The Indian sun and the summer heat,
Vital heat;
I know sensuality lures irresistibly.
What are you waiting for, silly?
Look at me,
I walk out of the bathroom,
No raiment on.
Don’t wait for the sun to set;
Its noon, a time for wild love.
Come, make your move darling!
Quit playing with my hands,
You know my mind’s racing
Towards love.
Crucify love into sex.
The buzzing sound of the coolers
Will drown our moans,
Wait no more darling!
Oh, this theatre of enervation,
This vestibule of unresolved tensions,
Oh, the flamboyance of lust!
And, you talk of love darling, when
I offer you lust, and a fall-into
Heat, sweat, weariness
And nudity!
Life is a cruel mockingbird darling,
You are a man, and
I, a woman,
What else are we made for darling?
Now Playing:: Agar tum na hote…………….Kishore
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Nostalgic Deceptions
You want to forget, but you cannot. Someday it will be buried deep, but it will not be forgotten. The earliest impressions keep burning into you, in spite of all the resistance and experience; maybe there are more skins that are yet to be peeled off. To say the truth, its time, the thing were gone. The humor of the thing ( some things tend to be humorous when recollected after a considerable length of time ), if there was ever much in it, is pretty well exhausted and it would be vain to drag it any further. I am now at liberty to confess but I realize that even confessions are intelligent in nature, and that my confessions should be natural in a self-pleasing quaintness, than intend to affect a naturalness that should be strange to me. You see, I’ll have to continue living with myself in spite of the confessions!
p.s: And yet to every bad there is a worse……..lets wait and watch….
Now Playing:: Raat ka shauk hai………………Guru
p.s: And yet to every bad there is a worse……..lets wait and watch….
Now Playing:: Raat ka shauk hai………………Guru
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Mistress, Part 1
Honestly, readers, I am in no hurry to begin this story, indeed it isn’t a story, but a mere observation of this blogger, connected with that interesting time of the early 90s, when I was about seven or eight, trying to learn the ways in which society functions and expects us to function, and more importantly, that there can be relationships out of the wed-lock, apparently, one which society condemns, and that the world isn’t just ‘husband, wife, son, daughter’, and other names of the relations that issues out of the primary ones, but there are a million other relationships that flutter our brains for a moment or longer, because we’re too ill-equipped to understand the mechanism in which the adult world functions!
As long as I can remember, it was in 93 when we had shifted to this house, and although I cannot recall everything in its entirety, but the thing that makes the years of 93-95 worth a blog post is because those were the years that saw my association with The Mistress.
The earliest impressions which I received in this matter, are certainly not attended with anything painful, or very humiliating, but are in the nature comical in the recalling, but it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending.
Since we were the new arrivals our immediate neighboring aunty began to brief mom about the other families in the colony, which I guess was some kind of ploy to focus attention on house number 6 (opposite to ours) where the Mistress used to stay with her daughter. I bet she had spiced up the details because nobody ever knew anything about the mistress, it all depended upon the speaker who altered the details as and when he required and presented it as creatively and appealingly as possible, and as it turned out we kept hearing different stories about her in the course of two years.
At that age I could never understand what made the women hostile towards her but the fact that they so incessantly bitched about her generated enough interest in me and I longed to meet this woman. She rarely ventured out of the house but I would occasionally catch glimpses of her strolling in the garden or when we went to the local temple and all. I still remember it was diwali of 93 when I saw both the mother and daughter lighting those little earthen lamps and then silently closing the doors on the noise of the outside world. My mother somehow pitied on their lives but she was primarily a wife and no wife ever takes sides with a mistress! Even then mom had nothing against her and by the spring of 94 we saw mom trading varieties of hibiscus plants with the mistress, which in a subdued manner led to afternoon gossips amongst the other aunties. Having sensed this, mom grew careful of her dealings with the mistress and she was glad that she was working as that kept her away from home for most part of the day, a sure respite from the gossip-sessions.
And then the summer of 94 saw me at the door step of the mistress holding a bag of mangoes from the twin mango trees of our garden. It was then that I actually ‘saw’ her. Man, I can never forget that face. She looked like some actress straight out of the silver screen and with that big bindi-like the one that Bengali women wear, she had that whole artistic appeal in her, enough to make you fall in love with her. Presently, she pulled my cheeks and invited me in and before I could take notice of things around me, I was feeding on biscuits, sweets and Rasna. (hey we all remember rasna don’t we?)
