Ages since I wrote

Its been ages since I wrote. Wrote on this blog, wrote just for writing, wrote for the relief of it, wrote for the release or even for pleasure. I don’t really remember when last I did the latter. Others write. For all of these reasons. On blogs, on emails, on smses. Pas moi.

I don't know whether to my dismay or to my delight – I have realized, I am capable of doing some harm to myself. When I am in deep sleep. Deep stressed sleep in which I get nightmares. I manifests in scratches around my shoulders & neck. Then of course I spend my waking hours trying to figure out what to put on the wounds. They look positively ugly.

When life tosses lemons

They say, make lemonade.

I say, toss the damn life away man. And that is what I have been at. Since you ask. Thanks for your concern.

Strangely, everybody around me has been moving. Its like being the Midas touch for movement. So people have been switching jobs, moving continents, cities, houses. Almost like everyone spinning around. Around me. Making me dizzy.

So do I also get sucked into the whirlwind? When will that be? I guess that is exactly what this lemon tossing, idiotic, pointless, nonsensical, uselessgoodfornothing life needs. A good shake.

Black magic

Drunk. Beyond repair. Intoxicated. No, that's incorrect. Maybe physiologically, but not emotionally. Fuck the physiological and emotional people.
Everybody is an asshole. Funnily, I don't have a choice of wiping them off my life. So they hang in there. Like medals of bravado. Fake bravado. Illusions. Ghosts. Ghosts that haunt.

***

Occult, black magic, fortune telling. Have always caught my interest. It's like from the time I was a small girl. When I imagined I had a magic wand and I could go about flying all over the place, wand in hand, making things just happen – in my life as well as others’. I think that has not worn off yet. Or ever will. It has taken different shapes.

This friend had quit his job. And was unemployed for six months. And was depressed, etc. One day he called me over for coffee. And asked me to accompany him to a tarot card reader. I was surprised that he had reached such state of affairs.

His session lasted for half an hour. Mine for one hour. She said many things. Mostly all sad and depressing (didn’t I tell you that some people are doomed for life – see – now a fortune teller says so too). But if even half of what she says comes true, then I would generally be happier.

***

My family had my horoscope made like when I was 15-16 years old. None of it came true. Atleast I don’t think so.

***

While on occult sciences. Funnily, with my Ps perpetually trying to get me married off to random men, my horoscope seems to match and become a perfect fit with everybody. Not a single case of even the slightest mismatch.
Ha bloody ha.

Beware, I bite

Ok So.

I am.

A slave driving boss.
An inefficient and kaamchor subordinate.
An egoistical and moody friend.
A responsibility shirking daughter.
A disastrous lover.
What more, I complicate my own life and feel unhappy about it.

So it is official now. Now fuck off.

A poem to mark the day

the song of mehitabel


this is the song of mehitabel
of mehitabel the alley cat
as i wrote you before boss
mehitabel is a believer
in the pythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
that formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell

do you think that i would change
my present freedom to range
for a castle or moated grange
wotthehell wotthehell
cage me and i d go frantic
my life is so romantic
capricious and corybantic
and i m toujours gai toujours gai

i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

i once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehell
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell

my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

the things that i had not ought to
i do because i ve gotto
wotthehell wotthehell
and i end with my favorite motto
toujours gai toujours gai

boss sometimes i think
that our friend mehitabel
is a trifle too gay


By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

This is the second time Monsieur Marquis makes his appearance to mark my day.

This and that

After a long time, I went back to a favourite writer.. Ishiguro. This is what I just started reading. The first few pages reminded me of my childhood – grand dreams and plans of 'when I grow up'.

When I was eight years old and the whole world was my oyster. Dictated by my two passion in those times – books and cartoons – I wanted to be a detective (a la Famous Five, Five Find-outers, Nancy Drew) and a 'secret super heroine' (the latter being the kinds you know, that wears swimsuits, knee high boots, zorro-type eye masks and bedsheets tied to their necks).

