Sunday, December 12, 2010

Never alone



One can never forget. 
Those who tell you otherwise, are lying through their teeth. 

For how can you escape your own thoughts? They become your personal demons - haunting you forever, taunting you incessantly. Laughing inside your head and dragging you deep down into a never-ending abyss whenever you slip even a little bit. There is no escape. Never will be. Temporarily? Perhaps. But before you have even managed to breathe that sigh of relief, they will be back, stronger and darker than before.

Its such a funny shit. For after a while - eons or seconds maybe, you can pause, tilt your head and laugh at the injustice of the whole situation. You pay for your sins. And for the sins of others too. Year after year. Night after night. 

Sometimes, you forget.
But they always come back. And you are never alone.

image: unknown

Monday, November 22, 2010

Love is the feeling I have for you



Craving to write something. Since ages now. But there's nothing clear inside - as of now. Everything is jumbled up. Or not. Perhaps I have unraveled everything there is to unravel and hence, nothing is left to talk about, to take out. I have numerous drafts now saved by dutiful Blogger, yet none is complete. For when I am happy, its difficult to write here.

But I try.

♥ ♥ ♥

The bravest thing in this world is to fall in love.

And she did it too. We all fall in love, so how could she be any different? Not once, not twice, but thrice.  Her first love was the love of youth, that beautiful intoxicating time, when you yearn all day long for a glance. She would wait all day just for his one glimpse, and sometimes, he would smile.

That innocent love, unrequited love. That naivety, when she believed that nothing was impossible and he will come for her one day, take her away and they will live happily ever after. 

Yet he never came. She cried for hours in front of the idol she worshipped, begging for him, promising endless fasts and prayers. But her God just smiled down at her. And in the end, she consoled herself with the thought that it was perhaps penance for some sins she committed in her past birth.

Her second love was the one her parents married her off to. It was like a duty, something you subconsciously know since your birth. Love thy husband, worship thy husband. And so she did, dutifully trying to erase all the memories of her first love. He became her first lover, her God and her first child.

He brought breakfast in bed for her. Sometimes with a flower from the garden. She slaved over cooking his meals, looked after the house and made sure the kids were always polite, always presentable.

It went on well for a while. But for her. And him, too. She put him on a pedestal, and he tried hard to hold ground. She wished for more romance and love, soft whispered nothings, that look in his eyes, and praise for a favourite meal. He tried.  But it was never enough. Never could be. Love and expectations. Such a silly combination. 

Never try to love someone. 

Bitterness filled her heart as years flew by. He stopped trying, and its always easier to hate than love. Easier to see the mistakes, the wrinkles, the over cooked food, the disarranged furniture. Easier to see the lost youth, the constant grumblings, the lack of finesse. Easier. And bitter.

It had to happen. She fell in love again.

He wasn't soft-spoken. He never told her she was pretty. But he sang ghazals and recited poetry comfortably in the middle of a conversation. He criticised her. Yet advised her. And she listened. Yet fought with him. It was good - the constant verbal duels - a way to all that was pent up inside. She never spoke sweetly with him, but always made tea the way he liked it -  without milk, always made sure his favourite egg-curry was prepared whenever he came for dinner. And he in return, looked at her everytime he sang that line from her favourite ghazal...

She wanted to bottle such moments, like perfume. To be opened up when life is in its autumn and nothing seems more beautiful, more cherishable than a bottle full of untarnished memories. For memories are so gullible, so unreliable.

...and now, when autumn was glided away softly, and winter has wrapped her in a cold embrace, all those memories crowded around her, warming her heart like golden fireflies...

Saturday, October 2, 2010

This is what I write when I stay up too late

Emptiness and desolation
melancholy and angry passion
a Mahabharata between them
inside me
they all want a piece
a piece is all I have

I know it will end
one day, for sure
but today is difficult
today hurts
and tomorrow
always remains tomorrow

Monday, September 6, 2010

To catch a butterfly



trying to make sense of my thoughts...
like catching butterflies...

♥ ♥ ♥

Remember when you were poor? No, not the "out-of-allowance" period. The out of money forever period. Time when you could either eat or recharge your phone and you went for the latter. Time when you skipped numerous parties - even of dear friends because you had no money for clothes or gifts or sometimes, even for the travel. Time when you longed to buy one new book - oh, but one, every month. Time when you wished you had a better pair of shoes. Time when it was your best friend's birthday and you wished her empty handed and even though she said she didn't care you felt dirty, ragged, rotten - and poor.

