Floating Free........

Sun, 06 Jan 2008 05:51:03 GMT

What do I call it but fickle,
When the heart looks at my body
And imagines itself in love.
A photograph on a website
What if it sees…
That errant stub of hair on my breast,
The in-growth that darkens my legs,
The pus that threatens
to burst forth in anger from my face,
The foul smelling nicotine laced breath.
They cannot be seen
in that photograph
taken from afar.
Believe me. I know.
Will your heart love them all
When your fingers push away
the garb
Or will it wince
in regret or disappointment
Will your eyes turn away
in shame perhaps..
Will you then
go back to the illusion
or will you dare
to step forward
and kiss my darkened lips?

I'm reading Kamala Das, thus the heavy influence that you see in the writing.. Also when you acquire yourself a stalker whom claims to find you 'hot' in one breath and claims to love you in another, what else do you say? :) Amusement and sadness tangled in irony.

The favourite meal

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 16:19:15 GMT

A strange disconnect, you know you have something..
Then again perhaps nothing.
But that you are holding on to it,
leftovers of a favourite meal.
The scraps keep disappearing.
You savour it more, taking tiny bites.
A strange sadness creeps in.
You wish you could start over with the first morsel.
You wish you knew.
It is too late.
You know you will not find this taste again.
This melancholy, is it for the meal that is over
or for the loss
you had not seen coming your way.
You are scared more
for the memory that will fade..
No.. its not quite the memory.
Its a that exact point of sensation
the tangibility of the flavours,
the burst of reaction, the sharpness, the surprise,
when a errant morsel stuck
between teeth reacts with the saliva.
the twinge of something, eyes closed,
stomach clenched for a split second,
the feeling, the joy, the pain, the intensity, all of it.
- this whole.
No its not a memory
You are scared more
for 'this whole' that will fade.
What If it does..
eventually, taking all,
leaving you with nothing,
not even a fragment of the taste that
you could roll on the tip of the tongue,
a souvenir.

a conversation

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 11:17:16 GMT

Vru says..

Poetry is for those who cannot bear the brutality of reality.
Give me pain and I'll show you a pulitzer prize winning ode to humanity and its festering sores

I love her sense of irony. I respond

The weak need their illusion of gravity to escape to. Does poetry ever emerge out of the unaffected?

A night beautiful

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 11:09:29 GMT

Midnight, as the pages flip,
eyes follow patterns of sense,
i'm sure.
She is with him! Oh she...
The mind has a heart of its own.
Unapologetic, it weaves in circles.
Uncaring
of the breath
that escapes the violin,
the bloom
that holds tight to the dew
the darkness
that smiles shyly at you.

This too will pass

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 15:45:59 GMT

The crowd thickens, u seek a familiar step.
Numbers, letters, the arc lights,
the cold cubicles of late nights
you turn to with passion, unbridled.
They, the numbers, letters and cubicles
plead exhaustion.
You relent,
move to eves malted with caffeine, nicotine
seeking that touch, a space of comfort.
What.. Lonely? Alone?
Is there a difference or just a play of words..
Pebbles thrown into a jar,
touching but not quite fitting.
They welcome the water, glad to fill the void within
until the pebbles find a fit.

Unnumbered sheets of a script,
all confused, scattered.
Who will pick up the sentences,
string them together?
Will they fit together, make sense?
Now that the story has changed

When all else fails......

Tue, 20 Feb 2007 13:47:26 GMT

......Its best to keep some poetry for company

Cant take credit for any of this. am not posting it make this space seem more interesting.. its just that poetry comes to me from every place.. a gmail chat.. an orkut message.. a mail.. an sms.. call me lazy but there are times when i read something and i just want to keep it safe in one place, a place i can keep going back to for the thought.

My friend Somen is a budding writer.. is a grumpy one too.. He is also the same one who called me PI.. But love reading what he has to say.. always like knowing what he has to say.. This is not one of my favourites.. but its better here than squandering away in an orkut message box.