In practice for being a detective, I would go about finding clues in broad day light (for nothing in particular) and make my friends do the same – soon there would be a bunch of children looking for random clues in the playground, at people's homes, school – wherever possible. Funnily, no one ever knew what these clues were or what they would lead to.

My Zorro type heroine was the princess of the dark nights. Enacted out in daylight and when alone (with all costume details being imaginary), here I was swashbuckling across horizons, galloping away... fighting 'baddies'.

***

[Big G bashing follows]

I handed myself over to your grand plans. And what do I get – after a respite of a couple of months, all those meanie trolls creep back into my life. And more. After continuous sleep, rest, peace, we are back to sleepless nights and restless days. Hell, I am a way better planner/ executer than you man. Atleast I got myself a couple of months' respite. What did you do? And have this imprinted in your memory: some things are just non-negotiable. Period. So what now? Nothing. The damage is done – for the night atleast.

***

[this is not the greatest piece of writing that I am capable of - nothing on this blog is or has been or ever will be. So forgive pathetic grammar - more so in this post - not particularly thrilled at the mo]

(I don't know what to write)

(Some people are doomed to a lifetime of unhappinesses. I am one of them. there is no point in even blaming Big G. He does not exist. He is not even on my side anyway. Ever. So much that I can do right.)

Genius types

Ok so (again). I can't sleep. I mentioned this right. Talking of men, extreme intelligence has always been a huge turn on. There is street smartness, which is attractive in its own way, then there is genius type intelligence which is attractive in its own way. I realise the latter for me is the big hook and the former is the reason why any of my relationships would have continued.

So there was professor type gentleman who sat next to me in the waiting lounge yesterday. Genius type intelligence dripping away even when he was just hovering about. SO he found a seat next to me and there was a random guy... ok, so I must describe him too... a person who had just cleared his IAS exams and already thought he was the Prime Minister – so he decided to engage Genius type into conversation.

What was interesting was that, the conversation started out with 'Oh how clever I am to clear the IAS, do you want to be friends with me'. Slowly, Genius type worked his way through and towards the end, made IAS guy feel like the scum of the earth. I felt pleased, my attraction for the Genius type quadrupling over... a) he was super intelligent (a mathematics professor), b) he turned the tables around, c) turning the tables took 25 minutes... he went on at it patiently, not letting go even once, d) he had the most sexy voice.

SO I fantasized about him for a bit. Then the plane took off, and I slept. When the plane landed and we got off, I felt he looked like a psychopath. I pulled my suitcases and walked off.

But then, Professor saab... if you ever come to this blog... one truly appreciates your patience in dealing with nincompoop, idiotic future IAS officer. If I were in your place, I would have slapped him into silence the moment he opened his mouth.

Old guests come visiting

Ok, so. My new home, where I was able to sleep 8 hours a day for about 40 days has been visited by old demons. So that's it. In the last 4 days, I slept for about 2 nights' worth sleep. One night because I was out of the city, for work. Why did you come? Why can't you leave me alone? Go chase someone else... just leave me alone. I was happy leading my life... And then it all comes back to me. All of it. Every single bit of it. Not a single detail left out. Why? Somebody just get me some sleeping pills, so I just don't wake up. no matter what. No matter how hard the phone rings. No matter what happens.

Spotting a shoe fiend in her early years

A friend mentioned that her niece was behaving weirdly. All of 2 years old, she refused to remove her new pair of shoes before going to bed. I said, of course. That is probably the first few signs that she is going to be a shoe maniac.

Spot other symptoms in your children (compiled by my own behaviour as a child)..
1. the child refuses to go to sleep - the fear is that she may have to remove her shoes
2. the child, when agreeing to sleep, still refuses to remove her shoes
3. when the child agrees to sleep and remove her shoes before doing so, she insists that the shoes be placed under her pillow - and can be observed clutching them in her sleep

So there. Now you know. Don't ever misunderstand these early symptoms again.

Room with a view

I wake up first at about 6 in the morning. Stay awake for a bit. Then I slip back into more dreamless, senseless sleep.