Well, readers, the story’s not over yet and the remainder will be posted ASAP……
Now Playing:: Ye din kya aaye…………..Chhotisi Baat
As long as I can remember, it was in 93 when we had shifted to this house, and although I cannot recall everything in its entirety, but the thing that makes the years of 93-95 worth a blog post is because those were the years that saw my association with The Mistress.
The earliest impressions which I received in this matter, are certainly not attended with anything painful, or very humiliating, but are in the nature comical in the recalling, but it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending.
Since we were the new arrivals our immediate neighboring aunty began to brief mom about the other families in the colony, which I guess was some kind of ploy to focus attention on house number 6 (opposite to ours) where the Mistress used to stay with her daughter. I bet she had spiced up the details because nobody ever knew anything about the mistress, it all depended upon the speaker who altered the details as and when he required and presented it as creatively and appealingly as possible, and as it turned out we kept hearing different stories about her in the course of two years.
At that age I could never understand what made the women hostile towards her but the fact that they so incessantly bitched about her generated enough interest in me and I longed to meet this woman. She rarely ventured out of the house but I would occasionally catch glimpses of her strolling in the garden or when we went to the local temple and all. I still remember it was diwali of 93 when I saw both the mother and daughter lighting those little earthen lamps and then silently closing the doors on the noise of the outside world. My mother somehow pitied on their lives but she was primarily a wife and no wife ever takes sides with a mistress! Even then mom had nothing against her and by the spring of 94 we saw mom trading varieties of hibiscus plants with the mistress, which in a subdued manner led to afternoon gossips amongst the other aunties. Having sensed this, mom grew careful of her dealings with the mistress and she was glad that she was working as that kept her away from home for most part of the day, a sure respite from the gossip-sessions.
And then the summer of 94 saw me at the door step of the mistress holding a bag of mangoes from the twin mango trees of our garden. It was then that I actually ‘saw’ her. Man, I can never forget that face. She looked like some actress straight out of the silver screen and with that big bindi-like the one that Bengali women wear, she had that whole artistic appeal in her, enough to make you fall in love with her. Presently, she pulled my cheeks and invited me in and before I could take notice of things around me, I was feeding on biscuits, sweets and Rasna. (hey we all remember rasna don’t we?)
Well, readers, the story’s not over yet and the remainder will be posted ASAP……
Now Playing:: Ye din kya aaye…………..Chhotisi Baat
Friday, April 24, 2009
Re-tracing....
I was meeting new faces, new thoughts, new appreciations, and new voices, and for the first day or two I felt literally stunned and overwhelmed. I could only apprehend my felicity but honestly I was too confused to taste it sincerely. I wandered about, thinking I was happy, but indeed I was not. I realized that it is easy to forget people, but replacing them takes a lifetime.
It’s an awkward feeling, when you go about meeting new faces, pretending that you’re enjoying every moment of the conversation, and have convinced yourself that you’ve indeed replaced your old cronies, but somewhere deep within, a part of you is still on the look out for an old joke, or a mere gesture that you could relate to and feel that you ‘belong’………but, the past hardly ever reacts!
So how does one dissipate this awkward feeling?
One simply revives the old feelings. One takes a positive swerve into bygone days, no matter how rugged he/she might have been, or one simply chooses to be a coward like me, waiting for an insane stroke of fate that would bring old life out of dead protoplasm!
Well, it is too late to repent; especially when I had violently broken the bonds between us, returning would be equally painful as going forward has been.
Lost in the dark!
Reader, you might think I am singular, but the real point probably is that there is this widest gulf between my ‘friend-making’ and yours. Yours has always been poetry, and mine has been prose. And prose no matter how well considered and well thought-out it may be, it still remains inferior to poetry!
It’s usually believed that the more people one knows, the easier it gets to replace them. But how could I ever replace the guy who taught me how to punch, or the guy who would play the guitar every time I called, or the guy who would prefer vying with me over solving physics numericals, and numerous others who were a part of my growing up years!
It shall be sometime before I get quite reconciled to this separation and until then fare thee well old cronies, yet not for long, because you’ll be remembered again and again……
Now Playing:: Aur kya ehede wafa hote hain………….Asha
It’s an awkward feeling, when you go about meeting new faces, pretending that you’re enjoying every moment of the conversation, and have convinced yourself that you’ve indeed replaced your old cronies, but somewhere deep within, a part of you is still on the look out for an old joke, or a mere gesture that you could relate to and feel that you ‘belong’………but, the past hardly ever reacts!