" वो पुरानी सर्दीइस ठिठुरती ठंड मेंमेरा ग़म क्यों नहीं ज़रा जम जातापिघल-पिघल कर बार-बार आखों से क्यों है निकल आता ।घने से इस कोहरे मेंहाथों से अपने चेहरे को नहीं हुँ ढुँढ पाताफिर कैसे उसका चेहरा बार-बार नज़रों के सामने है आ जाता । बर्फीली इन रातों मेंअलाव में ज़लकर कई लम्हें धुँआ बनकर है उड़ जातेबस कुछ पुरानी यादें राख बनकर है कालिख छोड़ जाते ।अब दिन इतने है छोटे की सुबह होते ही शाम चौखट पर नज़र आती है,शाम से अब डर नहीं लगतासर्दी तो वही पुरानी सी हैपर पहले बस ठंड थीअब पुरानी यादें भी दिल को चीर कर जाती है । " -------------Somen Mishra

Honestly now.. I was never a huge fan of Shantanu Moitra and I never knew somebody called Swanand existed..And I was blissful in my ignorance.. What you dont know, you dont really care for do you.. Somen.. the one mentioned above would go on and on and on about this entity called Swanand.. Finally got us all to listen to songs from Hazaaron, Parineeta.. In my case.. i usually need a context to get myself to sit down and listen to music.. If i just have it on my comp.. i rarely listen.. its when somebody sits me down and shares the aural experience tis when the songs, the music start making sense. To my surprise i really liked the music, especially the words.. Today I'm a huge fan of Swanand.. love his metaphors. just something somen sent me on chat... dont know where else to .....

"Zindagi sawalon ke jawaab dhoondne chali,jawaab mein sawaalon ki ek lambi si ladi mili.sawaal hi sawaal hai,ke soojhti nahin gali,ke aaj haath thaam lo, ek haath ki kami khali" --- swanand kirkire

the long time away

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 07:14:01 GMT

................just came to the page after a long long time.. and realised that i miss it. will be back for a lot has happened.. there is lot to say, write, vent out.

some ad space

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 23:32:13 GMT

I like this guy.. posting his blog just so I remind myself to visit it everytime I come here..

http://www.creativecriminal.blogspot.com/

girls just wanna have fun!

Sun, 27 Aug 2006 05:59:04 GMT

What if we were born someplace else, a house far away from - as my friend Vru puts it - middle class moralities? What if we grew up believing that the brand of hair curlers used is perhaps a discussion of lifechanging proportions. What would I be filling my smses with...instead of morbidity?

Perhaps this...

Dahlings...
Tantric sex.. My guru tells me will put me in touch with my cosmic creative power. Have made an appointment with my kundalini master to have all my chakras opened up and cleansed. A quick trip then for some cognitive yoga sessions. Very good for flexibility.
Catch you for some herbal tea at the spa later???

Sent it to Vru...And the conversation continued...

I'm into detox these days.. duhlinks..Its very zen my guru tells me. Goes well with my sushi facials...

Non-essential and delightfully cosmetic.. aint it? Then again what is not???

Vru says

Dear Jumaanii ji, my lover and I are cheating on each other with the same guy. Will this cause problems in our married life? Can numerology help me?

I say..

What is marriage but a play of numbers..The more the merrier say the cards..

Vru says..

Must air dash to Kosovo for the baby, duhlinks..angelina has made namibia so populist..

I say..

Africa dahlings is so exotic.. If you can forgive the mossies and the tribals... Kosovo.. hmm not third world enough I msut say. why not kandahar? I can always ask richard to fly you down....

will keep updating this space....

And Action!

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 15:37:35 GMT

Why do we put on this act?
Making a stage of the ground beneath,
actors of all we meet,
props of what we touch,
an audience of every eye that catches ours?
Is fear the only dialogue we deliver?
Can we for once believe that the arclights
could fade away,
leaving us in darkness?
What then?

clearing out..