Time when you went to a parlour, haphazardly, mostly when you had no other choice - you went to a filthy hole of a place, where you were undressed unceremoniously and you suspected that the sheets, the strips, everything was recycled - and you hoped silently that a day would come when you would never need to come to such a  place. Time when you look at the fortunate others with hungry, naked eyes.

Time when you would stay hungry for days and it almost became a new form of mediation ... and only you knew the secret of your smirk when people asked "oh, but you are so slim.. what diet do you follow?" Time when you would  shamelessly time your arrival at someone's house around a meal time so you could have one decent meal that week. Time when you would work overtime in your call center job - not even taking those weekends off - so desperate was the need for money. Time when you felt your soul slipping away but there was nothing you could do about it.

Time changes.

And I am scared of that. I am scared that I will get used to it and then, it will change again. For worse. I have a problem with imagining things to be permanent. In my mind, people I love are forever leaving me or laughing at me or worse, dying, and other such horrible things. In my mind, I am back to where it started. Only its worse. because then I had nothing to lose. It was better then, really. And now that I have so much to lose, everything, in fact, I am scared. I end up doubting my best friends, get insecure of my husband - and money, I can never trust money.

I am afraid that this time when it leaves - I won't be as strong or as I brave as when I was when I was young. For I may get accustomed to the comfort, the luxury. So I refuse to own a car. I refuse to buy every luxury considered a necessity nowadays. (of course I succumb every now and then. I am but human). I try very hard not to take people I cherish for granted. And I panic when I realise that I am doing just that. This constant threat, this constant uneasiness... its like an ache which no one can cure. I sometimes laugh at myself and think that I am too fanciful ... but sometimes... I just wish I could stop worrying.. that childish as it seems, someone could tell me that this life has come with a guarantee. Immature, I know. But I can wistfully wish so, no?

Don't give me advise, please. If you can, share your fears, your stories. Show me how brave you are.

Image via here.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Wanted

All I want is to sit with you and have tea or coffee. Whatever is your cup of tea. To talk, really, really talk with you. Tell you my dreams and fears..but more importantly listen to yours. And I want to be able to hug you and hold your hand at all the right moments. Or just nod. and I want to see love in your eyes, curiosty even. But not boredom. And no, I don't want to see a wait in your eyes -a wait for me to finish talking so you can make appropriate noises and move on. I want to see pride in your eyes when I tell you what did with my day - what I painted, what I thought of... I want an awww and a kiss if I am not feeling well, even if its 10 days in a row. 

All I really want is to feel that there is no need to be insecure.

Friday, August 13, 2010

...

Bad. Me. Evil. Me.

I wish I could undo time, undo all the relations I ever had and set everyone free from the mess called me. It would be such a relief. And really, I would rather be alone for this self-loathing.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Title? Who cares!

never I asked of you
and never I gave
but you gave me your emptiness
that I'll take to my grave...

so let this heart be still... 

Sometimes I wish that I had a battery within me. Or an on/off button. Something like coma, like almost-death, like hibernation. It would have helped pass those days when my emptiness becomes too much for me to handle and overflows. Overflows and drowns everyone around. It gives me enough guilt to last 9 lifetimes. 

If you're leaving close the door,
I'm not expecting people anymore...

I am craving for solitude. Not complete solitude though. And that's the catch. The attachment is too much. And so I am craving for something I don't really want. For even when I am alone, you will rule my mind. You will invade my soul and perfume my breathe and dance to my heartbeat, and make me dance to yours. Solitude? Me? Ha!  

Sunday, August 1, 2010

A Loser of a Poem

chaotic thoughts
again
bitter bitter
disappointment,
oh, so bitter

no matter what you say
and you...
no matter what you do
I always fail
Like I always do

am no field of flowers
after a spring rain
try hailstorm on a rainbow
and a failure's bitter pain

assumptions, and then rejections
useless, hopeless, heartless?
and my guts are gone for a long walk
"Its raining.." they said.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Tower of Tissues

And then there was this girl who was locked up, up in a high tower. And the tower and its mast and its moat and the rooms inside and the windows - everything was made of tissues. She was trapped in a tower of tissues, because all she did was cry. If she was happy, she would shed endless happy tears. If she was sad, sad, beautiful tears came tumbling out... Everything and nothing had a profound effect on her and all she could do was shed those tears.

