Rudderless.

JUDE, to me, has always been an end in itself. So when people started drifting away after Masters, I squeezed my eyes and held tight. Because letting go of this place was impossible. Not because of mushy nostalgia, but because I had really not thought anything beyond this place. Ever.
Most of my friends know what they want to do after the next six months. I swing between incredible options and lame excuses for not letting anything materialize. I spend hours on net looking up bizarre facts and watching youtube videos. I read aloud Ruskin Bond to myself. I wake up, take a shower and go back to sleep again. I write one horrible exam after the other, and my results suffer terribly. And yet I come back home and read yet another Swedish short story, procrastinate and make random STD calls to dispel the sudden chill. I take forty five minute bus journeys for some cups of tea and good conversation. I dream of dancing every other day, and never get around to making that call and asking my teacher to take me back again.
I try to learn a new language, and cannot get beyond the first few sentences. Instead of learning French verbs, I watch the news and try to memorise the Sri Lankan batting order. Just for fun.
I make up my mind to take a competitive exam. I get hold of some materials. I study for a month. And then I procrastinate and tell myself there's still time.
And thus I write an incredibly rambling blogpost, turn over and go to sleep.

Because Ghalib said it much better than I ever could.

Dil hi toh hai na sang-o-khisht,
Dard se bhar na aye kyun?
Royenge hum hazaar baar,
Koi hamey sataayen kyun?

Why I want to marry Oscar Wilde (Reason # 572)

"There is a luxury in self reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."


"Modern morality consisting in accepting the standard of one's age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality."


"You come down here to console me. That is charming of you. You find me consoled and you are furious.How like a sympathetic person!"


"One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing."


The last one, especially, kills me everytime I read it.

Ajke kotthao jabo na.
Chayer dokan giye mishti cha ar bishkoot kheye, ek-i kotha pnaachbaar bole, ek-i hindi gaan doshbaar geye pagoler moto hashbo na.
Pray 9ta bajle dhormor kore uthe Deshopriyo Park obdhi hnete, bhir bus e bari phirbo na.
Ajke Coffee House jabo na. Kalo coffee kheye poroninda porochorcha korbo na. Nun na dewa gravy chowmein khabo na. Coffee house expedition er jonyo necessary lokera keu ekhane nei. Kintu seta porer kotha. Thakleo, jabo na.
Ajke Park Street jabo na. Flury's, McDonalds, Oly - kotthao jabo na. Oly'r durwan ajkal amake selam thoke. Kintu tao jabo na.
Ajke BCL jabo na. Metro kore onek dur giye, ekta porar boi ar duto Terry Pratchett borrow korbo na.
Ajke Saat-tolay party nei. Kintu seta kotha noy. Party thakleo jabo na. Ondhokar ghore Beatles ar Anjan Dutta shunbo na. Vodkar peg haate Kolkatar skyline dekhe melancholic hobo na. Matal hoye nach kore, tarahuroy taxi kore bari phirbo na.
Ajke JU jabo na. Milon da theke torka-rooti ar frooti khabo na. Ek tolar ekta ghore boshe ghontar por ghonta adda marbo na. Backstabber der kotha bhebe dukkho korbo na. Brilliant lokjoner class attend korbo na. Ekti bishesh loker proti letch korbo na.

Ajke kotthao jabo na.

Admiration.

My heart bursts with love for someone as I realize that there is still goodness in the world.

Desh Raag.

This is what I am watching on a loop today.
Because long years ago we made a tryst with destiny. And maybe we are fulfilling it still.
And also because, everytime I see this, I cannot help the goosebumps.

Shadebagan Lane.

I do not wish to be condescending. I do not even wish to be filmy. I just wish to say that the last few days have been unusual. Each day has brought with it incredible stories of personal courage and personal squalor. And as I have come back to my clean home, with an AC and a tiled bathroom; a colour TV and concerned parents, I have realized, perhaps more than ever, how utterly stupid my fights about curfew hours and clean rooms really are. And how incredibly, incredibly lucky I have been in some ways.

I only wish my companion would not reserve all her emotions for 2 litre bottles of Pepsi.

Favourite.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.....

....

- Pablo Neruda

Updates ityadi.

The last few weeks have been a blur. Hot and humid and punctuated by incredibly deep sleep. But a blur nonetheless. My favourite part of the day is when I walk into the air conditioned office after an hour of sweaty auto and metro rides. Which says a lot about the changed sort of life I have been leading lately.

I don't get much time to think. And ponder. Which is good, because many things have kind of taken off, and then fizzled out. And if I actually took time out and thought about all of them, I might just come down with the mother of all headaches.

