Chronicles of the Runaway Poet

A Serenade In Flames

2011-12-25T12:13:00.002+05:30

For once again

You tread heavy

A flicker of rain dust

And pencil thin,

Fickle brimming love.

You see as far as I stand

You see red

You see naught

You look again

You see your future consumed

Scratched into my little, black book.

Stuck In November

2011-10-07T14:31:00.003+05:30

So the band I manage has finally recorded one of their songs. Give it a listen and show it to your friends too. :) More songs coming up soonly, ofcourse.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jn1usds9XVk

The band will be performing at The Big Mushroom Cloud on November 5th at CounterCulture, Bangalore. Do come!

Puppets.

2011-08-23T02:29:00.005+05:30

You scare me with your silence. I could shake you, slap you, put you out of your misery, carry your tune in my step or hold you till my breath dies . But you wouldn't feel a thing and I'd die if you said something after I've given up for this one last time.

A Hundred Times

2011-08-18T23:11:00.003+05:30

It happened so quickly. Pressed against the wall, your hands locking me down, all I saw was a blur. I could hear you take short, sharp intakes of breath while I dared not even blink. Your eyes burned into my bowed head and I fidgeted till you quietened me the only way you knew how. You leaned in until every inch of me acknowledged your presence. When I finally looked up to meet your gaze, you slipped your hands into my hair, softly stroking them and I died for the hundredth time. You didn't stop there though, oh and how I hoped and wished you wouldn't, and you didn't. Your lips nudged and teased my earlobe, traveled down to my neck, licked the entire length of it with a slow and deliberate trawl and you stopped right then letting your lips rest on my nape, while you let me catch my breath for a moment. Your eyes shut tight, you had your lips pressed hard against my skin, waiting as I made up my mind for the hundreth time but only this time this wasn't a dream. And it was with that realization that I sank to the floor, but you stayed there, watching me bite my lips in confusion. What happened next, I won't ever understand, but there I was on the stone, cold floor with the man I had hopelessly given my heart to a hundred times over, disappearing into the glowing dust that danced in the faint afternoon light.

And there I was waking up from a dream I've just about escaped from a hundred times and more.

Words

2011-08-09T23:15:00.004+05:30

they come crumbling off the pages

spilling more than what I can hold

forming puddles of reflected light

that splash out into the receding memory

of your flight.

leave no trace in the wind, nor in the

breath of the lover left to revel in his

all too heart wrenching, solitary existence

bereft of encircling arms and comforting hollows

of warm flesh, that could speak to him in even

the deepest sleep of the darkest nights.

come unasked for, like you. A pulse that quickens

with every premeditated typographic flourish of

your everyday babble, can only take me so far as the edge.

And then there's a slight push, that comes gently

from a gaze that flickers with the afterglow of electric

backlight, that I can't see but imagine, till it awakens

a response.

possess moments with startling vengeance, hiding

them from us in layers of glorious, seductive, infinitely

murky possibilities and we succumb like the

house of cards we are, destined to grovel

at their feet until we may utter them no more.

Muse

2011-08-08T19:52:00.001+05:30

Between your conscience and mine

2011-07-08T17:59:00.003+05:30

lies bare the deluge of soiled clothes and karma.

Sunbathing in the limelight

of coldblooded sin, pleading

guilty of love and nothing less,

truculence as addictive as soap operas,

I spread my legs and you, your bashful acceptance.

She comes and goes. Chapter 4

2011-07-02T00:29:00.004+05:30

18.11.2010 Thursday

She could be dead for all I know. Where oh where can my baby be? I have spent days at my window, patient as a rock getting battered by the sea, but she comes forth not. She must have dissolved into the sunlight like a singular golden beam that looks to stick itself to others of its kind. Where are you, my Lo? I long to put my pen down and go back to the window but I must not. Documentation is important, they say. The medicines they give me keep me from doing something stupid, they say. But there is only so much you can say before it stops making sense. I might have taken a little too many of those little, dull blue pills. But that was only to make HER come back. Why won't she come back? I might have freaked her out. She might have seen me. In fact, I think I saw her look right into my telescope one evening. Her white dress was swishing against the pale white floor and she was dancing slowly to a song I could only conjure in the darkest of my midnight dreams, but there she was ambling, shuffling, floating, gliding and then just like that, she stopped and turned to look me right in the eye. I almost fell out of my chair but she looked away then and continued to dance. Maybe she wanted to get away from my omnipresent eye and she's gone - gone sailing into a sunset haze that I can't follow. These meds better start working now. She's not going to come back now. I know. She's not coming ba

Weekend Trip to Mysore

2011-06-29T21:53:00.004+05:30

Travel Frames

2011-06-22T22:52:00.006+05:30

She comes and goes - Chapter 3

2011-06-08T00:51:00.007+05:30

031.10.2010 Sunday

I haven't slept in three nights. R.E.M.'s been playing in the background and there's a constant whirring of the fan, that just keeps going round and round, till I feel like it's going to crash onto my head because of all the effort it's been putting in to go round and round. I've done all the reading I can for the rest of the month. There's just no space in my mind, there's absolutely no space. Instead, there are little holes in my memory that don't seem to return like they usually do. I'm losing bits of my mind and and I don't know where I've left them. I have to leave myself little time capsules so I know I'm not actually losing time. And I'm not, I know. I found twenty five post it notes on the legs of my dining table with little Kafka quotes scribbled on them, dated to last evening. I don't remember writing them and it looks like I've hurriedly scribbled them with my left hand but I wrote them, so I know I wasn't passed out on the cold floor of the Colony bar. I don't even drink. So I'm not sure why I gave that particular anecdote. But I did write those notes. So I know I was home safe with Freud slinking around the house in his general absentee presence.

6.11.2010 Saturday

She knows she's being watched. I can feel the prickling on her subconscious from way out here. She twitches about suddenly, peers from behind her curtain at odd intervals, and even walks around fully clothed. She didn't have as many articles of clothing on when I laid my eyes on her for the very first time. It had been raining heavily for days on end and I was enjoying a cup of black, sugary tea at Yellow's. She had barged in with a friend of hers, both drenched to their freshly painted toes, looking upset with the weather like they hadn't known it had been raining for a whole week by then. I could have kissed those toes. Too young for me, she had looked. And even if she wasn't, what would I have done. I quietly observed. She lit up a cigarette with an enthusiasm I find missing in smokers. She was positively beaming after that first, succulent drag. I can't shift moods that easy, but the sight of her long hair flowing over her white shoulders like a turbulent river had taken me on a raft ride I wasn't going to forget easily. That was almost a month ago. Now she's ingrained into the pores of my skin, so every moment I breathe, I can feel her live across my street.

12.11.2010 Friday

Night sounds. They're not always bad - like the constant, low whirring of the fan or the crickets wheezing outside the window - they keep the silence out because silence within these four walls can be deafening enough to make me go Van Gogh on short notice. And I'd like to keep my ears on for now. Last night, the sounds were different. Silent swishes in the dark, darting noises, movements made out in deft manipulations of sound waves, amplified in a small room - they terrified both me and my cat. Freud was on his alert best last night, not even blinking for a moment. I knew he was scared because he kept flicking his tail and made hissing noises once in a while. Ah the poor little furball was in knots alright. I played some music to push the noise out of the room. But that only aggravated it even more.The swishing noises soon turned into bellows and rumbles and I'm not sure what exactly happened then because I woke up with my cheek kissing the cold floor this morning. Freud was staring at me with an odd, questioning look, his head cocked to one side, like he's confused. I've never seen that much emotion in his face before but last night must have moved even a gargoyle, leave alone the cat. I will go take a look at my Lolita now, so I can calm my nerves.

She comes and goes. Chapter 2

2011-06-02T01:31:00.004+05:30

25/10/10 Monday

The winter drizzle made the day a lot cooler. The past few days have been such a bust. I ventured out for a bit, bought supplies, indulged my photography needs, visited the bookstore I had spied a couple of blocks away from mine and even went to the fish market. I don't like fish. I cannot stand the smell. Reminds me of my mother and that dank, dark kitchen and my mother in that dank, dark kitchen, weeping to herself. Her tears must have flavored many a Sunday brunch, or that late Friday supper. She never did speak much. Always watching and waiting or waiting and watching from corners, quick to jump to orders, even mine. I loathed her self-deprecating manner and her quite bustling. It grated on my nerves like some loud, obnoxious music. How I hated her. And then she died, in that same dank, dark kitchen and that was the only day I remember crying. I didn't realize it until I saw that her face was tear stained and for a moment I thought she was crying at her deathbed as well. But I digress. Fishes. That's where I was. I had gone to the fish market to get fish for my pet cat. He's quiet for the most part, to the point that I sometimes forget he's even there until I notice a lump moving about on my couch under my black parka. A black cat under my black parka, he hates being photographed. I found him nibbling on one of my lens caps the other day.