So how does one dissipate this awkward feeling?
One simply revives the old feelings. One takes a positive swerve into bygone days, no matter how rugged he/she might have been, or one simply chooses to be a coward like me, waiting for an insane stroke of fate that would bring old life out of dead protoplasm!
Well, it is too late to repent; especially when I had violently broken the bonds between us, returning would be equally painful as going forward has been.
Lost in the dark!
Reader, you might think I am singular, but the real point probably is that there is this widest gulf between my ‘friend-making’ and yours. Yours has always been poetry, and mine has been prose. And prose no matter how well considered and well thought-out it may be, it still remains inferior to poetry!
It’s usually believed that the more people one knows, the easier it gets to replace them. But how could I ever replace the guy who taught me how to punch, or the guy who would play the guitar every time I called, or the guy who would prefer vying with me over solving physics numericals, and numerous others who were a part of my growing up years!
It shall be sometime before I get quite reconciled to this separation and until then fare thee well old cronies, yet not for long, because you’ll be remembered again and again……
Now Playing:: Aur kya ehede wafa hote hain………….Asha
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Size Matters!
“Worrying about the size, baby?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to take in all that!”
“The initial lunge is always painful, but believe me, you’ll ask for more afterwards!”
“That’s enough! My wrists are already paining!”
“I can’t help it; you are holding it the wrong way.”
“But, I hardly know any other; have always held it this way!”
“Oh, come on now; stop being such a doll…..your Suitable Boy demands a cohort!”
“Yeah, the Boy would probably take Ulysses as his midnight darling!”
Now Playing:: Tera mujhse……………Kishore Kumar
“I don’t think I’ll be able to take in all that!”
“The initial lunge is always painful, but believe me, you’ll ask for more afterwards!”
“That’s enough! My wrists are already paining!”
“I can’t help it; you are holding it the wrong way.”
“But, I hardly know any other; have always held it this way!”
“Oh, come on now; stop being such a doll…..your Suitable Boy demands a cohort!”
“Yeah, the Boy would probably take Ulysses as his midnight darling!”
Now Playing:: Tera mujhse……………Kishore Kumar
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Amrita
I once had the key to his apartment, where the veil of my weaknesses were lifted up several times. Inarticulate moments that shut the nonsense-noises of the world except for the chimes jangling to the rhythm of our pulsating breaths. If you ever get to visit that house darling, you’ll find me there, the musk of my scent still blooms at night! In my dreams I still at times fancy the cool floors purling beneath our burning bodies. But my waking stomach rejects it! Oh if a wish could transport me back to that house, every corner of which had echoed with our music...if I could only pick up the remnants of that music and bring it here with me...
What do you think darling that I didn’t try...I did...I did, but you won’t believe darling, he turned me out like a dog, or some profane person, into the common street, I still begged him to re-consider...I was in love, I had no shame.
Looking back, I still have a vague notion that it could not all have perished, that so much love and magnificence could not have been crushed all at once into the mere dust and rubbish which I find it now...but its not over darling, I want that man back...I want him back for I’ve lost my way, I’ve lost the key to my apartment...
You’re right darling, ‘I’m a freak.’
Now Playing:: Silli hawa………..Libaas
What do you think darling that I didn’t try...I did...I did, but you won’t believe darling, he turned me out like a dog, or some profane person, into the common street, I still begged him to re-consider...I was in love, I had no shame.
Looking back, I still have a vague notion that it could not all have perished, that so much love and magnificence could not have been crushed all at once into the mere dust and rubbish which I find it now...but its not over darling, I want that man back...I want him back for I’ve lost my way, I’ve lost the key to my apartment...
You’re right darling, ‘I’m a freak.’
Now Playing:: Silli hawa………..Libaas
Monday, March 30, 2009
At Noon...
Suddenly,
A flash.
Of strange thoughts?
No.
Of words, vying.
More flashes; more words.
A poetic fit.
Brief yet lasting,
Silent yet echoing.
An explosion.
Blurred thoughts;
A waiting, and
Then the lines.
Presently,
A scream
Rings through the house,
With the calling-bell!