Sun, 20 Aug 2006 12:17:59 GMT

After a long time, I have the blog just to myself to do as I please with it.. And it is time again when I empty my phone of the weight that its been carrying. Its time I heed to its protests. V and Vru have bombarded me with messages, poetry that I have kept safely in the phone..
--------------------------------------------------

We start with Vru...

When Vru went to Finland for a few days as part of a junkit.. she had called us up from the airport.. asking us, 'so dahlings! what do you want me to bring back from Finland?'

I had said,

Bring me memories of what I have not seen.
Just a few that I can put in my little box and lock away....
seeds put aside for that rainy day after the draught.

Vru had replied...

Why do we write?
Earnestly, urgently, pasionately?
Is it because we fear
our thoughts will pass away
in the ether of time,
unrecorded, untouched?
Cogito ergo sum.

Its perhaps one one of my favourite pieces she has sent me. She got me a tiny Finnish button worn by some blonde haired Nordic soldier at some point... dating back to I dont know when. I love when things around me are set in a context, carry a history, a story.

Then came this..

Have you ever wanted to die?
Become one with nothingness?
Why is living a virtue?

After a lull, Vru sent this..

Shall I turn evil today?
Or will the middle class morality take over,
spreading its cushioned claws
across my twisted soul?
Sigh...

--------------------------------------------------------

Now comes V...

My phone is flooded with messages sent by her and now I just cannot carry them around with me any longer. My confidante who takes nastiness and sarcasm to new heights.

Some of the stuff here would be much older than this blog itself..here goes...

Dystopia lies in front of me, bare.
My sentimental brain
asks for the unreachable solace.
Clothed in frivilous civilities
I lead a tedious routine,
which never ends.

--------

The bright lights,
loud sounds, dim not,
the screaming within, skin throbbing,
sweat oozing out,
draining out ghosts of the past,
trying to lose the self in the darkness.

-------

As the drops fall sadly,
the mirage beckons.
The floodgates open.
With ululations, humming around,
thunderous clouds
dance to the tune of time.

--------

My friend in love.. unexpectedly, completely

Reminscing those moments.
Small laughs, teasing looks,
broad smiles, tiny frowns,
tender touches.
The eye catches mine,
holds it and doesn't let go.
I'm caught off guard.
Wait! I say,
I dont have my defenses in place.
But my silent protests,
remain just that, silent.
Helpless I stare at this feeling.
I dont want to utter the word.
But perhaps it is but that.

---------------------

I peek through windows,
watch lives unfold.
I call it observations,
others term it voyeurism.
Whatever it may be I catch
reflections of myself
in them, and perhaps
they would find theirs in mine.

------------------

Aeons pass before my eyes,
under my feet,
I remain static.
Unmoved, unrelenting,
perhaps I will find a way
to get away
from this endless cycle.
Colours, contours,
catacylasmic visions scream
scream for my attention,
I hide
behind dregs of memories
and moments of togetherness.

---------------

Frozen beyond belief,
her thoughts stand still.
Waiting alone,
looking ahead
at the fading horizon.
The twilight seems never ending.
The golden hues beckon
but motionless
she hums an old tune.
Hair swaying in the swift wind.
her silhouette marks
a lonely figure
against the ever expanding universe.

Stuck...

Sun, 20 Aug 2006 10:37:12 GMT

"..I’m not content to be with you in the daytime
Girl I want to be with you all of the time
The only time I feel alright is by your side
Girl I want to be with you all of the time
All day and all of the night
All day and all of the night
All day and all of the night...."

--- The Kinks (The Kinks Kronicles, 1964)

Heard this one the first time screaming out of a crackling music system. Out of a car that we affectionately called 'the truck'. We were in Jaigad, a coastal village in Maharashtra. 'You really got me', 'Lola' and this one. Few college students from yonder seas educating few middle class girls with the sun, stars and planets in their eyes. Our first introduction to the Kinks, The Stranglers, David Bowie, The Who... stories of long haired lib, drugs, swinging 60's and 70's, kohl and contraceptives. Stories of another life - away from engineering and commerce, dal chawal, ill fitting jeans, tabboos, traditions, the word 'NO'.., the word 'YES' - urging us to go explore the language of possibility, of the word 'DO'.