After so much activity, I had been waiting to get back to my little, white window, with the chesterfield bare stool next to it. The telescope was a gift from an annoying ex girlfriend. She wanted to take it with her when she left but I managed to haggle it back from her. She took my television instead. At about 11 a.m. today, I finally spotted my lovely, walking into her living room. Her long legs dragged across the room in a lazy conversation with the floor, her white negligee stopping right above her thighs. Her black hair was mangled and fell in heavenly curls around her bare shoulders. From here, it looked like she was glowing like a lone street light on a deserted road. It looked like she was waiting for someone, because she kept looking at the door and she wouldn't sit down or stay still. And it had to be the boyfriend, yes? Because a woman like her could not be single. He walked right in, he must have the spare key. And she fell into his arms like a pack of cards. I'm not sure what I was supposed to feel but all I felt was a strange sense of euphoria at seeing her feel this happy and loved. They proceeded into the bedroom then and there my viewing pleasures ended because my scene was blocked by these huge red curtains. It was infuriating ,to say the least, but I doubt they were going in to the bedroom for a heart to heart conversation. I wonder if they'll ever fuck in the living room. I'm not sure I could watch. I'm not sure I want her to fuck at all. She needs to be kept in a long glass case, safe from the filth of this world, and nothing should touch her ageless beauty except the touch of my lips against hers.

I don't want to write anymore. I'd like to wait for them to come back out now.

She comes and goes. Chapter 1

2011-05-26T23:37:00.001+05:30

12/10/10 Tuesday

Any onlooker would have thought she had been brutally kicked in the face by some member of the Russian Mafia, but I knew better. She's recently picked up painting, with an enthusiasm I find quite endearing to behold. I only say recent because of how her hand ever so lightly trembles when she's about to dab the brush along her canvas and the way she practices in front of her mirror to tie her hair elegantly around a pencil thin brush with paint smearing. Last night, she fell asleep while working on a self portrait and while usually she feels the need to wash her face at the basin when she wakes up in the morning, today my lovely decided to go out for a walk. She did not take notice of their eyes following her like ravenous wolves and she walked in an even pace, never slowing down, never picking up; her bosom rising and falling to meet the cold wind of the winter morning. She didn't venture further from her street. Our street. And then she stopped suddenly, her heels digging into the pavement, but the rest of her body wasn't paying attention, so she tumbled around a bit before she could manage to completely come to a halt. Not elegant, no. But she melts my heart, she does. And she had only stopped her unnatural morning walk because she had caught her reflection on the bakery window. Face marked in blacks, blues and triumphant purples, her favorite color palette if I discern correctly, she really did look badly bruised. And to my rapturous delight and to the street walking frails' surprise, she burst out in peals of laughter that just descended onto the street like runaway music. I had never heard her before, and while I captured every note of her mirth onto my memory, she walked back into her apartment still giggling to herself, clutching her dress with both hands, her sandals slapping the ground in merry tandem and I just had to sit down and catch my breath, or I would have fallen and broken my head for want of oxygen. Good things are to come this way, I know.

Neverwhere

2011-05-25T21:17:00.004+05:30

Inspiration knocks on our heads quite rarely. Well, at least for me. Today, I've been inspired to write again and only because of one fantastic, superawesome, glorious individual - Neil Gaiman. I just finished reading Neverwhere and I don't think I can walk out on the streets without an eerie sense of trepidation, awe and reverence clamoring inside of me for attention. He took the worst of my nightmares and turned them into beams of fairy dust sparkling in the air, caught through sun rays, oh bless his soul. I don't know if I should stick a picture of his on my wall and pray to him or if I should just stay away lest he turns my brain into a sick, happy mush.

I especially fell in love with Richard. His fatal good Samaritan charm coupled with his horrible luck and lovable clumsiness and his all too human tendency to look for normalcy, makes one want to hug him and tell him it's all going to be alright soon, just hang in there for only a moment more. His journey traces the route of impossible heroism and gut wrenching action that catapults him from the warm luxuries of his previous life to the dirt and grit of London Below. I could live there. I identify shadows of it in little street corners, rooftops and potholes of my own city, and I yearn for something that could take me away from what is so familiar.

Part of the brilliance of the book lies in its minute detailing of a world so remote from ours, yet mirroring it exactly, like an upside down reflection in a still pond. London Below, the underside of one of the greatest cities ever made, the tide and flow of the rubbish and effluents of the city dwelling Moguls, is home to the Rats, the ones who have fallen through the cracks and many, many beasts and crooks and angels and lords.

This little story of vengeance and quests would be nothing without the characters, however. Gaiman's proficiency to come up with rich, colorful personalities saves the simple story from an early death. Door, Vandemar and Croup, Marquis, Hunter, Old Bailey - they'll never leave you alone. They'll be with you every time you walk out of your door and enter a new street and every time you wish for a place to hide. Door will show you the way, Hunter's going to protect you and Marquis will make sure you have what you need. Don't let anybody tell you any different.

Nothing beats modern fantasy fiction anymore, really. City life mixed with the live wire of magic, there's nowhere else to turn to on a lonely, rainy evening. And this book's going to be my personal talisman against all things evil and depressing. This book, that smells of forgotten dusks but talks of many mornings to come.

Getting back to the middle.

2011-05-12T21:17:00.000+05:30

There's an attempt being made at storytelling. The telling would be a lot more easier if someone were listening. So we are to be ignored for now, and to that end we shall remain dignified in our own absence.

My Faraway Tree

2011-04-25T22:54:00.006+05:30

The Faraway Tree series by Enid Blyton was possibly my first initiation into fantasy. I think I started reading books by myself when I was about three years old and while I've come a long way since then (two decades later, to be exact) I can't seem to find the same joy in the act anymore. Somewhere along the line, I let my real life take over and I don't mean it in a good way. My dreaming suffers. And sadly, so does my waking life.

This picture was clicked yesterday, at Cubbon Park and right then I didn't think much of it. But now that I've taken a better look at it, it transported me back to that faraway tree of my childhood, where I hopped from one new world to the other, always in search of that elusive something, always finding it at the tip of my fingers, in ink smears and paper cuts, in teardrop smudges and ragged nails, and always letting it go just so I could chase it again. Some would call it escapism. I'd like to call it plain magic.

Once Upon a Time

2011-04-24T23:26:00.003+05:30

The Dreaming Shows Good Things.

2011-04-20T19:00:00.000+05:30

Love is the little dry leaf

Inside your desk

Where a folded tissue accompanies

Other motley assortments

That you possess.

You've creeped into my morning dreams. Is this a sign? I'll let that pass for now.

- I've decided to leave the door ajar. You could be entering or leaving, as long as we're moving onward, forward. Yes? Because only now do I see some faint distinction between love and relationships. Some misconstrued conversations and several nights later, I've decided to leave the door ajar, so you could do with me as you please. Because only now do I see that I'm in love, not for the first time, no, but there's something here I would like to watch transpire. Strange morning dreams indicate happiness if I'm reading them right. And you, you knowitall God of all things, you I shall worship from my own brittle pedestal of steel. Because only now do I see the truth in your words. The truth that I see falling from the evening skies outside our home. This is meant to be.

Why not, right?

You don't know how lovely You are.

2011-04-19T19:09:00.000+05:30

I collect comfort memories. Pockets of warm happiness and gentle companionship - like cherished second hand paperbacks, these come around quite rarely. Last night, you handed me one. Just like that, just by being there. All I remember is how your skin tasted, half breathing, half dreaming. I shared your travels in that moment, miraculous and humble at the same time. I touched a dormant fire, knowing one day I'll burn in its natural wrath. But last night, all I felt was its feathertouch warmth, glowing yellow and red, carrying me gently onward to quiet slumber.

Never Too Late

2011-04-18T03:26:00.000+05:30

Maybe this isn't real at all. Maybe my fears are what really fuel this reality of ours. Maybe that's why I can never see past an evening that whizzed by us last year. And maybe it wasn't just last year. Maybe this started years ago, in my windowless room that I shared with my sister, when I probably didn't know that 'maybes' existed. Maybe it's all in my head, weeded in, grown out of the psychobabble that I'm subjected to on a daily basis from people who don't give a dime about someone else's sanity. And just maybe you and I should have left it like it was. Subdued. Strangled. A secret.

This is NOT about You. This is about Me.

2011-04-12T21:46:00.000+05:30

I want to sit quietly under a rainy sky, and for once let the cold water take away every bit of my anger and repressed bitterness, and let me enjoy a free moment. Free of all the people that I just don't want to think about, some of whom should just drop dead or atleast leave the fuckin country. I wish we could survive as singular beings. No need for touch, no need for comfort, no need for conversation, no need for empathy or understanding or consoling or love or reproach or companionship. Just alone, bubble wrap unopened, coyly moving about our own business.

I wish everyone would just think about their own lives and leave happy people be.

And I won't take yours if you won't take mine.

This world better end sometime soon.

Hungry days and Horny Nights

2011-04-11T09:14:00.000+05:30

I see you

Perched precariously

On a little gargoyle

Seamlessly floating

Against the blue blue wind.

If you were a canvas, I'd paint you foreverblue and throw in some fevicol for effect.

I see you

Hourglass in hand

Eyes shut to the dreaming

Drowning

In the blackness that is your soul.

And a single flame burns, while I wait, night after crimson night, songs falling from a listless heart.

I see you

Flailing body, swaying

To a rainy beat

Pitter patter

Your feet tremble.

Aren't we lucky you have a magic wand that goes pop?