Someone sneezes, and
Its over,
Prose returns!
Now Playing:: Aaoge jab tum............Jab We Met
Friday, March 27, 2009
of Friends Among Other Things!
Just when my actions were making me feel rather wretched, my cell phone beeped with these messages:
Someday, when all of us will get busy with our lives….long working hours, no more classes, lectures, friends, and messages…..won’t even have time for ourselves…..at such a day when you’ll look outside the window and remember the good old days………when memories will flash you by……you will get a smile with a tear in your eye and you would get back to your work, thinking I wish I could relive those days all over again…..
Ek din zindagi aise mukam pe pahunch jayegi….dosti toh sirf yaadon mein reh jayegi…har cup coffee yaad doston ki dilayegi….aur haste haste phir aankhein nam ho jayegi…office ke chamber mein classroom nazar aayegi….par chahne pe bhi proxy nahin lag payegi……paisa toh bahut hoga, magar unhe lutane ki wajah hi kho jayegi….jee le khulke is pal ko mere dost kyunki zindagi ye palon ko phir se nahin dohrayegi!
As I said I was feeling rather wretched and there was no way I could originate similar sentiments and get all mushy over friends and friendship in general, but as the clutter began to clear itself and I re-read those messages, I kind of liked them, but duh, “hang it all”, I thought!
Undergrad days are coming to an end, but the learning process has just begun. One thing I’ve already learnt is that: you necessarily do not pay off friends by telling them that you haven’t got for them what they want from you, in other words tell them what they want to listen, yeah you heard me right, be a hypocrite!
You might hate me reader, but I can’t help it! I can’t call these people ‘friends’ who made me write complaints against one of my much loved professors accusing him of sexual harassment. I wish I could put to death each of those pretty ladies for their obnoxious narrow thinking. People, who denied me of choices with all their high talk about unity and respect, are friends of a different order, you won’t mind forgetting them. So much for working in a group! These people believed in sudden conversions, a belief which maybe right, but which seems peculiarly attractive to only half-baked minds!
Three years of hypocrisy is enough. I had enough!
But I’m glad, for the more people one knows; the easier it becomes to replace them.
This again reminds me of a conversation with a good friend of mine, who once asked:
“Must needs be always the overriding consideration? Does not a life long friendship mean anything to you?”
The guy who asked me that unfortunately ran short of life, and it has been a lot harder to find replacements. Boy, why do we always seem to look out for familiar moorings to latch on to?
However, this outer life, though horrid at times, has also been the real one….there has been some amount of grit in it. It did breed character!
Now Playing:: Mehbooba…………..R.D
Someday, when all of us will get busy with our lives….long working hours, no more classes, lectures, friends, and messages…..won’t even have time for ourselves…..at such a day when you’ll look outside the window and remember the good old days………when memories will flash you by……you will get a smile with a tear in your eye and you would get back to your work, thinking I wish I could relive those days all over again…..
Ek din zindagi aise mukam pe pahunch jayegi….dosti toh sirf yaadon mein reh jayegi…har cup coffee yaad doston ki dilayegi….aur haste haste phir aankhein nam ho jayegi…office ke chamber mein classroom nazar aayegi….par chahne pe bhi proxy nahin lag payegi……paisa toh bahut hoga, magar unhe lutane ki wajah hi kho jayegi….jee le khulke is pal ko mere dost kyunki zindagi ye palon ko phir se nahin dohrayegi!
As I said I was feeling rather wretched and there was no way I could originate similar sentiments and get all mushy over friends and friendship in general, but as the clutter began to clear itself and I re-read those messages, I kind of liked them, but duh, “hang it all”, I thought!
Undergrad days are coming to an end, but the learning process has just begun. One thing I’ve already learnt is that: you necessarily do not pay off friends by telling them that you haven’t got for them what they want from you, in other words tell them what they want to listen, yeah you heard me right, be a hypocrite!
You might hate me reader, but I can’t help it! I can’t call these people ‘friends’ who made me write complaints against one of my much loved professors accusing him of sexual harassment. I wish I could put to death each of those pretty ladies for their obnoxious narrow thinking. People, who denied me of choices with all their high talk about unity and respect, are friends of a different order, you won’t mind forgetting them. So much for working in a group! These people believed in sudden conversions, a belief which maybe right, but which seems peculiarly attractive to only half-baked minds!
Three years of hypocrisy is enough. I had enough!