This time, I wake up straight at about 10. To sounds of prayers happening somewhere. On Jai Jagadish Hare. This could be anything. I curse. I get up from bed, and open the room door (to the balcony). I see across the road, some people have moved in to the Flats that is still not constructed fully yet. No, the griha pravesh happening, I guess. Kind of Griha pravesh, where there is one woman sitting with her head covered, surrounded by five men. They are sitting facing the purohit who I can't see, but can hear.

There are no other women. Which I find weird. I notice the woman looks away from the puja, outside. Anxiety. She turns her head back. The man in blue looks about. His eyes stop on me. I make my way away from the door. I peep out after a few seconds, he is still staring. I shut the door and head to the kitchen to soak my coffee. As I wait for the water to get boiled, I get that feeling in my head... something to my right. I notice, the man in blue has been staring at me through my kitchen window.

i wonder wander

through the blog world... a new blog has been set up. Should I link to it from here? Nah... not for now

Enough then.

while i wait patiently (and starvingly)

for my guests to arrive to my housewarming*, let me take you through a 'book tour' of the house...


When You enter my house, directly facing you is a corner book case. These are books that I have declared boring/ repulsive/ idiotic/ pointless/ faff/ etc. But of course I will not tell you that.


corridor corner book case



Just then (you are still standing about half a metre away from the door - you just entered remember?) you notice on your side another book case. These have some semblances of favourite writers... you notice more than two books by Amitav Ghosh, Salman Rushdie, Kazuo Ishiguro, Pico Iyer, gabriel Garcia.


corridor small book case



You walk along, but are still in the corridor... atop you head you notice an ugly looking projection (came with the house, not my addition). On it are some coffee table magazines, some collectible books, CDs, DVDs. There is one book that faces you. This is 'Mrityunjaya - the death conqueror'. It is in a black box and you will notice a stream of red (blood) on one side. This happens to be a matter of pride of my household (along with my other books of course). Its claim to fame lies in how it was purchased (a rare publishing house that was dug out from small serpentine lanes of Kolkata), how it was carried back (3 last copies purchased off, wrapped in newspaper and thread tied around the pack - the thread damaged the hand) and the fact that I have never read it (out of fear - what if it gets ruined).


Corridor top bookcase



You walk a couple of steps further down, there is a large cane book case. This has the most of my books. This was bought a couple of years ago.


Corridor large book case



You enter the living room and find another book case similar to the one you saw in the corridor. These are books that I have savoured every now and then, again collectibles, etc

Living room book case




You are now done having the chai & bhujiya. And are ready to move on. I do some standard Good Host Behaviour - do stay on, some more tea perhaps, maybe some aam panna or beer? None seem to click, and I graciously make way for you to leave. As you walk out of the living room, you peek inside the bedroom. You notice another book case. This has some books, my speakers, ipod and night routine hand/ feet creams, filers, etc. The books here are the ones I have not read yet and will get down to reading.




* PS: this post was supposed to be published yesterday but guests started arriving soon after I uploaded all the photos. Sorry, it took me long.. the first batch of guests left at about 4.30 in the afternoon, another batch at 6 in the evening, another at 8.30 at night and yet another round, this morning around 11.30 am. What to do - people like getting pampered by me :)

what would you eat..

Over some bad food served at the office canteen, we discussed what our favourite foods would be..

responses stemmed from chaat, mangoes.. to whatever mother makes, on an empty stomach, all foods become exciting. When my turn came, i was at a loss for words.. not because I don't have a favourite food, but because the moment I thought of 'favourite food', there were atleat a dozen foods that cluttered my mind.

So we decided to narrow it down further... say what would you not be able to resist even after a full meal? Sure, the images in my mind narrowed down... from a dozen to about eight... but not very helpful yeah... some prices you have to pay to become a food lover.

STP

I do not like feeling Stigmatized, Traumatized and Pressurized.

And that is how I am feeling at this moment.

I had a chocolate mousse, Coffee, chips. And I bought a new book. It did not help.