I see you

Peeping in from the other end

Of your skewed pair

Of looking glasses

Pensive and brown

And I pretend to not watch when you're dying in your box.

Keys and Stones.

2011-04-08T19:36:00.000+05:30

I'm going to move into my own apartment in two weeks and there's no better feeling, really. Nevermind that it's far, far away where you can see the sky for as far as you'd like and there are bullock carts instead of cars. And nevermind that my friends will be on the other side of the city and I'll probably never get to see them. I'll have my own house with a kitchen and a bathroom with a shower and everything. And nothing will ever be borrowed again.

To new roads, cheers.

Dazed and Lonely.

2011-04-05T00:18:00.000+05:30

I feel like I'm walking through doors all the time. In and out. Doors heavily ornate some, others plain and simple with a little doorbell that goes ding! All of them open and close to little pockets in my mind, where I find little peace and a lot of doubts. Flaring up to the slightest indication of loss, holding on to tattered pages of history that almost everyone's so happily forgotten, how dare they. I'm not supposed to pee on you and make you mine, no? Territorial rights can be sketchy sometimes and I haven't yet learnt to handle them with adequate grace and dignity. Sharing a bed helps. Memories of vague intercepted mail, don't.

And the weariness of my addled mind just adds to the aging cage that is the body, making it difficult to breathe in this thick, knotted atmosphere. There's nowhere to go but huddle in the corner of a borrowed room and let the dreams fill you up till you forget you're dreaming, and then some. Mottled ropes of twine I feel like, about to collapse without warning, straining against the mouldy wall for support, sighing dramatically, till I'm sufficiently depressed enough to be happy. Oh I'm a keeper, yessuh.

Almost Dawn - Twilight Haikus

2011-04-04T03:07:00.000+05:30

A cloud struck midflight

Your naked back in moonlight -

I need some reprieve.

Paper music gods

And volumes of poets dead -

In our heads they sing.

Pantomime sunday

It's summer caught in blinks

Wish it wouldn't end.

And that's just how we roll :D

2011-04-03T00:20:00.000+05:30

What a brilliant night! From hi fiving strangers to sharing a warm bottle of beer with the boyfriend, it couldn't have ended any better. And don't you just love sports? I remember the 2003 finals only too well - sitting with my granddad and sister, wearing blue, drinking pepsi, crying when Tendulkar got sent back, cheering every boundary - sigh! Only sports can inspire that sort of mass adoration and disappointment, whichever be the case. Tonight was no different. My heart sank seven feet below the ground when Sehwag's wicket was taken. The horror! But we all know what happened after. :)

And the roads have never been more beautiful. Every single cricket lover's out on the street - flags in hand, tears pouring down cheerful faces, eager to share their happiness with anyone who passes by. The uproar's quite infectious - you can't help not cheering along, shaking every outstretched hand, raising our fists to the smoky skies. Tonight's ours for the taking, it feels like. Tonight there's no stopping us from being one, united under the tricolor band. Tonight we are invincible. Tonight we are bleeding blue, beautiful beautiful blue.

2011-03-31T23:37:00.000+05:30

The ocean calls to me in disquieted waves

It's been far too long

Oh yes.

Elmo.

2011-03-31T21:31:00.000+05:30

Goodnight Bad Morning - The Kills

2011-03-31T01:01:00.000+05:30

This song brings back SO much. Things that happened even before I heard this song. Things I haven't seen with my own eyes. Roses are red, yes, but why do I remember them in blues and blacks? Some things borrowed can never be given back I suppose, even if you wanted to, even if you tried to. This song feels borrowed. From someone else's history, someone else's pink tinted dream, where everyone is just so happy and wondrous and all nice things. I could walk right into it and travel all day, picking out pets, dirty laundry, barbecue lunches, gardens, clean bedsheets, a warm oven, bottles of wine, cresting waves, a waning moon, amulets and pendants, sundresses, towels, long black hair, swing sets, carousels, lullabies, red slippers, broken guitars, bleeding veins, tears on paper, dead babies, old lovers, kitchen knives, bikes, never ending speeches, family dinners that go horribly wrong and I could just go on and make it all mine for just a little while. Isn't that absolutely swell? I like how the song carries me gently into it and doesn't rush, no. It carries me ever so gently, and when we're right in the middle of things there's a resplendent, chaotic, mind map that's already been made up for me to follow to the world's end. Maps are wonderful things. The tiny print, the colorful textures that represent heights and depths and boundaries and size and territory and race and division and unity and collision and history and man's endurance and bravery and reach and skill and survival, the symbols that need to be deciphered, the thin blue lines that run through the pages - rivulets and massive creatures of water that dive and skip and gush and pour and trail and bleed, the strangeness of holding the world in your hands; it's all quite mind numbing if you ever sat and thought about it. This song makes maps inside my head and I get lost on those lonely roads with nothing but a map in my hand and lyrics that boom out of every air cell in the atmosphere. It's a small little song, unassuming and tucked away at the bottom of the song list, like an afterthought. This afterthought makes me happy because it feels like home when I'm walking some unknown road.

Listen to the song here.

My psycho heart etc. etc.

2011-03-29T18:44:00.000+05:30

Our scars match, visible or not. Physical reality's as overrated as any other pseudo interests we may have. And we forget where our loyalties lie. We forget so soon.

A broken piece of a song walks inside of you

And it's made a secret place for itself

Hazy sorrow and quiet longing

You're filled with autumn leaves and glass beads

That flow away with the winter rain.

ii.

She lies uncoiled, awaiting luck

And other fickle friends

A dark night flooding red

She embraces, with an unpoised charm

That ruined many a heart.

He's quiet for the most part

Indulgent to a point

But not reckless like you'd want men to be

And there's that little painsizedhole

That she's always trying to not see

But watches wearily anyway.

And she's downed a far too many

Not knowing what to say

Green bottles stacked against the wall

The paint's peeling off her face

But she's only thinking of his gentle ways.

And he knows what she's remembering

The halfdreamhalfreal vision from past morning

Cos he reads her like she's the God's book

Every line on her face that she's so desperate to hide

He reads her like she's the book divine.

But there's only so much to tell

Before ghosts reappear and seize everything back

She needs an obsession new

And he's far too tired to pursue.

So before he could make a plausible excuse

She takes the knife and plows it through.

And redstainedcarpets are a bother enough

Without a body to haul and a heart to rip off

So he quietly picks himself up

Takes not a single image to remember

And walks himself out with a cat in tow.

iii.

And any other night we'd all be asleep

Dreaming of hippie littered beaches

And black shiny rainbows from hell.

But tonight's something else, oh yes

We're giving the world a skip

And hitching a ride to the moon

Where the stars are just a little brighter

And our souls far behind in the dustbins.

Permanence

2011-03-27T18:55:00.001+05:30

It’s all stop gap, my heart

Split second reverie

And a canoe shaped moon.

It’s only survival, at best

Paper cut love

No nonsense, no.

Its quite a revelation

Deep fears

You know less, every time.

It’s however no mystery

This patience

We are just passing by.

Friday Night Blues

2011-03-25T23:32:00.000+05:30

Elmo (this cat I know) likes to sleep a lot. He's still a kitten, so I guess he needs it. I, on the other hand, don't need as much. But on a Friday night, I find myself on the bed, with my laptop, staring at a screen littered with people I don't really give a fuck about. And Elmo's looking at me, wondering when I'll shoo him off the bed. Honestly, I just let him stay because I need the company. This cat business really makes me feel like an aging spinster, but that's not really true, is it?

A prancing pony takes flight mid prancing somewhere but you're still a distant memory. Wisps of brown hair caught in sunbeams ohsobright, you're the epitome of lost loves. Come back and say a few nice things and maybe we could be friends again.

There's no use complaining though, is there? Right now there are 59 other people on my Friends List, online. I imagine them, little glowing souls waiting to connect, waiting for a sonic splash of color SPLAT!, waiting for a little anything that'll pick their fancy. Not consciously waiting, either. But it's there. Elmo waits for Oceanfishy, mostly.

Some nights your voice takes human form. Scribbles in my notebook, a hand brushing through my hair, orange flavored icecream, R.E. M. songs, - pockets of memories I'll never throw away. Maybe, you were here to never be here, afterall. Like the ghosts I used to tell you about.

I'm not always like this, though. I like my time alone, most of the time. I spend it in reflective solitude - munching on a book or some music or a tv show. It's surprising how much of our time's spent in looking at other people's work. But not tonight. Tonight I wanted to be out there, finding something new, SEEING something new, treating my senses to new delights. I sound dramatic to myself and I wouldn't really subject the blog to so much trite, but I made a promise to keep writing and that's what I'll do. Elmo's licking my foot clean now.

So called friends, you are being let go of tonight. Like starlight that never made it to your eyes, you're being forgotten, once and for all.

Paradise.

2011-03-23T17:51:00.000+05:30

I obsess over Death. It's a hobby I chose since I've been a little child. My favorite books are about dying. My favorite music is just plain morbid. My most cherished dreams involve death. Last night, fever induced, I dreamt of you, Death - all mistletoe feet and warm hugs. We had a conversation on a bus that was on it's way to New York. And when we got off, He left me with a smile that I'll never forget. I traced it with my fingers then. I can trace it again for you, if you'd like to know what it feels like. It'll be the same the day I die - warm hugs and a smile. Perhaps.