But I’m glad, for the more people one knows; the easier it becomes to replace them.
This again reminds me of a conversation with a good friend of mine, who once asked:
“Must needs be always the overriding consideration? Does not a life long friendship mean anything to you?”
The guy who asked me that unfortunately ran short of life, and it has been a lot harder to find replacements. Boy, why do we always seem to look out for familiar moorings to latch on to?
However, this outer life, though horrid at times, has also been the real one….there has been some amount of grit in it. It did breed character!
Now Playing:: Mehbooba…………..R.D
Thursday, March 26, 2009
She's Gay!
She had heard them say,
“Give him all, give him all.”
‘Let me go’, she screams.
‘It won’t take too long’, he says,
Cold and uncaring like the moon;
A constant rumbling of naked flesh,
A pain inflicted; a hunger satiated.
‘I am done’, he says and,
Lies exhausted at the edge of sleep.
‘Can I hide myself now’, she cries?
‘Like I care’, he says and
Out he walks!
Several eyes peep in,
Somebody exclaims,
‘Why is the rainbow red today?’
Another screams,
“Its too late, it’s too late.”
Another says,
‘There are worse lives!’
She laughs.
Now Playing:: Jaane kya baat hai………………Asha
“Give him all, give him all.”
‘Let me go’, she screams.
‘It won’t take too long’, he says,
Cold and uncaring like the moon;
A constant rumbling of naked flesh,
A pain inflicted; a hunger satiated.
‘I am done’, he says and,
Lies exhausted at the edge of sleep.
‘Can I hide myself now’, she cries?
‘Like I care’, he says and
Out he walks!
Several eyes peep in,
Somebody exclaims,
‘Why is the rainbow red today?’
Another screams,
“Its too late, it’s too late.”
Another says,
‘There are worse lives!’
She laughs.
Now Playing:: Jaane kya baat hai………………Asha
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
.......
I’m no creative writer but this post reminded me of something in that regard!
It has been a long time, but A it was I think who suggested this notion of dreams and creativity being proportional to each other. An ill-read person that I was back then couldn’t contribute much except a lame notion of creativity being directly proportional only to one’s leisure and everything else being secondary. But his words did make sense to me albeit much later in life. And since I consider myself a better reporter of the ideas of other people than expounder of my own, here’s an altered account of the conversation we had some five years back!
A: ‘I wonder what sort of dreams might be coming to him.(him referring to Richard Bach, A was on a high after reading Illusions.) How could he write a book like this!’
Me: ‘what have dreams got to do with writing a book, yaar?’
A: ‘you know it is generally believed that most writers create their characters in dreams.’
Me: ‘huh…you mean to say that people plan their dreams….that’s an absurd philosophy.’
A: ‘yeah, it sounds absurd but I had read somewhere that the degree of the soul’s creativeness in sleep is much higher than the quantum of creative faculty resident in the same soul when it is waking.’
Me: ‘well you could be wide awake and still be dreaming…’
A: ‘but, dreams still remain the common denominator of creativity.’
But, if characters are indeed a copy of the mind’s conceptions in sleep-then what a copy it indeed is! The mere thought of creating a word-mass, assigning a name, sex and plausible gestures to it, taming it, and clothing it with the attributes of flesh and blood, gives me a high that no intoxicants ever could!
I wish I had a creative faculty rich enough to do the above mentioned things. I would have created a perfect man for myself, who would’ve entertained me all night with the manifestation of some wild and magnificent thoughts. Gosh, the mere thought of it, makes me prone to strange whisperings at my ear. In spite of that, all I’m capable of documenting are the shifting mutations of my ever rambling dreams.
I’m yet to have that “fine dream” which people keep talking about. Who knows I might get lucky tonight!
Catch ya later guys!
Now Playing:: Kya yahi pyaar hai…………..Rocky
It has been a long time, but A it was I think who suggested this notion of dreams and creativity being proportional to each other. An ill-read person that I was back then couldn’t contribute much except a lame notion of creativity being directly proportional only to one’s leisure and everything else being secondary. But his words did make sense to me albeit much later in life. And since I consider myself a better reporter of the ideas of other people than expounder of my own, here’s an altered account of the conversation we had some five years back!
A: ‘I wonder what sort of dreams might be coming to him.(him referring to Richard Bach, A was on a high after reading Illusions.) How could he write a book like this!’
