Solace in a stuffed chilli
One soar high heeled foot steps out
Tittering under the weight of the sagging love handles,
An aching lower back..
Propels two tired legs..
Into the little crucible..
High up on the 8th floor..
Beyond where the canopies of the trees can reach..
Where only the dust clouds of the day
Hover...
Ominously
The air reeks of worn clothes,
Unwashed undies
And my phlegm crushing breakfast
Peppered with garlic, tamarind and turmeric
Barricaded by 4 thick-thin walls,
Thick - to compress my world within
Thin – to allow the cacophony of “flat-life” to seep in..
Roaches.. ah my beloved friends..
Sucking the juice from a half eaten chicken pie
With blue-green fungi, coloring its crusty rim
Misplaced bras wink from their hiding places,
Stuck inside armchair nooks,
Spilling out of the laundry basket..
There is TV to watch..
A few texts to send..
More emails to check..
Facebook to update..
May be a movie to download..
IF NOT
There is work
IF NOT
there is (more) studies
IF NOT.. IF NOT
Aaah!,..
Everything can wait..
Until I find some solace..
Digging into my therapist of the day..
A juicy, hot stuffed chilli
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I crave for him,
Like a diabetes craving for sweets
My own desire
Spining the plot
for my own demise,
But...
Its so tantalizing
my whole being
On fire,
at the thought of
walzing away in his arms..
But..
I can smell the evil
feel the arid coldness inside
I know he's no good for me
Its the typical
nerdy girl meets bad boy..
never to last
never to blossom
into anything substantial
Other than a tryst
A wonderful, engrossing
all consuming tryst...
But..
Am I ready,
To open the floodgates
and let the torrent
gush above my being
and drown me with its force?
No.. No... I want to live..
to find more meaningful happiness
A quiter love..
may be without the travestries of a giddy heart,
a spinning head,
and hours killed in waiting...
But...
a more profound love..
of interllectual debate..
little sacrifices..
unforgotten birthdays..
and a lifetime,
of mundane memories..
of choosing dishwashers
handwashing clothes
and drying Jeens together
and that sense of reassuarance
that comes,
when the headiness is over
and theres a long winding road ahead..
where mutual egoes need to battled,
pleasures sacrificed..
trust built
and loyalty
guarded with life..
Do I have the power to resist..
this gooi black chocolate
with hazel nut?
For a low sugar, corn based granolla bar...
Like a diabetes craving for sweets
My own desire
Spining the plot
for my own demise,
But...
Its so tantalizing
my whole being
On fire,
at the thought of
walzing away in his arms..
But..
I can smell the evil
feel the arid coldness inside
I know he's no good for me
Its the typical
nerdy girl meets bad boy..
never to last
never to blossom
into anything substantial
Other than a tryst
A wonderful, engrossing
all consuming tryst...
But..
Am I ready,
To open the floodgates
and let the torrent
gush above my being
and drown me with its force?
No.. No... I want to live..
to find more meaningful happiness
A quiter love..
may be without the travestries of a giddy heart,
a spinning head,
and hours killed in waiting...
But...
a more profound love..
of interllectual debate..
little sacrifices..
unforgotten birthdays..
and a lifetime,
of mundane memories..
of choosing dishwashers
handwashing clothes
and drying Jeens together
and that sense of reassuarance
that comes,
when the headiness is over
and theres a long winding road ahead..
where mutual egoes need to battled,
pleasures sacrificed..
trust built
and loyalty
guarded with life..
Do I have the power to resist..
this gooi black chocolate
with hazel nut?
For a low sugar, corn based granolla bar...
Sunday, July 15, 2007
monkey business.
went to a sitar recital, bumped onto an old buddy and heard that another buddy had turned into a monk - shaved head, saffron robed, barefoot monk who has renounced worldly pleasures and pursuits. if i remember right the guy was a project manager at an outsourcing joint. good pay, cute eyes, a bit short on the height.. but had it all 'going' for him in a very worldly narrow sense.
And, I cant help but being awed at the random signs life throws my way. No No, this is not to say I have a giddy feeling that makes me want to run pel-mel behind my friend escaping from all this transitory suffering. But, there is a little voice that keeps whispering into my ears, something on a similar line.
but thats a grave choice. to be stuck in limbo with all my worldly cravings, prejudices and desires hidden under a saffron cloak.. until I reach that strength of mind where i can actually banish them or successfully control them..
aaah... something to ponder over. if fate has it that i must walk away.. then so it shall be.. till then let me try to atleast sprinkle a bit of water on this raging fire in my mind
went to a sitar recital, bumped onto an old buddy and heard that another buddy had turned into a monk - shaved head, saffron robed, barefoot monk who has renounced worldly pleasures and pursuits. if i remember right the guy was a project manager at an outsourcing joint. good pay, cute eyes, a bit short on the height.. but had it all 'going' for him in a very worldly narrow sense.