Its been a long time since the two girls were in Jaigad, sticking close to the car, ears cocked, trying to catch the words, swinging our hips- one fat, one skinny - to this strange music, desperately trying to fit into this new world coming alive amidst cattle, dung cakes, thatched roofs - ways going back few 1000 years in a small, forgotten village.

The girls have filled out, moved on, moved away. Now they can tell a thing or two to many with those stars. Now their taste in music is labelled eclectic. They swing with the beats, never unsure. They smile, pretend, opine, calculate, laugh, dictate, listen with their heads tilted to a side, eyes slanted at an angle, all grown up.

The Kinks screaming "All Day and All of the Night" is stuck in the head. Few days now. Cant get them out, cant switch on to someone else, cant stop singing along.

Tis when...like those few 'sometimes', I wonder if we have explored it all? The language of the word 'DO'? Or have we somewhere along the way convinced ourselves that we have?

just another night

Fri, 04 Aug 2006 20:08:42 GMT

Hands holding mine, comforting my anger. 'We had decided to part ways' he said. 'I wasn't sure' ....A reason, an excuse... a plea? I wonder, as ever. Surety. What would I give to have just a few moments of it.

The deviant mind

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 15:49:47 GMT

Have you ever wanted to do something completely out of character? Deviant and aberrant. Most times I just imagine, plan and hatch these elaborate plots in my head. But they stay there. Always. At least until Saturday night.

Here is where I bring in my two very good friends and partners in crime(quite literally), Poo and M. I was told it was unfair on my part that I have written so much about the V's and G's in my life and left them out completely. 'All in good time my dears' I had assured them.

The sounds were loud but ineffective, the smoke swirled in circles from lips, within the room. The crowd, just a mass moving in disconnected tandem. "So what stories will we tell about each other when we are put on national TV? We are after all going to be famous one day". Its understood amongst the three of us. We will be there. Someday. Three experiences for each person..Beach waltzes, drunken nights, naked sightings, empty wallets, foot rubs from strangers, men, doing favours for bosses ala pulling facial hair (Now you know why Poo and M were upset.. we have shared quite a bit!).

The room swarmed, sweat squishing with spirits and smoke. After 2 years of being together, my number on their cell phones goes under the name 'lost cow', an endearment, a fact that is as attached to me as my name. Was however surprised to know that i'm still their lost cow despite moving on since our first days together. I demanded they change it right away! "I'm not a babe in the woods anymore"

The night was doing nothing for us, our moves to the music getting rehearsed with each puff and swig. The bouncer blocked our floor and the the men, our space. "If people just sneak out without paying, would they even know?" Poo quipped. 'Of course.. I'm sure there is some way of keeping tabs!" .. But the seed was already taking root. Its a thought that has gone through my head each and every time i go to a crowded place. Not because you want to cheat someone, but somewhere deep down, we are just curious, normal, human. The beer had started its ferment and it showed.

M gave me some money.. in case the plan goes awry, in case that big bouncer got a chance to show off that brawn. Stuffed it in my pocket, i think. Did i mention we love movies? We do..... Anyways.. M left, Poo left.. I left. We made it out, shocked at ourselves, thrilled because we had pulled off something that seemed so silly and so deliciously deviant. Into the rick.. My beer and rum dunked brain remembered to check my back pocket. My fingers slip in, fit, find nothing. The corniest of adages made its way to my brain cells, "Man proposes... God disposes.. right?"

We laughed all the way home.. Another story to tell. With relish!

Poo sent me this later at 1.15 am, "I'll never forget tonite.. Thank you for being my friend....." Same here gals.. I would be very boring without you too. :)))

P.S: They have refused to change my name on their cell phones.. 'sigh' cant really blame them

A broken silence..

