Sunday, February 15, 2009

Wednesday, April 9, 2008


You don't need nobody
for the far away African Safari

Quiet coffee conversations
A new persecutive
So much more of the world to discover
People, at their amusing best

Mango reminds me of summer at home
Of home wrapped lunches at school
Of cigarette smoke and people who discuss nothing

You don't need nobody
To feel blessed from within

There is time to stand and stare
Time to feel attractive.
Friends who bless in unknowing ways
Time to feel your legs look good today.

You don't need nobody
To be one with the resonating music

Pictures from the past, they stare at you
Memories give you hope and fulfillment
Food tastes excruciatingly good
You don't mind the taste in your mouth so much.

You don't need nobody
to guide your starry skies.

Smiles come naturally, so do the answers.
Spiritually comes spontaneously buoyed
The unfulfilled dreams so close
Yet your at peace knowing they are far

You don't need nobody
to write in your notebook.

The brown eyes and the face render the pleasant
More joy than sadness, more sun than not
Conversations bring hope, about beauty and vastness
Yet to be discovered.

You don't need nobody
To ever stop learning.

Free by Cat Power. I love the guitar riffs and the smooth sorta urgency in her voice.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Should I call you Jesus?

Should I call you Jesus?
Should I call you Saviour?
Should I call you the dissemenator of all my fears?

Should I call you wonderwall?
Stealer of an Oasis song?

Should I call you a music tune?
of all worries, you make immune?

Should I call you a shooting star?
A wish I make, I know will not carry me far

Should I call you a pleasant break?
Who stay and talk and thus, my day make

Should I call you an apple red?
Which appeals so much more than the normal, I dread

Should I call you God's voice
Who is tolerant of my will and choice

Or should I call you the pleasant laughter
Which resonates within even after.

Should I call you a stirring discussion?
To send me into a realm of quiet introspection

Should I call you the unfailing desire?
Who doesn't cease to stoke the inner spark and the fire

Should I call you words of beauty
Which instill in me some sort of passive duty.

Should I call you Jesus?
Should I call you Saviour?
Should I call you the dissemenator of all my fears?

Should I call you Jesus by Billie Myers. I've searched high and low for that song! I had it on a rock anthems tape is class 11 I think. Used to love this song. Haven't heard it in years..

The story of Rigid Girl again

Rigid girl must have worked very little today. It was 3 pm and she was thirsty. She was typing an email out and struggling for the words. Now and then, she would stare at the fotos of family members on the wall.. all stuck in smiles.. in a postcard from happier times.. the smiles seem too perfect to be true.. a state of mind she little identified with right now.. She wondered at the email as her fingers tap thru the keyboard. As if tapping them harder, would make it more meaningful to the reader. The futility of the exercise wore her down. she had taken her secure little universe and her carefully planned life (or so she thought) too much for granted.. all her unfulfilled dreams were right there.. just a little out of reach and waiting to be stolen by her.. all compartmentalized and stored away for a later day. They seemed ridiculously beyond her reach and it bothered her intensely. Her mind wandered to an old post about a crazy boy who had set her free. Crazy boy, who had always been her partner in not-so-rigid-ways. The smile which rose within her soul was quickly wiped out like the flame of a candle extinguished by a random person.

Crazy boy had taken his crazyness along with him to a far away land. A life rigid girl always wanted to be a part of, but never quite could. She concluded that the crazy boy was not-so-crazy anymore. He had a new name on the outside. On the inside, she knew that crazy boy would always remain just that. To her. Not-so-crazy boy had changed too. He had become jaded and worn. The vacuum of time and distance and space had eaten away at him and left him fragmented. He was older and wiser, but his eyes still reflected a hint of the crazy soul. Why else would he leave her a rainbow colored bubble as a keepsake for till he returned.

A loud shout of laughter brought her back to her senses. And she stared at the screen in front of her. Little did she have trouble expressing herself. The words seemed like a jumbled mess in front of her.