Hmm

I can understand where the resentment towards my new home comes from.

Mistake me not – it is a fantastic place – a lot better than what I could have hoped for, very comfortable, the landlord also threw in some durables and basic furniture as a part of the deal, and I have been sleeping like a log for the last two nights (touchwood). When I stepped in for a shower last night, the water hit me hard and massaged my back – and I sighed, I forgive you Big G. The servant came in early in the morning on Sunday and together we sat at the balcony – she had her tea, I had my coffee. It has been all perfect.

But it feels completely out of place. It is almost like growing out of an old skin – I know I worked hard to get this deal, but somewhere, there is a sense of regret. Do I see Life Bohemia slipping away? Do I see myself settling in, in sombre, mundane, ritualistic domicile harmony?

***

I sat on the stairs reading the new Art magazine I bought. It is called 'Art & Deal', written in a stylized way on a solid grey-silver background on top and 'Markers of Indian Art – 25 works that shaped History' at the bottom. A colleague walked past.

She: Hi, what are you reading
Me (most uninterested): Oh, just a magazine

She: Is it about fashion?
Me (I show her the cover): Err.. no art

She: Fashion?
Me: No, its fine arts

She: Oh, you don't know?
Me: Yes, I just about started reading



Frikking philistines.

Catching on to the last of May

I shifted! New home. Big home. Feels v different. Leaving you with a pic from the kitchen. Currently too mood driven to write anything else. Will be back more in June.



(please enlarge and check out the roots)

Hunger

Is like that spoilt tantrum throwing child. He refuses to wait for an instant to be satisfied. Now! - he demands. And you know you have to give in. You look around in desparation - something quick, something that will keep him quiet- atleast for sometime while you concentrate on other things.

Then there is hunger.. for belonging, for company, for stability, for money, for peace, happiness and love.

Regretting blues

I find people rationalizing their moods these days. You know, like, this is a so-and-so occasion, so I need to be happy. This is a so-and-so occasion, so I need to be happier. As a result of which, reasons to be 'not happy' are chopped off – off public view, off even own view for most. As if, forcefully eliminating the very emotion from your life. No blues, stay away. You are not wanted.

When people are upset, the necessity to justify that emotion, I notice becomes a lot greater than the necessity to justify a happy emotion. Almost like, people are sorry that they are unhappy.

I wonder why.

I returned home a couple of days ago to find NFM with red watery eyes, red watery nose, red mouth.

"You have been crying?"
"mmm... yeah"

"Ok... have you eaten?"
"yeah... had Maggi"

"Cool... do you want to watch Devil Wears Prada?"
"No... some other time maybe"

"Ok"

I enter my room, change, wash, then hit the kitchen to get grub. NFM follows.

"Sorry... I think I am PMS-ing"
"Its alright really... even if you are not PMS-ing... cool to let go once in a while"

She is relieved.

Think: do we ask / hound/ badger people when they are super happy?

On humans... generally speaking

I don't like people who act smart because once I figure out that they are acting smart, then they appear damn stupid. And i don't like stupid people. So there.

Oh!

I have enough to write about *waves a dismissive hand* ...

I am just getting over that part of writers' block that goes, 'now, where do i start...'

Mingle

My horoscope for the day tells me to get dressed and go out and mingle.

While, at the moment, the only thing i really really... really really want to do is to retreat into a shell.

And hide until everything is over. Everything has passed. And it is safe to come out.

The Lady and the Hand (tips hat to Uncle Pico)

We had a visitor in our house this morning... Ms Bird, who we decided to play around with for a bit. Ms Bird was thoroughly confused when she got picked up, so ran around our hand for a bit and then finally found snug shelter in the corner between our thumb and forefinger. I guess we all like our 'comfort corners', no? (Ms Bird's corner shown in the last two photos)





































































































We was also woken up to some good news... the Chili-Hibiscus bonsai has started flowering again! It flowered at the rate of insanity last to last year... almost throughout the year. Last year, it took a break (guess tired after that level of exertion) and decided to just switch off - to the extent that I thought it was going to die (all leaves gone, no flowers - essentially all skin and bones in the flora sense of it).



























