25 April, 2007

Question 3

Note:Answer both parts of the question. No choice.

a)What IS the hulabuloo over good looks?
b)Are they as overrated as I think they are?

22 April, 2007

Is raat ki subah nahi

she's fading into the obscurity of her endless thoughts
a pit of
hissing snakes
torrid storms
silver linings
sobbing maidens
sly pranks
loud chatter
caustic claustrophobia
try as she might to come to an end, a conclusion,
she falls
into the vacuum of too much
where the silence
the noise
battle with treacherous swords
leaving her distraught
in shreds
for answers
to a lost cause
to a won war

18 April, 2007

summer the bummer

Yes its here. Beating down with its signature ferocity. Delhi summer - a cruel counterpart of its much applauded cooler cousin - dilli ki sardi. With the summer here its back to the rigmarole of trips.

Trips to the parlour. Getting waxed an innumerable number of times till the bagfulls of money drowned down that losing battle against all surfaces hairy and the pain incurred becomes one incoherent mass of bewilderment. I fail to understand the obsession with smooth hairlessness that captivates every female fancy. Its expensive, barely lasts a week or two AND is painful. But I'll have to vouch for the satisfaction quotient that transcends all. Mere men will not understand the pure bliss of a smooth arm (dreamy look). We women inflict ourselves with horrendous tortures (read makeup, high heels, waxing blah blah). I thought we were extremely foolish to do so because the people who matter (or are at least supposed to matter, i.e. guys) don't really notice any of the preening. I thought so until a few weeks ago. But hell they notice and that's where this turns into a vulgar nightmare (Did he see my arms that day? Did he notice my beautiful moustache? He surely couldn't have seen my hairy legs - wasn't it dark? ) But let me not digress into hairy horrors and subsequent tales of woe.

Trips to the corner shop. For another bottle of sunscreen. A mindlessly weird invention.
"Madamji more the SPF more the protection"
(and the price ..baah)
I religiously decide to splatter myself with liberal amounts of the gooey stuff the entire summer. Two seconds into the sun and I am brown as a nut. This time a profusely sweating brown nut with sunscreen making me feel like a lathered sud. And I'm shining like a brand new coin, glistening madly in the sun. Ughhh.

Trips to the loft (yes it IS a trip when you have to pull down bags and suitcases of summer clothes and replace them with winter woollies). This trip has a happy ending because at the end of it you find yourself sipping a cool drink, wearing your favourite pair of shorts. Aaahhh freedom :)

Trips in the bus.
Q: What's worse than sweating in a DTC bus?
A: Being pushed into another person's sweatiness.

And inspite of all this I prefer summers to winters. Why? Search me for the answer. I'm still busy wondering.

15 April, 2007

Himalayan hiatus

Mountains overwhelm me. Their colossal beauty, imposing, awe-inspiring and soul-shrivelling all in one tremulous moment. The past week I have been hiking in the Himalayas. The Great Himalyan National Park, Sai Ropa, Kullu Valley, Himachal Pradesh, to be geographically accurate. Was the trip nice? Ofcourse it was. What do you expect when a bunch of friends are together on a week long holiday? That too after their exams. Was the trip fun? Yes, bonfires every night, song and dance routines at the drop of a hat...what more could you want?

But as I sat down to write this, I was at a loss of words. Incidents didn't narate themselves. Pranks and jokes didn't move me in any particular way. What was it that sprang up with utmost clarity? The quiet moments of solitude I spent with the air, with the silence, with the green huddles of grass, with the Tirthan river that perpetually splashed its beauty into the days.

gushing waters sang silent memories
ebalming my tiredness
I shrugged as it whispered
a tale to my lone soul

The trek was long and at times awfully tiring (30 km to and fro). But the relief and achievement of reaching Raula (our camping site) was nothing compared to suddenly stumbling upon a stream after walking a stretch in the scorching sun. Quaint rickety brigdes framed gurgling waters, restraining their mirth so skilfuly. Washing your face with glacial waters is refreshingly pleasing. Fatigue and freshness merge into a heady heartbeat.