People had theories about her. Perhaps she had sinned in her previous life and hence was forbidden to smile. Or perhaps, she had tears instead of blood coursing through her veins...

Every year, when the moon was full and high in the night sky, and one could see the constellations of Hera and Erebos become one, the layers of tissues were taken off, thrown away and replaced with new ones. Because even tissues can bear only so much tears...

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Tagged after so long!

So here we are... it has been ages since I was last tagged... there was a time we would happily take on tag posts because it meant not struggling over what to post next. 

I was tagged by the sweet Calvy, and I took almost a month to rspond.. am so, so sorry :(
Without further ado, here's more information for the voyeur in you ;)  

1. Asked someone to marry you? Guilty. Took some time and persuasion, and finally... a happy beginning ;)

2. Ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes darling! Twice. But the details go with me to the grave :P

3. Danced on a table in a bar? No, no :O would be fun but am too scared of being embarrassed.

4. Ever told a lie? Ha ha. Who hasn't? ;)

5. Kissed a picture? Millions of zillions of time... sigh!

6. Slept in until 5 PM? Only when I was very, very sick.

7. Fallen asleep at work/school? Guilty. Having a heavy lunch is so catastrophic!

 8. Held a snake? Am actually not sure about this. Will have to consult Rainboy.

9. Been suspended from school? Nah. but now I wish I had been ;)

10. Worked at a fast food restaurant? No. Would have been an experience though.

11. Stolen from a store? Yes. I still regret it...

12. Been fired from a job? Nah, never :)

 13. Done something you regret? Guilty. Again, who hasn't? And many many times.

 14. Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? No.. I just choke :P

15. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? I wish!!

16. Kissed in the rain? Yes... its divine...

17. Sat on a roof top? Totally!

18. Kissed someone you shouldn’t? The same sex people I guess ;)

19. Sang in the shower? Guilty. 

 20. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? No one will dare to. They know I will bury them alive. Plus I always considered it kinda offensive, never fun.

21. Shaved your head? One day, I will.

22. Had a boxing membership? No, but I practise daily ;)

23. Made a girlfriend cry? I will presume it is for my friends who are girls hehe. Yes I have, and then I have handed over tissues and begged forgiveness till eternity.. I can be such a jerk sometimes.. :(

24. Been in a band? Shaadi wala band? Yes! :P Just kidding...

25. Shot a gun? Nopes

26. Donated Blood? They say am underweight... :|

27. Eaten alligator meat? Am a vegetarian...and I doubt that even if I was a non-vegetarian, would have experimented so much.

28. Eaten cheesecake? Nopes.

29. Still love someone you shouldn’t? I have never loved anyone I shouldn't...

30. Have/had a tattoo? Innocent.

31. Liked someone, but will never tell who? If we are talking about crushes, then yes it has happened. Otherwise, no. I believe in spreading love and joy ;)

32. Been too honest? Oh yes. And it hurts.

33. Ruined a surprise? Many. All the surprises were for me. They never take in my superior IQ while planning a surprise, ha! ;)

34. Ate in a restaurant and got really bloated that you couldn’t walk afterward? Yup.

35. Erased someone in your friends list? Guilty. Some things come with an expiration date. Some things do not come under "Friends for Life."

36. Dressed in a woman’s clothes (if you’re a guy) or man’s clothes (if you’re a girl)? Of course. Girls wear men's clothes all the time :P

37. Joined a pageant? He he. No.

38. Been told that you’re handsome or beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? I am never sure about these things.. so, no idea

39. Had communication with your ex? Don't have an ex. :)

40. Got totally drunk on the night before exam? No! Oh god, no. I hadn't tasted alcohol in those days :P

41. Got totally angry that you cried so hard? Millions of times. Yesterday in fact. Mostly, the anger is at myself.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Sex and the... education

Sex.
Think about it.

When did you first knew this three letter word was dirty? That you were not supposed to use it in polite conversation? That you did not know, till after a long time (or short time, perhaps) what it means, really means? And how much it changed things? Changed how you viewed girls / boys, marriage, births etc.?

That you talked with friends about it...you tried to read all you could about it? And not a single word was from your school syllabus?