And, I cant help but being awed at the random signs life throws my way. No No, this is not to say I have a giddy feeling that makes me want to run pel-mel behind my friend escaping from all this transitory suffering. But, there is a little voice that keeps whispering into my ears, something on a similar line.
but thats a grave choice. to be stuck in limbo with all my worldly cravings, prejudices and desires hidden under a saffron cloak.. until I reach that strength of mind where i can actually banish them or successfully control them..
aaah... something to ponder over. if fate has it that i must walk away.. then so it shall be.. till then let me try to atleast sprinkle a bit of water on this raging fire in my mind
an imaginary 60 yr old would hv been writers letter to another 60 year old would have been sitarist
To be a great writer you need to write.. But then the moment you sit
to write you are not sure what to say. You are afraid that what you
write is not good enough.. you get lost in the a complicated web of
"trying to find" juicy material to write about that after hours of
surfing your eyes sting and you are too tired to write. Or the
conditions aren't right. Its too noisy. No major idea titillates your
cerebral cortex. You feel that there is something more interesting
that you can read- that would help you becomeetter writer- than
sitting down to writing your own sordid piece. In the end, you have
become a wannabe maestro sitarist who has heard all the grand masters
play, who has read all there is to read about each string and each
curve, has held that beloved sitar in your hands and stroked it
lustily, craving to make it vibrate with divine rhythms at your touch,
but has fallen short of actually sitting and trying to play. Why?
Because you were too afraid to make those ear-shattering errant
crescendo's that compete with the sounds made by gnarling rats as they
chew through polystyrene garbage chute covers. I was afraid that the
words which oozed out of my fingertips would be flippant, clumsy,
frisky ones. We were both afraid of our own imagined failure to become
masters from the first day onwards like some rare prodigies. You never
played because you didn't have the guts to balance the weight of the
rotund stomach of the sitar on you left leg while holding onto its
long serene neck with dear life with your right hand, because your
spine ached and your flax arm muscles are stinging in pain. I didn't
have the patience to sit in one place to put an entire thought into
paper, colliding with icy writer's blocks and chipping them away bit
by bit with a blunt stone-hammer. I never wrote because I never had
the courage to plunge my callous palms with a rough stone idea and
hold it in a gushing current that would have moulded it into a soft,
shiny magnificent polished rock. You never played because you didn't
have the forbearing to keep plucking at those strings, emanating harsh
tones while the blood oozed from your finger tips and the divine
instrument demanded no less of a sacrifice than dead pieces of skin to
adorn its magical strings. I never wrote because the mental exertion
and single minded focus demanded for the exercise was more than what
my mercurial mind could deal with. And finally, other jobs beckoned
us. We were weighed down by the need for approval, of our parents,
friends, lovers who didn't understand why we chose to travel a lonely,
untrodden road. But most of all our self-doubt and fears swallowed us.
Because we weren't sure our selves where we were heading. Although a
shadow of an enticing oasis oozing with the promise of self
fulfillment appeared in the horizon, we weren't sure whether we would
get their. We weren't even sure it was real or just a mirage. And the
moment a trivial escape appeared we threw away our destiny and jumped
into the boat of mundane existence, with everyone else. We lost that
lustrous fire that burned day and night in our eyes, which
differentiated us from the rest of the herd. But then with time, we
became indistinguishable. Lost in the crowd, bent double under our new
found responsibilities, tied down by bondage, we have let the marrow
dry up in our once succulent bones. We are but husks now, our spirit
shriveled up. Wild dreams of youth buried under the sands of time.
With eyes subdued with monotony and silent suffering, from the pain
that stings out from the wound that was created in the little space
where our dreams used to be kept, snuggled. The wound has festered
over the years, growing like a cancer, multiplied by the forces of
regret, self loathing and disappointment, until it has turned green,
yellow, red raw and violet all at the same time..
Ah my friend if we only had this realization then.. If we knew then
what we see now with hindsight? Would we have thrown our dreams into
the wind?
To be a great writer you need to write.. But then the moment you sit
to write you are not sure what to say. You are afraid that what you
write is not good enough.. you get lost in the a complicated web of
"trying to find" juicy material to write about that after hours of
surfing your eyes sting and you are too tired to write. Or the
conditions aren't right. Its too noisy. No major idea titillates your
cerebral cortex. You feel that there is something more interesting
that you can read- that would help you becomeetter writer- than
sitting down to writing your own sordid piece. In the end, you have
become a wannabe maestro sitarist who has heard all the grand masters
play, who has read all there is to read about each string and each
curve, has held that beloved sitar in your hands and stroked it
lustily, craving to make it vibrate with divine rhythms at your touch,
but has fallen short of actually sitting and trying to play. Why?