Me: ‘what have dreams got to do with writing a book, yaar?’
A: ‘you know it is generally believed that most writers create their characters in dreams.’
Me: ‘huh…you mean to say that people plan their dreams….that’s an absurd philosophy.’
A: ‘yeah, it sounds absurd but I had read somewhere that the degree of the soul’s creativeness in sleep is much higher than the quantum of creative faculty resident in the same soul when it is waking.’
Me: ‘well you could be wide awake and still be dreaming…’
A: ‘but, dreams still remain the common denominator of creativity.’
But, if characters are indeed a copy of the mind’s conceptions in sleep-then what a copy it indeed is! The mere thought of creating a word-mass, assigning a name, sex and plausible gestures to it, taming it, and clothing it with the attributes of flesh and blood, gives me a high that no intoxicants ever could!
I wish I had a creative faculty rich enough to do the above mentioned things. I would have created a perfect man for myself, who would’ve entertained me all night with the manifestation of some wild and magnificent thoughts. Gosh, the mere thought of it, makes me prone to strange whisperings at my ear. In spite of that, all I’m capable of documenting are the shifting mutations of my ever rambling dreams.
I’m yet to have that “fine dream” which people keep talking about. Who knows I might get lucky tonight!
Catch ya later guys!
Now Playing:: Kya yahi pyaar hai…………..Rocky
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Incoherence!
Random thoughts keep crossing the mind until a pattern emerges. Those thoughts do not belong to me. They are a set of crazy conversations; incomprehensive to the core. You must have felt it too reader, the mind brokering between coherence and incoherence, and you wondering, “Could I be heard out of this black depth?”
It’s amazing how the mind keeps playing games with you. How from illuminating it comes to darken, from quick solace it turns to a negative relief? And boy, then from restlessness and dissatisfaction it swerves to a positive misery! In short it keeps killing you!
Your favorite occupations cease to entertain; you can do nothing readily. You feel like reading poetry, but prose seduces you! Boy, what a seduction! You can hardly walk out unmolested!
You perpetually catch yourself in tears, for some cause or none at all. It’s inexpressible how much this “feeling” adds to a sense of shame, and a general feeling of deterioration.
Well, I do not have the vanity to stand by these confessions, and I do not know whether I shall be laughed at or heard seriously, but whatever it is I can hardly find a connection between my thoughts and this poor abstract, so quit worrying I do not understand it neither!
LOST!
Now Playing:: Main zindagi ka saath…………..Rafi
Thursday, February 26, 2009
10 Things You didn't Know about me!
Here’s a tag from Abhishek that requires me to list at least ten lesser known facts about me, and here they go:
I’m always and always dressed in black, I seem to have a strange affinity for that color. I know, I know, a lot is said about the psychology of people who wear black, but I don’t care. The only person who could have convinced me to look at other colors is Freud, but he’s dead and gone, so black stays with me forever! And a chance occurrence of other colors in my wardrobe is totally because mom prefers shopping for me at times.
I absolutely hate painting my nails; it gives me a creepy feeling, but I do get fascinated by all those shiny nail colors.
This might come across as a shocker, and you may roll your eyes when I say that, I even dislike carrying a vanity bag, in fact I believe in carrying less, the wallet and cell phone go into the storage space of the Activa. Whoever wants a vanity for that!
The only things I’m possessive about are books and my Activa. I do share books but when it comes to sharing Activa, I can be damn blunt. I hardly let bro or dad drive it. Dad drives as if it’s a bullock cart and bro thinks he’s on Roadies driving a Karizma or something!
I’ve learnt classical music for two and a half years and I do wish to complete that course in near future. In fact that’s the only thing that I’m proud of in my life.
I’m extremely scared of the canine species, so much that I do not visit people who have pets.
I’m quite talkative by nature, but with strangers I’m usually head down and chin buried in my throat. Most people who chat with me know that!
I easily get attracted to tall guys who wear glasses, and if they are dressed in formals, tab toh sone pe suhaga!
It has been almost four years in a row and I haven’t visited a temple. Don’t ask me why, I won’t tell you that.
I have a kink of smelling books before buying them and that is quite embarrassing actually!
Enough to repel people I guess!