Why is it, that in a country like ours, who is known as land of Kamasutra and the second most populous country in the world, sex is a taboo? Why is it that sex education is still not compulsory for children?

And worried parents will think that perhaps we are encouraging kids to think about sex and do it. Yeah right! They will do it anyway, now or later. Sooner or later, they have to do it! Its better they know what they are getting into and how to go about it. The precautions, the risks, pregnancy, birth control etc. And what safer place to learn this than in a classroom, by a well-informed, knowledgeable teacher?

Better than asking people who have hardly any clue themselves. I have heard educated people (graduates, working) saying that a girl can become a virgin again if she doesn't have sex for 2-3 months or more. Ye-sss...

 

Our education system is anyways going down the drain. Now kids are being told they no longer have to work hard, because hey, we won't fail you. No matter what your marks are, we will give a grade, even if you are merit-listed, so don't sweat so much! Life isn't so difficult you see. Why, there be will a reservation for your sex/caste/religion somewhere in some industry/field, so don't stress kid!

 

Among other things, I have just added another page to my blog. It will be about my all other blogs, in case you already can't get enough of me haha :P

Friday, May 7, 2010

Baarish...

तरस रहे हैं हम
एक बूँद के लिए
बारिश के लिए
बूंदों से भीगी एक खिड़की के लिए...

छोटे से शहर में एक छोटा सा घर
छोटे से घर में एक छोटा सा कमरा
छोटे से कमरे में एक छोटी सी खिड़की,
नीली दीवारें
और बाहर नीला आसमान
 
खिड़की से सटा एक बिस्तर
और बैठ कर वहां, तकते रहना बस यूँ ही घंटों तक
इंतज़ार करना उस नीले आसमान का बादलों में छुपने का
चमकती बूंदों के आने का
समां बदल जाने का

और फिर
बरसती है बूँदें
और तरसता मन
उड़ जाता है दीवारों के पार
करने बातें बूदों के साथ

सब कुछ, नया सा
प्यारा सा, अपना सा
भीग जाती है खिड़की बारिश से
और एक एक बूँद अटक जाती है उसकी सलांखों पे
जिन में झिलमिलाते है सातों रंग
इन्द्रधनुष बनकर

बस यही चाहिए मुझे
एक नीला कमरा
एक भीगी  हुई खिड़की
और बाहर बादलों में सिमटा आसमान...

Craving for rain. So wrote this poem. Its 3:33 am, and I am drowsy and tired. Just lousy excuses for the poem. Just want it to rain and rain and rain...

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

The Orange Girl

And I heart this. This is my new blog ( a month old actually). About things I see and like. Like design. fine Art. Fashion. Intelligent ideas. Anything that makes me happy. And kick-fires the grey cells :)


"When the head is full of weighty thoughts, you can either say a few words, or keep silent. Mum kept silent."
-from The Orange Girl

How do you write a review about a book which isn't melodramatic, isn't harsh, yet touches your heart and makes you believe in fairytales? This isn't actually a review. Just what I feel every time I read this book.



The Orange Girl

This book is about a riddle from the past. Riddle about love, oranges, and yes, The Orange Girl. About a guy rediscovering his dead father through his letters. Its about the two voices of the son and the father, the past and the present, coming together in perfect harmony. His father writes in the most beautifully simple manner about his illness, about the Hubble telescope, about The Orange Girl, and the riddle called life.

"Sometimes I have to sleep a bit at this time of the day too, not because I'm feeling ill, but because I can't sleep at night; all the thoughts crowd in on me then, that's when they trouble me the most. Just as I'm about to drop off I get such a deep glimpse into all the unpleasant mysteries, into that huge and horrible fairytale that has no good fairies, but only black omens, dark spirits and evil elves. So it's better to forget about sleeping at night and drop off on the sofa during the morning when it's light."

I so understand this. Because I do this almost daily.

The father meets her, The Orange Girl,  a girl holding a bag full of juicy looking oranges, for the first time on a tram and realises immediately that there was something "unaccountably magical & enchanting" about her. And after heart-stopping moments of looking in her teasing and mischievous eyes, he somehow loses her. She goes away, just like she suddenly came. Like magic. Like a fairy.