Dadumoni, on the other hand, is deteriorating daily. A couple of days ago he insisted that he would be sitting for his school final examinations soon. A few hours after that he was ranting against his father who allegedly beat him up for no specific reason. The old man has slowly started shrivelling up. Everyday he resolutely reaches out for the past. Everyday he resolutely lets go of the present. And that is probably how things should be, because, dammit, shouldn't the old always make room for the new?

My social life has been rather strange. I have been frequenting Oly and taking weekend trips and making the right noises so that people who have neatly slotted me into a category might not get too uncomfortable. Yes, I am considerate that way.

I miss certain people as they are now. I miss certain people as they used to be. There is just so much of condescension you can take before you snap. Because, sometimes, you are just too tired for snarky retorts and just fervently wish for a patient ear and a comforting shoulder. Almost all my comforting shoulders live a separate life these days. There are a couple in the US. One in Hyderabad. And one in Delhi. There used to be a few others too. But sometimes one cold shoulder leads to many others and slowly empty places creep in where conversations used to be. There are very few people I instinctively think of, when I suddenly have the urge to bawl my eyes out in the middle of a busy working day.

This hasn't been a very coherent post. But then, I am not a very coherent sort of person.

Calling?

I spent 4 hours in the editing room today. And when everything was done, the rush of adrenaline was just.Too.Much.

I wouldn't mind doing this for the rest of my life. Really.

The question, however, is how.

Probably fiction.

I kept staring at the fingers. Long graceful fingers. Pretty fingers. A little bended at the top. In the light. Across the light. In the shadows. Expressing, resting, just being plain nervous.
Good hands. Nice hands.

I have stubby ugly fingers myself. And I am a sucker for pretty hands. I kept staring at them, and I think I fell in infatuation. A little.

Because it is hard work being a democracy.

In my constituency, I had a choice between

a. A communal and misogynist party.
b. A corrupt and complacent party.
c. A stupid and 'subidhebadi' party.
d. Certain non-entities.

It was not an easy choice to make. But I did vote.

Dhin chak.

Pnochishe Boishakh.

Rabindrasangeet always reminds me of drowsy school mornings when we would belt out incredible lyrics without a clue as to their actual meanings.

Considering the circus that has been the last 4 years, these memories are always, always rather special.:)

Jonmodin, etc.

One of these days, I will invent a time machine, go back in time and marry this man. Until then, I will fantasize.

I deleted the last post because it was too repetitive.
I am sick of the same old, same old.
Fuckitall.

Post it.

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived

in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where

it came from, from winter or a river.

I don't know how or when,

no, they were not voices, they were not

words, nor silence,

but from a street I was summoned,

from the branches of night,

abruptly from the others,

among violent fires

or returning alone,

there I was without a face

and it touched me.

- Pablo Neruda.

Mithye kotha bolbo na. Cinema ta dekhe uthe majhraate ektu kanna pay ar kobita likhte ichche kore. Bhari bhalo cinema.

Thoda sa dard tu, thoda sukoon.

Rehna tu
Hai Jaise tu
Thoda sa dard tu
Thoda Sukoon

Rehna tu
Hai Jaise tu
Dheema Dheema jhonka
Ya phir junoon

Thoda sa resham
Tu humdam
Thoda sa khurdura
Kabhi daud ja
Ya lad ja
Ya khushboo se bhara

Tujhe badalna na chahoon
Ratti bhar bhi sanam
Bina sajawat milawat
Na jyaada na hi kam
Tuhje chaahon jaisa hai tu

Mujhe teri barish mein beegna hai ghul jana hai
Tujhe chaahon jaisa hai tu
Mujhe tere lapat mein jalna, rakh ho jana hai.

Tu zakham de agar
Marham bhi aakar tu lagaaye
Zakham mein bhi mujhko pyaar aaye
Dariya o dariya
Doobne de mujhe dariya
Doobne de mujhe dariya

Rehna tu
Hai Jaise tu
Thoda sa dard tu
Thoda sukoon

Rehna tu
Hai Jaisa tu
Dheema Dheema jhonka
Ya phir junoon


Haath tham chalna hi
To dono ke daye haath sang kaise
Ek daaya hoga ek baaiya hoga
Tham le haath yeh thaam le
Chalna hai sang tham le

Rehna tu
Hai Jaisa tU
Thoda sa dard tu
Thoda Sukoon

So Prasoon Joshi summed up all that I felt for my city. And then wrapped it up in a package called Rahman.

A little bit of pain. And some comfort. And I do not think I will ever be able to live, really live anywhere else. The city has devoured a part of me long since.

Also, THIS. I was directed to this by a friend. And as I was flipping through the magically still lives, I realized, once again, exactly why I am passionately, frighteningly, sickeningly in love with this polluted and congested piece of land near where the river meets the sea.

Scary.