O, and two more blogs added to designs section. FYR.

Contented prattle

I realised I got the look that I had been aiming for after a brief afternoon siesta. Joan Baez/ flower child kinds. Maybe tad prettier, only no semblance of even an iota of her talent.

I sat singing along with Shubha Mudgal... cham-ke bijuriaaa… instead of Diamonds and dust.

***

I realised post yesterday's drinking session that unlike earlier, when drinking made me super happy, now drinking makes me super sad. And I returned home in the most horrible shape, got straight to bed and tried to not think at all. Pulled my blanket over my head hoping that that would keep my thoughts way. I fell into a stupor for an hour or so, until the alcohol wore off.

Then, it was like... you know, when you have bad cramps in periods, and then you take a medication. It takes about half an hour for the effect of the medication to show. Then you feel super light, happy and brimming with energy.

So I tidied up my place when I the effect of the alcohol wore off, listened to some music, read and slowly re-coiled back to bed.

Essentially, the trick may be to not drink. Which is tad difficult at the moment. There is a dinner to go to tonight. Which I am not very sure about. The place where we are supposed to go to is where I had once gone to earlier – to puke in their loo.

***

Most of my friends are either the drunk alcoholics anonymous varieties or the extreme right winged literature varieties. I guess I like strong opinions in people.

Maybe because I don't have any of my own?

***

I also realised that maybe blogging is a bit of a reality TV kind of a thing. You know, reality TV for nerds?

***

My place has received the most consistent reviews throughout: Cosy, warm, interesting and pretty. So much that it get tad boring. I have half the minds to re-do it to something more kitsch. Just that that would be so un-me. Yesterday, new flatmate (henceforth referred to as NFM) parked herself on one of the cushions and couldn't stop gushing about everything that she saw. Made me feel like a curator in a museum. And more than anything else, rather embarrassed, and mentally willed her to stop.

***

Incidentally, this NFM has been going through a bad marriage. And of course, we bonded super well as a result. No under statement to say she has been heaven sent literally. We understand exactly the right amount of sympathy to shower on another and when we need time alone.

Only this morning she was laughing about someone who had come to visit her the previous evening carrying a bag of grapes.

"You give fruits to people who are ill... guess that's what people think about me... just ill," she said. And we laughed and returned to our respective tasks – her of having her breakfast, me staring into my coffee.

***

I realised I visit quite a few design & interior decoration blogs. Never a single blog regularly, but atleast one or two everyday. So I shall put some of them up on the neft nav. Just that I remember only a few right now. But will keep adding as I go along.

I guess it is a manifestation of my other, more creative side, when I look to them for some kind of gratification of a life that I could have had at some point in time. And of the elusive home.

***

O, and during a conversation with NFM, she said, do you write by any chance? I said no. She said, not at all? I replied the negative again.

I don't know... does she read this blog?

And right now...

A group of seven young ladies enter (young girls really). They look about. The waiter comes along. They get broken up into two groups - four on one table, three on the other.

Now they are all talking at the same time.

And now, they all get up and walk out.

And now, they are taking group photos - each time, the seventh taking pictures of the other six.

***

What I am tired of hearing (and henceforth, will not want to hear again... but there is no way of telling them, so I write here)...

Be strong
You are a strong woman
You are smart and intelligent
You can't let this effect you
You can't let this hurt you
I can't let you do that
Look at the positive side
You can't hurt yourself like this
Take care of yourself
I want you to be happy
Don't wait
Get a grip on things
I can't imagine why you are feeling like this
Cheer up
You can do better than this


Like shut the fuck up and leave me alone. I want to feel something and this is what I feel.

And quit calling me strong/ smart/ intelligent/ Joan of Arc/ whatever. I am none of those. I am me.

And right now, very vulnerable. And right now, nothing is right.

And I just finished by third quarter meal in the past two days. And my second pack of cigarettes.