And so begins a crazy hunt all over the city; in big supermarkets which sold luscious oranges in brown paper bags; among trams and among cafes... he stupidly, cutely, totally like someone in love - comes up with ridiculously sweet fables of why she needed that big bag of oranges, and how those oranges tied up with the greater scheme of life and most importantly, who was The Orange Girl? 

Was she a part of an expedition to Greenland and needed those oranges so she doesn't die of scurvy out in the wilds? Was she part of a large family, the eldest of her four sisters and two brothers, and those oranges were for her little brother and sisters to take to school with them? Or was she "the mother of a little family that consisted of her and a Mr Nice Guy who had just graduated from the School of  Management, and their little four or five-month-old daughter, whose name he imagined, for some reason, must be Ranveig?"

The story transforms more and more into a beautiful lesson on love and life and everything in between. Yet never becomes overbearing. And by the time the riddle is solved, the world suddenly seems freshly rain-drenched. Of course, it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it is has very delicious, different aroma and a wonderful, lingering after taste. Try it once.

The Orange Girl by Jostein Gaarder
ISBN Code: 978-0-7538-1992-0

You can buy it here.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Happy Birthday to Me...

 So I turn 27 today - something I am trying not to think about. Mainly because it means that I will be 30 in 3 years from now, which, frankly makes me want to get mummified and wake up after, say a 100 years or so. I realised that there are so many things I wanted to do but haven't done, because, well, one just keeps procrastinating. So I've finally decided to make a list of stuff that I have to do - no matter what - by the time I turn 30.. so at least, I won't feel so bad.. won't feel that I didn't accomplish anything even at this age.

But before the list, here are a few pictures of the surprise He had planned for me :D


Yes. The cake. I know. I loved it too. And yes, it was delicious.


He knows I love the tiny stuff. And the bicycle is a gift by my best friend who gave me a sweet surprise.
(Psst! He wanted me to write "nasty shock" instead of "sweet surprise".)



He made this sofa...


These were the guests...

Sigh! 


Anyway, the list:

Sell my paintings.

Join a dance class.

Go to Ladakh / or an awesome road trip like it.

Night out

Get drunk - wasted.

Try tequila.(just so I can crib that I have no idea why people have something so bitter - also - it may help me fulfill the aforementioned wish).

Create an awesome poster.

Stay in a cabin in the hills.

Color my hair.

Learn how to make awesome coffee.

Cook my mom a dinner - n give her an awesome gift.

Start writing poems again - this is tricky.

Join kickboxing classes.

Grow a beard and leave it for at least a month. Kiddin!

Sleep under the stars. Oh please. And we can make wild guesses about the constellations.

Learn to drive.

Have my own library.

Picnic by the riverside.

Spend one day lying in bed and not feel guilty about it. Just do nothing but read great books. Laze about. Ok, cut out the books too. Just be so lazy that laziness gets an entirely new definition.

Meet Ruskin Bond.

White water rafting.

Go on a photo-vacation.

Dance in the rain - done that - wanna do again.

Skinny dipping.

Master one dish which will be handed down generations :P

Get that book published.

Memorize the lines of my fav movie - all the lines.

Scuba diving / snorkeling.

Get over my fear(s).

Relearn maths.

Dance on top of a table. In heels.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

♥ scrambled love ♥

my silence begs you for your voice
say something, please
ordinary becomes enchanting
when you speak...
but you don't!
such a tease, no?
and haunting, haunting dreams
of your voice
whispering, cajoling
tantalising...
you don't let me sleep...


so much love in my heart
it overflows and drowns me
am floating in your love
yet very soon I will choke
come soon
and take your share
least i die
waiting for you
and your love kills me
...a beautiful death


"पहले आती थी हाल-ऐ-दिल पे हसी
अब नहीं आती..."
-ghalib  




p.s.: did this make sense? writing poetry after ages.. feel all wooden and unsure...

Monday, April 5, 2010

I ♥ You


I miss you. And the rain.

It felt so magical then. You know, ever since the beginning. 


I still remember when I first held your hand. Your hands, sun-kissed, rough, harsh...I fell in love at first sight. They felt new and strange and fresh underneath my fingers. Tracing your life-line in the palm of your hand - coarse, deeply etched, and thankfully, long. And when we interlinked our fingers, it was how it was meant to be. Since life began, this was what I had been waiting for. To hold a hand which called out to mine, which felt safe and heavenly, like coming home.

