. Business studies, I heard was a breeze. The final straw came when the Home Science teacher returned. The cookery lab right next to our classroom was re-opened. And I would drool in envy as I saw my friends mock me by almost making love to tiny little tarts and pastries with their tongues. The vulgar little beasts didn’t even leave any for me. The business studies students automatically got first dibs on all spoils from any cookery class.

I’m not sure what the point of this whole post was. Maybe there wasn’t any. I probably just wanted to share the nostalgia that the movie brought out for me. As my mother always said, your schooldays you’ll remember for all your life. Given how I can recount such minute details of my schooldays, but that college was pretty much just a haze, I’d say "Hai Hai re Hai, JB Meri Hai!"

PS: The title of this post is a small joke dad n I used to share. Back in Muscat, whenever the teacher gave me a "Full on Full- Outstanding" on a test paper, dad would ask if I wrote the answers standing outside the class." Still brings back a teary giggle.

Thanks mariamd for the pics.

It's been done before

2009-11-09T20:52:00.000+05:30

Subjectivity and opinion, the very root of the blogosphere, are in fact my biggest nemesis when it comes to what I do for a living.
What do i do for a living? Some would call it selling dreams, some would call it creating beauty where there could be none. I prefer to call it having fun while making money the only way I know how. Sometimes it's easy, sometimes you learn something new, sometimes you wish you had a magic wand that could weave 8 words that can say what is required, in the required tone, with some 800 parameters unbroken. Impossible as it may seem at the time, even that doesn't irk me as much as subjectivity.
Let's face it, as the head honcho here often says, ''it's all been done if u have enough time to browse the web.'' which is true in a way. In advertising, we're not creating anything new. We're just creating new combinations of things that are already there- say this, like this like that. Refreshing advertising, in my opinion, is just a combination that's never been cracked before. And that's all that makes an idea and idea. Any given piece of communication, might, for example, remind A of X. It might remind B of Y. C might fall in love with it, D might not understand it. That doesn't leave any of them qualified to pass judgments that condemn a piece as a copy. By such definition, every single ad ever made, is a copy. For we aren't manufacturing the ingredients. Whatever we make the ad from, is preexisting. We merely make a few connections, push it a little bit further, leap in one direction or another, and presto- ur ad is pret. So shouldn't advertising awards be about recognising that skill, or rather that masterpiece of an excellent combination, that's qualitative, intelligent, refreshing and original?

Treasure hunting in Bhendi Bazaar

2009-11-01T20:28:00.004+05:30

Chor Bazar, literally translated as "thieves market", is touted as one of the top 5 attractions in Mumbai. However, very few who visit the city actually tend to go there. The ones who do want to go there have no clue where it is and others find it daunting and out of the way as there isn't any pay n park or air-conditioned walkway. Sure enough, it doesn't look any different from a regular Bhendi Bazaar ("Ladies fingers market") bazaar.

Considering this was my second trip through the streets of Chor Bazaar , I was able to actually soak in just enough to be able to write about it. (The first visit had me staring wide eyed, walking in an almost LSD induced haze, tripping over goats and tyres.)

Getting there: You most certainly don't drive there, or you might just notice the car being smashed to smithereens on your way out, was yours.

Park at the location closest to Chor Bazaar from the direction you're entering through, and take a taxi. All taxi drivers know where Chor Bazaar or Bhendi Bazaar is. If they don't, buy them a train ticket back to Bihar. He'll drop you off at the mouth to what would seem like an auto- spare parts street. Pay him, zip up your bag, and start walking. In about 5 minutes, you will realise the olden day treasures that lay before you, are real, not hallucinations induced by the petrol fumes you've been inhaling on the way.

This is where my candy store tour began. Each shop is like a narrow alleyway, laden on either side with sheesham and Burma teak closets, sideboards, consoles, cabinets, sofas, chairs, tables and more. If you're here in the evenings you should probably spray some mosquito repellent or wear longer sleeves and pants. If you're female, you should be covered up, considering it is a Muslim labourer dominated zone.

Et voila! Strolling down Mutton Street as it is strangely called, was a beautiful experience. A small stall with intricate ceramics beckoned us. While checking out a lovely miniature water heater, my partner in treasure hunting noticed that the skinny old man was tuned in to an antique radio. "Wow, it's actually working," he commented. To which the shrivelled laughter replied, "Old is gold, son." It made my day. Just as we were about to step away and continue our journey down the street, another old man beckoned us in a way that transported me to the streets of Casablanca. "Come this way, come see inside." Grudgingly, not wanting to disappoint the old man, we stepped through a narrow corridor. And beyond three sliding glass panels lay Noorubhai's treasure trove, his 25 year old collection of lighters, perfume miniatures, pens, pencils, badges, cufflinks, jewellery, pipes, whistles and more. What began as a hobby, collecting pens and other such on his sea journeys abroad, turned in to a full time business, he revealed, as his grandson piped in, "When he was on the ship", accompanied by a shy, sweet smile. Noorubhai, recognizing the sort of objects that drew louder gasps from us, was kind enough to point out, that Fridays saw the regular Chor Bazaar shops shut, allowing those who didn't own shops to peddle their wares on the road. Now that's what you call a real flea market.

Do visit Noorubhai- Buyer and Seller of all old items at 83, Mutton Street, Shahiwalla Bldg. Call 9322188460 if you can't find your way.

Further down Mutton Street, at number 102 to be precise, was where we found the perfect chair for the study, Burma teak and leather with rivets, and a revolving base. The lady was perhaps one of the top five contenders for "Most helpful Chor". Do visit Karachi Gift Store, Friday Closed. :)

Turning back and at the corner was where we found Aziz K Mansuri, definitely overtaking the lady at Karachi Gift Store for the most helpful chor award. At A1 corner- Buyers and Sellers of Bollywood Posters, Lobby/ Show cards, old black and white photographs, we found some real treasures, assisted by a fluent English voice, that knew his stuff. Some beautiful Hitchcock and Chaplin 30 x40 inchers for Rs. 1,000/- , the more recent 007 and Titanics at Rs. 600/-, Smaller A4 sized lobby cards ranging from Rs. 100- Rs. 200. A most decent chap and we most certainly will be returning to complete our red Haig ashtray collection.

Just after this poster stall, was a beautiful shop, and we were beckoned by some funky looking stuff peeping through the glass door. The draft of an air-conditioner on opening the door dragged my swollen ankles and pulled them inside. This was a mariner's dream come true. Deep sea diving costumes from a pre-Speedo era, the white astronaut-like suit, the gigantic metal boots, the strange round windowed headgear, the machine, cannons, a ship's steering thingy, propeller, sextants, and more. Everything had British-make stamped on or in this case carved and embossed on it. Further down on Saifee Jubilee Street, was my light DJ's mecca. Corner lamps, hanging lamps, table lamps, night lamps, corridor lamps, chandeliers, and more! Number 170- Raj Lamp Shop and Exporters was extremely decent about pricing. The most gorgeous green desk lamp we will return to pick up at 2,500, and the multi-coloured mosaic hanging lamps at Rs. 1,600/-. It was like being in fairyland, standing in that little corridor as the shop keeper played disco to show off his tinted wares.

Just a little further down was a shop that made me go "Gasp! Wow! Look" and him go "Ugh! How ghastly!" So I'm not too sure about the final verdict on this one. It was more of an organised shop (in fact, the one opposite this shop even had a designer boutique style facade, after which was one of those air- conditioned art galleries). My reaction was largely due to the life-size marble Lions at the entrance, that reminded me of similar lions at the entrance to my mum's friend's Koregaon Park bungalow, that I would often straddle as a little girl. A gorgeous life size black stone panther, a marble horse and colt, bitches and weaning pups, marble bird baths all made me gasp, probably because they reminded me of my childhood. The hideously garish chandeliers being purchased by a white linen shirt and black ankle length trousers wearing Memsaab, "Humko yeh valaa naahin maangta hai, voh vallah lekin parson ke baad deliver karna" were a most definite no- no, but I'm a little confused about the Ming vases that towered over me. A Malacite paperweight stopped me in my tracks. My favourite stone, the perfect shade, the perfect ripples, so much of it in one large piece! Rs. 6,000/- made me stop mid-orgasm and walk away in disgust. No point even beginning to bargain.

That was when I realised, noticing foreigners and college kids walking around, that this was probably the more "with-it" part of the market, where these shop- keepers were savvy, knew their target group and pitched appropriately.

I dragged on, miserable about the Malacite. Stopped and occasionally oohed and aahed at retro Coca Cola tin trays, limited edition Zippos (which made me feel worse as I was reminded of my stolen Zippo), some more old-time ad prints (Oops I forgot to pick up that print from the earlier shop), perfume miniatures, and more. Till we stopped at the one thing we had almost forgotten about, the giant glass bottle. This shop was chocabloc, bursting at the seams with glass jars and bottles, of every imaginable size, shape and colour. The gigantic glass bottle with a tiny mouth that we were pointing in wonder towards, the shop owner informed us, was Rs. 12,000/- yeah right! Umm, how much for this kettle? We almost pointed towards this brass kettle that was about the size of my thumb.

Btw, that sign says, If you must smoke, do not exhale. We strolled through a few more shops before deciding to call it a day. After all, tomorrow the treasure lanes of Oshiwara await. We looked around, saw a main road far off in the distance and began trudging in that direction. The antique stores, slowly gave way to a different kind of second- hand item. Ever wondered what happens to your old pair of denims? They get wrung in big blue tubs of detergent, dye and then hung out to dry and sold as new. It's a whole different kind of market, that second- hand denim industry. Why denims, almost any kind of clothing for that matter.

Cars, Bikes, and people, we came to a standstill at a traffic jam. And the ground beneath our feet was wet, drenched in oil and lube from car parts and machinery. That clang in my head wasn't the fumes, it was labourers dismantling cars with a hammer, as dealers weighed their scrap metal and walked away with piles of metal bits and ends.

Now that we've marked out all that we'll be returning to pick up, Oshiwara tomorrow.

Ghosts of christmas past

2009-10-18T16:22:00.000+05:30

Tonight, as I lie in my bed at my grandparents place in pune, I'm feeling nostalgic. I've been wanting to step out, if only for a coffee or a drive, so here I was, skimming through my phone book, until I discovered, from all the million numbers I have, hardly 3 of them are still in pune. So here's to all of those who aren't, here's to how intrinsically intertwined our lives once were, and the widening distance that has now pulled us apart. This post is an ode, a memoir, and a thank you letter making amends.
To adi, both the adis, I wish I could replay that one hour all of us sat across from u at german bakery, dying to giggle, but pretending what u'd done the night before was unmentionable! Haha! To the other adi, here's to trying to control a houseful of dogs, running up the stairs and down the yard.
To akkshay, here's to the times I avoided u at mango farms, and then the times I hounded you over photoshop at viman nagar almost 2 yrs later!
To shroomz, for those magical spells, and those wondrous sights, and for psybaba.
To psybaba, for helping real eyes realise real lies! Abbey dhakkan!
To axd for the purest vibe ever, and the time we watched the blazing butterfly an entire morning when our third eye opened on that roof.
To vibe maestro for my first astral projection ever. And remember ur surprise morning vibe, inevitably we'd meet in the parking lot.
To monster, on both of us trying to control a room full of people, nose deep in ego snow. And the time u actually said, take this Shit away from me, I don't wanna see it anymore.
To fredo and his daughter tarang and sid his lil boy, for teaching me how to chew calcium tabs, burst bubblewrap and make smoky dragons. To fredo for fueling these experiences and capturing them.
To mommee for looking after all of us, and sometimes letting us look after you, to the times, when we sat thru the night making neon butterflies fly.
To ami for fredo, for agreeing to hide silently from the cops as we sat still in that car through ur claustrophobie.
To both the tashu's, one for warning me that day, though we weren't even friends back then, and to the other, for all the times we drove around town, letting it snow, when everyone else was gone.
To priya, for those crazy three day's we spent locked up, and ur tongue turned black!
To simone, for being the only one in there with the balls to stand up, and to how fearlessly you embraced life, till the madness engulfed you.
To pres for dragging me to your parents place, trying to hide from ur dog, and that morning spent convincing u ur eyes ain't wonky!
To ali for the night before u left for israel and we sat taking dibs on ur peacock feathers, cat, fridge and alby! And how u promised to return with mescal.
To kiana, my peach! For teaching us all so much in the short while u were here!!!!!!!!
To arch, for welcoming us all into ur home, unconditionally.
To nanu and sootie, for being the sweetest two, and sootie's christmas time goody bags, and the thc infused afternoons.
To yogi and baga, for showing us true love, and for the honey mushies we ingested every saturday.
To jeffy, for being so straight, for keeping tabs on all the kids, and for ur goa gifts. RIP. U'll be missed.
To casti, sirius!
To swamy, and that time we helped u move home, bundling all ur things in all the sheets we got our hands on!
To sp and the gang, andy, larsey, viki and more, for all the todh- phod that u involved me in!
I know I'm forgetting so many of u, so soon I'll be back, editing this post to include you as well. Keep the vibe alive. Much love!

This is No Disco!!

2009-10-09T09:53:00.000+05:30

I'm sitting in an auto, on my way from office to meet an old friend, after about 3 months. And this auto ride has got to be the most ''heppaning'' ride of my life! To begin with, he nods as soon as I say oberoi mall and I'm thinking, ok so auto wallas nowadays know their malls. That's when the true journey begins, I'm jolted out of my post work fatigue by Akon's ''I wanna make love'' blasting in my ears. I'm just beggining to hope it's the radio and something a little more normal will play next, when I hear the next track on his fancy playlist- I'm not sure what it's called but it goes ''something something dangerous so dangerous''. This auto walla's way more with it than I am! Then comes the stop at a long signal, i'm being eyeballed by all the people who's attention's been grabbed by the blaring nightclub happening in the auto, and said autowalla steps out to check the engine or maybe just gauge mass perception of this image he's created. Whatever it is, I become distinctly aware of disco lights flashing in time to the music!! I'm so embarrassed!