"What was it like, in the end?

- What it always is. A handful of yarn; a little weaving and stitching; some embroidery perhaps. A few loose ends, but that's only to be expected..."

(The Sandman series, The Kindly Ones)

Long Division.

2011-03-04T00:49:00.001+05:30

Some impasse this turned out to be. Between cold, dead words and warm life there’s this little crack where I managed to get myself wedged into. There are no epiphanies here, only choice revelations of amoral overtones. And I have been no saint. No siree. You can rejoice now but only there’s this question of sleeping business and so forth and so on. You get me?

Ofcourse not, you’d say or I’d think you’d say but that’s not what we’re talking about. I thought I’d write you a poem, one of those Neruda-esque heart warmers, beat skippers, mill of the run types. But that’s all been done and said and whispered in ears too many with little results and much ‘too many’ dismay and sorrow. We perform our way through life not knowing we’re on stage, not realising that we’ve created scenes that we have to probably stash away in the deleted scenes section of the blue ray disc edition. But YOU are no deleted scene, my love. You are the disc cover, if I could be straight with you here. With you around I know where I stand, centre of the universe, centre of you, centre life. You are shiny, new and quite the collector’s item and you’re all mine for now. Get me?

2011-02-14T20:54:00.000+05:30

I can't learn from experience. Like ever.

Love Letters

2011-01-31T11:24:00.000+05:30

There's a dead place, oozing sedated thoughts and lingering phobias that don't match the sensibilities of our time together. Lethargic, I spend a trifle more than I hoped I would in the barter of our life moments that come in on tiptoe, taking us by storm. I see you there. Wide smiles and an upturned heart. When do you tire? Why don't you?

And you scratch open little tears in my skin, wriggling in like you know where you're going. I would hold up sign boards but I couldn't possibly be that forward. You know this don't you? The shape of our lives made out on our bed, a jumble of legs and arms, hearts on torn sleeves, eyes melting in the afternoon breeze. It's a poem, yes. Made of sweat and tunes. Like train wrecks and ruins. You and I are stories made from deep fires. And I'm quite sure I love you.

Kat.

2010-12-26T14:00:00.000+05:30

i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate yo i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you

Take Me With You.

2010-12-25T23:17:00.000+05:30

The candles sing a tender song

Under my lover's desk, casting silhouettes

On my weeping self.

Under there, I reach an epiphany of sorts

I can't see them, until they sing.

My birds have nowhere to go

Until you sing.

This body wastes

Long runs in black stockings new

Lying next to the shoes that you're hurriedly putting on.

Scared of the memories that are slipping

Right away at the Goodbye.

Maybe he'll forget

he was here.

I wouldn't lie to you, no

I'm scared.

Awaiting anonymous arms

Anonymous nights

With anonymous songs.

Some lessons yet to be learnt

Awaiting new love

In some stranger's arms.

Yet I might look for a letter

Now and then

Bearing your signature

And that unforgettable scent.

Dear Manooo :)

2010-12-19T02:18:00.000+05:30

And we're like sunsets

Descending in spirals

Cascades of color

Mirrors turned inwards.

And we drift mostly

Coming back hitting dead ends

Lonely brushes of paint against a wall

We drift.

And we're musical tonight

Sights set at the coastline of a dying city

We'll sing

When everyone else sleeps.

Nothingness

2010-12-15T09:15:00.000+05:30

I think I'm leaving a trail so you'd catch up. Shared portraits and croaked lyrics. Mistake after regret after mistake. You'd think there's a trail to follow.

And it comes and goes. Somewhere our decisions collide between bursts of sleep. Somewhere you wait to think to act. Somewhere our dreams are slipping away. Nothingness.

Curious

2010-12-09T20:34:00.000+05:30

It waits tonight

Undercurrents of stray passions

Mingling into shadows of the night

While we weave in and out

Treading crumbling boundaries

On tiptoe. Tiptoe.

She made giggles and words appear on cue,

I swear I still think about you

With eyes wide open

And a heart quite small.

But it’s a little curious isn’t it

Your enforced silence

Sound asleep in corners of a dream

A touch here, his breath sparse

And he slowly hates it,

Dead love and a few wine bottles.

Social Experiments

2010-12-07T00:17:00.000+05:30

And I really want to come running to you. It's one crisis after another and I wanna come to you. Tell you where it hurts. And then maybe we'll watch a movie and I'll forget about what happened. But it's over. It's been over for a while. And I keep second guessing myself. Wondering if it's okay to still come to you. Ofcourse it's not. So I sit here now, counting seconds away till I'm tired enough to fall asleep and wake up in time for another crisis.

Wrote this like some two months ago. EMO is what emo does. Heh. Anyways, it's been a while since I've been to this side of town. My blog's become a dustbin for washed out emotions and muted monologues. Pathetic-ness.

I've realised that I'm not one for social experiments. I don't understand people, people don't get me either, I don't enjoy conversations, people don't feel the urge to open up to me either. It's all a viscious circle. I remember this conversation about experiments that I had with someone I was quite close to at one point. We had some daring notions of how we would step out of our rather restricted social circles and take a few chances. Turns out, we both made some terrible mistakes in the bargain. I wonder if she still thinks about that conversation....

I wouldn't bet on it.

2010-12-06T23:11:00.000+05:30

It's official.

I don't like you.

Small. Small. Lives.

2010-11-18T22:44:00.000+05:30

I got lost tonight. In your light, my blight.

What I Know and You Don't

2010-10-28T21:25:00.000+05:30

Contrary to what you may think, I am no goldmine. I'm a lost soul flaying about in a fishbowl, like in that song, only alone. Contrary to what you see, I am not happy. I lose butterflies in the sand and simply watch from under kohl margined eyes. Contrary to what you've heard, I don't say much. I wait for your words to reach me and then disappear. You'd like to know me, I know. But aren't we terribly short of time?

Yours Truly.

Hope's the word for the day

2010-10-26T13:59:00.000+05:30

I'll meet you in dreams, then?

2010-10-26T13:38:00.000+05:30

you could choose me.

Parting Words To A Dying Night

2010-10-23T03:12:00.000+05:30

And I made you some promises, didn’t I?

And we’ve cut some good days, some bad

Because somewhere I let your voice get the better of me

And now we’re getting to the end of it all.

And I made you my world, didn’t I?

Poetic bluff on a Sunday morning

Because someday we’ll be bigger than right now

And maybe we’ll meet again.

the boy who's never supposed to die is actually a chimp

2010-10-13T13:44:00.000+05:30

Tethered to your hook
I walk in spirals
Made foolish
Made green
Made bitter and mean.

Where you walk I follow
Peacock feathers and pen in hair
I spend nothing but sighs
Pitiful sighs.

Come-back.

2010-10-09T01:25:00.000+05:30

I know its too late to still be around
I know its a madcap world going round in fury
I know I'm losing my mind with every breath you take
I know.

Somewhere I'm saying goodbye to you
Somewhere the pain's receding
Somewhere you and I are bound to relent
But not here

Not now.

2010-07-12T22:34:00.000+05:30

What happens when you decide you want to be an adult?

It's like jumping from one island to another and then there's deep, dark, water all around you, waiting to pull you in.

"You should drown with me," HE croons.

"I'm scared of depth you idiot."

Sunset Boulevard

2010-07-12T22:33:00.001+05:30

i like creating images. i set them up - rearview mirror glances, purple sunsets and city silhouettes, sullen boys in dusty corners, a girl with no shadow on a train to nowhere - where do they all come from? i see moths circling the lone streetlight and i think fire and ice. i see you staring into the distance and i think black pellets of rain. i see god and i think pain.

i like creating images. i want to see them unfurl into blank portions of time, filling it up, like a jug of water that fills a little cup. ghosts dont get rid of themselves, you see. peacemakers, lovers, painters - they celebrate them ghosts. i dont like to look at it that way. what's to celebrate. you leave behind what's gone and you create new pictures. its freshman year now and suddenly you've graduated and out looking for a job. i dont like to look back, no.

but i like to create images.

2010-06-18T22:38:00.001+05:30

It's all about getting that quick fix now.

Like minded, side stepping stones
That turn you upside down
Naked in the rain
You drown within your own grasp
Making no move to escape
Stuck to the ground
Where only you and I can see
How things are meant to be
Done.

Free verse

2010-05-24T13:27:00.000+05:30

Reticent. Pushed up against a stone cold wall. Your palm tracing windtrails across my hair and you whisper little words. Words that I already know. It's as if the globe's falling in a huge arc and we're falling into it, breakneck speed and whirling feet, we go straight into the centre of it all, your eyes on mine, and our fingertips crushed together. Point of contact.

And there are trusty sidekicks stalking backyards and graves - toilet trained, dizzy made, help upright by one thought. A search for that something MORE. And I see you walk away from it. Knowing it full in the face, I see you running away from ideals and traces of color that shade collective, trusting, incompetent minds.