Even though this is from across the border, the scarier part is, that I am not sure what the contents of our textbooks will be after the impending elections. Certain Indian political parties do not have a particularly good track record in this matter.

However the scariest part is how a 10 year old child is expected to visit police stations if he is to be promoted to the next class.

I mean, police station? REALLY?

Or am I missing something here?

Ae masakkali!

There is something very happy about masakkali. It compels you to place a pigeon on your head and dance away to drunken glory.

But as I was prancing back through dimly lit streets with the usual crowd, (after some great and some not-so-great songs by a blue capped Mohit Chauhan) I realized how utterly terrified I am of getting out of this entire set up. These, these buildings and classes and ledges and people and jheelpar and milan da and KMR and sanskriti. It is altogether too addictive. Too perfect. Too right.

We were laughing at a comparatively older woman in the concert today. But a few years down the line I could be that woman. Desperately trying to fit in; with a crowd of younger faces around me. Remembering the times when perfect happiness meant downing a few pegs and dancing to some hindi songs with a few chosen friends.

I don't want to leave. Ever. I refuse to leave. And until the time I am kicked or pulled out I will continue to try and dance on the rooftop with the pigeon on my head.

Tujhe kya gham tera rishta,
Gagan ke baansoori se hai,
Pawan ki guftagu se hai,
Suraj ki roshani se hai,

Udiyo na dariyo kar manmaani manmaani manmaani,
Badhiyo na mudiyo kar nadaani..

Ab thaan le muskan le,
Keh sana nana nana na hawa
Bas thaan le tu jaan le
Keh sana nana nana na hawa.

Heart break. Stay away.

A longtime friendship effectively ended today. So I banged down the phone and ranted and cried for sometime before settling down for the dull ache.

It is not a good feeling.

How tolerant am I...

...that I have a friend who thinks :

1. House is a mediocre series.

2. Masakkali is a horrible song with no tune whatsoever.

3. Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi is a very good movie with breathtaking acting by Shahrukh Khan.

4. Gunda is an infinitely better watch than certain Ray movies - say, for example, Agantuk.


...and I have still not physically harmed him in any way?

Season Finale.

My heart just BROKE for House.
Just. Plain. Broke.

Wilson should legitimately get sympathy. But I am sure he has more of that than he can handle.

House, on the other hand, had nothing except Cuddy's handholding while he slept.

Mediocrity sucks even more when you have no money.

I effing loved all the Introduction to Renaissance painting classes that I attended last semester. And I am talking serious love here. The kind of love which made sure I didn't miss a class even though I wasn't officially a part of the course. The kind of love which made me trawl the internet incessantly - looking up random paintings from the age, and trying to figure out how Sukanta da would have interpreted them.

Plus, that was the first time I found out that I could actually frame and ask sensible, coherent questions to this man I am rather scared of, really.

Gah. I sound positively nostalgic here.

Beparta holo, bishoytar serious premey porechhilam. Ar ekhon sei prem khabo na mathay debo bujhte parchhi na. Bas.

I am a rather placid person in general. Opinions I don't care about, do not affect me at all. They might make me think, and a random, unnecessary, insensitive comment might even take me by surprise - but they fail to make me furious. Or really hurt me. Annoyance might happen. But never fury. Not very often, at least. I think my friends will agree.

Which is why I am rather shocked when I think about how bitter the battles with ma-baba have become nowadays. Do not get me wrong, they are not bad people. And I am NOT the oppressed one here. And I have had fights with them for as long as I can remember. It's just that the amount of impatience and disdain, and blind fury I feel during some of the fights now, would never have happened earlier. Also, the hurt. They are among the very few who have the power to really, really hurt me. The legendary thick skin does a no-show where my family is concerned, I guess.

My mother tells me that the kind of words I exchange with her, were never exchanged between her and my grandmother. If I believe that, am I also to believe that generation gap, in the last few years, has suddenly taken a frightening leap? Have my parents been left behind, or is it the other way around?


I thought teenage years were supposed to be the most turbulent. But when I think back, those fights seem puny compared to the intense, bitter, vitriolic battles I have regularly now. Is it because I am growing up? Is it because THEY are growing old? Is it MY patience which wears thin, or THEIRS'? Why is it, that the older I grow, the more difficult I find it to get my point across? What is it, I wonder, which makes me frequently want to slam doors and smash random things in fury?

This, this uncontrollable, blind, frustrating rage is an alien emotion and I really don't quite know how to deal with it. Violent fits have never really been my forte, and I end up looking rather stupid and hating myself for it afterwards. But for those few moments, it is as if I can break down doors and tear down walls.

The Americans might, after all, have some logic behind insisting that their children get out of the house after they are 18. Constant demands for justification are rather claustrophobic after a point of time.

The 20s are not a good age I gather.

Finally!

High five!