Gastronomic Bummer

2009-10-06T19:33:00.002+05:30

This post is part reaction to the racial attacks in Australia and part restaurant review for a restaurant I haven't quite decided whether I want to frequent or boycott. Last night was infact our second visit to Caravan Serai, an Indian restaurant in Bandra, Mumbai. Let me track back to the first. Having previously noticed the name dropped frequently on trendy.in, we decided to celebrate our decision to try new eateries in Bandra with a visit to Caravan Serai. Here's an account of that rather eventful evening:

We walk out of barbecue nation at 10 since they inform us it's 40 minutes waiting at least. We try to pull up amidst the vehicular entropy 10 minutes later, and spend another 10 trying to get the valet's attention through the motley crowd going through and emerging from the doors that lead into the common entrance to Caravan Serai and China House. Finally, we see sense in pulling up a little ahead on the side of the road and summoning the valet there. It is now 10:20 pm. We're told it's a 20 min wait. Sounds more feasible though we would have been digging into the barbeque prawns at bbq nation had we waited. We stand outside billowing smoke onto anyone that dared invade our airspace. Sure we weren't bored, there was plenty of people- watching to entertain us, but we were ravenous. While patiently checking back 20 minutes later, we're informed of another 20 minutes wait. Pissed as hell, I summon the manager who apologizes like the seedy spineless smiler that he is, and points out a table occupied by a group of firangs whose plates are being cleared away, saying they'll be done in a minute. We wait and watch the typical gora- chamdi chaating that the waiters do fawning all over them and sure as hell predict what happens next. They're still nursing their now- room-temperature beers, and ignore the bill that's been presented nearly 10 mins after the manager's left with no alternative. What follows should put any broke bunch of teens to shame- they pull out their phones and calculate the division of the total amount per head. Then spend another 15 minutes fishing around in their pockets for denominations no higher than 100 and lay them out on the table, as one lady attempts to total it while trying to smoothen out the crumpled mess. I laugh as I watch the waiter wringing his hands nervously wondering what to do. The same waiter that I observe asking an Indian couple to kindly hurry up. A couple that probably rang up a heftier bill, and paid with a neat swish of a card. Probably tipped better too. Reminded me of Prem's in Pune.
Once we were seated, it took forever to get the waiter's attention and place our order from the few menu items that were actually available. Dum Murgh and Butter Naan after Mutton Galaouti Kebabs. To describe it as heavenly just doesn't do justice. Certainly worth the wait. The naan was soft and almost as sweet as bread, the Kebabs melted in our mouths and the Murgh tomato based sauce was delish! It took forever to arrive, but we went home with our tummy's stuffed and taste buds tantalised.
So the other day, on our way home from work, although we had work to do at home, my tongue cravings got the better of us, and we got to Caravan Serai at 8:45 on a Monday evening. It was empty when we entered, but surprisingly packed by the time we left. This time round however, the experience was a let down. We ordered the exact same fare, only to be served mutton instead of chicken, but what the hell. in a bid to save our naan's the humiliation of waiting, we dug into the mutton after a small hue and cry. The bill had no waived amount, and neither did any apologetic dessert make its way to our table. So sorry buddy, no tip for you. And sorry Caravan Serai, next time, I'll probably give you a miss.

Wake Up Bombay! I mean, Mumbai!

2009-10-05T12:06:00.000+05:30

Recently, I was on the phone with mum a couple of minutes before I walked in to the first day screening of a much awaited film, and she pointed out something I should watch out for. And sure enough, there is was- a pre-film slide, by the director, apologising to the citizens of Mumbai if he had hurt their sentiments for referring to their city as Bombay on several occasions in the film with a disclaimer that the city was so intrinsic to his film it was almost the 3rd character. Hmpf. Shut up. Return Bombay to the Bombayiites, and banish all the Mumbaiites!
Strolling in to work this morning I found myself strangely disagreeing with some people on something that we usually have the same viewpoint about. The latest Bollywood offerings. First timer- Ayan Mukherji’s much promoted Wake Up Sid was like a journey back in time to my former life. Maybe that’s why an HR going Soboite like me loved it, and mass consumers from Chembur didn’t.
The film opens on protagonist and spoilt brat Siddarth Mehra (Ranbir Kapoor) attempting to pull an all nighter before an exam and dozing off after giving up on the first adjustment (subtracting sales returns from the final accounts actually!) and then screaming at his manservant for not waking him up on time (then being reminded he had directed him not to disturb as he was planning on staying up all night). Watching the cast hang out on the HR College terrace, the pre- farewell buzz, the butterfly canteen, jostling for space to check the noticeboard, clubbing all night, bumping into zillions of people, driving around with the sunroof open, sitting on the bonnet and digging into rolls at bade’s (which magically shifted to eros) and the round dropping people off at home, just about managing to throw off your shoes before you collapse into bed and pull your comforter over the head.
The characters typical quirks, innocently offering financial aide with daddy’s money, forbidding parents from walking in, are probably something only SoBo brats would relate to. Enter Aisha (konkona) a typical bong trying to make it on her own, an aspiring writer, filled with hopes and dreams that turn into cynicism when dashed. (Will she stop turning every role she plays into that same formatted character?)
This was a fresh take on the typical “coming of age” format that audiences were beginning to tire of. However, whether appreciation for such a take will find favour in the masses or just the select SoBoiites who’s lives it mimics is still to be seen. Oh, and the music was nice too!

Eid: The f(e)ast.

2009-09-22T19:47:00.000+05:30

September is the beginning of the festive quarter in India. The Hindus start with the month of Shravan (where they fast or abstain from meats and liquor) then Ganesh Utsav (11 days of praying to an elephant faced idol, and eating lovely Modaks- steamed sugar and coconut filled dimsums with ghee) then there’s Dussehra, then Diwali. In a secular city like Mumbai however, this is hardly the majority. Every other religion, not to be outdone has its own festivities that offer fierce competition to Ganesh Visarjan, or Dandiya. This also happens to be the time for Roman Catholics to celebrate the feast of St. Mary on her birthday with a weeklong celebration known as Bandra Fair. Strangely, the fair has little to do with Mary. More on that in my next post.
The Muslims, not to be outdone, have the month of Ramzan, when they fast for forgiveness and guidance. They fast all day and then feast through the night. Mohammed Ali Road in Mumbai is the place to witness such a feast, or to partake of it for yourself. Through this post, I shall attempt to take you through the alleys of Mohammed Ali Road on a gastronomic and visual journey.
Warning: Don’t read this on an empty stomach.
Warning for vegetarians: Some visuals may be shocking.
Getting there:
Recollecting my childhood jaunts to Mohd. Ali Rd, I remembered parking was not easy to come by, and now with the (not-so-new-anymore) JJ flyover, completely impossible. So we parked all the way at Fashion Street and took a cab. Well, we took the cab to Crawford market and had a bit of a dekko there, after which an opinion dispensing policeman directed us towards Mohd. Ali Rd by foot. “Udhar kya rakha hai, kitna bhid rehta hai, kyun jaana chahte hain aap” was his friendly advice when he heard me speak Marathi. (What’s so great out there? It’s so crowded, why do you wanna venture there?) So after walking and sniffing at every tiny stall on the road wondering if this was it, we finally saw signs of the festival, as muslim families thronged the sidewalk and half the road, shopping for everything from gaudy slippers to underwear to turbans. We finally got to Minara Masjid where the action was rumoured to be. Wait for it.

The magic of words

2009-09-17T22:13:00.000+05:30

I've managed to calm down now that it's been a couple of hours and I'm on my way home (in a cab snaking my way thru Bandra fair, incidentally). Just smelt a strong whiff of the salty surf, and I feel so much better. Hell, what I intended to say was that I really needed to write, not necessarily about what it was that got me so riled up, on those brainless clients and even more spineless go- betweens' but just to get my thoughts in order. There's something therapeutic about writing ur mind, that even speaking ur mind can't hold a candle to. Which reminds me, of how good it felt, when I used to write everyday, in a time when my tattered little notebooks were my only escape from that dreary world in rehab. I just went through those notebooks recently, and how I wished I'd continued writing the entire year, who knows, maybe I'd have done a james frey. Maybe I will nevertheless. until I find such timely leisure, I shall content myself with writing ads for insatiable clients and unbearable spinelessness. Atleast it's what put the aldos on my feet. (i'm beginning to wonder if shoes are my newest addiction, what with going from wearing nothing but osho chappals for the past 8 years to adding over 15 pairs in the past 3 months alone. Uhohhh!! )
* the title of this post is dedicated to that special someone who recently filled 2 pages of my yellow notebook with the magic of words.

No surprise there

2009-08-04T13:26:00.000+05:30

Life seems to have finally come full circle. Who would have thought back then, when everyone wrote me off as a wasted junkie, incapable of even getting a bachelors degree that required possible one fourth of a brain to acquire. That in a couple of years, that same junkie would go on, to breeze through an MBA and end up in the better half of her class? I'm grinning to myself, as i go about life with renewed enthusiasm, diving headfirst into what I would have considered trivial to the larger picture. Existentialism aside, there's so much more to milk from the everydayness of it all. To go about life, no longer looking up at that axe mocking the fake simplicity of this new path. It doesn't feel fake anymore. This is my life, and it's at its simplest best.

Thinking on the hiway

2009-07-06T19:24:00.000+05:30

It feels good to have money in the bank doennit? Especially when it's been hard- earned by you. But that feeling of elation just comes crashing down, as soon as u recollect the revelations from zeitgeist about how all that money holds or represents is just debt, never value. All those economics lectures fall flat on their face as keynesian and ricardian theories look like jesters before what's behind the bigger picture- bonded labour's offshoot- capital slavery. We slog days on end, to earn money. We spend each day, answerin to a system, for something that does not truly exist. Those pieces of paper we call money, are printed and loaned by the RBI to other banks in exchange for peices of paper that the pvt. Banks print and stamp called Bonds. The interest on the loan, can only be repaid by borrowing more money. So the RBI stands to make shitloads on a small principal. It's quite sad really, coz that basically means that man will never be debt free, neither will society. Which means inflation rises, which in turn means, that a pair of aldos will only get more unaffordable. And now that i'm done amusing myself on my way home, it's time to press send.

Soaking sunny

2009-07-06T11:48:00.000+05:30

While the rain gods decided to jam this weekend, spent all sunday recovering from the hangover, I did the same, the previous day. Singing songs without lyrics well into dawn, shivering on the hunt for early morning kheema, driving all over before returning to beloved yaadgar at bandra station. I was surprised to find, they were open even at 6:30, and bustling with activity. Unfortunately, they had just about enough kheema to feed 4 ravenous souls, as the 5th snoozed away in the back. My eyes began drooping and i managed to stay awake just long enough for globus chai, a quick round dropping people off, before i hit the pillow. Woke up to the wettest day in a looong while, and decided to brave all warnings, spent hours in traffic, managed to spend a considerable portion of my first salary, and fell asleep 5 minutes into a movie. Sunday, we cooked up a storm, and the 3 of us barely managed to make a dent in it, unable to decide whether to gorge on fish curry, prawns vindaloo, fried chicken, pulao, raita, amti, cheesecake and so on. Spent the rest of the evening eating into more of that salary on clothes. And slept blissfully, after watching a beautiful movie. Marley and me, is the perfect movie, for a couple that's just starting out, making plans and harbouring dreams of a beautiful life together. Can't wait to get our own little bundle of energy!! Although, i'll have to make sure i'm the one incharge of discipline!

Gazing into the eyes of others, and pulling out their souls

2009-05-28T19:00:00.000+05:30

I’ve always been fond of people watching. It’s just something that comes to me so naturally. I’m sitting at a café, I end up wondering what people around me are there for, who they are. Standing on the road, I stare. Off late, my daily local train journey has led me to observe with a far greater level of concentration, probably because of how cramped it tends to get.
Thought I’d start with her, because she’s the first I’ve begun to notice, recognising her from an earlier day’s journey. There’s no way she would have surpassed your vision unnoticed anyway. The amber iris of her eyes made it seem like she was staring off into nothingness when she stood, clutching her tan leather purse in front of her. Looking further, you realise something is amiss as you proceed to evaluate body proportions. Yes, that’s it. Lollipop is what comes to mind as I realise I probably look a ‘lil crazy, squinting at her abnormally narrow frame, topped by a large mop of burnt sienna (really burnt) strands. You could call her attractive in an imperfect kind of way, the prize of course taken away by her plump lips almost stretched over a wide-set mouth. She looks good in white, and probably knows it as I recall her earlier choice of white salwar kameez, matching today’s sleeveless kurta. She’s not used to wearing jeans, I notice her shifting her weight from one foot to another, trying to appear non-chalant. She quite possibly lives in Santacruz, where I noticed her board from this morning, and works in Andheri. Most definitely changes into a uniform on reaching work. More later. *pine n wait *

Why does bread always fall buttered side down?

2009-05-28T14:28:00.002+05:30

And other silly thoughts. This ridiculous poem by Jonathan swift that I came across whilst browsing almost made me fall off my chair at work. (Almost, to the dismay of those around!)
It's a 1757 poem titles A New Song of Similies and goes thus:
(for some reason the long "s" sound has been denoted with an "f")

My paffion is as muftard ftrong;
I fit all fober fad,
Drunk as a piper all day long,
Or like a March hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow ;
I drink, yet can't forget her ;
For, tho' as drunk as David's fow,
I love her ftill the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind ;
Cool as a cucumber could fee
The reft of woman-kind.

Like a ftuck pig I gaping ftare,
And eye her o'er and o'er ;
Lean as a rake with fighs and care,
Sleek as a moufe before.

Plump as a partridge was I known,
And foft as filk my fkin ;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown;
But as a groat now thin.

I melancholy as a cat
Am kept awake to weep ;
But fhe, infenfible of that,
Sound as a top can fleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or flone;
She laughs to fee me pale,
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brifk as bottled ale.

The god of love at her approach
Is bufy as a bee!
Hearts found as any bell or roach
Are fmit, and figh like me.

Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men croud about her:
But foon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.

Strait as my leg her fhape appears;
O were we join'd together!
My heart would be fcot-free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As fine as fivepence is her mien;
No drum was ever tighter ;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the fun k brighter.

As foft as pap her kiffes are ;
Methinks I tafte them yet ;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.

As fmooth as glafs, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites :
Sharp as a needle are her words ;
Her wit like pepper bites.

Brifk as a body-loufe fhe trips,
Clean as a penny dreft ;
Sweet as a rofe her breath and lips,
Round as the globe her breaft.

Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king!
Good Lord! how all men envy'd me
She lov'd like any thing.

But falfe as hell, fhe, like the wind,
Chang'd, as her fex muft do ;
Tho' feeming as the turtle kind,
And like the gofpel true.

If I and Molly could agree,
Let who would take Peru!
Great as an emp'ror fhould I be,
And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,
I'm dull as any poft :
Let us like burs together flick,
And warm as any toaft.

You'll know me truer than a dye,
And wifh me better fped,
Flat as a flounder when I lie,
And as a herring dead.

Sure at a gun fhe'll drop a tear.
And figh perhaps, and wifh,
When I am rotten as a pear,
And mute as any fifh.

HAHAHAh.. i know! A few more funny ones that I came across:

As black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat

As busy as a one armed paper hanger

As cold as a well digger's arse

As cold as a witch's tit

As cute as a bug's ear

As difficult as nailing jelly to a tree

As easy as falling off a log

As fine as frog's hair

As many chins as a Chinese phone book

As nervous as a whore in church

As rare as rocking horse shit

As weak as gnat's piss

Please feel free to add to this list!

Makin’ some space

2009-04-23T18:03:00.001+05:30

So I’ve always had a thing for home decor, ever since before I could read, and I would just flip through mum’s Home and Garden and GoodHousekeeping magazines for the “pictures of pretty houses and rooms” to when I finally moved out of my parents room into the guest room, and went about customising my space – from the early days with Backstreet Boys and Boyzone peering at me from the walls, to SlipKnot and Nine-Inch-Nails almost headbanging to Manson. Then the pretty stage- where I’d picked up almost all the material from one Goa holiday- shell bead curtains, batik silk sarongs turned into curtains. And then the Australia trip, and moving to Pune, where I ran and chose the room I wanted most, and made it the prettiest space ever- an old iron trunk, draped with a rug from Turkey and Chinese silk covered cushions transforming it into a window seat. Hanging wind chimes and oxidised silver suns, Marijuana leaf posters from Nimbin, Bead curtains, my guitar, Dreamcatchers, Batik handmade lampshades from Kala Ghoda, Lots of cushions with zari borders a-la colaba causeway, Lac inlaid work photo frames and ashtrays from Tibetan Bazaar, book ends, cigarette cases, curtains, small tables, a collection of classic rock tapes, 60’s LPs, all artifacts from my parents’ and uncle’s hey days.