Rigid girl had traveled a long way. A long, hard way, but not completely devoid of laughter and sunshine. She was well on the way to becoming crazy girl herself. She trampled and fell and rose up quite happily. She always pretended to be strong within coz she knew it would be worth it to be all crazy in the end. Her mind often wandered to crazy boy, but now she had the bubble he gave her instead. It was more a memento than a replacement of crazy boy. Wherever rigid girl walked, the bubble followed. She grew to nurse her life and her dreams in the large pretty bubble with rainbow colours reflected on it. As time went on, the bubble grew and sparkled and grew big enough for her to play with it. She still felt rigid, but the bubble crazy boy had left in his place, eased the rigidness and made her light and happy. She was optimistic for her future and she could afford to be a little crazy. She loved how the bubble made her feel alive and hopeful. She had grown to treasure the bubble which got her through good times and bad. She thrived on it and held it close to her in times of hurt and pain. One day, the bubble burst and fell at her feet. And she was left with nothing. Half-crazy girl wept for the loss of her precious bubble. She was left broken beyond repair. Every passing day, rigid girl didn't stop thinking about the bubble which ex-crazy boy left her. She had nothing left of crazy boy now. She lost her crazy boy and the bubble. The shadow of the lost bubble and crazy boy haunted her. They resounded in heart and soul and eyes. She was afraid to dream again. Rigid girl was back to being just that.

Monday, March 31, 2008

English August

Maya felt the cold surface of the sheet she was lying on. It smelt good. It smelt like a mix of the old and the clean and the familiar. The sheet was probably there for days before she got home. The sheet was wet because she had cried into it. She enjoyed the helplessness of not having the physical strength to wipe away her flooded nose and eyes. How melancholic, she thought. Is this why Devdas, drunk himself to death? How lame. She was experiencing the finality of having the person she loved the most in the world squeeze all life and hope out of me like a toothpaste. Slowly and deliberately squeezed out. She marveled at the surreal sense of have the profound inability to think and well, act. It had been raining outside. Everything, took on a dull yellow tinge. She heard her dad walking around for his usually mid afternoon snack. Her dad usually sensed stuff. She so didn’t want any advice or questions. She would leave home in a few days anyway.

She had really wanted it to rain when she was here. The dry land where she lived little appealed to her. Now she wasn’t so sure whether she identified with the dull grey skies. She would rather prefer a blindingly cheerful sun. In fact, she didn’t want neither. She felt like the universe was conspiring against her. She walked over to the kitchen and swallowed several gulps of water. It felt cool and life giving but only like drops of oil on water.

She thought back to earlier this morning, when her mom and her had been to the jewelry shop. They had placed in a corner, a cut out of an articles on body piercing. The article said that kids who did so usually suffered from psychological problems and did so to evade hurt and feel better about themselves. She had been quite amused by the opinion and smirked at the ‘adult’ view of the trend. The article talked about a girl who had broken up with her boyfriend of 4 years. She had pierced various parts of the body coz she got some kind of sweet pleasure from the pain. Yeah, those were the exact words of the article. She remember feeling like that was the most bizarre and ridiculous thing ever. Of course, this recollection happened in a split second of a thought molecule when she still felt the wet sheet under her cheek. It still sounded pretty damn painful but very understandable to her. Strangely, she thought of famous people who had committed suicide. Did they also feel it snap? She wondered. Why didn’t they get help? She could not control the thousands of images, feelings, shapes, emotions all flashing inside her brain like a intimidating thunderstorm. She wish it would stop, it was giving her a pounding headache. She idly compared it to some kind of death metal concert in her head, backed by memories in tune with the melody-less thrashing. (which is wat she expected a death metal to sound like) She thought of a family friends son, all of 35 years old, who still hadn't gotten over his college years wasted-ness. He had cheated on his wife with the wife's sister apparently. Maya pondered at the complexity of such a situation, but couldn't empathize completely. He had recently suffered a stroke, and was left paralyzed in a semi-conscious state due to cocaine addiction. (was the popular rumor). His broke 75 year old father is still wheeling him around. Maybe Alanis Morisette should've quoted this example instead of rain on a wedding day.