Because you were too afraid to make those ear-shattering errant
crescendo's that compete with the sounds made by gnarling rats as they
chew through polystyrene garbage chute covers. I was afraid that the
words which oozed out of my fingertips would be flippant, clumsy,
frisky ones. We were both afraid of our own imagined failure to become
masters from the first day onwards like some rare prodigies. You never
played because you didn't have the guts to balance the weight of the
rotund stomach of the sitar on you left leg while holding onto its
long serene neck with dear life with your right hand, because your
spine ached and your flax arm muscles are stinging in pain. I didn't
have the patience to sit in one place to put an entire thought into
paper, colliding with icy writer's blocks and chipping them away bit
by bit with a blunt stone-hammer. I never wrote because I never had
the courage to plunge my callous palms with a rough stone idea and
hold it in a gushing current that would have moulded it into a soft,
shiny magnificent polished rock. You never played because you didn't
have the forbearing to keep plucking at those strings, emanating harsh
tones while the blood oozed from your finger tips and the divine
instrument demanded no less of a sacrifice than dead pieces of skin to
adorn its magical strings. I never wrote because the mental exertion
and single minded focus demanded for the exercise was more than what
my mercurial mind could deal with. And finally, other jobs beckoned
us. We were weighed down by the need for approval, of our parents,
friends, lovers who didn't understand why we chose to travel a lonely,
untrodden road. But most of all our self-doubt and fears swallowed us.
Because we weren't sure our selves where we were heading. Although a
shadow of an enticing oasis oozing with the promise of self
fulfillment appeared in the horizon, we weren't sure whether we would
get their. We weren't even sure it was real or just a mirage. And the
moment a trivial escape appeared we threw away our destiny and jumped
into the boat of mundane existence, with everyone else. We lost that
lustrous fire that burned day and night in our eyes, which
differentiated us from the rest of the herd. But then with time, we
became indistinguishable. Lost in the crowd, bent double under our new
found responsibilities, tied down by bondage, we have let the marrow
dry up in our once succulent bones. We are but husks now, our spirit
shriveled up. Wild dreams of youth buried under the sands of time.
With eyes subdued with monotony and silent suffering, from the pain
that stings out from the wound that was created in the little space
where our dreams used to be kept, snuggled. The wound has festered
over the years, growing like a cancer, multiplied by the forces of
regret, self loathing and disappointment, until it has turned green,
yellow, red raw and violet all at the same time..
Ah my friend if we only had this realization then.. If we knew then
what we see now with hindsight? Would we have thrown our dreams into
the wind?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Morning vitamins.
Its weird how the world goes by, unaffected, seeming completely void of much emotional needs. For example, people living all alone in strange countries, studying for god-knows-what, trying to accomplish an elusive dream away from loved ones etc.. then there are others, trapped in a web of family and friends yet so alone.
Anyways the point is, I’ve become “emotionally dependant” on so many people. As in I need my little shot I the arm in the morning. Someone to call me, text me what ever. Now this is turning out to be an annoying addiction because…
Because it makes you throw your self at people who in a sane state of mind you wouldn’t give too hoots about, because you know they are bad for you. But dangling on the edge of a precarious precipice of loneliness and assumed ‘vulnerability’ [its more like the lack of guts to be strong] you want some one to sooth you and be all mushy mushy.. specially on those disillusioning morning where you wake up and mope about not knowing what to do.
So are emotional dependancies good or bad? They can be a real damper on your productivity. Because you waste precious minutes seeking for a little soul massage on the phone, which never works out, which never lasts and which is of no use.
BUT… sigh.. its addictive. So.. hmmm .. my fingers are already dialing the number of an unsuspecting soul..
Sunday, July 8, 2007
What have I learnt from my years of soul searching?
1. Persistence - You need to stick it in there to get to where u want and wade through the muck. You want be able to do your dream job from day one. Sometimes you are so close to living your dream when you throw in the towel, for the wrong reasons.
2. People problems are the clumsiest reason to leave a job – if you don’t like someone who is working with u, it is more the reason to work harder and not give up. [NOT the other way about]
3. Indecision – is the greatest killer of time and opportunity. Why? Because sometimes one choice might be as equally good as the next, but the more time you just dwindle in limbo trying to choose between the two, both have rushed past you.
4. Contacts – the ‘professional name’ and contacts you build in any job takes you far. And it’s a small world. Everyone knows everyone. A shoddy job in one place can unravel the whole spider’s web.
5. Education – You CAN blissfully get a job and thrive in it even though you don’t have a formal education in the area, if you have a passion for it and is willing to dive in the deep-end and learn the ropes. So sometimes formal education leads to zero. Ultimately it’s the ability to get something done as opposed to your knowledge about something [which hopefully would help in the former, but usually formal education doesn’t teach you anything about doing anything useful] that wins the day. So is it worth spending years just learning theory? Nope. Unless you have a specific use to put your education to, most of the ‘institutionalized’ learning just goes to waste. Feel sorry for all those years of stuffing my head with hay.