Yeah so the last couple of years were a wee dead where interior decor was concerned considering I lived in a hostel (even then I’d say I managed pretty well), I finally have a space I can call my own, and I get to plan everything!!! Everyone refers to it as “the lounge” and we all know they’re hardly joking.

In Your FACE... life!

2009-03-27T17:24:00.002+05:30

Coz I'm still grinning! So yeah, life decides it hasn't had its fill of dealing me the rotten ones, so it goes ahead and slams a few more on the table. All in one hand. And to top it all, being bedridden isn't one of my fav activities (alone). But my brilliantly unshakeable luck, bails me out yet again! For the one hour I cannot afford it, my fever peaks beyond impossible, and my weakness makes me dizzy, but I still manage a pretty kickass MR viva! So basically I manage to clear the revaluation of those darn modules they had the balls to flunk me in, with an ... A! Up yours SIU! And all that money that was supposed to come through the reiembursement finally did, so ha! I ain't really on the streets, yknow! And well well well, wonders never cease, i might finally be getting my laptop back from HP! (serves me right for picking up one of those superbly cute notebooks with impossible to source parts, and then wasting more on extended warranty). Maybe my rant-ridden mail to them worked after all!

And then after nights of fretting about how I'm going to get this darn enigma of a dissertation figured out, they extend the deadline, as with the dumB projects.

So, I've been thinking, maybe I have a thing for Chennai based media men, as I realised after an entire day of letching at this one proffessor with a highly affected accent, and near swooning each time he said "wonly"(only), or "braaand"(brand), or "yess"(S). I stopped eventually, or MnM would have probably had my mangled remains escorted off the otherwise deserted campus. Had I survived, D would have clawed me to bits like she's lately gotten rather fond of doing.

Now if only I could tear myself away from facebook just to finish another 10,000 words on the dang Diss.

Woahoo I feel alive.. yeah yeah yeah

2009-01-30T19:58:00.000+05:30

Yeah, not the kind of song you'd usually catch me humming. But today, I'm tapping my foot even. I have been scoffing at the way this college campus has turned into a holiday resort of sorts, with no classes, everyone gymming, swimming, playing tt, baddy, learning salsa and what have u everyday. Coming back, showering, and hitting dinner and then chilling at the frog pond with a coffee and a smoke. Heading back the rooms, watching movies, sleeping, surfing the net, indulging in a lil community creativity in the TV room.

It's been ages since I went swimming. Apart from the frolicking in the goan surf, and hotel swimming pools that is. And today, took me back years. When I'd train for hours everyday after school, pushing myself to do better. Not because I wanted to achieve anything more, than beat Shefali.. Yeah I still remember Shefali Mathur was her name, that slim, tall perfect timescore-ing senior from my brother's school. And I would push on and on, till my muscles burned, and my arms felt like they were going to drop off my body. And then the time I refused to dive, and my coach made me stand on the diving board all day, till mum came n rescued me.

And today, the second I did my customary dive straight in and do a lap, it all came back to me.. how much I used to love the water, but how i hated just splashing about. Im not the most disciplined person around, but thats untrue when it comes to swimming. And hey, yeah sure all those white sticks Ive puffed on hit me hard in the chest, but I still haven's lost it. And what a feeling it was, to cut through the water. To open my eyes in that underwater world, where everything seems so much clearer than life does on the surface.

My arms and shoulders hurt like hell after. I couldn't even lift them to stuff my towel back into my bag and had to get a friend to do it for me. And I wearily trudged back to my room. Post a shower, I was raring to go once again. Aaah.. How I love the water.

If it wasn't for those darn cigarettes maybe I'd have a shot at the championship once again. Until I do finally kick that habit, maybe I'll just adopt this one all over again. And tomorrow evening will find me back in there. Slicing through that icy blue blanket.

Je dis Non

2009-01-27T17:28:00.002+05:30

Ive always been said no to all my life. That's never been a problem.
I have the attention span of a butterfly anyway.
Now, it has come down to saying no to myself. Now that is a major hurdle.
I have the self control of a junkie anyway.
Maybe if i looked at things from another angle.
I have the stubbornness of a mule anyway.

Deep in the Dark I still can't find my Shadow

2009-01-24T17:38:00.004+05:30

It's strange, the way you can go years mistakenly thinking u have but u actually havent told the one person, the ONE thing, that most people might peg above all on the priority need-to-know list.
Even stranger, considering although u dont deem that as much important, but are comfortable enough with it, to have told newer friends in the more recent past.
Whats even stranger, is when you cant feel a thing.
Although u want to.
Even after waxing eloquent for hours. Trying to find a connect, trying to find a thread, an explanation. But none of it makes sense anymore. It's all a blurry reflection of a buried past, that doesn't seem anymore real than a mirage
Stranger and Curiouser.
Thank you baby. for holding my hand. Just like always. :) n Forever.

2009-01-24T17:10:00.003+05:30

People have always told me, your young days are the bestest days. More specifically your college days. And the most memorable of them all are said to be the college fests. And more so when your college has the most kickass college fest of the year happening on a hill!
And its all looking upward... except for this who try to squeeze all the fun out of it... "throwing their wt around" or walking around with cactii up their behinds.. work hasnt been done, no we cant delegate work, no we dont want u taking an initiative becoz then that interferes with what we are doing, although we dont have it in us to share with you what has been accomplished. So eventually, it all comes down to printing out KRA's last minute in the comp lab, with half the batch shouting out asking the meaning of the term, and then a debate explodes, because everyone's come up with different meanings. HAHA
and then ofcourse hours seated outside waiting to enter UKC's dungeon. And then listening to arbit jump to arbit. good lord, and then those suck ups trying to earn brownie.. or is it bhangi points?
Insecure lil runts, trying so hard. And how I laughed today. HAHAHAHAHA... u lil liar.. how long did u think u could keep that up??
Anyhow, i'm rather glad i'm creative. Doing all that painting and papier mache is fun. And the neon spider webs are right up my street!
U know what? i'm still having fun.
Needless to say, there are those who'll wallow. But it's too late darling.

Rants about the past year

2008-12-30T12:47:00.002+05:30

Lets not even begin about the painful political scenario in the last quarter. Or the faux revolutionaries dressed in white pradas with matching white jimmy choos, and oh yes the new white LV, to go light candles at Gateway and Marine Drive in tribute.
The silly car bumper stickers that redefine gandhi's change directive in a funky san serif.
The idiotic human chains, the silly consumption of media space, telling everyone to be the change, to quell the pain so on and so forth.
the word Condemn, used almost like the refrain in the Jor se bolo Kaan-dome! ads that soon became ringtones. Hey maybe we'll be able to download the Pm saying the word "condemn" as a ringtone soon.
A semi- move back to Mumbai, a realisation that more exists beyond SoBo.
That i happened to enroll in the crappiest college of all time. And i wont even bother narrating exemplary incidents, coz u wont beleive it.
Seeing some people for what they truly are, and realising, age has nothing to do with it. Even the older ones, can behave so irrationaly, so immature at times.
There are those I look back at in pity as i walk on.
ok i'm gonna continue this one later..

"Heaven" *Live

2008-12-29T16:58:00.001+05:30

You don't need no friends

get back your faith again

you have the power to believe

another dissident

take back your evidence

it has no power to deceive

I'll believe it when I see it, for myself

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven

I look at my daughter, and I believe.

I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth

I can see the sunset and I perceive

I sit with them all night

everything they say is right

but in the morning they were wrong

I'll be right by your side

come hell or water high

down any road you choose to roam

I'll believe it when I see it for myself

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven

I look at my daughter, and I believe.

I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth

I can see the sunset and I perceive, yeah

darling, I believe, Oh Lord

sometimes it's hard to breathe, Lord

at the bottom of the sea, yeah yeah

I'll believe it when I see it for myself

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven

I look at my daughter, and I believe.

I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth

I can see the sunset and I perceive

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven

I look at my daughter, and I believe.

I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth

I can see the sunset I can see the sunset

I can see the sunset

I don't need no one

OhhhhI don't need no one

I don't need no one

To tell me about heaven

I believeI believe it, yeah

Table for two

2008-12-02T11:01:00.003+05:30

It just struck me, Leo's was where we first met, over 6 years ago. Sigh, I can still remember it like it was yesterday, both of us coincidently turned up in white kurtas. I remember watching his peculiar manner of twirl ashing his wills. Holding hands, speaking no words, but imbibing all meaning. Fingertips touching, eyes blushing, wanting time to just stand still. The hours passed and it was time to leave. I slurped a last sip of my coke, and u downed the last mug of beer, and it was time to say goodbye. We walked, our hands nestling perfectly within each others, silently contemplating, the gloomy cloud of nervous anticipation, coming to grips with realising we dont know if and when this will ever happen again. You planted a tender kiss on my forehead, and that was that.

Over the years, I frequented Leo's with friends, family, sometimes alone, but could never find it in me to seat myself at that table. That space seemed sacred somehow, a holy shrine that bore witness to our magical rendezvous.

Several years later, I felt like that nervous 17 year old all over again, as I waited at yet another table in the same restaurant. As i sat, pouring my anxiety into a small purple silk notebook, I looked up and time stood still all over again. Yes, you noticed how your lil' one had grown, and now had manicured nails. And how we sat there like the last time, u still had your beer, I'd switched to watermelon juice. You'd stopped swirl ashing your smokes, i'd stopped smoking those godawful mint cigarettes.

Months later, we returned for breakfast, finally summoning the courage to sit at that old table, they wondered if it was our anniversary, and for the first time at Leo's, I deviated from my usual pick of the menu and tried all those new things, some of which were heavenly.. some just plain wierd!

To think.. we could have been there that fated night, to think the walls that first bore witness to our love were gunned down, shudder.

Just a few lost frogs swimming in a frog pond year after year..

2008-12-01T14:57:00.002+05:30

What have we found? The same old Tears.
Mr. Dasgupta was right, we are a tribe of frogs, and we'll never jump out of our lush ponds, merely because we don't like the weather out there. We'll keep talking about how much it stinks, and how unbearable it is, how we must all unite and how we must do something to change it, seek a revolution, weed out the transvestite white elephants. And this will go on. However, this one time, this one time, some filthy toads jumped into our lush pond. The nerve. They filled it with their stench as mucous rolled off their backs. And now our paradise is destroyed forever. Our heritage, our culture, our standing, our society, our high flying community. The vista is just like the scum lying outside. So now, the loudest of voices will viciously proclaim, this one time, we will not get on our feet, we will not take this lying down. The "Spirit of Mumbai" will not rise. Let us unite and fight this terror, that no longer keeps us safe in the 1000 thread egyptian linen at night. Right.
Because you thought you were unbreakable. Will this feeling of vengeance and dissatisfaction develop into a revolution? Or will the jet set resume their exotic vacations, and frequent the Wasabi II just like nothing's changed? Continue hiding behind the screens of their Macs, furious manicured fingers typing abuses at the politicians. Why call a hinjra by any other name, when it is but you to blame?
This time, time will tell.

A lifetime of love

2008-11-26T15:33:00.002+05:30

Last night as we sat snuggled downing strawberries and creme, i was taken on a most beautiful journey. The Lake House is a beautiful story, of two people, who fall in love but have to wait. Their patience pays off, and they get another chance later. Similiar to the protagonist's favourite book- Persuasion, and our story in reality.
To fall in love, and for that love to last 6 long years, till we could finally be together. It's a beautiful feeling, knowing how strong love can be. I still remember my first question- "How long do you have?" He answered it last month- "A lifetime". And how we cried mid-meal. Just holding each other, tears of happiness streaming down our faces, Smiling through salty waterfalls. The past couple of months have been a realisation of dreams. All those dreams we wove 6 years ago, we dared to live them now. And how scared we were, of waking up to find the magic wasn't real, but after months of waking up together, we realise, the magic is forever.
When as a child you imagine, the perfect life, hardly ever thinking there will really come such a time. But when in reality, you live that life, surf-filled sunsets, midnight soundless dances, euphoric afternoons staying in, thats when your life truly begins. Tonight, we'll finally light that candle.

Turn the Page!

2008-11-24T15:10:00.002+05:30

We were probably expecting to watch the new bond flick, but when I saw a French film listed in the schedule, I was tempted. La Tourneuse de pages (The Page Turner) a 2006 film starring Catherine Frot was an interestingly typical french flick. Thankfully it wasn't one of those unbeleivably and boringly long arty farty flicks. A short and not so sweet tale of revenge. A young girl has her musical career snatched away from her by a lady she gets a chance to spite later in life. The story was simple, with a twist, the lady develops feelings for this young girl, which is what the young girl uses to her advantage to break her nemesis' home. The style however, was what really hit me, a slight Omen-ish feel to the cinematography, leaving a very strange "whats gonna happen next??" a nice flick all in all...

Afternoon Anti(c)(que)s

2008-11-24T13:23:00.002+05:30

I've always had a thing for pre-owned stuff. It's interesting to wonder where that piece of jewellry has been or who's read the earmarked books that sit on your shelf.
This weekend wondering went into overdrive as I strolled through streets of pre-owned wares. Rosewood tables, Sheesham Cupboards, Marble statues, Old Glass Chandeliers, Unique bottles, period paintings, studded candlestands, sigh. The Anitque business is truly a most lucrative business I figured, what with the way some of the items were outrageously priced. Recognising so many peices, I realised there were so many identical things in my ancestral home! Both of us went at it with such ferocity, we almost forgot about lunch! And then we found this little dhaba, that had the best no-nonsense Prawns n Dal Ghosht, we could almost smell the home-cookedness of it all! After hours of scouring the streets, being bitten by mosquitoes, measuring peices of furniture, haggling with the dealers, we walked away with some gorgeous one- of- a kind pieces that completely look like they belong in our home! A gorgeous sapphire Chivas bottle (yes well this one wasn't exactly my pick), some beautiful wrought iron candlestands studded with red and yellow stones, oh and this one really takes the cake- a blackwood frame in the shape of .... a bottle of ABSOLUT... still trying to figure what goes in it! The red Haig ashtray was a steal at 100 bucks! You won't even get a lame new one for that much! The liquor cabinet with the (gasp!) secret compartment, and the PERFECT cupboard were the best bargains ever! And we even managed to find the perfect green crystal doorknobs!!!
A day well spent, considering after this we still had the energy for some organised retail therapy, and I managed to convince Mr. Bangkok tees to pick up a couple of nice what he calls "fuck me in the bum, I'm gay" tees! :) Trust me, u look H O T in them!!! It's strange how we have a knack for sniffing out discounts in the zaniest of places!
Psst... Looking forward to stamping those ALDO, C&K, and MANGO vouchers pretty soon... hint hint... :)
Ok can we smoke a hookah now? I hope you've informed the world, Weekdays, are now, Weekends!!!! Yeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

WE GOT A WINNER!!!!!!!!

2008-09-09T00:03:00.005+05:30

Stark Cold Unavoidable Reality

Blabbering Bubblegum Freak Poseurs.

Depressing Profound Truths

Glossed Over Confused Glamourisation.

Tells a story, makes a point

Just rambles on in circles endlessly.

