Summer

These things that we do, we do in summer. We make exits. We make entries. We find. We lose. We travel. To spaces in our head, to the places in these spaces... We live. Eat 4 rotis. Wear collared shirts. Visit pan shops. Become racist. Or make-faces-to-keep-little-kids away. Its summe"R" with an accented R. And Virginia Slims.
In summer we make faces. The We Cant Be Worthless, We Have To Write a Play face. The cheeky smile face. The Wide Toothed grin when you realize that months of conspiring has led to nicety. The Dimples on Dimpal. The Shy is Coming face. The What the Fuck face. And the 3 day extension smiles. Also there's the QWERTY face. But thats always there.
There is also the Communing with the Astral and Parvati Valley. And Tumi Amar...............(pause) Maa. And there's Oly. And Monsters Vs. Aliens. Also disillusionments with primetime idols. Jai hok.


Oh, And there's sleep. So good night.

I call this day a lot of things. But mostly the Day of the Doughnuts. And Evil Waffles. And missing Nutties. And Chicken and Roti. And missing(?) raindrops. I shall miss the Singaporean. And mashima. And the girl who keeps quiet when we annoy. And the pretty colors.

Wait. I just saw them again.

Looks like this trip aint over just yet.

You cant exactly blame me for not turning in a single post this month. Blame it on Hellore and this semester, rather the lack of this. The extra break home. The holidays marred by classes. And the exams that got cancelled in a parallel universe. And the dialer that never got fixed. But right now no more. Which is where Bangalore came in.

I've never been able to understand the deal with people and their cities. Look, its really easy to love Cal. The city doesnt impose on you its myriad traditions or centuries of heritage. It aint rush you--moving at a pace epitomised by its most famous symbol---the rickshaw. You need not be anyone but your usual damaged bandaged supercilious annoying bubbly cynical self to survive. Other cities often make me wonder. Bangalore has. Quite often. This time I figured it out. The people here probably thrive on that gymlike furious pace I so consciously avoid. Multistoreyed buildings and castles of steel frame their horizon like the haze that outlines Cal's skyline. We both live silent lives of misery, make up lies for a living---breathing in toxicity and Raat-Ki-Rani with the same efficiency. The 'cities' provide us with that. The maze that constitutes MG Brigade Koramangala is self-content, satisfactory---Camac and Rawdon beckoning. Their talli gallis are neon-lit like stills out of a Wong Kar Wai production. They breathe on this evanescent euphoria their citizens send billowing...the currency varying by a few hundreds here and there. The nights end differently. They begin in the same way. And nostalgia swoops in, slowly and inconspicuously.

I think the next time I visit Bangalore, Ill probably finally understand it. And learn to love. It.

Happy 29th Feb

Its been a month since a post and I had to get in one before February ended. Its one of those obsessive things that you cant really make sense of. Like, 40 degrees in February, or working Saturdays, or Youth Parliaments or Accidental Deaths of Anarchists. There is too much happening way too soon for The Old Lady( read as me) to process with clarity. Reminds me of Benjamin Button. And times-when-things-were-slower. And easier.


No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...I just can't sleep on this tonight

Stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train

Don't know how else to say it, don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
but honestly won't someone stop this train

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game to find away to say that life has just begun
Had a talk with my old man
Said help me understand
He said turn 68, you'll renegotiate
Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
Don't think I couldn't ever understandI tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train
See once in a while when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing'til you cry when you're driving away in the dark.

Singing stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take this speed it's moving in
I know I can't
Cause now I see I'll never stop this train(think I got 'em now)

Love Letter 101

The most functional and fulfilling relationship I have ever been in is with my blog.

I love how rude I can be with my blog. How completely unfaithful I can be with it and it doesn't give a tiny rat's arse when I choose to ignore it and move forward with other aspects of my life. The part of life called Life that is. I have no concrete commitment to it. I don't have to make conversation with it when I feel like shit. I can say whatever I want to it without bothering about its repercussions. It's self content and satisfied and secure. Yet it needs me and I need it sometimes. That's when I decide to write. Whether its the mundane details of my dreary existence, the little things that make it almost exciting sometimes, the people who make it worth spending a fortune travelling back and forth(even if it is for four days) and the strangeties of living out of a box, in front of a box, while being boxed on all sides by a non-forgiving semester and boxing out time to unwind, boxed out amidst rearing egos and Scottish accents. You make it all possible, love. Here's to months more of liking it that way.
Good morning, 26 Jan 2009.

Ho-Hum

Listen.

Listen to me now.

Listen because its too early. Its too late.

Shono.

They are in my head. These things.

Listen before these other things overpower me.

They just did.

Happy New Year. For all the things we had and didn't this year. For Orange Skies and Colorblinds and Jee Kardas and apple-bottom jeans. For the Fall-Out Boy and the 20 grand girl. For the dirty whore. For the greensunglass mamuni.For Ballygunge and its lost gallis. For time that will come back never the same. different but maybe the same?

For prophecies unfulfilled. For lunches owed. For the beauty of prettycolors. For manicured haircuts and Christmas-dida-eyemakeup. For Mamu. For Russell Peters. For mental cunts. For lit-ups and light up and lighten up. For Atrium and points of no return. For the lies we tell over and over. For things that were and will be. Miss is too little(?) too much. Forgive me, Vellore--the charm of your manicured greens may never be enough.

You know, "Its true."

J.Park 8 05.

And so I did.

Wrong Company.

Sucky playlist.

AND so I did.

And SO I did.

And so I DID.