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 22:34:52 GMT

When will the push ever come to shove? Or has it? You called me your friend. I didn't for the longest time. Its not a word i give away easily, loosely. I always thought the silences went on for long, silent and uncomfortable. When it happened the first time, I had filled up the stretch by bringing up Pulp Fiction. Mia saying, "Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?" I hadn't said these words then. Just mentioned it in passing. The second time i brought it up, a silence that i had thought was awkward, you dismissed,"These are comfortable silences between friends" You said it first. Not I. But I accepted it, revelled in it. The silence stayed, Other things vied for the attentions of the awkward.

Its strange but i judge people by my standards. When tragedy strikes, friends usually call up to find out,"Is all well?" They usually know that people around them, especially those whom they call friends could worry. For them, about them. Taking friends for granted is a given. Its your right. Not always. Living in a vacuum went out of vogue eons ago. The email comes free, for most people who use it. .. or hadnt you heard? Oh.. in that case..perhaps I can forgive..

You know what Mia said to Vincent, "That's when you know you found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute, and comfortably share silence"...I can shut the fuck up and share this silence but not comfortably. Not this time. This is one silence you will have to fill. I dont know how..

--------------------------------------------------

"I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay." - dave matthews band..

I tried, swung my weight with confidence only to discover .... fear rising as I hurtled... down.

pseudo babble

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 16:18:38 GMT

My dear colleague S (he would be surprised to see himself among what he calls the Vs and the Gs) calls me a pseudo. Tis cos i told him to take a look at this page one day. And all he saw were women rambling something akin to poetry. 'All you bloody pseudos! Even bengalis like to write this kind of stuff... all pseudos!' Bothered me? It sure did. Psuedo is negative. Through and through. People post comments on WFN saying Rajdeep is a psuedo. Oh yes! affect me it did. S still continues calling me psuedo.. i guess he means pretentious, escapist..fake. It still would bother if someone else said it, yet again. Unfortunately not when S says it. Not any more. Not at least when he means this virtual page of my ramblings. Its become just another word that people will call me along the way..Bitch, narcisstic, selfish, 'I' specialist.. it can get quite colourful.. I need to say this not just because i feel defensive.. sure, but also because I need to understand why I still like what i write. One year down the line when someone else gives me yet a colourful name... i want to come back to the thoughts that went thru my head when S called me a pseudo. Not to justify but to understand ----

This space, this virtual page is what i choose to make of it... If it comes across as escapist.. its cos there are times i dont want to and choose not ot deal with reality. If i dont want to make a point or perhaps make one sometime, ramble or just fart out loud.. its there, without judging me, without telling me what is right and wrong, done or not quite so. Poetry.. well thats just word play going in sync with the mind, like a jigsaw puzzle that you solve, a crossword problem on the newspaper's page no. 29. So what if it is out in the public sphere for all to read and judge. Its still mine. This is what you need to remember when you come back to this page...You would be a pseudo priya if your actions completely went against everything that you ever said. That would not be very nice...Till then it is ok to romanticise about viennese coffee shops and parisian alleys.. Escapism once in a while does not amount to being a pseudo..Tis however not nice to make a habit out of it. And even if you do.. just accept and move on. The less you judge, the less it will hurt.

the french connection

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 15:28:43 GMT

Cliched as my headings might come across.. never think too much before i give headings to posts.. just hate it when a post header show "No subject"..Perhaps intensely dislike is a bettre word.. my uncle says "Hate is a strong word!"
Coming back to the french connection.. my friends Vru and V, as you would know of them, they both can speak and write french. And in those times when we'd like to imagine ourselves cosseted in some parisian alley nibbling on cheese, sipping on white wine.. we (as in they) would like to imagine francais as the only language the world speaks in.

V said..

Qui pensait il y avait beaute dans l'amour.
Le confusion, l'expectation, les reves.
On attendait
le moment qu'on vivait la reve en realite.