Weighing the scales, allowing them to tip in favour of Requiem as against Spun didn't take much effort. And frankly, after my longish stint over on the dark side, I'd know, that what I relate to is the truth.

Take the logical, practical manifestations for example-
the teeth churning. so happens.
the paranoia
the 3:00 pm Mardi Gras love burst high
the babbling incoherence
the need for love and acceptance and appreciation in return
the need to give the same in larger quantities
the walking fridge
the sudden realisations, the sudden observations

And what happens to the hapless mind in return?
you understand your helplessness
you understand the lust
you understand why you must
you understand the dynamics of the trade
you understand what must be done
choosing priorities isn't too difficult
and what it all comes down to in the end,
is grappling with 2 facts:
1. Its never a take off thats tough, its the landing thats the problem.
2. It will go as high as its meant to. beyond that, ur just fucking yourself over in a futile attempt.

So... do WE GOT A WINNER???????
JUICE BY REQUIEM.

2008-06-27T16:28:00.001+05:30

Revelation in the Crossroad of Beyond

Where are you going?

Floating in nostalgia through a long forgotten realm

I have an empty notion in a bottomless pit

There's brutality in my silence and elegant fury in bifurcation

Brain modulation placed in a meditative state

A face off of chaotic secrets that blast from the past

The sound of silence raises inner hell again

Satan in space releases rays of ultra violence

From a metafictional quagmire flows mind tears

Through the twilight of fear emerges cosmic consciousness

The chaos theory of my unrealised reality

Opens my third eye for one timeless moment of mental liberation

Hate it or love it this is the trauma of cause and effect

Heaven's gonna burn your eyes unless you surrender

The prehysterical moments of a mass meltdown in the lost souls depot

Early reflections are inner visions of lost laundry

Voices from the darkness reflect your own reality

A divine justifier shows universal human error

Waking life paths in nature I feel no more terror

My secret samadhi takes me a level higher

I come clean in my headspace

Gravity reminds me I need some help

The beginning of the story into self heaven

Every single sound are messages from beyond

A beautiful rising of positive energy

Life is a strange journey and travel time is now

The world is a narrow bridge across unidentified reality

The secret of sound makes me return to the source

A Voice inside tells me time is on my side

I enter a headroom feeling so sanctified

Breaking the matrix of space nirvana

We restart our karma

The story of a collective dream continues as in search of truth

Through a world of perception we trudge further and forward.

Seasoned.

2008-06-12T18:23:00.001+05:30

What do you say about a show way past its prime, desperately trying to milk its sagging tits? The FDLS screening of a film finale to a once hugely popular TV series turned out to be just that. With the desperately trying to build our own shanghai/manhattan set arriving by the giggly dozens, decked in all their bling, and some borrowed from beyonce's 2006 closet. Heels that would pierce even the Bombay tar. Gloss that would blind even the 6/6 pilots.

Trying hard, to scream and gush, oooh a Louis Vuitton! OMG.. giggle giggle.. ohh isn't that ring precious? When did we turn into these blind bimbettes, ooh I almost stepped over that rat. What's a rat doing on our glittery sidewalks anyhow? Wait, it's a bottle attached to a rat. No many rats. Covered in rags. Oooh and the boys can go watch that disgustingly anal politico- patriarchal battle. We girls are spending the next couple of hours with our best friends in New York.

It's strange how you can switch between the two as easily as pulling the plug. It's strange the way it doesn't matter, you can keep up the farce, as long as you know it isn't eternal.

Sickened with Selfishness

2008-06-11T18:10:00.001+05:30

Or is it selflessness? When you can be the voyeur, unattached unbiased, observing even your own life, from a 3^rd person point of view. When this candid coolness begins like a burning at the pit of your stomach, rises and threatens to overflow from the first orifice it finds.

There used to be a time. When all that mattered was being in tune. In synch with your inner sanctum. When did this duality of persons merge into one, only to emanate that rising apparition, of being someone who knows you, but isn't you?

When u begin to tread, softly slowly deeper into that tunnel, enamoured by that one glowing flower. And you realise it was just the light in your eyes. You want to leave. Go back to where you came from. Only you're in so deep, you can't find the way out.

When you clutch desperately at any shield that's strong enough to hide.

When the complacency of enlightenment begins to trouble you. And you want to return to day 1.

Sigh.

Ask the Dust

2008-06-11T17:42:00.002+05:30

Individual thought patterns

2008-06-10T09:33:00.001+05:30

Ever noticed how ... the one day it rains, it pours?

... the one day the clock is ticking the internet slows down

... the one day ur bright and early at the office, and u know ur bosses will be late

... the one day you haven't slept is also the day you get a crick in your neck

... regardless of all the rants, you still have something to rave about

... the day you're broke, is the day the landlord finally comes knocking

... you don't have change for a 500 the one day you don't hitch a ride

... when it suddenly becomes time to leave, you fall in love

... the one day ur in at 8:30 there's no1 even at 9:30.

... the moment you need some coffee, the canteen guy disappears

... you don't get a brief all day, and when its time to leave, it suddenly drops into your lap

... the time you really need to go is when there's a queue outside the loo

... when u just don't have the time is precisely when people stop you and indulge in arbit convo

... deafening the silence is when you're all alone?

Raindrops Keep Fallin on My Head

2008-06-06T19:57:00.001+05:30

Waking up to the droplets of rainshower sprinkled on your face, v/s waking up to see the flooded balcony seeping in and drenching all your belongings.

Sighing in lustful melancholie as you look out the misted window at the droplets on the glass.

Cupping warm brews through your shrivelled soaked paws.

Shivering in delight as someone places a warm dry jacket over your hunched heaving shoulders.

Running from the inevitable, trying to shield yourself with a bag.

Watching those brown skinned nymphs squeal in joy jumping chest first into the flooded gutters

Feeling that uneasy tugging at your weak heartstrings as your chest begins to hum like the opera house from within.

When your entire life, flashes before your jaded eyes.

When your heart jumps in excitement at the notion of what lies ahead.

Every monsoon, washes away the old, heralds the onset of the new.

Like S said: early morning drizzles of such incandascent lightness that you want to wrap the sari pallo around your head and cry quietly

The rainy day pain, is the best kind of pain. I know I've never been able to choose if you asked me what my favourite kind of pain was. But this is certainly up there. This being the first rain. The first true shower of sweet pain. How all these years we looked in from the outside, and today as we stand under that very shower, we revel in the full circle that life has become.

A weeklong bonanza of shining in the afterglow of productive work. I stretch in languid bliss and step out towards the first weekend.

He carries a Gun on his Passenger seat. What's on urs?

The Sanctity of Dreams

2008-06-05T18:11:00.001+05:30

Paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa
ride a Harley through the heart of danger
pick up a pen and fight a war for the right to dream
I was seventeen
Give up my house, sleep for nights on concrete
meditate with all the bums on Vine Street
no more running, no more hiding in the house of the dead
I think I'll grow some dreads
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
no more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
I dream of loving, of the empty graveyard
I dream of Vegas and the transcendental wildcard
a place where noone waits to die before they go into the light
and just the blind have sight
I follow nothing but the compass of my instinct
no matter where it leads, I know it will take me to the brink
and leave me there by myself and all alone with my dreams
can you hear my scream?

I believe in the sanctity of dreams
no more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
never dream like me
society will never dream like me
never dream like me
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
no more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
oh oh
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
no more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
never dream like me
society
society
will never dream like me
society
society
society
will never dream like me

Nothing Really. In Essence.

2008-06-04T17:57:00.002+05:30

u need to be more specific in life boy

y: that just goes to show how little you know me

X: ok.

question

have u even met her yet

Y: today

X: u have or will

Y: after work

X: ok

so then why is she ignoring

or is she?

Y: dunno

who said anything about ignoring

X: scroll up

and READ

Y: arrey

that was for you to ignore

you go up and READ

X: oh ok

sorry na

happens

Y: its been happening a lot lately

X: yeah im losing my mind

slowly but surely

Y: you know what ive realised

X: what

Y: ive realised that my ideas blow the minds of the client

X: lol

atleast ur ideas reach the clients

Y: if i wasnt bound by a so-called "brief"

X: mine dont even make it that far

Y: no

but seriously

why do they restict my creativity so

X: but seriously is a filler for back to my problem please

lol

bcoz its advertising love

money talks

client talks.

clients' money talks.

Y: but if my ad talks then money would keep flow

ing

X: umm..

even if an ad is given ***** by animatics ratings

they will still do a scratch

and then re-study it

and talk about the ONE feature that they suddenly realised is not coming thru

if its a sweet flirty soundtrack, for a romantic setting, suddnly they'll say usme dam nahi hai yaar.

and ur music director will throw up his hands and walk out

Y: my point exactly

leave the advertisig to us

i say

X: no longer is the trade about cooking in the kicthen.

customers will tell u what all theyre allergic, they;ll ask for specific prawns to be flown in from a specific island, specific quantitios of a specific spice powdered in a specific manner

Y: WHAT THE FUCK are you saying

X: and then they'll ask to see the chef

and say the food was bad

where's the manager

i want my money back

oh wait. u put nuts inmy food. i'm allergic to nuts. i'm gonna sue ur restaurant

ADVERTISING IS LIKE RUNNING A RESTAURANT> CLIENTS ARE CUSTOMERS< CHEFS R CREATIVE> WAITERS R SERVICING

the food is the ad

Y: youre not standing on a ledge smwhr are you??

X: lol

Y: are you??

X: i aml... at the edge of my own mind

gona tip off the edge now

Y: there she goes.........

there she goes again.........

X: stripped down running all over the office.. pulling her hair beating her chest

Y: hopefully shell be back again also

X: crumpling into a heap.. a sobbing miserable heap

of worthlessness

Y: overtly dramatic monologue

X: but thats what makes me me

Y: that gets you polite applause

wah waah

clap clap clap

X: oh fuck off

u wudnt love me if i wasnt this way

Y: im beginning to wonder

X: about

Y: how little you know me

X: ok then why do u love me

im acting like a deranged self obsessed maniac pretending to be creatiive drowning in her own madness for today. so please kindly humor me.

Y: ok first get this straight

i love you a lot

and secondly

theres no reason

and i dont need one

do you??

X: how can u love some1 for no reason at all

Y: like this

X: hmpf.

ur being so matter of fact.

it would be nice if you could dramatise life a lil bit

Y: i think you dramatise life enough for the both of us

X: how sad. it is.

for me to be having this wonderfully wonderful conversation with myself.

ah the manner in which one must peril.

for trying to squeeze that last drop of intoxication from the very essence of tainted wonder.

*dont ask me what that meant. i dont know either

Y: you know thats the difference between you and me

i strive

above all else

to keep it on the straight and narrow

X: why must we be above all else.

why can we not flow.. and be one..

intertwined with life

as it is

Y: cos then

at the end of the day

X: why must u have an answrr. an explanation for every but why

Y: those words are all youll be left with

X: but why

but whye

Y: because

you wouldnt love me if i dint

X: grunt.

and then we are now in a mighty roundabout situation

where the same path shall be tread

the same conversation had

once all over again

for time again

but the tables shall be turned

and the bridges shall be burned

because the essence has left

Y: the essence??

X: of the conversation silly

what were we discussin in the first place?

Y: ok

as far as tables urnedbeing t

and bridges being burned go

i dont think this is the first time weve had this conver

and i dont think that either of that has happened

hold on to tht thot

X: in another lifetime? a parallel universe perhaps? Or is it a glitch in the matrix? a foreboding sense of ddeja vu

The Weekend that was

2008-06-02T12:38:00.001+05:30

Friday began with pure Magic. A gorgeous little nightclub brought to you by the guys who put Mumbai on Fire (& Ice). Unknown to the party frequenters even, this club is pure magic, from the typical FnI stone floor, to the quaint Vanilla candles in the washroom, it even has a small white sofa lounge outside the washroom. The bartenders worth checking out as they twist and twirl and throw and spin bottles as soon as they notice ur watching. The alcohol, a formidable menu, and chicken that melts in your mouth! The music was bearable with old 80's tunes fused into contemporary electronic. All in all, a splendid night, and I was indeed magiced. Or maybe that was the Rosé talking!

Saturday, I finally gave in and decided to give the latest Indi-flick a shot. Not a complete waste, and it wasn't too bad. Apart from the aliens bit. That kinda pushed it beyond. Although it did somewhat remind me of one of my favourite books- The Celestine Prophecy. Man has long since, believed, that the ancient civilisations possesed knowledge, fuelled by an outer source. Especially the incredulous South Americans. I can't wait to go and explore for myself. Sigh. Goosebumps.

Naseeruddin Shah's latest offering as a part of the Motley- Antigone. It was a beautiful adaptation. The concept of unhappiness and dissatisfaction after the search for meaning in life. In a way all of us can relate to that in some way or the other. When we dig dig dig with our broken fingernails, hoping to penetrate below the surface, to find nothing but some more of the same, and silent frustration, gives way, to silent surrender. To prefer to leave, when we know what staying entails. Age has certainly caught up with the old man, but he still has that refined aura of command. I was pleasantly surprised to notice, his wife doesn't look a day older than from when I last saw her – at a book reading when I was a child.

And oh, indulgent Sunday- Fashion Therapy it is indeed. The gorgeous raw silk ruby dress that I can't wait to flaunt. The pretty little baby doll tops with empire lines that I can't wait to step out in, the beautiful lacy lingerie that must be retained. The perfect belt, to go with my mango bag! Sigh. On to the week ahead.

Salaam Baalak

2008-05-30T18:38:00.001+05:30

Mumbai, the city of dreams holds allure for everyone aspiring to break free from their stagnant lives. As is the case with rural folk, who flock to the city in hordes each day, hoping to strike it rich. What entails, is a life of misery, torture, poverty and disease. In a typical scenario, a pardhi family from the villages will migrate to Mumbai, some may even find employment in the form of construction work. They have no homes, and live on Chowpatty Beach, Marine Drive. Uneducated, and tribal in their manners, their children run barefoot and naked begging at car windows and outside nearby restaurants and temples. When parents relinquish responsibility of their children, the real struggle begins. Children who are on their own, live pitiful lives. Eating out of garbage dumps, begging or stealing for a living, sleeping on the pavement, defecating on railway tracks, being sexually or physically abused by people, harassed and chased by the police, exploited into prostitution, threatened into committing crimes, escaping into the dangerous oblivion of drugs are normal elements of a street child's life.

Such children know no normalcy, innocence or stability in their lives. Life has taught them to trust no-one, and they do not understand what it feels like to be cared for and loved. Nutrition and basic hygiene are unknown to them; education a far mirage.

Here is where Salaam Baalak Trust comes in. An NGO formed by Mira Nair with the proceeds from her topical film- Salaam Bombay, SBT has been helping children discover their own potential and giving them that platform to achieve stability and success.

My internship was a result of spur- of- the- moment networking. I was unsure of what to expect. Their website did not contain much information about what they do, how large the organisation is etc. I was rather shocked to find an organisation that had few administrative staff but a large number of children that they helped. With four centers in different corners of the city, and a Solapur project, the organisation was large. The first task was to develop a brochure. The previous brochure had information that was redundant, design that was dated. The trustees wanted to portray the philosophy and issue in their brochure, without going into much detail about their projects and programmes as those kept changing. The largest task here was to find a balance between the viewpoints of the different trustees and my own better judgement. There were elements they required that were unfeasible and unnecessary; elements that I felt were necessary which they deemed pointless. The opportunity to learn over here, was the fact that the trustee I was reporting to, is a film-maker, so tying ideas together and balancing out different elements (either by way of content, colour, or design) was largely grasped at this point.