And like the work of a magic spell, you became my favourite person. I have no idea when, where, how, why. These how's and whys don't even matter.


Do you remember, the silent walks, the whispered confessions, when feelings overwhelmed our tiny little hearts and tumbled out the way rainbow colored butterflies struggle out of their coccon? And beautiful, life-altering moments when I kept drowning in your eyes, pretending to myself it was just a game, another silly game we were playing. 

Sweet, savoured, cherished moments.

It was so difficult, yet somehow so easy to bare my heart to you, strip my soul infront of you....after all, it was you.



jism ki baat nahi thi,
unke dil tak jaana tha...




You make me feel beautiful every time you look at me. You make me realise that live is short ,but wonderfully beautiful and full of happy surprises. Your love makes everything else fade away, yet somehow, it also enhances everything, like I am looking at everything with eyes full of wonder. 

If I were a poem, trust me, I will dedicate myself to you.


image via here.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

lil something...

Clicks while travelling on a train from Punjab to Delhi
It was heavenly...watching sunrise and then gazing amazingly at the sun-drenched foggy land of my beautiful Punjab.





I want to paint all the communication towers pink or purple or white or any color which looks lovely against the evening sky or morning sky. Which soothes the heart in blistering heat and warms it in arctic winter. Let them be more feminine, or more raw, and not an awkward red and white striped pajama.Wonder what Freud will think of this national obsession of sprinkling these phallus symbols all over the landscape?

Monday, February 22, 2010

Of Books, Art & Finding Treasures

The Road to Yesterday - can something sound  more nostalgic, more romantic? I discovered this beautiful book, crushed under a huge stack of books at Connaught Place, Delhi.  Its cover made me dream  - of long forgotten, honey drenched stories, of love stories blossoming in summer, and love growing through generations... It turned out better. Full of delightful different stories about different people from the same quaint little town, it fills the heart with endless joy.



My favourite story from the other marvels in its 402 pages is this cute lil, dear darling happy story about a pair of crazy twins who, like children all over the world, are always pretending silly and funny things. One fine  summer day they meet this bored, haunted millionaire and somehow end up yapping about their one totally crazy wish - to restore an old, forgotten house they call Orchard Knob - don't you just love the name?? Orchard Knob - so silly and cute and childish - fragrant like forgotten summer holidays... they love the house because its lonely and looks like it could do with some company. Don't we all?

The millionaire - like it happens only in books - fulfills their wish- and the twins go wild with their crazy imagination decorating the house...

"a dear little blue china cabinet with bouqets painted on its doors, and wonderful brocade curtains for the living room that were between spring-green and pale gold."



Sigh! The sweetness, the happiness, spilling from the pages, the impractical and bizaree imagination only a child can have and how it all ends happily after all... I have no idea why I loved this particular story so much...but then, do we ever know why we love those we love?

Made me nostalgic for my childhood dreams, "ice cream colored" dreams - dreams of a perfect book of fairy tales, so big I couldn't pick it with one hand - so perfect it had a beautiful fairy tale for each day of the year; dreams of having my own room, full of books and Archies and comics and all the time in the world to read them; dreams of a jar full of chewing gum, resplendent in all its unwrapped glory;  ...of those days when secrets really did mean secrets only you knew - or you and your sibling :) when promises were sacred stuff never to be broken, and words once said, were honored; when one wrote with a fountain pen and bought stamps from carefully collected pocket money to send letters and birthday cards to dear ones far away...


And a lovely, foggy day found us at The National Museum of Fine Arts in Delhi - could never go there during my 9 year long relationship with the city.. and during a recent weekend fling with the city, I finally went there... lucky for me, the ongoing exhibition focused on Indian paintings from the 18th century till the recent times.

Soaked in the skill of miniature paintings, the strokes of Kalighat Patas, the timelessness of a Raja Ravi Verma, the vibrancy of an Amrita Shergill (she was so young and talented - why did she die so soon?), the boldness of Jatin Kumar Dass, the colors of a Hussain, the weirdness of a Tagore (some of his work were masterpieces, but some..??)...

...and yearned for those lost days of brush and turpentine oil and colors and thick sheets... 


Among other things, discovered this beautiful painting lying on the floor of an unused kitchen at a distant relative's place...love at first sight. Like finding a hidden treasure... 