And I'm somewhere at the pinnacle. Slights and rage, trysts and haze, your resounding chuckle saved away. It's as if I don't know what I'm doing but how could I not? You're telling me. Again. Repeatedly. Like slippery pearls on the floor that run away from you. I could be wrong except that I'm not. But suddenly you tip and I fall at once, compliant.

2010-05-07T15:23:00.000+05:30

Knowing that you're left behind

An idle heart, an occupied mind.

I caught your smile

And let go.

Mixtape # 23

2010-04-28T23:01:00.000+05:30

This one's for the old times...

1) Romeo and Juliet - Dire Straits (This one gets me smiling no matter what. And noone could have written this, except for Knopfler.)

2) Goodnight and Go - Imogen Heap (Cheesy, but wtf, that woman's pure talent)

3) Pardon Me - Incubus

4) Run - Snow Patrol (When you sing it)

5) Selling The Drama - Live

6) Save Me - Junkyard Groove

7) Falling Away With You - Muse (Prettiest Muse song ever... One of their oldest as well... Something magic, something teardrop)

8) Snakes and Lotuses - Lounge Piranha (for the hot guitarist, just this once)

9) Weighty Ghost - Wintersleep (My initiation into the world of indie music. There could be no better.)

10) Bindya - Sulk Station (Christ College people had to make an appearance here no. Feeling quite nostalgic aboutthe hell hole now that I've left it. :D All's well)

Of Randians and Other Insignificant Details

2010-04-26T23:19:00.000+05:30

It's scary how little things can utterly and completely destroy you.

And it would be so easy to give up. But I won't. So ha!

:-/

In other news,

Bangalore's gonna rock this coming month. Lots of good gigs to look forward to and some really good bands too ( read, Lounge Piranha and there are others too ofcourse, just not worthy enough to be mentioned right now.) Anyone who manages to get in my way shall be mercilessly gutted and set aside. You know who you are! Yes, you.

Job hunting's gonna effectively start from tomorrow. I swear.

I'm taking a rain check on the driving lessons.

Read this excellent!! essay on Ayn Rand in GQ, thanks to Romal. And fuck, does the boy (who wrote the essay) hate her, as do many others but noone's been this eloquently snide to date I'm sure. It's a 5000 word-ish exposition that goes on and on until you have to atleast laud the guy for getting it out of his system - all that hatred can be good for nobody. Though mostly based on anguished emotional reactions to a failing economic system and the need for his ill informed mind to project these onto something concrete and rational, he latches on to Ayn Rand, like a baby to a nipple. True, Ayn Rand couldn't stand anything sub-normal and was elitist to her little toenail; true most of us are fucked in the head because we read her in all our pubescent, non-conformist splendor; and true, we are probably damaged for life.

But tell me really, how can you stand by and watch economy after economy fail and fail and fail yet again, and blame it on free market ideologies, and not raise a single finger to government decisions when it comes to taxes and trade policies? Not that the Government is not made up of these Ayn Rand lovers but it can't be all their fault. You can't be serious when you say that you don't want the world to be filled with brilliant, granted insufferable, individualists who can make a difference by their merest touch or the softest whisper?

The argument is futile really. Ayn Rand was/is one hell of a woman. And I would let her destroy my life all over again. I'm reading Atlas Shrugged in a couple of weeks. Will hit back and let you know how that goes.

Here's a link to that essay on GQ -http://www.gq.com/entertainment/books/200911/ayn-rand-dick-books-fountainhead?currentPage=1

Happy Reading :)

2010-04-25T22:46:00.000+05:30

Fallacies of the night

Shadows closing in slow, time churning outward

Spiral bliss, tonal disarrangements

Awaiting results, your smile.

Somewhere you sit, deep in thought

Won't you call out, so I can come take you home?

Live wire heart

2010-04-24T23:33:00.000+05:30

almost 12:00 a.m.

DonkeyPits going live in the morning :D I dunno. V's music has always been something I looked forward to with quite a bit of enthusiasm. But with this new band, things have been so extremely DIFFERENT from everything I ever dreamt for V boy and the kind of music he would end up making some day....... Selll out!!!! :P Well, not really. I just didn't expect him to be playing Nirvana covers some day. :-/ What do you do when people change so much that you would readily call them traitor, when if you think about it, it was just a matter of time before something changed anyway?

X Marks The Spot to me was the epitome of all things original. It was clean, simple and innocently punk and V's songwriting has always been a class apart. But as usual, fate took its crooked course and X Marks The Spot disbanded three years down the line. Sigh. If I could go back to one of those jam sessions, I'd pick that Sunday morning 7:00 a.m. session at Jam Hut. V boy and his broken foot, Lloyd and Nimma wrapped up in their winter clothes. Some kickass music ofcourse. And the photo shoot after. :D Back then, I wouldn't have guessed that it would all be over that soon.

I would do anything to see X Marks The Spot on stage just one last time again. And I'd pick Cherish if it had to be one song. Tinkerbell and Blunt if it was three. That sinking feeling and Unearthly if it were five.

But here you are doing an all cover set tomorrow and all I can feel is a heady mix of dread and anticipation and well, disappointment?

I love you.

Used.

2010-04-22T22:55:00.000+05:30

Enter slowly they say

When fresh souls meet

Under blankets of misery

Enter slow.

Wet words, empty riddles,

A radiant moon

The instructions are simple

And yet we fell somewhere.

Again.

You

Save, drop, strike, leave

You

Don't pass

You

Don't let go

You

Forget too easily

And You

Don't really care.

But it's a fine line we're treading

Used, abused, reused

Stay a while longer

And you could've seen

Something inside

Bright and shiny

Slowly beginning to fade.

Karma.

Forlorn

2010-04-21T13:55:00.000+05:30

Its been quiet the enervating week. From driving down Bangalore roads at 1:00 a.m. to dinner plans that ALWAYS run late to waiting around dull corners at dull streets with only Steven Wilson and the Bellamy boy for company - I long for a bed that's just mine.

V thinks I get carried away too easily. It's true to a point. I need something else to focus on than people. Which is why I am starting driving lessons next week. Apart from the reason that I need to learn to drive so I can soonly get a car and then shall I terrorize the pedestrians of the city. -smirk-

The days are spinning out of my hand in quick succession, leaping out in reds and greens and transcient blacks and I keep running into a giant wall every time I even begin to wonder if all this is heading somewhere. I should be home. The hidden blue walls, that green curtain that hides just about nothing, the quilt that is never dry, Slash calling to me from over my head, the flame throwing pink lamp, Chai's presence in absence, Mum's impish grin, Dad's giant hugs - it's all tugging incessantly but here I am, convinced that my place is here, in this city that refuses to let me be.

And you sang last evening. Something fervent, something tragic, something yearning. Dewdrop smiles and split second laughter. All captured and stored. You are the only reason I'm still here. It's strange that what gives meaning to this moment, is the same reason that's leading me away from any semblance of reality or normalcy, rendering my existence quiet obsolete for now. Maybe it's my imagination. Maybe it's you. Maybe it's Fate. Yeah right.

Edits

2010-04-16T14:42:00.000+05:30

* Walking down Commercial Street, while it's raining, is the bestesht way to spend a lazy evening. Especially with the mad bunch that I hang out with.

* I am technologically challenged as well. Took me fifteen minutes to figure Twitter out.

* Heartache's overrated.

* Maybe a new haircut would help, yes?

* Musicians are hot. I cannot get over it. -shakes head- Nopes. Definitely can't get over it.

* I'm stalking Neil Gaiman. He's funny.

* Never leave wallet out of sight. Especially before getting stuck with three idiots for the night.

* I dreamt of a giant bee. And I remembered you. And I remembered my foolishness. And I smiled.

* Pretty boys are pissing me off.

* Vimal's a Christmas tree post Christmas.

And I wish you wouldn't grow up

2010-04-16T13:34:00.000+05:30

Pillow Talk

2010-04-09T01:53:00.000+05:30

And it's the same fuckin night but a different song. It's as if I never left your room - that room where the sunlight is always too much. I kept my promise, you see. I stood up for who I believed I am. But you laugh. And I cant stop foolishly admitting my love to you, like you don't already know, like you haven't thrown it back in my face. It's a broken world I suppose - a million little pieces in a pool of dark velvety blood that's oozing out of a collective heart. It's a dead baby lying in its crimson cradle.

And the music doesn't leave me still. Like my pulse that refuses to stop even if I pretend to live - it refuses to pretend to die. It follows me within every person I love. In you- with your gorgeous hair and big puppy eyes and the scars that haunt. In you - my storyteller from beyond, my soulcruiser. In you - the pretty boy with a guitar and the goofiest little grin. And in you - my friend, my mentor, the boy who'll never die. So if one of you could pick me up from where I'm sitting here and point me to where I need to be, I'll follow the music and be alright somehow.

2010-04-09T01:51:00.001+05:30

I wish I was a boy. Then I would probably try harder not to cry.

2010-04-04T07:43:00.000+05:30

That I couldn't protect you from getting hurt was hard enough to deal with. Knowing that I'm a part of everything that's breaking you slowly, has killed my fickle heart one last time.

And if I could be who you wanted, if I was the boy you think I am, I would hold you in my arms, look after you and NEVER let you out of my sight.

