30 April, 2008

Hopeful Hogwash

The camaraderie
has dissolved into
a dream like memory.
You search for it
tired attempts at laughter
make you cringe
You refuse to believe it can disappear.
Just like that.
In one splendid poof.
You try.
I look on.
To see if this time
Both of you

24 April, 2008


Last movie seen in a theatre: Juno [Enjoyed it. Because a) It was Girl 1 and Girl 2 quality time together, b)The soundtrack, the actors, the lightheartedness, the conversation Juno has with her Dad about the truth about the permanance of love, the pace of the story....]
What book are you reading? Sybil (the one about this woman with 16 personalities! Incredible) and A Suitable Boy by Seth (the epic is going on since forever. The book devouring me has taken a back seat while this lazy baboonified slowcoach is procrastinating in the foreground).
Favourite board game: Scrabble (reminds me of home), Chess (even though I stink at it)
Favourite magazine: Undoubtedly Target. It was this magazine for teenagers which isn't published anymore because of things like dimishing audiences and unprofitability (I know because I actually wrote to them demanding new issues). It was humourous and creative, educational without being preachy, entertaining and actually managed to stimulate my pubescent neurons into doing something sensible...finger puppets, no-bake-cakes, collages, you name it. Ajit Ninan (the guy is hilarious) was the cartoonist and I used to devour everything Vatsala Kaul wrote (I even used to call myself Vats for kicks..sheeesh). So if you were a Target reader, I already like you a whole lot.
Favourite smells: Puppy-dog-mouth-smell, just-kissed-by-rain-mud-smell, mogra-flowers-strung-into-gajra-smell, fresh-bread-in-oven-about-to-be-out-smell, coffee.
Favourite sound: Cicadas chirping into the night. Silence.
Worst feeling in the world: Crying alone. And the feeling of bhara hua capsicum slithering down your throat because you hate it so much that you don't chew it. (You ate it in the first place because it was made for you with great pains).
What is the first thing you think of when you wake up? I actually calculate the number of hours I have slept. My calculations consider my personal 24 hr cycle thereby accounting for my kumbhkaran siestas. If the number is above 8, I feel satisfied, if not I wake up in a not-so-pleasant mood.
Favourite fast food place: Mr. Breadbox in the fridge with his delightfully obliging companion the - cheese spread guy.
Future child's name:
Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…” be quite uncomfortable actually. A lot of money scares the hell out of me. But I could get a house with a atrociously huge garden where I would keep as many dogs as I please. As many as I fancy. As many.
Do you drive fast? I don’t… drive. If I did, I think I wouldn't.
Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? I used to sleep with dogs. Real live ones. Then I grew big. Or maybe the bed grew small. Who is to know. Either way, the dogs jumped off.
Storms - Cool or Scary? Erotically cool. Cuddle up and quiver cool. Open your arms to the thunder cool. The fear it evokes is the best part.
Do you eat the stems on broccoli? I don't get to eat broccoli. Bloody expensive for girls living on a measely stipend.
If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice? I'd buy myself a huge mutton patty and a jug of apple juice with the money. Colour my hair? Uh? eh? What?
Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in: Mumbai (born here!), Riyadh, Delhi, Mussoorie, Gwalior, Rasmai (Mathura), Radhakund, Delhi, Bhubaneswar (for the most fulfilling 2 months I have had in a long while), Delhi, Delhi, Delhi.
Favourite sports to watch: Cricket is always watched. Tennis yes. Football (thanks to Shobha). Gymnastics and ice skating.
One nice thing about the person who sent this to you: Siropdevanille eh? She's spunky and laughs at herself. What more could you ask for?
What’s under your bed? Calvin would say monsters. I? Nothing.
Would you like to be born as yourself again? Duh. I'm an Arien. I can't look beyond my nose people. Of course I like me. I will throw a tantrum and get born as me.
Morning person or night owl? Night owl. Morning person.
Over easy or sunny side up? Sunny side up. Super sunny. Slight solidification of yolk does not leave me too amused.
Favourite place to relax: Home home home. Delhi or Rasmai.
Favourite pie: Shepherd
Favourite ice cream flavour: Orange bar (it wins due to nostalgia vote, literally grew up on it), Jamaican Almond Fudge at Nirulas and recently High on Coffee (15/- from Mother Dairy carts)
Ok now I am going to tag Girl 1, Sopho, Rajeev, San Man and Marigold Boy.

14 April, 2008


"Girls are like slugs - they probably serve some purpose, but it's hard to imagine what."