An International delegate wished to inculcate a certain level of awareness among the children, and so sponsored a visit to the Byculla Rani Baug Zoo for 20 children. So here I am, rambling through the zoo, sweaty and bothered. Oh yes so bothered. 3 kids hanging (i literally mean hanging anfd they are heavy!!) on each limb, some going "Didi didi, usne mere ko maara, didi didi mujhe toilet jaane ka hai, didididi ajay kho gaya! It didn't help that said Brit was rambling lost in her own world, taking photographs of trees and cages like some nature starved soul tourist. She doesn't even speak Hindi. So she's trying to help by saying "Oooh that's a baobab tree, you should tell the children that baobab trees are found only in Africa." I wanted to retort, "well the children don't even know what Africa is lady, they haven't been beyond Chowpatty". Sunil refuses to believe that rhino is real, "nahi didi, usme caampooter hai! Maine tasvir dekha hai." I explain why the vulture is moulting, and stop myself when I realise the irony of my analogy- these kids don't have any warm clothes that the take off during summer. Anyhoo, I'm standing outside the public toilets. Shoving the boys into the men's loo and the girls into the womens', when suddenly I see a boy going into the womens;. So I push him in the right direction. "Nahi didi, main ladki hoon!!" OMG! Lol.. then ofcourse they launch off into didi mujhe idhar laga, didi mujhe udhar laga tirade!" Then one of my boy's in his enthusiasm to get at the flavoured milk, tips over an open bottle thinking more will flow from the straw! So here I am on my haunches before a public tap, washing milk of his filthy beyond belief tee. Sicko's on the sidewalk think I'm a paedophile, pass comments as I walk by, "Aapko baccha bahut pasand hai lagta hai" "Haan, aadmiyon se zyada mujhe bacche pyare lagte hai!" lol...

And the cab ride back, finding a taxi willing to take 6 bouncy brats, next to impossible. They nod and down the meter when I walk up, but scream no the second they see the kids in tow. Finally the one who does take us, decides it is his moral duty to dispense advice, "Aap in baccho ke saath time barbaad kar rahe hai, kya sab jangli hai aur jangli hi rahenge." "Yeh bacche hamare iskool main padhte hai bhaiyya, kyun baccho uncle ko batao tum log kya kya padhte ho?" And my bratty devilish lil darlings launch into various songs of numbers, multiplication tables, letters of the alphabet, the national anthem, poems and so forth. Suddenly I feel a tiny hand from behind tugging at my hair. Ambu, had plucked a beautiful white honeysuckle, and was now proceeding to put it in my hair. I Smiled at her. Chaya, not to be outdone, looks at me and hugs me, "Didi aap hame bahut acche lagte ho. Centre main roj aao."

I love my children. Especially when I stop at the Chowpatty signal, they see me from my window, and come running down the beach, screaming didi didi. Especially when I see that passion for life and learning in their eyes. Especially when I see the purity and ambition on their faces. They will make it someday, I know they will. And I salute them. For their spirit of survival and determination.

Hard to Forget

2008-05-30T11:01:00.001+05:30

People walk on in and out of your life
Not knowing what you are worth sometimes
Can't control them
I know just one thing
Yes I know
I'll make it hard to forget
I'll make it hard to forget
I'll make it hard to forget me

They can't understand our ways or minds
They feel threatened by greater design
They'll look right through
Try to ignore the changes
But we know
Yes, we know
We'll make it hard to forget
Make it hard to forget
Make it hard to forget us

Lyrics from my latest goddess of electronic soul- Shaa'ir n Func. They're a band. With more men than women, but the reason I call them Goddess is apparent from the way you just know, it is Monica's open and refreshing sexuality, that she exhibits with such ease and nonchalant power that binds this package together.

The lyrics, are soulful, urban, hippie and electronic. Insightful, nothing you didn't know, but most certainly something you never thought about before. Their sounds are refreshingly unique, with sudden genre jumps, strong influences from the kinds we all listen to, but never dreamed of mating together. Oh yes, you make it hard to forget. Hard to forget us......

2008-05-29T18:23:00.001+05:30

Last night, as I sat by the seaside, watching little children run down the stretch in complete abandon flailing their arms about, giggling in glee, I remembered what fun that used to be as a kid. If only I can find a slope that will hold me down!

Centaurs and Minotaur. Sigh. Once again I was transported to my childhood. Staring at those magnificent creatures, with gaping awestruck eyes! I would never have perceived myself capable of actually sitting through something like that, but I did. At the edge of my seat, eyes riveted to the screen. Maybe there is more to me after all. Maybe I really shall transcend.

On to the rants of the day. People who work at an agency, or people who study communication, are the ones whose complete lack of communication abilities leave me spellbound. A task, as simple as dialling Mcdonalds and ordering 1 McChicken meal, 2 Filet-o-Fish Meals. How difficult is that? Well insanely so, if you have a Desi Born Confused American freaking out on how the McDonald's guys have his name and number in their system. And then taking forever to explain where this office is, and then another lifetime to figure out how to order. Ugh. And then a 45 minute wait. Painful. All for a taste of those juice fat fries. Which incidentally I'm glad I can munch without having to worry about looking like a rhino!

Rant #2. I am not a journalist anymore. I am a copywriter. I do not wish to be disturbed with mundane freelance assignments. No. Not for friends. Or friends of friends. However exciting the story is, I don't want to waste my time writing that kind of drivel anymore. Mal, u listening girl! Back when it used to be the pure joy of seeing my by-line on opening that morning paper, maybe. But not when it's just some additional income. Because it's something that comes so easy. And doesn't take up any mind space at all. That's what journalism is really. Journalism is like rolling chapattis. Copywriting is like concocting the most divine Calamari in oyster sauce. Once you've mastered the art of rolling a perfect chapatti (which incidentally I have) there's nothing more to it. For the Calamari, there is no such thing as the Perfect oyster sauce. You just keep at it.

Rant#3. Those immature naive know it alls. I mean really. Fine you don't want your parents' money anymore. You want to be on your own. Yeah so you sell something. But honestly. How long will that last you? What after? And that thing you are selling.. where did it come from? Who gave it to you in the first place. You want to move out to a more expensive place, you want to maintain your expensive lifestyle, you want to continue messing with the wrong crowd, well, honey, you'll just have to compromise on one of the two. And I'd say, make peace with the parents. It's the mature thing to do. Really. People who diss the belly's they came from, are the lowest filthiest scum ever. Worse than that placenta lying in a glob in the ceramic. Sure, there are times when we may not completely agree with them. Sure there may be things they do to you you'd forever hold a grudge to. But zooming out, we only treat them such, because we can. Because they will still be our parents, regardless of whether either of us wants it. That's one bond that cannot be annulled on paper. And grow up honey, you wanna stop taking your dad's money, then find yourself a job first. Don't fluctuate every morning. And don't even ask, because I won't.

It’s Payback time

2008-05-28T18:45:00.001+05:30

So,I slog my arse off, over ideas. For a bloody B2B nonetheless. And i think it's half good. I mean i really pulled my thinking cap on tight and rode all the way to the fiery inside of the sun. And it gets approved. They like it even. Oh yey, it's gonna be executed. And presented. So I'm on cloud 9. So sure she's got 3 others to do, she'll finish 2 and then art mine. The copy can be tweaked and inserted in the morning. I sleep one happy puppy. Come morning, oh yes changes, mailed you last night you see. Nevertheless, it takes me the better part of an hour. Way Way before presentation. Only to find out, execution hasn't happened. And what has? Oh something thats good. But certainly not better than mine. I know I would never ever compare my work with that of someone who has so many years of experience in comparison to me. But puhleese. With this one, i was more than confident. So FINE. U don't wanna art it? It's not like i'm incapable. Its not like i don't know my way around Corbis, Lightroom, PhotoShop and CorelDraw. Its not like I don't understand colours layouts and fonts. SO FINE. I SHALL BE MY OWN ART DIRECTOR. Just so. And for a non- art person, i'm sure it could even have passed off as an art person's work. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUFFFFFFFFFF.......... BITE ME.

Red Rivers of Pain – part (i’ve even forgotten how many)

2008-05-27T19:57:00.001+05:30

It's kinda like that. When you keep piercing those infected wounds, when you plough through in zig-zag motion. It is not longer in spite of the pain that you do it, it is because. Maybe that's why i like getting tattoos. Because of the mind-numbing pain. Like I was once discussing with Kosta, it's therapeutic in a way. Almost like Yoga (which incidentally it feels good getting back to). When wicked associations with that black cloaked harem send shivers down my spine. When between A3 Press Boards i was made to pose. Those hard fiery lights hitting my eyes, trying hard to emanate that attitude. Click whrrrrr........

You know you are happy, but that doesn't make you happy. Because you want to be sad. Because songs like the ones playing round about now send that familiar feeling piercing right through, smearing itself all over my soul. Because i enjoy prodding at sleeping skeletons, and feeling the hard stone floor against my back.

I enjoy taking all those chances, just for that macro feeling of having felt. And having been. Because to be, is of paramount importance. Because my life, is only so short. Because there is so much more.. Because I dream.. and dare to believe. Because all we have is this one lifetime. To fulfil all of this and more. Because I do not want to die screaming I wish.

Looking at the transparent mirror, I see myself, in others, and others,in myself. When all i want is this darkness, the lights will flicker on. When all i want is to shiver in the pouring rain, the sun will shine on through and smile. When all i want is lonely wine and book fuelled nights, my cellphone won't stop buzzing. When all i want, is to sit, and cry, the world will give me reason to smile.

Rainbows in the snow

2008-05-26T19:05:00.001+05:30

you're the one,/

who's screaming at the sun,"/

and taking all the blame for me"

Girl on wings, girl on wings,/

spreading your love all over my skin,

/hazel eyes, hazel eyes,/

Of rusty mists, to float in a lie

Girl of feathers, velvet touch,

/I'd pawn three lines for just as much

,/razorblade, crimson pool,/

my rivers run to be your fool

girl of pain, girl of tears,/

a pinch a drop, the now and here,/

trickle pleasure, ice-blue lie,/

mother superior for my eyes"

One lifetime losing you,/

the rest wrapped in shame,

/that is how my story goes,/

this mirror takes the blame

Reading a song, a hot blooded journalist-drummer boy wrote me, it sent pangs of guilt right through me.

I feel so bad, all these months, of ignoring his calls, all because one night's desire, scared me away.

But i never really expected much to surface, from that one time he asked me " Do u really wanna go? Do u have it in you? Are you going to be able to stand in the centre of that room, the subject of everyone's gaze, and admit to the world, what you really are?"

"I guess" was my hesitant stutter.

One of the few people, who despite being enamoured by me, had it in him, to hold the filthiest mirror to my face.

That morbidly anal, disturbingly real, intensely stark, drummer boy that waltzed into my life, achieved permanence, in the pouring showers of open hearts and steaming chai, cradling snow white pups and smoking soggy cigarettes. Holding on to that helmet for dear life, as we navigated the potholes of life. That night you rustled up a search party, rode hours in the rain, just to bring me banana's, and cry on the ride back again.

I'm sorry dodo, i never did you back that turn. I was scared, for myself, and for you. I hope you have moved on now, and i'll be glad if you did. I know you won't forget but i hope you do. I'm sure she's a lovely girl, and i'm always gonna miss my friend. Thank you, for all that you stood by me through, thank you for holding my hand right through. But do understand there's a time after which, hands must let go, expectations must be thrown.

So much more than

2008-05-26T18:35:00.001+05:30

Hold me closer tiny dancer/

Count the headlights on the highway/

Lay me down in sheets of linen/

you had a busy day today

I believe I lead a life charmed beyond belief. How else would one explain my floating unscathed out of every stormy cloud I've breezed into? And how keep walking into them, one after another. I'd say it was my affinity for rain. And someone up there that really likes me! How else would i have lived, to snorkel through the bright corals of Cairns, Pet the baby penguins down at the island, ski down the slopes near wallflower hall, cable it over the merlions head, lunch at the Burj Al Arab, dive from a yacht at Salalah, collect Jellyfish down at Bondi, Surf till my knees are red, ride horses into sunsets, hug cuddly koala's, stomp barefoot in the Ayers sand, drink wine where im in the only indian, the only underaged person in a club, attend a veritable woodstock in the heart of australia, camp out under the starry southern sky, live underground and mine for opals, astral projections the morning after, no recollection of the nights before, watch the produce of the columbian plant, cut and weighed before my lusty eyes, cry in frustration, when that threshold of reality be blurrd, licked vodka lysergic off russian palms, strung UV curtains deep in forests of boom, run away to a new life, to leave behind the old, found friendship in those halls of silence, where screaming dreams are but a plea, trusted and betrayed, hoped and acheived.

I beleive i have lived, a life well rounded. There's so much more... to .... than i am ......

To wait for another full moon again...

*

2008-05-21T15:22:00.001+05:30

It feels like I'm going to explode. I hate it when people trust me with secrets and I get all super excited but I know I can't tell a soul. I've managed more often than not, to maintain that secrecy. But this one time? Damn. When they told me, I was so excited I almost fell off my chair. I hate this hate this hate this. It's going to be the biggest thing to hit Mumbai ever. I can't wait for this to actually hit the streets. I wish this had happened back then when I was at the core of it all. I would have loved to actually have been working on this. It's going to be the biggest thing ever. But oh well, at least they still consider me family and are letting me in on it all as it happens. But it's so unfair. I know so many people who would even fly down just to be a part of this. I can't wait. If all works out as planned, this will turn the entire nation upside down. Send people into frenzies, convert those who don't even know it yet, lure those, who needn't be. And it's going to send my boys zooming to the top. The Redness of the Om will exceed all percentages. Logic will go far beyond the boundaries of this universe. A known, scientific reality. All the best boys. This next one's for you. Boom.

Whatever catches your fancy

2008-05-20T12:52:00.001+05:30

I fail to understand, how unemployed persons or housewives can sit at home all day doing nothing. Sure there’s chores to do, wash the clothes, clean stuff, put it away, cook, blah blah. Been there done all of that, my nails even, and I’m BORED. No wonder idle minds create havoc, driving themselves and everyone around them insane. So I end up randomly calling people in my phone book to find out what they’re up to. The plan works. A little too well. Now I’m CHOcaBlock full for the entire week, and there are still people I would need to bail on. Sigh. Brought this on myself now, I did. A beautiful holiday, spent in the shady tree-covered cafe, listening to theatrical voices reciting scripts, discussing delivery and just imbibing the dynamic passion of it all, there’s so much more here than I’m absorbing, so much more to what I’m giving... (Sorry Karan, this really does need the ellipsis) Finally got down to reading that book I was supposed to.... for the first time, I’m taking it slow, I want to absorb each word, that meant so much, to someone who means so much. Trying to derive precisely what they did from it,
Faced with two options for accommodation; I’m a wee bit perplexed. Old friend, years of bonding and catching up to do, nights spent cradling bottles of red laughing over our younger days and how we were so naive. V/s. Getting to know someone new, someone, who seems like a real nice person, extremely decent, so decent that when he suggested I move in with him, there were no Post Scripts or intended blank spaces. It was just a matter of practical and logical sense that’s all. J Well I guess the next week and a half will decide that.
Speaking of which, ghosts from the past came ringing at my phone. Each time I’ve managed to go beyond, that finger beckons and drags me right back in. And why why must the reasons always be so romantically nostalgic? Sure it’s Anna’s birthday, sure I’m the most creative person he knows, but why would i want to suggest what he get her? Can’t he get his “new” girl to do that for him? Or wait... Is she too busy screwing his best friend in the Swiss Alps? What goes around comes around darling... But this one time... Oh well.. what the hell. I am SUCH a pushover.