I see you and I see you are fragile. Yet like the last leaf that will never fly, you are resilient. I imagine your heart, punctured and brimming with all things beautiful, all things hope. And if you would believe just for a second that you are the most gorgeous woman I know, if you could just love yourself the way I loved you that night in the midst of all that chaos, I would rest easy for that one second and be happy.

I've felt your scars, both inside and out. I have felt them throbbing, a pattern of your heart on your skin, I've felt them cry out. And as the moon drew a path across us, you sat next to me, weary, cold and so far away in your head that you probably never heard a word I said. And what could I have said that could have changed the way you felt?

I love you.

2010-03-31T13:16:00.000+05:30

You must be all I need to remind myself that I don't need to be anyone else but me.

2010-03-28T09:22:00.000+05:30

I carry your song like I carry your kiss

In my heart

Hidden from prying eyes.

I carry your song till forever and I

Promise

Not to let go.

2010-03-25T01:03:00.000+05:30

You are too far away now
So far away that I cannot hear your heart
So far away that your goodness seems a mirage
So far away that I stumble with every step I take.

And you waver sometimes
Cracks that appear on no wall
Paint my heart with strangled lines.
Wasted words of prayer from my childhood
Instantly jumping to my lips
Caressing the air
Like a lover's whip
To what avail.

Started writing this two days back. Cant finish it anymore. So that's that

2010-03-24T13:42:00.000+05:30

And as the bass line hits my ear, I look down and see my hands shaking. What do you know about music, he said. You should see my hands.

2010-03-07T07:56:00.000+05:30

There are no words to put to this need. This raging heat inside that's growing into long, thick, all consuming, purple flames, that should turn me into ash in a moment. But all it does is keep on growing inside, licked into a frenzy that my body, long since, has forgotten to control.

I try hard to stamp it out. Cover it up in a blanket. Throw gallon after gallon of water on it. Ignore it. Fight it. And yet, I succumb, dearly hanging on to it, giving it new life with every breath I take.

It's your name really. It goes on like a chant in my head. Over and over again. And it has grown bigger than you and me put together. That two syllable word that can put a smile in my eyes and pain in my heart.

I would like to be touched

Your hands that linger where I want them to

Your breath on my eyelids

And your lips on my cheek

For a moment

That's it.

2010-03-01T22:41:00.000+05:30

It would be so easy - to not do anything, leave everything, be no one and just follow you. I would be your shadow. I would be your breath. I would sleep where you lie and wake you up with a song. I wouldn't hurt as much. I would never look back or look at all. I wouldn't have to read, feel the need to get lost so I don't need to obsess over you. I wouldn't want music, I wouldn't want pictures of things past. I would like me, as I like you. I would live for today, for now. I would just BE. You.

And I don't know if I love you. But I know it's hard to watch someone else talk to you without wanting to rip their head off. It's hard to know that you're not thinking about me right at this moment. It's very very difficult to breathe every time I walk away from you.

I don't really want to write anymore. I can feel something inside me protesting right now as my fingers move quite rigidly over the keyboard, frozen into position. I wonder if that disgusts you. Me not writing. Some things are dying slowly, helplessly. And all I want is to watch. Watch with eyes that brim with anger and resentment and things that I've been asked not to say. How do I write when I'm not free to talk? How do I tell you when I'm not supposed to feel? How do I love when I'm not allowed to hurt?

I don't understand averages. They confuse me, the sameness of everyday motions. I live for those little moments that are so full of color, sounds and ugly, raw emotions that would be so embarrassing if not for it's true beauty. I wait for those times when you REALLY just look at me and say everything in that look. I like it when we fight because I feel something inside me come to life when you want to make me believe you. Why would I settle for ordinary nice when I have this sealed box of extreme untouchable emotions and words waiting to be dispensed off? All I want is to dip my hand into that box and pull out a nice shiny dagger and pierce it right through my heart as you watch.

Sometimes

2010-02-28T07:26:00.001+05:30

Muzik

2010-02-05T08:59:00.000+05:30

We just let them through

These plastic sounds that mean nothing

Nerve cells unmeshed

Stoic static, there's no story telling

Velvet monotones going nowhere permanent

Palms on headphones and eyes on the floor

A fetish for the mechanic

We writhe to the obscure.

And it's no coincidence, this place we're at

Cliff hanging by a nail

We laugh

With our heads thrown back.

Regret left for the cock eyed.

2010-01-19T08:04:00.000+05:30

Memories.

As useless as used toilet paper.

I wish...

2009-12-28T08:58:00.000+05:30

So we're done with all the exchanging of gifts and taking off to random places not so far away only to fall sick and not feel upto anything except maybe curl up on the seat, hook one arm around your neck and dose off to lala land. It's 9:00 a.m. and all I want is to be where you are. probably sleeping under that dirty blanket, three layers of clothes wrapped around your skin that smells of a biscuit factory i visited when i was 12. so when i sneek into bed with you, you're warm and ready. See you in an hour boy.

Little Nothings

2009-12-19T08:44:00.000+05:30

And the chapters seem to end before they begin

Makes you want to not write anymore

Memories subvert

Correlations forgotten,

I wonder what your mind reads into it

The illusions that resurface every third day

It's all too obvious isn't it?

Sweet salvation in another's pain.

There are worlds we choose to ignore

Lost in our own translations

Of what could be and what could have been

There are worlds we choose to forget.

Fragrant is the air tonight with little nothings

Rains that come hither and flee

Cold waves of unwanted misery

This winter hurts me so.

Little Things

2009-12-15T22:39:00.000+05:30

They tower over us, these placid rocks

It's funny when they speak so small

Think smaller, get your mind muddled

And then where do you go?

It's not that I don't comprehend

I'd rather ignore the obvious for my peace.

We have no space to live

When our souls are cluttered so

When your tongue's this sharp so

When my eyes are narrowed so.

It's not that I cant see

I just prefer make believe

Don't you?

I'm left with no words to rhyme

It's probably time, taking me down with it

A worrisome companion

I lag.

It's not that I cant hear you calling

I'd rather come of my own accord.

You leaned into me tonight

And after so long, I felt my breath get caught

An unsteady step can only take you so far

But it took me to you.

It's not that I cant live without you

It's just that I'd rather not.

2009-12-14T08:54:00.000+05:30

The ONE person i'd do absolutely ANYTHING for...

My little sis... Not so little.. but what the heck! How do I describe her? Fiercely independent, funny, hard working, loving and extremely smart... She's always been the angel in my life, guiding me through the worst of things, without even knowing it...

She's turning twenty today... and I pray with all my heart that she's growing up to be the person she's always wanted to be... There hasn't been a day when I've wished we could close the little gaps that have grown between us.. But such is life and I'm glad you're around when you are... Love you... Happy Birthday Chai!!

When College Work's Fun

2009-12-11T21:47:00.000+05:30

Well, Shobhana Ma'am decided to throw us a bone, and this is what came out of it. My assignment for literature class, where we had to prove a certain piece of anything - music, sculpture, photograph, a donkey, absolutely anything really - is Art. I decided to do it on Hand hole by Lounge Piranha. Hopefully I haven't ended up massacring it. :-/

Hand Hole

Hand Hole, by Lounge Piranha, is a work of art that exudes sundry emotions and childish conviction, both artfully combined to give us a peep into beauty that is as unblemished, as it is rare.

What caught my attention when it came to this song, was the complete lack of pretension with which the music just flowed from the first strum to the final wail of the unassuming guitars.The music and the lyrics, hand in hand, take you through a series of interconnected strands of thought that could be, or must be, the sum of human existence, as we know it today. The level of understanding between the band members is apparent in it's flawless flow, with nothing there to distract you from it. Not even for a moment do we feel threatened by the music, which at first listen might just seem like "easy listening".

It's only by my third or fourth sitting with Hand Hole that I could finally feel the pull of the song - the soul strewn out in shy little bits, till finally you have a beating heart in your hands and the music filling your being. It's there in the quiet, insistent vocals that plead and demand in equal measure; the wailing guitars that glide high and low giving you images of a tiny red boat rocking on black waves; the bass that comes in intermittent rushes and goes along with the freakishly slow heartbeat of the song; and finally the drums that put the rhythm outside the song, fleshing it out. The arpeggio whirlwind that you catch at the end of the chorus is the one departure that Tambe (the guitarist) decides to make in this song. To me, it's this tiny melody, which sound so heart wrenchingly positive in the midst of all the melancholic wailing, that gives this song its little beauty spot.

The lyrics give this song its artistic value, not just because of the words themselves, but because of the way it's been tattooed into the skin of the music, with persistent vigor. The fact of social alienation and intellectual dumbing down is no stranger to any of us. When Kamal in all its futility mutters, "more than this human", I (if no one else) immediately empathize. The chorus, which is summed up in five words drives in the solution to all our problems, his road to absolution, his Five Commandments, if you will. And if the first verse sounds a tad too defensive, the second stanza is a direct onslaught and it's now the listeners turn to squirm in their chairs. But then the chorus comes in just in time to absolve you of your sins and show you that there's hope after all. The structure reminds me a lot of a Petrarchan sonnet, with the opposing dilemnas presented in two seperate stanzas and a chorus tha gives a kind of summation.