Her mom peeped in. She shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She enjoyed the numbness and the glorious sensation of being feeling-less for a second. Her mom left. And the turmoil took on tidal wave proportions. Where the crashed and wrecked and and suffused the sheet with more sorrow and wetness. She had the creepy feeling of going completely psycho. Collective images, impulses once again rocked her and she felt no control of her senses. She could feel it, yet felt surprisingly sane. A small giggle escaped her lips. Do people still smile when they are psycho? Or are mad people portrayed so?

She felt like being promiscuous and briefly annoyed at her mom’s snide comment about not wearing clothes to show off one’s assets. Like I’ve ever done that in my life, she thought. She still felt like being promiscuous. And, stuff had happened very slightly the last time. She couldn’t go forward with it though. The pain engulfed her once more, all thoughts of promiscuity wiped out.

Why was the internet not working again? Nice timing, she thought. The internet was her refuge. Where talking to people helped her stop thinking of the pain. Like some kind of matrix-like-world where people and feelings doesn’t exist. She often wrapped the blanket of anonymosity of the internet around her. Where was it now?

Maya stared outside the window. The avalanche of snow and rain and dirt had settled down meaningfully well in her head. layers of it. layers and layers. countless layers. She could see it clearly. She knew her nights were going to wreck her insides even worse than before. She predicted that something would never be quite the same again. She wouldn’t never trust another person with same kind of shining na├»ve innocence she kept for few. She had a few droplets of hope left. A far cry from the many bucketfuls she carried around in her bubble. She still holds on it like a security blanket. But, constantly aware that it can be snatched away and she left naked. Thoughts of promiscuity took hold of her again. Almost, like a cover for her future naked-ness. She prepared herself for nakedness.

Er, for more updates on Maya’s fucked up life.. watch this space!!

Named English August, as the incongruity of existence of the main character in the novel is comparable.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

These days

Sometimes I feel like some words have been said so many times that their meaning exausts all possible interpretation. Those are the only times words fail me. When making an effort, doesn't make any difference whatsoever. These times are particularly frusturating and baffling as I'm left cornered by a wall made up of unvent emotion.

Today I was talking to Camel and saying how people console when somebody dies by saying (in a book or a movie or for real) the ones we truly love will never leave us and blah blah. Sounds kinda crappy, but I believe so. Nobody died, but I feel the same anyway. So I decided to let go.

This time the post title come from a Bon Jovi song from the album of the same name. I think one of the most underrated Bon Jovi albums and one which means A LOT to me. I'm generally not a one band person. I also skip from band to band pretty quickly. But, till now Bon Jovi has not stopped sounding awesome. He always makes me stuck in this alternate universe. Nice to get lost in it..

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Hollow years

Have your ever felt despair? desperation? do they mean the same thing? Ok if this was a quick come n go kinda feeling it'd have been a lot easier to handle. I think despair is more momentary than desperation. Think mine is the latter. I don't think nobody can get what I'm feeling and its so frustrating to feel that. I don't have much to talk about in here except my feelings. I wish I had a story to share. Some thoughts. Oh yeah, i do actually. A friend of mine recently had a stalker in the form of an old lover. He was actually stalking her! and I was like part of the whole drama. It even got amusedly filmy when he threated to commit suicide if she didn't get back together with him. Which left me wondering how anybody can say such things to force the person back into his life. It sounds so incredibly selfish to me. But then I can't judge coz I don't know what levels of desperation the person went thru. There's the word again. Is it ok to say things like that just coz your in despair? Maybe its some twisted mind game to get the person back. What if saying that made the person come back and things turned out for the better? Is it a selfish or clever thing to say? Desperation is relative, is it? Just coz I cant feel the desperation of that person, that makes it not okay for him to say that! So if I understood his desperation, would I understand him saying that. Ok, now I've hit a dead wall. So I'm going back to work now. But, desperation still remains. Looks like this blog is gonna turn out to be just what I didnt-want-it-to-be after all.

Hollow years by Dream Theater recco'd by Tazz. Amazing song. One of the few songs where I like the beginning and the verse more than the chorus. Totally buried the song in my memory, but recently heard the band play it live at Chinese and Thai Cafe. I think its one of the more melodious songs by Dream Theater.