Colour of the Week: Scarlett

2008-05-20T12:12:00.000+05:30

Welcome, newest reader on this blog. Although I do wish you hadn’t told me you’re here. It now means I’m gonna have to rethink a lot of stuff I put up here.. Edit.. Cut.. Bzzt.. etc. That quote by Greta Garbo really made me think.
It’s strange; there was a time, when the internet was the one place where you could be anonymous. You could be anyone, you could reveal the innermost darkness of the most devious part of your sacred soul. Without the slightest inquietude. You could experiment with who you are, who you would like to be, or just try being anyone in general for the trivial experience it suggests.
Not anymore. In fact, the internet is the one place, where you end up stripped bare, where your identity is no longer sacred, where photographs, networks, friend lists, IP addresses, Community groups reveal everything about the person you are within an instant click of a button. Where a user, (netizen they used to call it) could be anyone, and where nothing, nothing remains hidden anymore. Your past resurfaces, your darkest deeds shine through, your sadism and compulsive obsessions stand proclaimed. Where what people think of you blinks with a neon glow, where your nick names, testimonials and even possibilities based on random parameters beckon your curious judgement.
Just like all those other things in life we see ourselves headed for, all those roads we foolishly tread, knowing full well OZ is just a mirage, we set out. (on foot heehee) In the end, it all depends on how much importance you choose to give it, and how much importance those who are important to you give it.
Enough of rambling really. Just because I’m waiting for my Crimson- Scarlett nails to dry. Just because the peppermint scrub has refreshed my senses. Sigh another brilliant day of retail therapy, gossip lunches, and spa therapy.

A day at the Studio

2008-05-20T12:11:00.000+05:30

Friday saw me in the studio of one of the most acclaimed celebrity photographers in India. The speed and ease with which he captured each mood had me gazing with what seems to have become my signature awestruck wide-eyed glaze. The model looked emaciated and all of sixteen. Her cleavage was nonexistent. Now I’m not one to advocate Hugh Hefner school of breast size rules, ( i mean sure you got it flaunt it) but a woman who’s supposed to be modelling Indian Jewels ought to look like an Indian woman, well rounded at the right places.
Yeah sure I have that same I hate fat people fetish. Sure they might even be nice people, but the sight of a huge ass walking in front of me, stops me in my tracks. My eyes grow large and i can’t seem to be able to tear them away from those mondo- Muffin shaped limbs. Ugh, HOW can women live with themselves looking like that? Sure not all of us are born with a CV cut out for centre-spread layouts, but even all that “comfortable in your own skin and love who you are, look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself what a sexy diva you are” and all that gibberish sounds fancy fine, but you need to be able to breathe in your own skin before you can be comfortable in it! I may not have that size 6 puckered waist with 30-B cups, (wouldn’t want it either) but at least I don’t need to shop at Revolution in an attempt to be sexy.
The make- up artist working on this shoot happened to be another acclaimed celebrity artist, walking around with flowers in his hair, discussing the disposal of drunken boyfriends in Goa, his order of preference for Booze, Air-conditioning and Sex. His knowledge of the Indian Cricket team’s choice of uppers and downers. Felt marvellously fabulous when this Gentleman claimed to know my family (well who doesn’t), and discussed families that we knew in common. Pigged out over a scrumptious fish fiesta and home cooked food brought in by said photographers wife. Learning did happen, but only once strange woman from the office left me to small boy or was it vice-versa. Nice rapport with small boy, and extremely decent of him to give me a ride despite the disconnected odds against all the khan’s men! The afternoon made me realise how close I actually am to that scenario that I so badly wanted to be a part of. The 60’s whos who of Mumbai that was Bombay. The city of dreams, the weavers of those dreams. How integral to that entire scenario my family really was, and how much a part of that my blood really is. How many stories were so connected, what my pedigree really is, and how much I have to hold my nose crinkled high about.

Another day... And i'm still on fire!

2008-05-20T12:09:00.000+05:30

Oh well now that we are done saving those stupid tigers, time to go on and lead the nation, through silent action. That’s what my long copy was all about. The NCD after looking at my patriotic detergent long copy, asked me to rework the long copy that won him Grand Prix this summer. As If. I can ever ever even hope to compare. I still gave it my best shot, no matter how biased trying to compare my eager amateurish words to his confident experienced ones. Even then, after a day of slogging over it, I present. And they love it. Proud of me even. Sigh. Good work. (I know I know, Rule #1. Never laud yourself on your own work, it makes you complacent. But it’s my first ever compliment. Please?) Sigh it’s somewhat unfortunate that the person who taught me most of these things in the first place, who taught me enough to even have the confidence to write copy with such confidence isn’t here to shine in the light of these applauses, but what goes around comes around now doesn’t it? Precisely like what I once said about Marion.

The night that was..

2008-05-20T12:07:00.001+05:30

Hot Italian Men, Heady French Wine, Sumptuous Expensive Cheese, Gay Best Friends, Contemporary Upbeat Music, Gravelled Outdoor Bars, Page Three Regulars. Sigh it was a night to relive, again and again just as I am through this post. There’s nothing that can make a woman feel as Luxuriously beautiful as an Italian Mafia mistress other than accompanying a Gay friend to a high-society do, getting increasingly bold as the intoxication loosens lips following which the hips. Am I turning into one of them, or is this just the phase where Im tryin to resume normalcy to my life once again?
The time is right
Your perfume fills my head
The stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you
I love you...

and i saved them tigers!

2008-05-13T18:52:00.002+05:30

OKay.. i know there's shit loads of other stuff to update about..
but first of all............... MY FIRST PRinT is out..... omigod.. after 2 days of complete tiger hell...
thinking and thinking.. about the wretched beast..
and its executed.. in art... in orange and black.. on paper.. packaged off... and on its way!
sigh the high.. of seeing ur work.. in art and copy.. a zillion times better than seeing ur byline in a newspaper.. i knew i'd never regret switching to advt!!
I LOVE this !!
not bad considering my debauched weekend...
wine and wine and other such feel good vibes...
sigh...
nothing like a new life... to flush out the old...
yeah i know its time to leave the office.. but damn i wish i could just stay here all night...
but I guess old friends mustn't be forgotten..
PS: why is everyone mixed in such triangles? Is summer the time.. when old flames come knocking? Oh well.. i shall play the role, pour out all your troubles my child...

Day 2: Youre Frozen when your heart's not open

2008-05-09T13:01:00.000+05:30

damn i wish i could post my brilliant concepts here.. (but i probably should'nt copyright issues yahknow..)but i'm pretty darn proud of myself. Went back last night and passed out almost before my head hit the pillow. (yeah ok ive been chilling too much for too long. time to get back into the grind.) So i'm here bright and early. before most employees leave aside interns. I love this, plug in set up and then do the morning sutta and chai in the atria. (which is de-thaw zone) well turns out the arctic zone- was for an international design firm and the gora's wanted the ac real cold. so we interns must suffer in frozen silence.

Uncle (finance) walks in to ask how its going, whether im comfortable etc etc. sweet. So now i know a few more people in the office. (There is an SIMCian here as well, she just got placed, but considering we never exchanged a word back in college, i doubt that'll begin now.) I like the ambience, thanks to some common friends, i got a few psyheads to chill with. Thanks to this glass door, i got a friend to crib with.
There's loads of other interns here. Servicing mostly, apart from another girl in copy. Sure they got work to do, Media Tracking (ugh) and collating work for their bosses to carry to the client. (now i know why im in creative). The cut-paste room, as i promised more on, is basically where the prints get assembled.

All the artwork, hardcopy. There's some real neat banana leaf shaped brochures going out to knorr, and the cut-paste artist shows me the material they use, how its cut pasted and assembled. turns out he's one of those unsung heroes as different servicing guys fight over him to deliver stuff to their clients on time. Godrej v/s Knorr. The big fight.
2 of my classmates in the office downstairs. turns out they dont have much work so we hang in the stairwell for a bit. Im back at my desk, researching and typing away furiously. yeah i mean even if you have kickass concepts, u should check the logical flow as well right?
Finally get back in touch with loads of people. (Man i love facebook) so i might be heading to blue frog later tonight.
Did i tell you how much i love this office? I'm working hard. slogging at each idea. finally got a bunch of ideas on screen. working around them now.
Oh the other interns did i tell you?? "whats ambient? whats a viral, why arent these jpegs (which are shortcuts incidentally) opening from the pendrive yaah? where to search for images on the net yaah?" oh mygod. i mean and thats a MICAn. SIMC you rock.
So i figure. a whole bunch of internal jazs which wouldnt be ethical to enter out here.
on a more personal front.. where did all these come from?? was i walking with my eyes shut earlier? seems like this is gonna be one hell of an interesting summer. ;)
So again end of day i go show my work to smallboy. who tells me to work it into a long copy. damn. now thats a challenge. daunting but i will. don nehru's topi and march forth.
Shows me some kickass prints they made. ok so now i know.. i'm allowed to think beyond the tag line!! hehehe
i'm in the office till real late coz t is supposed to meet me. The bitch forgets. so i end up meetin someone ive been meaning to for a while now. Finally. It's strange when u totally know some1 and uve never ever met before. and when you finally do, you hit it off like HOT rocks! hehehe im ready to pass out tonight. but for different reasons totally.

Day 1: Im screamng but you cant hear me

2008-05-09T11:37:00.002+05:30

Ok.. so im rushing coz im 15 mins late for my first day at omigod.. the most coveted ad agency
ever.... The one agency ive been dying to step foot in ever since i found out what an ad
agency is. Late, only because it took me forever trying to figure out what to wear. its after
all. We shall ignore the fact that i spent all of last night figuring the same thing. With not-so helpful inputs from my batchmates (some of whom have already started their internships before
the weekend i finally zoom in on a white shirt, a black camisole over the shirt, jeans, and my
pointy heeled suedes (more later). Rushing to get there, i figure ive got more than enough time
to catch a train to Elphinstone and then a cab to the office. Big mistake. I spend 20 mins trying
to hail a cab. And another 20 in traffic to go a distance of 5 mins. Had i gotten off at Lower
parel, i could have walked it.
so i'm here. and ive been sitting in this reception waiting for an hour. Well well well. People watching happens. so i'm gawking like the wide- eyed young enthu intern that i am. at people.
people who work at the agency i would give an arm and leg to work for. Some dressed all preppy in their wedges and saba bags unplugging their pods, removing their shades. Some loook like they havent seen a shower in weeks. or a haircut. :)Finally the head's secretary calls me in. to tell me to sit. yeah sure they clear out the desks in what was a cut-paste room. (more on that later).

Sure. but they dont have computers. (bring in your own laptops 2moro.) so the person i'm supposed to report to? she's coming in shortly.

shortly. i wish they'd define that. Ive been sitting here all morning. its lunchtime now. This
other guy under her has thrown 3 hugeass books i can barely carry into my hands and said read. so im reading. Theyre neat books allright. prints mostly. so its not too bad. And that library really was something else. A pool table? (does it ever get used, im about to find out)and neat
lil cabinets overflowing with books id love to spend hours with. unfortunately. Its ideas i should spend hours with. So anyhoo, Shes here, Finally.
ok so cool, there's no work right now, so chill. Go through books.
Ok so could you atleast tell me what accounts i'll be working on so i can probably lay down some
groundwork?
Yeah (looks at guy under her hereinafter referred to as small boy on account of his petite stature). do you know what accounts we handle?
Smallboy: yeah i told her.
ok cool, but...
ok so for example you take this detergent. Ideate on anything. print, tvc, ambient, viral, phone call, radio. whatever you want.
ok cool.
so i'll do that and get back to you once i have some stuff.
back to the drawing board. bloody detergents.
Lunch. One thing about this place. Food is important. the cafeteria is kickass. and all day long people eat. (well you need fuel if you gotta create what people are interested in right?) so there's a well laid out buffet thats pretty neat, there's anyting u want from sandwiches to bhel to pizza. oh yeah!
The day goes by... meeting new people.. trying to understand the atmosphere. understanding servicing and art even! hey.. guess what? they play psy at the office. now i totally love it here!
ok so end of the end i goto small boy and we go over my stuff.. major direction giving happens. It really helps. He shows me some prints that have been made by other brands slightly similiar to some of my concepts.. so i figure im somewhat on the right track. :)
Last intern to leave the office. Damn i'll stay here all night if i could!!
I'm LOVING IT!

Renewed breath

2008-05-03T10:39:00.002+05:30

It’s sometimes strange, that you need something, something unconnected, to connect life for you.
It’s somewhat strange, that we need signs, from the outside, to show us what lies within.
It’s something strange, that we need lies, to set us free from the truth.
When we cement those walls, and build them tall,
When we venture forth, blinded by mirth. (yes, forth is archaic. Will not be used again)
When we dare to fly, knowing full well what may die.
When pain, shows us, what this is really made of.
When the fear of burning fades off.
When we hold blue monkeys that scratch our knees.
Make me believe. Go ahead and try.
I’m not about to belt out a hoarse “I will survive”, but I don’t need to tell you how unbreakable and unstoppable I am. Keep scrubbing. You can’t take that off me.
The red daisy is still mine. It’ll wilt tonight. I’ll get a new one tomorrow.
May this be the summer, I learned the true worth. Of all that there be. Of the haze behind the screen.
These scars they’ll fade, these stars, they’ll sail. By then, I’ll be deep in the ocean, fixing what’s broken.
Take away all of this, if that’s what you think is important. You forget, I’ve been stripped of everything before. This doesn’t amount to much in comparison. I’ve lived. Without. And i will again. Because I know what’s more important. The point is, you don’t.
It exists, because it has a purpose.
And you can't take that away from me.

Why spend all your time writing about life when you can be out there, living it?!

And we smoked the monster out!