The title of the song makes just one appearance in the whole song, right at the end. It's like this bone you throw to a dog. That's exactly what this phrase does to me. Is Kamal religious? Is he making a political statement? -grin- Is this supposed to be too sacred to be discussed here? What is it's purpose? To me, the ambiguity of the song, is centered right here in the title. For all you know he is just another believer, and we are all being taken for a ride. Or maybe he was just being so naive that he thought we could all see it from the beginning. But when he repeats the phrase over and over at the end, you know that he knows that you know, and thats where I get stumped by this song all over again.

So now that I've vaguely put across my point, I'd like to reaffirm some of the vague things I mentioned earlier. This song Hand Hole, is a work off art, in its purest, most untouched form. The style of the song remains mellow, undramatic and withdrawn, giving away the tone immediately - disillusionment coupled with a splash of hope somewhere in there. It's intention is pure hearted - Be more, Live! To me this song is hope, when I see none (and I mean it) - my light at the end of the tunnel - Hand Hole!

2009-12-07T13:25:00.000+05:30

Relationships seem like such bull crap sometimes. All this teen angst and woe begone days of waiting and moping around... bull crap.

I do not like that buzz in my ear. The sound of things coming to an end. It's a bee you can't bat away. Not with your prayers, not with all the good will you wish on yourself and the world around you. Not even with love... cos lets face it. there's no such thing.

And DamNit... we're on!!

2009-12-04T22:39:00.000+05:30

clockwise : sammy on the bass, johnny on the drums, vivek on the lead, and vimal on the vocals and rhytms.

vivek looks so adorable in this one.all cuteness happening.
sam refuses to give any other look than the one he's giving right now.
johnny's well... johnny.
and our hero would rather just smirk contemptuously than give anything that wud resemble a smile.

Moonshine

2009-10-25T20:51:00.000+05:30

We need some moonshine tonight

Alone and lonely and alone

We need some moonshine tonight

As the runaway stops to roam.

And home is not the place to be

Tires that grind gravel like clouds

The wind that wants to slyly touch

Touch our burning skin

Sights waiting to be understood

Awakened, if you like

From their perilous slumber deaths...

Home surely can wait tonight.

Country folk save much to spare

Not even a fleeting glance

Dusty boots and rancid clothes

We would like a moment

Of naked humility

When we dance among ourselves

Bodies slithering, hands fumbling

Eyes riveted to the starless sky.

We give you free wisdom, we give you free love

We give you everything you want

If you will not touch our souls.

We give you our dreams, we give you our passion,

We give you everything you need

If you will not break our dolls.

And we need some moonshine tonight

To walk where we will, fill our spiritless minds

We want some moonshine tonight

To bring us back home.

And the award goes to...

2009-10-15T22:27:00.000+05:30

I'm feeling very smug right now... 101 posts and going strong still... -does a quick little skip around the chair- :) :) Who would have thunk it? Me with my OCD for destruction and blog deleting habits from the yore, could stick it out for this long... I would pat myself on the back but my shoulders hurt from all the writing I've been doing for the exams... Yech!

So let's see... There's absolutely nothing new happening on this side of d mirror these days... Apart from this one bizarre and strange party I attended recently... It rained catfishes (literally) and small girls turned into lusty succoubants... And I'm not even exaggerating... Just when you think your life's finally regaining some semblance of normalcy, everything goes bippity bop. In case you are wondering about he catfish, we found this really large catfish lying on the middle of the road at 2:30 in the morning, still alive... At which point, one of my good samaritan friends wanted to save it's measly little life and got a bucket full of water and dumped the catfish in it and left it outside to freeze... Come morning, we pronounce it dead... However two hours later, we find it on the middle of the road again, still alive and flipping... Upon which, two mallu fellows take it and put it in a plastic cover and take it home to skin and fry... Interesting no?

I am currently attempting the mammoth task of reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged... Read 11 pages... Going good I should say... Exams are gonna be done by next week and then I am taking off to lala land (duphay for the Others).... And once I get there I shall indulge in shameless shopping and looting of parent's hard earned money and eat lots of nice food... :) cant wait!

An ex boyfriend got married a month back... We all know who... So yay!

Present boyfriend claims to not be in the relationship... But I shall ignore that little hindrance and follow him around till whenever :P He's currently got his eyebrows up on his forehead and reading this twice over... What else what else? Yes yes, Me loves you dodo pie...

I am also in love with Dave Matthews currently.... That is all... Goodnite buggers and beggars and all you jobless people reading this load of crap...

Pichar Talk

2009-09-29T22:19:00.001+05:30

Through the looking glass...

Fiasco :)

the fishies are alight... (Lounge Piranha at B Flat)

Haze

2009-09-20T22:15:00.000+05:30

It all happened so quick. One moment I had my eyes locked on his across a depressingly desolate dance floor, and the next, I was sitting on a bathroom floor, furiously penning down a serenade, while he was diligently taking a crap. Life is a fucking paradox, man. You never know what it's gonna throw at you. All you gotta know is how to catch.

When I saw him for the first time slouching his way to the bar to order himself a neat whisky (i have good ears), all I could wonder was, how in hell could a six feet two inches tall guy end up with such tiny ears? I mean, they were miniscule, like a baby monkeys. What in heavens was God thinking ruining this piece of art in such a rude manner? It just messed up the symmetry you see. There he was trying to hide his height in that cave man slouch, but you could see it right away... this guy was a hottie waiting to be discovered. Not consciously ofcourse, no, that would just ruin the effect. This guy had no idea what he could do to women, or some men even, which is precisely what lent him that air of God like poetic disillusioned sullenness, that was just devastating to behold. And oh! he had the most lovely hands. Long fingers (smirk) tipped with precious pink nails and surprisingly dark palms with heavily drawn lines that clearly told a tragic tale. I think the hands did the trick really. But then there were his eyes. How do I describe those eyes? I still remember that tug I felt in my gut when his eyes first grazed surreptitiously over mine. Involuntarily, my hand had flown to my chest, where my heart was doing a jungle dance of sorts.

I don't remember why I had gone to Haze that night. Maybe I was bored, maybe I was looking for a lay. These details escape my mind. But I remember what I was wearing that night. It was a birthday gift from my doting, happy little mum, who lived in her own little, happy, pretty world. A sleeveless, white dress that ran the whole length of my petite five feet one inch frame, with a choker collar and white stones garnishing the tips of the dress that were sweeping the floor so grandly. I hate high hell shoes you see. I'd worn the dress with a pair of nice fitting plain silver chapplals, that allowed me the freedom to walk without wanting to chop my legs off halfway down the road.

I'm not so small and dainty anymore though. Time has not been kind to me, but I've not been kind to me either, so it's no surprise. I run a small library these days. And I think I've done well for myself. These books give me a reassurance that no friend or companion could ever give. I like to see what these books do to the people who read them. Everytime someone takes a book, when they come back, I see what the book had done to them. It's just there in the way they speak, the way they listen, the way hey choose their next book. It's all there. They don't know it themselves but I can smell the gaps inside their soul. The gaps they want to fill by reading, by taking on the lives of fictional characters they are never gonna meet, the fictional characters they make love to in their heads, the fictional characters they violently murder in their heads, the fictional characters they lovingly mother in their heads. I see it all.

But here I am digressing away happily. Let's get back shall we?

Haze on a weeknight is mostly like a graveyard on a week night. No druggies, no alcoholics, no sex crazed lunatics. They're all stuck in the rat race of life too. Still gotta earn all that dough to throw away, right? So it was just me, him and some South East Asians at Haze that night. And I wouldnt have had it any other way really.

To be continued

Goodbye My...

2009-09-18T23:08:00.000+05:30

For the dreams and the stories and the vodka bottles
I shall for one last time, thank thee.

We have names for our different loves over time
We have games we play, songs to rhyme
We have in secret made our secret liaisons
We have left behind lives and loves and lies of our loves.

For the laughs and the music and the walks and the rainy nights
I shall forget to remember thee.

2009-09-14T22:29:00.000+05:30

There are times when I wish I had kept this blog completely anonymous.. And this is one of those times... So many things to say, but too many consequences to pay (for) and I'm kinda not in the mood for all of that... So yes I am only sitting and typing here because I havent done so in about a month and a half and that's just awful I think.. Maybe I cant write anymore... :( Maybe it's a short little long phase... Whatever it is, I'm finding myself too busy to even think which is why I keep doing the things I'm definitely NOT supposed to do. Stabbing someone in the hand with a fork, being just one of those tiny little things. Ufff..

I sometimes wish I liked a nice, simple life, with three kids, a boyfriend, and a dog. But... but.. but.. I'm apparently not made for all that. So that's that. Plus due to my growing list of needs and wants and needs, people find it increasingly hard to stick around me for longer than twenty three minutes and eleven seconds... Dont ask!

What do I really want??? I want...

a) My own apartment (Please God, please please please)
b) A job with LOTS of travelling involved
c) My cousin and other relative harmful individuals tucked away in some far corner of the world or even under the lithosphere :) (My, we're evil)
d) GoOd Moozik... any moozik, preferably LIVE, available at any point of time... actually preferably at nights
e) Uninterrupted sexual activity atleast once a week (is it too much to ask for??)
f) Uncomplicated love life (definitely too much to ask for)
g) A Dog.