6. Explore – it doesn’t kill to change anything in life. Jobs, religion, behavior etc.. Just make sure the people around you don’t go bonkuz with the rate of change [aaah.. dats tough]
7. Giving up – Sometimes its best to giveup the obvious track and travel the un trodden road. But its harder. Because its not defined. And you can get easily lost unless you have a focus, which is even harder to find.
8. One step at a time – I’e realized that although you want to do a lot of things with life, you can only do them one or oki may be two at a time if you really wanna do them properly. Just trying to do it all, all at once, just makes you do nothing properly at the end and when you look back, it would merely be time wasted doing a lot of half baked things.
9. The Greedy Solution – Sometimes its best to just take the best option for the moment as opposed to throwing things away thinking ‘ah this doesn’t fit in the long term plan’ because you never know what is round the next bend in life [and you can assure that its some surprise you never anticipated]
10. Pieces of the jigsaw – Everything does happen for a reason. So don’t discard even a single experience. And Yes, everyone who tangos into life also has some kind of impact on it.
11. Wasting days – letting time pass you by, and letting precious weeks and months slip through your fingers is much easier than you think. There is nothing more easier than sleeping through weeks of precious time just to notice that you have killed the time to live your dream.
12. Approval – ah, although you try to be a brave lone star who tried to trod the unbeaten track, the need for approval [it could be from different people, family, close buddies, other irrelevant people at large] sometimes eats you up. Because if you are going on a track that no one else has taken, no one knows where you will end up [ although you think you’ve got the destination figured out in your head, sometimes you are not sure yourself] Your lucky if you find someone who also believes. But that’s almost always impossible. SO it’s a long road littered with the treacherous landmines of insecurity, self doubt and stomaching disappointment and disappointment.
13. Rejection – man this has been one of the hardest feelings to stomach. Makes you feel like a sack of potatoes. However much you try to rationalize and think, ah its not because of any of my faults, anyone who’s ever got ‘rejected’ out their.. ooh it kicks you in the softest, most painful spot. And hmm.. it takes quite a while to get over it – well that’s what they say – but do u ever get over it? Doesn’t it leave an indelible little crack in your personality somewhere? But guess we need to make sure that that little punch doesn’t end up corroding into a little whole, through which our soul leaks out.
14. letting your self go – sometimes when things don’t go your way, you loose all bearings and let your self go completely. Its human, yet dangerous, specially if you let your self fall into the hands of many a vultures waiting to devour you body and soul. But what can you do in a scenario like this. I am yet figuring it out and chasing off the vultures,
15. Surrounding your self with good buddies – sometimes, it is simply inspirational to surround yourself with people who have gone through the real scorching fire of life and come out blazing like true stars. I guess I’m lucky to find Rajini, Lakshmi and Judy. Kudos to the lady trio who have become heroes through their true like struggles.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
is too much to ask you?..
to have a bit of faith..
a bit of faith
as i go through
the darkest, most unsure moments..
stepping gingerly over a crumbling path.
with bogpits, land mines and self dug graves.
why do I feel that sometimes..
you are just waiting..
watching..
sneering..
till i make a free fall over the abyss..
into an unmarked grave..
why is it so hard for you to have faith?
is it because you see signs of doom etched on my brow?
a condemned soul, stillborn in spirit..
without any promise?..
what will it take for you to believe in me?
How can i prove myself...
when they say its the slow snail who wins..
while the swift gazelle is devoured
i cant help the painfully long journey..
the ardorous on-the-spot marathons, the hairpin bends
and the exhausting 360 degree twirls.
none of which propels you more than a few millimeters forward.
oh.. but pls pls do
believe in me
because without you
i am incomplete.
my most disdaining
critical
cynical self!!...
to have a bit of faith..
a bit of faith
as i go through
the darkest, most unsure moments..
stepping gingerly over a crumbling path.
with bogpits, land mines and self dug graves.
why do I feel that sometimes..
you are just waiting..
watching..
sneering..
till i make a free fall over the abyss..
into an unmarked grave..
why is it so hard for you to have faith?
is it because you see signs of doom etched on my brow?
a condemned soul, stillborn in spirit..
without any promise?..
what will it take for you to believe in me?
How can i prove myself...
when they say its the slow snail who wins..
while the swift gazelle is devoured
i cant help the painfully long journey..
the ardorous on-the-spot marathons, the hairpin bends
and the exhausting 360 degree twirls.
none of which propels you more than a few millimeters forward.
oh.. but pls pls do
believe in me
because without you
i am incomplete.
my most disdaining
critical
cynical self!!...
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