And then there were the flowers of course.

pools of blood red
shadowed my steps
rhodendron carpets
weaved joy around my weary footprints
brown oak leaves swallowed
the red wine blossoms
feet crushed those martyred souls
into the black sodden earth

The trip was peppered with cranky people grumbling about walking, aching muscles, food, bathrooms, hot water etc. But did any of that matter? When you could get up to the sound of thrushes whistling through pine needles? When you could relish maggi at the local shop with a bunch friends playing chinese whisper? When you could watch the butterflies flitter over apple blossoms, seeming as if the flowers had taken wing?

And to top it all we went rappling and river crossing. Doing things out of the ordinary is always exciting and we certainly had a great deal of fun. The best part of the trip was the electronic sabbatical. No internet, no phone, no TV, no World Cup (let me not get carried away into THAT train of thought). Surprisingly I didn't really miss any of it. Just me, nature and a splatter of friends. Sheer bliss.

Taking a break is worth it. Especially if it entails a walk in the mountains. The air ripples with a magic dust that is hard to shake off. If I listen hard enough, I can still hear the gurgling waters.

05 April, 2007

Mooning over her dawn

The day is closing its weary arms
in a humble defeated bow
to the darkness creeping upon it
with the stealth of a friend for a backstabber
gnawing from the front
The moon she alights: quirky , all smiles
cherubic in her guise of white simplicity
she quivers with anticipation
the night beckons
with sheafs of urgent darkness
wolves howl echoes to the winds' ragged breath.
In her stolen silent light,
the ugly revel
thwarted in daylight, set free
by the pitch murkiness of a night
feeble footed bats
pesky scrambling rats
wide-eyed owls
snarling wolves
lovers entwined
figures distorted
as shadows play
rude games with her light.
She stares below
anguish highlighting dark blotches
where ebony fingers tarnish the ivory.
She fervently awaits
for her light-bathed knight
for whom golden hues dance
for whom her light pales in a sigh
for whom holding her breath
prolongs the agony
of another love-washed wishful night
Dawn cracks,
she reigns him in by the fragile thread of flattery
he is the king of dawn
the slave of the moonlight
he blooms as she fades
ending the darkness
and her night of glory
she blushes into oblivion
reveling in his triumph
as he rides in, supreme,
a sore second to her charm.

01 April, 2007

"happy birthday to you"

29th March '07
There is this bus load of people on their way to Chandigarh (Pinjore actually). The entire bus is fast asleep.
Time = 3:30p.m. Hot. The sun has become his mean alter ego that he reserves especially for Indian summers. Its dry and still, bumpy and dusty all rolled into one sultry afternoon. Three backseaters are not able to sleep. What do they do? They sneak in a cassette through the conductor to the bus's broken down (khatara is the word) player. Its got Backstreet Boys and N Sync on it (:D). Glee. Mega glee. The threesome - Roosi (hapless drummer with two Bisleri bottles as drum sticks), Choosi (blumbering lead singer who knows no lyrics) and Isoo (lead guitarist cum vocals backup cum harmonium piano flute sitar player) assemble their band. Now begins the fun. They sing at the top of their voices, create a racket and generally fall all over the other slumbering members of the bus.
Time: 4:45p.m. The bus is awake, full of cranky, angered people wondering where all the noise is originating from. they turn towards the dregs of the bus. The band grins, eats Bourbon biscuits, decides to name itself the Borbouns (or "Born Bonds" eeeewwww ha ha) and rocks on. Mission accomplished.
30th March '07:
Time: 7:30 p.m
The bus nears Delhi - back home from a long journey. Six particularly enthusiastic maniacs are screaming their lungs out from the backseat. Asoo, Isoo, Choosi, Roosi, Misoo, Maisii. As the bus turns in towards its destination, the six sopranos decide to sing a song the entire bus can sing together. Something that would shake the other 23 people from their lethargy and perpetual mode of sleepiness. They rack their brains, scratch their chins, hum all the songs they can think of, juggle through anything remotely musical they can imagine and finally hit upon THE song. The song everyone knows.
The trip ended with the sonic six singing "Happy Birthday To You".


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