2008-03-18T00:08:00.002+05:30

The last couple of days have been cyber-hell. Storming the front, assault, under-siege.
Kinda freaked me out for a bit there, the whole hacking jazz it did. I mean u never know whos watching what from where when and why. Scary in a way. So much so it even had my turning off my wifi toggle when i wasn't using the internet. (From some strange reason had me beleive "it" could access and trip my webcam!) And all those zillions of pop-ups had me going bonker. It didn't help when words like Seeker, Tweaker, Grabber were thrown my way! English please!! Not the names of the guys who ripped the classiest radio edit!
So anyhoo, changing passwords, blocking stuff, tracking stuff, and all that psychotic jazz happened. Goddamnit, i just hope i dont forget those darn passwords now! Come to think of it, what on earth was I getting freaked about? I don't even have a darn credit card, or net-banking, or classified info of any sort. So go on mr. seeking-tweaking-peaking, grab all you want, maybe you'll end up learning some Communication Management Principles, oh and while you're at it, would you mind giving my exams for me as well?
That's when the exam boredom devilishly challenged me. Hell, this is sooo something that'll distract! And then ofcourse, my darlin ex-hacker gets all excited about this, tells me about all these programs, softwares and educates me, well, practically beckons me into this otherwise Greek realm. So there I was, downloading terminators, searching the alleys of C Drive, investigating, keeping my eyes open looking for the fucker. Internet Explorer has been taken over by him, thank god for the Proxy server! SID WiFi zindabad!! I have never been more happy to see the bloody CyberRoam logo! Finally, the scan happens. 400 odd lil gremlins had their grubby paws wrenched off my precious handlebars!
Even then that ugly yellow fucker refused to budge; auto-launching my i.e, and rubbing his palms in glee. Thats when i began the real hunt. And oh, the feeling. When i read those shortcuts. When i followed the file path, t find him sitting there, with his pants down red-faced, oh wait yellow. Ha! Whos in glee now mister? and ctrl+a, Ctrl + x, Alt+Tab, Ctrl + v, Empty Recycle Bin. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!
I feel kinda empty now.
Cmon, Put em up... zat all u got? damn. Why did i have to Fort Knox my system? Double layered, with spermicidal. :P heheh (that was kunal's analogy not mine)

Never Hesitate

2008-03-16T17:17:00.002+05:30

Why do i always end up bailing out on people closest to me when they need me the most? And the whole, "well its coz i told em so" excuse crops up invariably. When the ride's over, is when I come waltzing back in.
I spoke to her today. And well, it's like nothing changed. Ever.
Strange huh?
Why is it, that we are so quick to judge, when we ourselves are guilty of the same culpable? We refuse to put ourselves in their place. With the incessant refrain, "This is different."
Just like he says, "Same Same, But different."

Anybody wanna waste some time?

2008-03-15T03:33:00.002+05:30

Marion Silver. Beautiful. Young. Talented. In love.
The fix? Cocaine.
When Harry's supply gets cut off at the source, she sleeps with her therapist for the moolah.
When Harry's arm gets cut off, she sleeps with the Nigerian for Coke.
What goes around comes around.

Trudging

2008-03-15T02:25:00.002+05:30

A couple of kilometres just coz the sugar's cheaper at that grocer.
Savouring
Every bite of that toast. For it may well be the last.
Shivering
Through the warm summer rain. Fear.
Shocking
The whore in red down there, molested by onlookers.
Walking
down the beach making circles in the sand. Eternity.
Hurting
Painful wounds from last nights booze. Leave me alone, please.
It all comes back to me now. Just like it was yesterday.

It's been a hard day's night

2008-03-15T00:56:00.003+05:30

In the context of the production of feminist self-consciousness, the women communicators do not necessarily succeed in breaking away from the stranglehold of patriarchy. Thus, the demand for associating more women at every level of policy making and programming will bear fruit, only if these women are themselves enabled to develop and exercise a more equitable gender consciousness.

To borrow from my most recent fav- what fucking cock.

DO i really look like i care about gender consciousness in communication or the role of a fucking documentary in social fucking change?

Then why am i being forced to sit up and read this bull about Communication when my mind is everywhere but here? i wanna sleep. ok no i dont. But even then, it would help if i didnt need to be at 2 exams at the same time in the morning, submitting my reezurch paper- one that doesnt even exist yet, and christ, i cant even remember the third thing. Oh wait no audiography isnt due yet i think.. neither is the Phillum.

Sigh. Everything has reached the fag end, well right. not quite. There's way too much scary jazz happening. Strange. I actually use that word. When rats crawling over my feet wasnt, goats chewing on my tee under a rainy day tarp at 4 am on the street wasnt, when hitch-hiking in a truck to an unkown village through the night wasnt. When not having a roof over my head wasnt. When not knowing how or when id find my next meal wasnt. Then why this? Coz stuff thats outside, i can handle. Its the stuff thats inside that well and truly fucks me up. Sticks n stones n all of that.

Sitara should be in Marrakesh by now. With Arjun. Trudging along through the desert to finally belly-dance and break hearts. To hear the spanish guitar breaking hearts. For she knows, that which doesn't kill her, ultimately makes her stronger.

Power. to. me.

Mister Love

2008-03-11T14:58:00.002+05:30

his caresses are like soft avalanches of sea.
A rising tide that will submerge me. I want to open more and more for him. I am an anemone, opening out to capture, to draw into myself his fingers, tongue, all of him. Yes, i want all of him and all else too, the exterior whole world. I want to take into myself the universe of outside and refashion it within my body, heal its ills, correct its faults, mend its flaws, make it perfect within me, and then return this perfected world to the outside, the world born back into itself, but better than before- this is the woman's gift.
If this should prove to be a chimera, a false dawn, then so be it. I will count myself blessed to have enjoyed this much, to have known what love can be. One an get through life only to a point cherishing an ideal. As disillusionment sets in, the ideal sickens, infected by disappointment, frustration, agnosticism, bitterness, desperation, and despair. And suddenly, when one is resigned to eking out one's lifetime in second-rate, lonely, unfulfilled, dead, mistaken, but respectable way - suddenly with only a slight shiver of warning, one is face to face with that ideal personified, prefected more in fact than in fancy. And at that moment, and in those than follow, one says, This is all I have ever needed. Life didn't let me down after all.

The resurrection

2008-03-09T05:13:00.003+05:30

Old memories, distant, but everclear.
Like the smell of dried fish at navy nagar,
the sound of salty waves flapping at gateway,
the feeling of eternal inconspicousness at chowpatty,
the heat of humid enveloping summers,
the familiarity of stark faces on marine drive,
the gluttony of nachos in cheese sauce at newyorkers,
the awkwardness of wallflower sociality at velocity,
the magical haze of early morning rastafarians at jehangir,
the hobnobbing of coconut walks at the CCI,
the generosity of feeding Tigi at fashion street,
the greed to devour street books at Fort,
the nostalgia of childhood behind the YMCA,
the pungent aroma of leos breakfasts,
the chaos of taxis in the rain,
the compulsion of sweet corn masala at cuffe,
the prosaic fish n chips at the bombay gym,
the convenient note tour from westside to amarsons,
the stolen smokes behind sophias,
the new-forged friendships at raju chinese,
the rainy night goat at afzal's,
the shameless kicking out at polly's,
the gut-wrenching birthday pukefest near bade's,
the irritating jewellery haggling outside mondy's,
the painful small talk with cheating Jal,
the arty- farty jazz drool at Dhanraj,
the knowledge philanthropy at theosophie,
the lazy chocolate mousse afternoons at oval,
the chocolate milkshake beggar fights at exelsior,
the shady ex waiter at subway,
the shopping sundays at bandra,
the fearful awe at Kohiyars's,
the creative authority at Al's,
the faux sophistique at NCPA,
the childish drenched squeals at seaface,
the midnight twisted thumps at kamla,
the vrooming midnight coffee at balajis,
the choatic urban pychopeace at reclamation,
the eerie ghost dog madness at trafalgar,
the gluttonous jungli chicken desire at candies,
the long awaited first finally at kandivali,
the infatuated giggly sighs at Eros,
the litchee bliss respite at Asiatic,
the broke shamelessness at Mocha,
the bonding on drunk terraces,
the sleepless giggles over gossip at HSBC,
the warmest tution rug at rachel,
the namkeen and oven papers at nofra,
the debaucherie at then US Club,
the chocolate wanted opposite Naturals,
the red roses polariod at revolving,
the endless office rituals over indian silk,
the overpowering fresh breeze on the 8th floor,
the stolen teenage glances from the 8th floor,
the irritating red ink at the dining table,
the post 12 layout at the dining table,
the brownie heaven pigfest at theos,
the newbieness swinging at cusrow,
the usual sleeves at treadon,
the jealous fat rage at remanika,
the soaked clothes fatigue at sinhals,
the bestie-friendies forever at JB,
the scared market run's through Kalba Devi,
the hazy dense afternoons near sndt,
the awkward scrumptious meals at matunga,
the obligatory polite rounds to wadala,
the obligatory impolite squares to andheri,
the piercing scream trips to breach candy,
the party trip through peddar road,
the randomness of hitching at stir fry,
the circular horserides at nariman,
the exciting office trips to freepress,
the boring tallying at warden road,
the obsessive hootout at surf's up,
the craving impulsiveness of causeway,
the reunions at hill,
the painful days at PDP,
the dressing up at iris,
the letching at ayubs,
the contraband oshos at rustoms,
the excitement at planet,
the birthdays at golden,
the birthdays at insomnia,
the sneaking at groove,
the bombay duck at nana chowk,
the shakespeare at nana chowk,
the mauj masti at cathedral,
the waiting at post office,
the giggling past the spastics,
the single breath phenomenon at JB,
the elephant phenomenon at JB,
the kutrus and Siloo,
the hookahs at koyla,
the peep shows at cue,
the hair colour experiments at l'oreal,
the lost earrings at neeru's.
Sigh. i cant wait.

If u do not want hell, do not go after paradise

2008-02-14T00:09:00.000+05:30

Trust me, it's paradise. This is where the hungry come to feed. For mine is a generation that circles the globe and searches for something we haven't tried before. So never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay the welcome. Just keep your mind open and suck in the experience. And if it hurts, you know what? It's probably worth it.
I just took a trip. And it was beautiful. Did wonders to my soul. For the first time this trip made me draw parallels in a way that doesnt leave me feeling fucked. I feel made love to. There is so much more to now than i am living. So much more to take than i am taking. So much more to give than i am giving.

And me, I still believe in paradise. But now at least I know it's not some place you can look for, 'cause it's not where you go. It's how you feel for a moment in your life when you're a part of something, and if you find that moment... it lasts forever...
I'm glad. Ive been given more opportunities than most. Been more blessed than most. Always believed i lead a charmed life. What else would explain me here. Unscathed. Typing this today. I think i carried some lessons out of those experiences. And im glad for them. Even the worst of the worst. Those street gutter nights, those loveless, homeless nights. Each one of them made me the person I am today. And at the risk of sounding pompous i think i'm not half bad. eh. I wouldnt run from them even now. If an opportunity were to arise, for me to learn, through hardship, i would. I'd embrace it. The only difference being, I realise this isn't always all about only me. And learning to be more sensitive to vibes and feelings is another thing i carried out. Much is left to be desired not doubt, but not a gaping hole the way it used to be. Learning to make something last forever. That's another. And it takes you through the worst times. The worst times not being those of pain, those are the best, but those of ennui. boredom. A feeling of belonging. Always keeps one sanely rooted. Helps. But the need to fly solo is inherent.

The only downer is, everyone's got the same idea. We all travel thousands of miles just to watch TV and check in to somewhere with all the comforts of home, and you gotta ask yourself, what is the point of that?
Sometimes, all you need is to do those mundane things. There's a certain beauty to it, when u stop taking it for granted, and realise that all the exotic corals, would be nothing without diamonds. So it is forever really.

You hope, and you dream. But you never believe that something's gonna happen for you. Not like it does in the movies. And when it actually does, you want it to feel different, more visceral, more real. I was waiting for it to hit me, but it just wouldn't happen.
Years of hanging on a hope, pretty sure it wouldn't really materialise. But that hope was a beautiful hope. Sigh. And when it turned into a ground reality. Life turned around. This is the most beautiful life.
Thank you.

Just making conversation.

If it makes you feel good

2008-02-12T19:21:00.000+05:30

Because it does.
The tiniest little things. Squishing your fingers through slimy clay.
Taking a trip through the city of your childhood. Hell, even taking a trip through childhood.
Ideating. Creating. And being somewhat pleased with your work even.
Getting the rest of the day off just coz of some stupid riots.
Waiting. for someone to return.
Planning ahead. in Anticipation.
Getting some time off to actually blog.
Not feeling the need to work. (inspite of all those deadlines)

Just genrally feelin good.
Btw: I get this impending premonition its gonna be one of those nights tonite.
I hope it isnt.

I'll walk the moon

2008-01-31T00:36:00.000+05:30

Listening to Darlin' Pretty... it's one of his fav at the mo...
and i'm smiling. Its 12:30 am, and i'm smiling.
This isn't a lonely night.
Coz something changed last night..
I mean literally, technically, its all still the same.
But inside, something changed.
And now i'm at peace.
I;m not scared, neither am i worried anymore.

Cowboys ride into sunsets
The good guy always gets the girl
Cinderella has just fit
The glass slipper that changed her world
We all know the stories
We all know the fairy tales
We all get the glory
Of making it for ourselves

Ive believed in this dream, since i was 16.
With an undying faith, a belief he will come.
And it hasn't failed yet.
Inspite of all the deviations.
It remained true.

From the beginning
We're all looking for a happy ending
Every dream of winning
Every love we've been in
Right from the beginning
We're looking for a happy ending

We come here with nothing
And take it with us the day we leave
The first and last breath don't matter
It's all the ones are that in between

It's the reason for living
It's the reason the caged bird sings
It's why we sit in the movies
All the way to the closing scene

And for all those dreamers who have
come and gone
Who have reached for the stars who have overcome
You're the hope, you're the wish,you're the truth
Baby here's the proof
Baby's born in the ghetto
Baby's born with a silver spoon
One tells his mama, "I have a dream"
One tells his mama, "I'll walk the moon."

Promise

2008-01-27T02:56:00.000+05:30

Prom·ise, verb: to afford ground for expectation, to assure (used in emphatic declarations):
Prom·ise, noun: a declaration that something will or will not be done, given, etc., by one, an express assurance on which expectation is to be based:

a new mother cries, Her placenta falls to the floor
an old mother dies, Her intentions fall to the floor
a new mother cries, This moment shes been waiting for

To believe in each day, in each new promise. Takes pain.
To forget yesterday's broken vow, and hope for tomorrow's fulfillment.
We hope and we believe that something's gonna change. Something's gonna happen for us. And when it doesn't, we spend a night banging heads and walls. The next day, when the reservoirs have been drained and dried, wings start flapping again. Only to be shot down.

Like a rollin thunder chasing the wind
Forces pullin from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.

The reservoirs begin to dry in time for tomorrow. Oh wait, it's a Sunday. Might not be required so soon. :) We still got time.

The usual

2008-01-24T04:30:00.000+05:30

Its 04:30 am. Not unusual.
This seems to be the most focal point of my day.
Me time. Well not quite, since it’s all about someone else.
But never the less.
When else would I be getting the time to aimlessly surf the web.
Something I haven’t done in years.
Where else would I have this kind of downtime, where I don’t really need to be doing something.
Well actually I cant do anything, my senses incapable of focus or attention. Sigh. The pleasure in the pain. The pain in the pleasure.
I wish I could write.
But for the first time, pain has not given rise to creation.
Strange.

Wishlist #1. Curl up and die.
#2. Now.
#3. I mean it goddamnit!!!!
#4. Rats dont get poisoned. I know.

Topmost: Can I lead a normal life. Please?

Edited to update: The sun has just risen. Curl. Die. Now.

Somewhere... Sometime... Someone... Soon...

2008-01-20T02:42:00.000+05:30

Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
There's a land that I've heard of once in a lullaby

Dreams like these, are what you find in the movies... you hear about it.. you believe it may exist.. somewhere in a parallel universe.. People go through their entire lives searching.

Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

But you never beleive that something like this could happen to you.
and when it does, you embrace it. but you're scared. Shitless. you never expect it to turn into a ground reality. I mean cmon, what are the odds. With everything pitted against.

Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me

Maybe i did. Maybe someone back there just loves me. Maybe i entered that parallel universe.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

All the smoke, from the past, gets hazier each day. till it turns into a thick dense fog that'll never clear away. Yet exist. beyond that screen.

Somewhere over the rainbow blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?

Wishing, hoping, knowing, not knowing.

If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

I can. and will. Infact, i will turn into that happy little bluebird. someday. soon.
Until then...

Somewhere over the rainbow .....................................

Stay

2008-01-20T02:14:00.000+05:30

I been sittin' here starin'At the clock on the wallAnd I been layin' here prayin'Prayin' she won't callIt's just another call from homeAnd you'll get it and be goneAnd I'll be cryin'And I'll be beggin' you, babyBeg you not to leaveBut I'll be left here waitin'With my heart on my sleeveOh, for the next time we'll be hereSeems like a million yearsAnd I think I'm dyin'What do I have to do to make you seeShe can't love you like meWhy don't you stayI'm down on my kneesI'm so tired of bein' lonelyDon't I give you what you needWhen she calls you to goThere is one thing you should knowWe don't have to live this wayBaby, why don't you stay (yeah)You keep tellin' me, babyThere will come a timeWhen you will leave her armsAnd forever be in mineBut I don't think that's the truthAnd I don't like bein' used[Stay lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]And I'm tired 'a waitin'It's too much pain to have to bearTo love a man you have to shareWhy don't you stayI'm down on my kneesI'm so tired of bein' lonelyDon't I give you what you needWhen she calls you to goThere is one thing you should knowWe don't have to live this wayBaby, why don't you stay (yeah)I can't take it any longerBut my will is gettin' strongerAnd I think I know just what I have to doI can't waste another minuteAfter all that I put in itI've given you my bestWhy does she get the best of youSo next time you'll findYou wanna leave her bed for mineWhy don't you stayI'm up off my kneesI'm so tired of bein' lonelyYou can't give me what I needWhen she begs you not to goThere is one thing you should knowI don't have to live this wayBaby, why don't you stay, yeahOh
=Sugarland, Stay

White Bitch

2007-12-28T13:37:00.000+05:30

It’s past 4 am; I’m 3 black coffees and a few cigarettes down. Getting a little closer to numb, but I know nicotine and caffeine won’t get me there. I want to sink further into my little triangle of isolation. I want to give in to my craving, I wish it was chocolate. But it’s that white mind-numbing stuff that I’m craving so bad right now.
I want to sit curled up on that cold black granite floor, propped up against the white tiles, with the snorter clutched between my sweaty cold palms, that tingling extending slowly from my nose upwards, tingling till it reaches deep inside. Hands shaking as I pick up that glinting piece of steel, and push it.. push it and pull it, plough it through… make pretty designs.. till the first ruby drop pops out. Till it starts streaming down slowly and I no longer need to nudge it forward with the tips. Till that soreness starts creeping through, and I scare it away with another sniff. To taste that cold strength at the back of my nose. That is what I’m craving right now.
I keep turning to look at my phone. Yes it seems to mock me, I’m still right where you left me. Waiting. Standby they call it. Anticipation leads to no restlessness my love. You poor worthless bitch. Really believed it could get all rosy didn’t ya? Why Why Why. Because I’m stupid enough to believe it? I don’t like this unfamiliar feeling anyway. Hit me. Hard. Harder. Throw me against the wall and push me till I can’t breathe. Now that is familiar. At least there’s comfort in the known.
I don’t want to feel any more. I want to not care. I don’t fucking wanna feel anymore. I want to need to smoke non-stop. I want to turk so bad I’d rather kill myself. I want to be unable to take it. I want to feel like the only way higher is death. I bite my lip. Real hard. It’s bleeding. I turn to my phone, fuck me slowly bitch. I turn it off.

Reality of My universe.

2007-11-24T23:07:00.000+05:30

Through narrowed slits i see the blood of an angel, splattered across the dewy grass.
For a moment in timelessness i hear a frozen scream cut through the plasma.
The hurt and betrayal drips out in hatred, the lust and desire is no longer sacred.
Knowing. Understanding. Accepting. Denying. Still going.
Backing out. Like i usually do. then why not always?
Rather not confront. Then here why always?
What makes patterns. What breaks monotony.
Why WHY WHY. and why here? how here?
This is not what i came here for. This is not what i expected from this place.
Why is so much negativity boiling from within. When there should infact be the complete opposite?
Knowing. Understanding. Accepting. Denying. Reality.

Goddess of the Earth

2007-11-12T18:32:00.000+05:30

She is beautiful, she inspires me. She invokes emotion, she emanates that radiance. She is love exemplified, she is longing, she is pain, she is all that. In unparalleled circumstances we should have been friends. She is that magic, which unblocked my soul, which set my fingers free once again.
But she makes me feel trapped. She makes me feel a beautiful pain.
She intrigues me, the more I discover, the more I want. I feel so connected right from my spot here on the fence. She makes me want to be a better person. She makes me want to grow. She has given me something I haven’t had in years, that drive, that appreciative curiosity.
I’m listening to Secret Samadhi for the first time in years. Behold the unsheathing, its lo-o-o-ve.
I grew up. Overnight. Elle a fait recommence ce qui avait arrête quelques années par avant. Je la déteste, mais je l’aime. Peut être elle ne vas jamais connais.
Run away, run away tonight. Ain’t no victory but I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s wrong or right.
Turns out forever wasn’t long enough. But that’s alright. It’s a small price to pay.
She teaches me contentment. She teaches me the art of living. When the world is just a bowl, she shows me how to taste my life with more than just a spoon.
Thank you goddess of the earth, for my fingers are now wet.

Disturbia

2007-11-12T18:31:00.000+05:30

Whoever said ignorance is bliss, dude, next time u have a brilliant point, make sure we actually hear u.
This is probably me just retreating to the triangle of self-pity, ahh that familiar feeling of doom, heart sinking, sinking, pulling, drowning. It was about time, wasn’t it. It had been smooth sailing for far too long. Right now, for the first time, I’m actually disoriented though.
No, I won’t run to the cold black darkness of that granite closet and drown in those red rivers of pain. I can’t feel anymore. Those tears have forgotten how to flow. But I’m not fazed. Show me this darkness through the haze, I see you. I don’t want to be morbid, crying out my woes to the world below.. or above.. I don’t want to be a bubble gum, perky smile infested doe. I know precisely what I don’t want. And what I don’t want others to have. I know precisely how petty I am. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but I’m ok with it. What I’m not ok with, is not knowing where I’m going. Or knowing, and still going nevertheless. What I’m not ok with is knowing I am deserving, but yet not receiving. What I’m not ok with is whining about what a deprived life I lead.
I AM NOT OK.

The plate project (brag brag)

2007-11-12T18:30:00.000+05:30

• One of the only girls I can really relate to n one of the people who can really understand who I am. Love you coz.
• Beautiful eyes
• Awesome chick my lady morrisson
• My marathi coach!! So glad I finally got to know you. You’re damn sweet and great fun to have around
• Smokin’ hot revati
• Bindaas Kamini
• She’s got the brains, shes got the looks omg shes a package
• V pretty eyes ur a seductress
• Bindaas biatch
• Creative & thoughtful 
• My love.. the one who knows it all.. Thanks for taking care..Always
• Ur a very sweet smart girl 
• Chilled out
• Lady of good hope, family who cares, just you
• The coolest chick I know.. the last living hippie there is
• Hot hippie maharashtrian shite!
• Make her ur friend- recommended by a genius
• Reva soul, u can so rock!
• Such a cool chick really!
• Lives her life and don’t care anything bout the world.. god bless you
• Sarcastic biatch, nice knowin ya
• Perfect guide..

Weekdays with MRA

2007-11-12T18:29:00.000+05:30

Not to touch the sun,
Nothing left to do but run run run
Lets run
Why
Throw starfish into the ocean
Don’t be an observer in the universe of life
The power of suggestion will take you higher
The power of realisation will bring you back low
You may land with a thud
Its far more difficult to land than take off
So be aware before you fly

Always know what you’re doing and why
What do you want from it
What will it add to your life
Will it take anything away?
Is it worth it?
Will you survive?
Will a part of you die?
Then why is it so darn important to you?
Why must you?

Yes Vish uncle..

2007-11-12T18:27:00.000+05:30

Traces behind faces
Lies behind eyes
Dark behind hearts
Hurt behind dearth
Past behind masks
Pain behind rain

Is this your vision for the mission?
A blood soaked dagger or an ink filled pen?
Look into your future
Its your salvation to the present situation.

Disorientation and then some....

2007-07-04T20:18:00.000+05:30

"People should not be afraid, we came to the earth to graze, no shortcuts to the face, this means you.."
Finally here.. and there.. and everywhere. So disoriented its unsettling.. Lack of identity stability. Lack of direction? nah...i know where im goin... um... in certain tracks.. unsure of the others. what will be? what will become? So many questions. doubts. clouding my mind. autopilot. Day in. Day out. When will this end. When will life begin??
Or has it already and this is what it is..
Life's like that.?
"we came to the earth to graze, now everyone's diggin' in, now there's no time to live"

Haunted no more…

2007-06-06T21:17:00.001+05:30

“… Because love, in its ripeness annihilates the impulse to create simply because it is creation. The lived experience seeks no outward expression; private and secure in its own self, it just is.”

To everything there is an equal and opposite reaction then. The pull and push forces working in tandem, scheming against simplicity. To merit such concentric circles of analysis. The experience remembered, thereby seeks an external expression, public and insecure in its self, it just isn’t.

Peut- etre that is what is causing this sudden u-turn of event flow in my life lately. My perception of what is and what isn’t. More of the isn’t. And no more questioning why it isn’t. Just knowing that it isn’t. So much easier to accept than saying it cannot be. Or will never be. Never and Forever. Such abstract terms which at times I feel should be highlighted, then at times struck out of the Dictionary.

All I know, (and that isn’t much looking at where I stand today) is that not only is it easier to accept a reality of the present without dwelling on the implications of the past or the probabilities of the future. When the reason to be, makes less sense than the reason to Not be, it is time to cease being. And that realisation is the most melancholic, naked but powerful feeling in the entire world.

Accepting this reality, is the first step, but moving to the more impending realm of the second, is to Let Go. To realise the futility of those draining exercises, and just let go. It is probably one of the most courageous acts to be able to successfully do so.

Perhaps I too would have seen ghostly shadows of naked writhing men, but I chose to shut them out. I chose to pack up, and shift base. The aura in that room was not welcoming any more. It wasn’t my space anymore. It belonged, to the past, who was now a mere shadow, but powerful nonetheless.

So I left those shadows to themselves.
Gave them their privacy.
And resisted my lunacy.

I have been adopted...

2007-06-06T20:57:00.000+05:30

I have been adopted. At the age of 21 I have found a surrogate set of parents. My mummy is my best friend. My pappajee.. is my pappajee. Both so corporate, both so insane.
When people expend the whole of their lives trying so hard, to find that comfort and dependability, I have found it now. In the summer of my youth. I love the family conferences. Each of us, in a different corner of the country, and we confer. Yes we do. What do we confer? That there is a strange, unnatural yet so natural bond that binds us together. More accepting than would be the norm, but that is perhaps creditable to our personal life experiences, that have taught us to taste life.. with more than just a spoon. Carpe Diem Baby.
And I feel like I have come home. Home to understanding, home to a beautiful give and take. Home to happiness, derived from each other’s secrets, each other’s secret ambitions, desires and passions. Each of us, egging the other on, not to trudge through life, but to fly like the breeze.. slow, and floating… observing, feeling, learning, growing, every flap of the way.

What happens when a baby is buried alive, with mud shoveled on his still open mouth..

2007-06-05T14:08:00.000+05:30

I get off on the mere thought of being an artist's muse. I know I do. The very idea, that a person so creative, so talented, so profound, would be inspired to create beauty from something as Raw-Bare-Base as me. Well, it makes me squirm in delicious anticipation.

And Nandini. She is that. and this. The Muse and The Artist. She is both. She feels pain. but does not hide from it. She seeks Solace no doubt. but does not shun the pain. She allows it to be. Just be. She carries the stories with her. And they mould her actions in the present. And that, makes me draw parallels. Is it possible, to meet only so many soul-mates in a single lifetime. To meet more than one in a span of 2 days? Does it really matter if it is possible or not? I mean does the Sun know his name is the Sun?

He knows other things. He knows many things. And it's allright. I'm not hiding. I do not feel the need. For it's like peering into a hazy mirror sometimes, through the smokescreen of the leaf. And the pain. oh the pain. Carried like diamonds wrapped in muslin. Nurtured and cared for. Allowed to survive. But beaten and mercilessly abused. Forced to shrink in fear. The raw feeling, numbened by soreness. Made smaller than life, larger than the soul.

But it is that very pain, that causes the deliverance. The creation of beauty. The interpretation of emotion.

Exhale In Serenity

2007-06-05T13:29:00.000+05:30

Last night, as I sat in the balcony under the cloudy sky, a felt a sign. I really did. But I don’t know if I understood it. I was transported to Goa, June 2nd 2002. Just like that fateful night, the sky was overcast, the clouds illuminated by the moon, all forming an ultra- violet backdrop to the gently- swaying fronds of a tall coconut palm. The balmy wind smelt of the sea. (Yeah, I’m still sitting in Pune)
It’s been exactly 5 years. And this is the first time, a serene nostalgia, of collected thoughts, and the due emotions flowed steadily. For the first time, there was no guilt. No apathy. I did not feel the need to hide in shame, the shame I felt to even send my thoughts to that realm, for fear of them being heard.
The void will always remain, but it shall now co-exist with a peaceful acceptance. Of the way things are, and the way they’re meant to be. It has now given birth to a mission. Or a duty, being performed from love and gratefulness. A non- repayable Indebtedness within.
And I shall. It took me too many wrong turns, too many false beliefs, but I’m on the road again. I’ll always miss u dad, but I’ll make you proud. Ain’t gonna let you down. Remembering everything you stood for, all that you believed in, all your dreams and aspirations.
And so I stand in the rain, unable to differentiate the salty drops streaming down my face. A new found hope in my heart, a sense of relief, a sense of belief.
I love you Dad. But you always knew that didn’t you?

Neuro-Psycho-Dreamer

2007-05-31T14:58:00.000+05:30

Erase and Destroy.

Running away from yesterday, walking towards tomorrow. I know I've left a lot behind. But it's never enough is it? There's so much more to let go off. Just when i thought I'd never have to experience that down-to-the-knees feeling of having something wrenched out of my grasp.

Its strange in a way. Yet again, I begin a successful phase in life. and he isnt there. Maybe this is all happening for a reason. Maybe I'm meant to realise certain things. I know what those things are. But I dont like the process of realisation. Sigh. Yeah, realisation. The power of the present situation.

Or maybe it's sole purpose is so i may have the freedom. To explore. Not necessarily relationships. Even if it is just to explore what I am capable of. So I may do the right things. For myself. For the better good. I don't wish to sound all pious. But it is cathartic in a way.

I'm learning new things. I'm meeting new people. I'm writing after ages. I'm listening to certain kinds of music after ages. Reading after ages. I suddenly have so much time. And now it falls short. Strange.. Isn't it wierd? sometimes.