There, that's done.

I've been reading Donne again. Now here's a poet from almost four centuries ago who is so fukin relevant even now, in the Age of Facebook and Spongebob Squarepants. His poems make me drool till I'm panting like an overexcited puppy. They are just so full of romance quick witted, unadulterated charm, and R rated dirty talking, that'll get you wetting your pants in no time. I mean, the guy could turn a laundry list contemplation sound like foreplay. From debauchery o saint like love, he's talked about it all and just the fact that I, a twenty year old, born almost four hundred years later can understand every single word he has to say and totally surrender to his charm... now that's the kinda guy I've always looked for and wanted...

And I've been lucky enough to meet some people exactly like that.. All it takes are words really... And snap! You're gone...

Dunno When This Happened

2009-07-30T07:57:00.000+05:30

What is Truth?

A momentary grasp of the ever elesuive Real
A glimmer of red juicy light in a kaliedoscope of tears
A silence between the lover and her beloved
A hand reahing out, a head away, turned.

The velvety liquid between her legs
The rejection faced third time over
The vault that never opens
The sigh that escapes inspite, despite....

How many times before you break?
How many saves before they miss?

The moon's light shines only as much
What illuminates our direction then?
The music plays only as much
What gives solace then?

Give me color and a brush
I'll paint over your words...

Kill Bill, Run Up The Hill

2009-07-22T07:08:00.000+05:30

It's a big deal when you lose your friends no? And if you've lost your best buddy, you've just had it really. It's kinda hard to explain the feeling cos it's not something you feel, it's something that just happens to you and you're stuck with the experience. It's like this bullet that's lodged right in the centre of your forehead and refuses to come out. It doesn't hurt but it's there and it's not gonna go away. There's a little hole in your head but everyone gets to see the damn bullet and not that little hole in you. You walk by and they can see the bullet. They stare and they make small whispers to eachother behind your back. Everywhere you go, you have the bullet for a souvenior and the hole for hiding all your misery. You don't drink this feeling away. No. It only makes it worse cos there's noone to take you home at the end you see?

2009-07-13T21:29:00.000+05:30

I have reasons to forget
And a right to remember.

I walked past a monument
Glancing at its destruction for a moment
Minute.

I reflected on the old
And let the new remain
Trying to stay away
Trying to remain unchanged.

I decided
A thought, lopsided
I communicated
A memory, undermined.

I know only what I see in your eyes
I believe in every human that's right
I tear at my skin when the words dont come
I fear unreasonably when the lights go down.

But even big worlds crumble
Where lies my poor soul then?

Hayo...

2009-06-24T22:13:00.000+05:30

Pieces of paper they are
Tear them up and they are gone

Towers of cards they are
Tip them and they fall

They tell us not to act out
To make believe it's alright
When its not.

They say it's not in our place to be God
But I don't see Him around now and then
Would you like to be Him
Just this once?

Let's play a game, save a dame
Distress calls go unheard
The motifs stay clear
Of the ongoing drama.

Why don't you say a word
When it could make all the difference
I may not be the shy type
But I don not like these silent confrontations.

I dream of wars when I lie next to you
I see your face in the crowd
I see them walking away
I see opportunities ungrasped

I'm learning to shut my eyes, close my heart
And ignore the waysides.

Bitter Bitter Me

2009-06-22T21:58:00.000+05:30

Do you understand bitterness?

When it seeps into your feet

Twisting itself around the ankles

Creeping onto your thighs

Grabbing you by the navel

Gathering storm in the chest

And then finally punches you right in face.

Do you taste it in your mouth?

The sour leftovers of words undoable

The sweet tasting victory of rage

The bile rising up from unrequited loves.

Do you not recognize it?

In the lines on your face

In the lives of those who are but dead

In the dark clouds empty of rain.

Do you suffocate in it's loud presence

Or do you lash out in blind disdain

I have burned in white flames

But what about the stains.

When did we fall so low

That we can now not stand

And fight?

2009-06-18T22:46:00.000+05:30

I do not understand relationships. I shy away from the complicated best friends for life type stuff. It's not my thing. Never will be. I had this friend for eleven years. And I decided it had lasted as long as it could, and I took off without notice, ignored calls, deleted mails, refused to reply to messages. For the stupidest reason that I couldn't handle the amount of commitment involved. Undoubtedly it was cruel of me and I'm definitely going to hell for it, but I like to think that I left for her good, her sanity - which shouldn't have depended on my staying or leaving in the first place.

I watch friends losing friends almost everyday now. And friendships are not what they used to be, five or even three years back. When I was growing up, to be friends, you did'nt need to have a similar taste in music, the seemingly same intellectual levels, or even a shared sense of humor. We got along in the wierdest of situations, without hitches, no major ones anyway. I wonder what happened to all of that. I know lots of you are going, hey! thats not true. BUT NO!!! IT IS!! There is no such thing as a real friend. I know nooone that I can depend on, no matter what. Not my family, not my freinds, not my boy friend.

It's in the strangers I find the odd comfort. People in buses, people walking on roads, people sitting in the beauty parlor - waiting for their turn, people who love dogs, people who hate music, people who love to dance, people who read, people who can't write, people who are eating in the same restaurant as I am, people who are shopping alongside me, people playing in the ocean, and the list could go on. I love the sense of oneness I experience, just knowing that we are all living this huge illusion of moving, loud pictures with exhuberant colors and the most subtle aroma of interminable LIFE, together.

I am not saying I dont treasure the people I have in my life. I am nothing without them. But not everything's going to last and in that I find a huge flaw. A necessary flaw perhaps, but a flaw nonetheless.

2009-06-03T16:55:00.000+05:30

Conquerors in a trashed out world

Cold and ecstatic, we stand, disfigured

Thoughts that run to you, only you

When did I forget? I am you.

Conversations With Mr. D

2009-05-31T14:33:00.000+05:30

So I was just having this little chat with the Devil last nite. I thought I'll put it up for everyone to read, at the advice of a good samaritan.

The setting's quite typical. Fire everywhere, molten lava, bubbles of black soot, the works! and we were sitting on two rocks seperated by about a foot or so.

Me : So... looking good there... err.. uncle?

Devil : Mr. D will do.

Me : So how did I get here?

Devil : *grin* Ask yourself.

Me : Well, I don't think I've killed anyone yet. Doesn't good karma cancel all the rest of the shyt out? Why the fuck am I here?

Devil : -sigh- The language these kids use. What do they teach you in school? I really should speak with God on this one.

Me : God's not on the Education Board really. Maybe Jesus can help. By the by, why are you in that suit? And where are your horns?

Devil : What are you? A journalist? Asking all these questions. I think I need a nap.

Me : But what about me? Why isn't V here? Can i go home now?

Devil : Where do you think you are?

Me : -looks around- Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!! ;(

Far away

2009-05-30T12:06:00.001+05:30

Kinetic thoughts in a static minefield

The world's going to dust as we dream

Unforseen attacks on my bubblewrap consciousness

A hint of tragedy in a jar of sunshine.

Why do we sleep when we could be making love?

what when where

2009-05-30T11:52:00.000+05:30

lights that bounce right off the spoon

and into your eyes

a strange lunatic that lives in my head

but in your lies

the gambling noob switches identity

with his past ties

forward runs the mission

into the light

silence broken by the undaunting wind

from the setting skies

he calls and he calls and he calls

and she sighs

they pray to the unblinking idols

for their delinquent child

i place my heart in your hands

until i die.

Redeem

2009-05-23T17:23:00.000+05:30

I wonder where the words go
As we look on askance
At the destruction rendered
Remain misheard.

In our fears we abide
The golden rule upheld
I cling on
When I feel I should
Flee.

Singed fingertips
From open books
I turn the pages
Tryin to find redemtion
In your downfall.

Fairytales make no exception
Painted dreams, unholy deeds
Pink tinted.
A toddler's smile heeds no attention
Sullied hopes, misguided thoughts
Undermined.

I marked you as mine a year from today
And still here I sit, waiting...

Tick tock

2009-05-23T16:33:00.000+05:30

I have always thought that nothing can be more important than time. Minutes, seconds, micro seconds - millions of things happen, within this time. It's like this frame of reference that we all have in common and we place our mile stones along the way and look back and laugh or cry or just fall to our knees in surrender.

And I shudder when I think of all the time I've wasted. The year I let everything pass me by, the years I kept running away from ghosts that would have never touched me in the first place if i had been careful enough. And I know I've grown in a way but I can't help but wonder what I could have done by now if I hadn't screwed up so badly. Time, I know, has never been kind.

And wonderful things have happened too. For what I've lost, I've gained in double measure. Time, gently pushed me on to the day when I finally ran into my best friend, the boy from my dreams, and that too because of this very blog. And exactly a year back, we came together under a rainy sky, on an open terrace. I try not to look back since, cos I've never been happier in a way.

Plus I ain't so attached to my watch anymore. It's been a couple of years since I've worn one regularly. There was a time when I used to take it off only when I was about to take a bath, and even then, grudgingly. Maybe I'm moving on. Or maybe, I'm just in denial.