She also said...

La renaissance ets, peut etre,
la seule moyen a liberer de destruction de l'ame.
Les pages tournent,
je trouve pas de raison pour notre existence.

V says, she loves the french language.. and writng it gives her a chance to practise all those years spent learning it in a class.

Vru, moi thinks, just loves to romanticise. We most lovingly call her our our own favourite diva.. Some days back when Zidane finally put an end to our collective misery and came out with the whys and whatevers of his butt now incident, Vru excitedly sent me a headline that she had seen in a french newspaper. "I miss making those headlines that just grab you when you look at the paper!".. with of course two bits of her own gyan added for effect.

'Non.. je ne regrette rien.....' c'est la vie. Fort. Formidable.

The G factor

Fri, 14 Jul 2006 10:33:20 GMT

My friend G is the new addition on this page. She is one of the few I know who cannot survive without things beautiful around her. And i mean that in a nice way. She has to have beauty around her.. greens, music, spirit, open spaces, words... She used to be fantastic with words.. but one morning it all stopped.. dont really know why.. havent managed ot find out.. but somehow Bombay seems to have got those words back.. a place which she called ugly, dirty.. now has started to grow on her.. here is what she sent me...

On rains..

priya,
u call this rain. rains last for few hours and then make themselves scarce.ideally ,everything looks beautiful afterwards, cleaner and greener. I m revising this definition.
can't deny that i have a morbid fascination with mumbai rains. The kind u have wid snakes u wanna avoid them but enjoy looking at them!

after 7/11

priya, mumbai moves me everydayin so many ways!

I hope,
I never get jaded enough,
To delight in the strains of raga,
That man next to me in the bus sings in the rains.
To wonder at the flurry of hand,
Loud sign language by a girl,
Directing a deaf man to his destination,
In the middle of chaos after bomb blasts...

The morning after

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 15:21:33 GMT

Work had to go on.. blast or no blast.. But as i walked into the railway station, there was something that didn't feel quite right.. perhaps it was the fact that my usual entrance to the station was blocked off. perhaps it was the fact that there were fewer people on the platform. perhaps it was alos the fact that my mind felt ripples in the air or perhaps all this was part of my imagination.. The train rolled in, on time. The compartment despite being empty seemed brimming with something.. dont know what.. could feel the fear, could see the blast, the pictures coming one aftre the other on news channels.. I picked up the MID-DAY I had carried with me and my eyes find the same visuals that have saturated my head.. the dam burst.. have no reason to grieve could not understand if i was grieving or just letting go.. we are supposed to be used to this..supposed to be strong and carry on.. i did not want to look out of the window in fear of seeing some of the visuals come alive... I had to keep myself from breaking apart. Had to get through the journey in the first class compartment...I managed. Just about...

Closing my eyes,
lids tight.
I willed the chilled draft away,
of images formed
without sight, haunting.
Will my words
to see me through
a journey
as it flows along
in its new gown.
Expensive, rich, splashed in colour.
Crimson shades that play
hide and seek with the mind.
Words they chain
my lashes, weak, away
from the open window.
A makeshift crutch in the gale...

I sent this to Vru and V.. as usual. She replied back

"whats poetry after auschwitz?"

V responded for she knew what i knew..i think..She took the train back home in the evening, the first class compartment... i suppose

Do I detect a strange look?
The sounds although familiar
doesn't really soothe me.. anymore.
Do I feel a strange heat emanating
from under my feet?
A heat that will burn me apart.
Why does it feel that its just
a long tin box with a few
nuts and bolts strewn together
that will sting like splinters
once they are torn apart?