I didn't have my camera, had to use mobile.



after years of struggle, queuing up in queues and filling endless forms with borrowed pens, having thelle ke cholle kulche, numerous trips to South Campus - dragging my unselfish sweet friends and Him along, near heart attacks and endless tears when I thought I had lost all my documents....Delhi University finally granted me my degree. Graduate in English Honors.. . something to smile about ... finally :)

Monday, February 1, 2010

♥ In love ♥

I am in love with so many things I am in love with finding surprisingly nice book in a lil bookstore tucked away in a crowded street pinched between a butcher and a Chinese food dhabha I am in love with looking longingly, endlessly at beautiful pictures online I am in love with the fact that I wanted to own an old piece of furniture so I could paint it - and God left it at my door months before I even wished for it I am in love with the dull quietness of afternoons and how sleep tugs you into her arms I am in love with the oppressive silence of lonely nights when poems are scribbled, doodles become sketches and thoughts and dreams and reality do a threesome and make rainbow colored babies I am in love with my blue duppatta - it gives comfort and warmth and dances with me in the wind I am in love with the perfect cup of coffee which suddenly comes your way, calling your name when you had given up all hope of ever meeting the one I am in love with smiles - beautiful, happy, heart-to-heart smiles because they make me feel welcome in a strange city I am in love with early morning eyes and the first smile of the day I am in love with writing all this down






Monday, January 25, 2010

Footloose in Bombay

I always get nervous before travelling in local. Local = train in Bombay. Its scary even before I climb in. The crowd, the fatal casualties, the rush, the confusion and the chaos.

But then, every time I travel by local, I get down from it happier. I like the woman's only compartment, the "thank god no one will grope me here" feeling. Standing by the door, watching stations pass idly by, observing the women around, their chit-chat, the hawkers who jump in to sell clips and chips and hankies and makeup and toys and notebooks and pencils and what not. Life here is very fast, it just goes on and on. And people try to jam everything in those meager twenty-four hours. And this fact is most visible in the women's compartment. There are three women sitting opposite to me and all three are talking on phone - and their tone show they are talking with a loved one. Husband, boyfriend? They keep talking till their station arrives, and then they put the caller on hold, push their way through the crowd and get off the train..and I can see them walking past my window - they have resumed the phone conversations. Yes, all three of them.

In a corner, two friends are gossiping and giggling. One of them rummages in her bag and tugs out a brand new suit (I can see the tag) and shows off it to her friend, who makes all the appropriate noises and comments. Another woman is arranging -on her phone -for someone to pick up her son from school, while someone else is looking for jobs.

I like to observe them, imagine their life, the constant running about, the struggles, the pain, the love, the laughter...and its as if life is a kaleidoscope in front of my eyes...



Bombay. I like Bombay. Not Mumbai. Nopes.

Walking walking walking. Aimlessly on Bombay's streets. Stopping whenever something catches my fancy. Evening at Marine Drive and a wonderful breeze - feel like living again.

Eating at a roadside eating joint. Clicking photos through its bay windows. Looking wistfully at balloons and a balloon covered taanga :P

That feeling you get in a new city - discovering it, loving its freshness...

Bombay. I think I will like you. Though I am trying not too. Because you, too, are not permanent.
















Thursday, January 14, 2010

verbal doodles @ dawn

Home. A word. Holding so much inside. Security, peace, contentment. That feeling of belonging. And how exactly do you define home? Especially when the place you were brought up in is far, far away and every time you visit it, its like nauseatic nostalgia all over again.

These walls around me nowadays - are just walls. This is just a box, a house. A temporary arrangement in the things of life. Permanency was lost like the innocence of childhood. Forever.

No place like home. No place called home.

So if I want to run away today, where am I supposed to go?







wish -

the perfect cup of coffee

to paint something that doesn't make me feel useless, doesn't let me tear the page apart

read a nice, comfortable, soothing and thoughtful book

talk with someone without any pretensions, without an ulterior motive, without helplessness wrenching my guts out, without over analysing every word, every thought

stop thinking. please.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Black Hole



Thoughts have been black holed - whatever that means. Why care. What's the point anyway. Whatever is done today, will be undone tomorrow.

And its time to button up, too. Not that I blame anyone. Just the price of being me.

Just need a room with no window and a bed where I can lay in peace and pull the sheets over my head. And disappear.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

heart to heart





image via :: here
quote via :: here

merged
here