Now Playing:: Khuda jaane…………….KK & Shilpa
I’m always and always dressed in black, I seem to have a strange affinity for that color. I know, I know, a lot is said about the psychology of people who wear black, but I don’t care. The only person who could have convinced me to look at other colors is Freud, but he’s dead and gone, so black stays with me forever! And a chance occurrence of other colors in my wardrobe is totally because mom prefers shopping for me at times.
I absolutely hate painting my nails; it gives me a creepy feeling, but I do get fascinated by all those shiny nail colors.
This might come across as a shocker, and you may roll your eyes when I say that, I even dislike carrying a vanity bag, in fact I believe in carrying less, the wallet and cell phone go into the storage space of the Activa. Whoever wants a vanity for that!
The only things I’m possessive about are books and my Activa. I do share books but when it comes to sharing Activa, I can be damn blunt. I hardly let bro or dad drive it. Dad drives as if it’s a bullock cart and bro thinks he’s on Roadies driving a Karizma or something!
I’ve learnt classical music for two and a half years and I do wish to complete that course in near future. In fact that’s the only thing that I’m proud of in my life.
I’m extremely scared of the canine species, so much that I do not visit people who have pets.
I’m quite talkative by nature, but with strangers I’m usually head down and chin buried in my throat. Most people who chat with me know that!
I easily get attracted to tall guys who wear glasses, and if they are dressed in formals, tab toh sone pe suhaga!
It has been almost four years in a row and I haven’t visited a temple. Don’t ask me why, I won’t tell you that.
I have a kink of smelling books before buying them and that is quite embarrassing actually!
Enough to repel people I guess!
Now Playing:: Khuda jaane…………….KK & Shilpa
My FMORT
The clock starts ticking:
- I think knowledge about the length of these organ pipes might be an initiation into the deeper mysteries of music.
- Maybe it would help me understand Burman better.
- And boy, I’m enjoying the final year at college, and to mix with other students is an education in itself!
- Hey, I bagged the best project award this year.
- The future looks so damn bleak! Like I care?
- Of course I do, oh forget it!
- Hmmmm
- Gosh, five minutes feels like eternity!
- Sunday ho ya Monday, roz khao ande!
- Oyye balle balle!
- I really feel like singing, chak de India
- What its already time?? But I’ve jus started “thinking”!
- Bye anyway.
Stop: 05:00
No wonder, I’m pathetic at thinking!
Boy, I swear by a thousand gods that I tried to do this tag since the day I got tagged by Ravi, but as it turned out that putting across five minutes of random thoughts is really a tough job. However, I managed to do it in the physics lab today.
So what is FMORT?
FMORT, my dear readers stands for Five Minutes of Random Thoughts. And all you have to do is to follow these simple steps:
- Get an alarm/stop watch, pen and paper.
- Set the alarm to ring five minutes ten seconds later.
- Take a deep breath.
- Now, set your mind free.
- Scribble whatever comes to your mind on the paper for five minutes.
- After five minutes, tweak the scribbles into meaningful sentences.
- Post it on your blog.
The title should be ‘My FMORT’, as the objective is to popularize FMORT, so do not expand it in the title.
The first line should read ‘I’m tagged by X’, where X should be the name of the blog, from where you were tagged.
Then ask a fellow blogger to do the same and link to your post. - Now sit back and relax. You would be amazed at the speed with which FMORT spreads, that is only when you do it and start tagging others!
And I'm tagging Abhishek, Dave and Priyanka.
Happy Thinking guys!
Now Playing:: Yaad…………Shehzad Roy
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I do smoke!
On several occasions when I had tried to give it up, my struggles were overcome by counter influences. Tobacco, for some strange reasons stood in its own light. I remember the last time that I conquered and abandoned it- for a time, my success caused some remorse and a great deal of regret. I’m in love with this smoke, although it chokes me……I know I cannot breathe, it hangs heavy in my lungs…..“Strangle me” I scream and it obliges……salvation! Apart from the mere pleasure of smoking, the narcotic soothes my nerves and controls those perpetual apprehensions that seem to surround my waking life. In spite of all that he keeps inquiring, “Have you cured it, darling?” “It is hard to cure anything of smoking and ‘you’”, my usual reply greets his every enquiry!
Unhealthiness, my dear readers is highly contagious. You cannot be in contact with those who are in a morbid state without yourselves deteriorating. Expect no healthy conclusions from me this month, reader; I can offer you only a sick woman’s dreams!
Now Playing:: Tu hi re………….Bombay
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