7/11

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 22:29:31 GMT

.. And the rest of the world sleeps. Peacefully.

jose gonzalez

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 00:32:41 GMT

It was sometime in January, when I first heard him. On the first level of a music store. In Stockholm. Had gone looking to add some swedish flavour into my music. Just one of those things you want to do in a new, strange place where the only thing common you might perhaps find or have is music. You can either like or dislike music. Anywhere in the world. I remember feeling thrilled when the guy at the counter suggested a whole bunch of artists, I had never heard before, not even on VH1. Surprised, when he handed me the headphones to help me decide which ones i prefer taking home. You never get to do that here. Felt good, somewhat like that rare lollypop the diabetic is allowed. A bunch of cds. Went through each and every track. 1 Kroner comes to about 7 odd rupees. No CD was less than KR150. Self gratification came expensive in an expensive country. With Jose, one song was all it took, the first one. Slow Moves. The second one was just to make sure the first didnt deceive me. With his guitar and words and that latin american lineage thrown in, Jose Gonzalez is like an addiction. Nothing world shattering..just quiet, simple yet complex enough. Somewhat like that morning forecast you read in a cheap tabloid, vague enough to fit every waking moment in your life.

My favourite.....

Hints
While the crowd is waiting for the final kiss
The one which allows them to sleep well
We'll walk along our own path
The one which will lead us to our own bless
But we need hints before we get tired
We need speed before we lose pace
We need a hint to know we're on the right track

One for the monsoon too.

Remain
We'll remain after everything's been washed away by the rain
We will stand upright as we stand today

P.S: His song Heartbeats made waves at Cannes.. Am excited for him..

A tale of an abuse.

Fri, 30 Jun 2006 22:50:29 GMT

Some drown, never
to rise again.
Most stay afloat.
Few learn to paddle.
When the lone boat
sails closer,
doubt refuses to budge.
Fear stays.
Will it
cast the anchor only
to throw us to the waves, hurtling?
Some get on to the boat.
I do too.

Abuse is strange word.. you can easily talk about it in the third person.. when it comes to saying it out loud in the first person, my breath, it catches. What do you say?? How? Despite saying it out aloud, can one ever come to terms with it.. to finally move on? questions.. some find answers.. not before others crop up

Hush now.. they say
to the train that meanders
stopping, seeking
that hint of a smile,
knowing, reassuring...
the wisp of a word,
escaping
the glint of memory
sparkling in knowing eyes
calling out for comfort.
Hush! they say to the quest
for answers
for to respond
is to accept.
Silence perhaps was not meant to hurt
so much
even heal.

Dont knwo if V knew what i was talking about when i sent her the regular sms. But she sent me this...

Bright lights
pierces the eye,
darkness a welcome relief.
The eye needs closure
from images etched in the mind.
Now only if the mind
would lose its sight,
perhaps the spirit
could rest in peace.

seems fitting somehow doesn't it? wonder what she was thinking..

c'est la V

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 20:06:07 GMT

V is in Pune for her driving test. Her chair sits empty, within sight. 'Its only a learner's license' she told me before she left. 'The driving license will happen only after a month'. Today I called her, as I do everyday for its now become a routine, a habit. She was eating mangoes and V being V, she had to rub it in. I could see her dimpling as she put on the best baby accent she could muster. Smiled at the picture forming in my head. Had to get her to translate Vru's french. The online dictionary did not help much. She did. All i recall now is thinking Vru had understood my ramblings.

V smiled and a few moments later she was back to rubbing mangoes on my face. She sent me this sometime after I had put down the phone...

Beauty fades,
the mirror seldom lies.
An eternity passes before
the same old feeling
swishes past,
unwanted and tired
of asking
for acceptance..

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 17:40:06 GMT

There are 2 V's in my life who will constantly vie for space on this page - Vru and V ... I just love to hear their thoughts roll out, constantly, provoking, responding, at times eliciting a reaction out of the lazy me. love you.. gals

The wait

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 11:55:54 GMT

Words just ticked
the time away on those
malted eves.
The gramophone twirled,
masking the din that
the clothes failed to cloak.
Not quite.
Twas just a matter of time,
we knew. We waited.
Always.

Vru replied...

c'est le fou beau. On a trop d'mour pour il qui ne croyes dans le beaute terrible d'mour