10 April, 2008

Park Parody III

The other day, I met marigold boy and had a very enjoyable time away from work and other unrelated stuff. Laughs were laughed over double barreled french fries, 'very light luggage', some train clothes and other such extremely unlaughable topics like what people look like when they don't know how to operate their very snazzy cameras and whether standing opposite a shop in C.P means standing in front of or diametrically opposite it. I managed to categorize 'Delhi girls' in a highly unflattering manner, laugh about this highly unwatchable and definately avoidable movie called Race and listen to stories of couples, albeit eavsdropped.

Today was one of those frighteningly productive days. I worked and I worked. Then I was rewarded by a, I quote, "bland conversation" full of politeness of the diabetic variety. And then I decided to wrap up the evening with a walk in the park. Only, I was too tired and went and plopped myself on the first bench in sight. Anyway, going to the park has to definitely be one of the brighter things I have done this year (apart from buying Lucy Peck and not keeping resolutions of course).

The park was atwitter with birds. Sparrows and bulbuls, doves and pigeons. A mynah and a crow. A windblown nest, a twitching squirrel. April was clothed in her garments of green, mighty peepals in tender greens, the neem covered in numerous little serrated edged leaves, the semal tree recovering from losing its treasure of sanguine flowers, shyly blushing its way into a burst of new leaves. But the mulberry tree was my treat. I greedily picked up dusty fruit from the ground, brushing off the debris and unamused stares from peeping toms, relishing the syrupy sweetness of the tender caterpillar-like fruit. M and I jumped in a gravity-defying manner, willing the tree to stoop for us to pluck some more. I scowled at my physical disadvantage at this sport. Mulberry trees certainly weren't made keeping short people in mind. And that too those who were particularly passionate about the fruit. Gaah.

The breeze was blowing in a breath-taking lilt. If you spread your arms wide enough, it actually tickled your armpits. The fragrance of unidentified flowers merged with the laughter of two conspiring kids that were hiding in the hedges as they plotted the intracacies of a very serious game of chhuppan chhupaai. A bunch of old punjabi ladies sat down and hooshed us away good-naturedly. Two school boys made us feel rather old as we carried our grocery for the day. Two liters of milk. One loaf of very tasty garlic bread.

Just when you are exhausted of your mundane existence, days like these skip along reminding you its all worthwhile. Can you help but smile?

05 April, 2008

Hush my darling

The din in your soul is so distracting
You fail to hear what your eyes can see
So wrapped up in that flimsy cocoon
You watch my lips move and shrug along.
What would happen if you’d suddenly pause?
If for a breath you’d release your soul…
To the said. The unsaid. And all the underscores
From the torture of the self, to the brilliance of the unknown.

We all are terrible listeners you know
You’ve heard that before I’m sure
But what if everyone followed you that way
We’d be speaking to empty mirrors and echoed halls.
Insensitivity – she is a terrifying witch
She clobbers with her ice and melts with her wrath
Don’t behead me on her shameless guillotine
I deserve worse. Or better. Anything but her.

I command your attention with a roar. With a whimper.
Speak when you want to, listen when I want to.
Endanger not my sanity with those unseeing eyes
Hear what I whisper. I promise not to be too long.
If listening is a torture can you comprehend my rage
At the helplessness of being unable to disentangle myself from your words
I shiver with anticipation. Are you finally unfolding?
No. Maybe the rain was lying. Or I just heard wrong.

01 April, 2008

Tippy tippy top, which colour you want?

Where was I the past week? Where was I?

Galavanting joblessly through U.P and Uttaranchal (or Uttarakhand, when will they decide? The number plates on cars and addresses on shops can't seem to figure out either)would be an appropriate answer. Avoiding Dumbo's mosquito-like obnoquiously exasperating presence (in vain) would be closer to the truth. This trip had that pale quality about it, the same texture a glucose biscuit has - familiar and forgettable. Ofcourse the proud sal trees looked beautiful. The river Kosi, reduced to a rivulet looked sufficiently starved in tune to the global warming song. Corbett yet again had no tigers to offer. The promised monitor lizard graced us with his jurassic presence. The overcast sky conjured pretty stories in my bored brain. Dumbo was sufficiently dumb. M and I were adequately amused and frustrated, both with suprisingly equal intensity. My mood moped in a strange almost jaded manner.

I think this is what too much travelling does. It wears the novelty. And I find myself continuing to read Vikram Seth's colossal epic. Since forever. A Suitable Boy. What an (in)appropriate name. In the Innova (damn for such an ugly exterior, it sure is neat inside). In the hotel. While waiting. Before sleeping. In between.

Yes. The diagnosis is right. Jaded is the flavour of the week.


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