for the first time in my life i stopped midway through buying shoes and and and... did not buy them. but then i got blue bubble tee that i am yet to make up my mind on.

this sunday i was afraid.
sunday evening i went for a jazz performance - a bunch of people - friends, friend's friends - the kind you get. all posh and cocktail-sipping "in: crowd.
the music was very good as long as they didn't try fusion. close your eyes and you could feel the breath of a hot dark summer night, with faint stars in the distance, a little leafy-smelling fire somewhere and the primal energy of the night just outside your reach. it was good jazz. and then of course it became sort of nightmarish with attempted fusion of rabindrasangeet with jazz and it took me a while to figure out that it was real and i wasn't drunk beyond redemption. it felt like being trapped in a badly made bengali art film.
that was the beginning. the group seemed to have nothing to say against the fusion, in fact considerable time was spent lauding the effort and then thankfully (at the moment) we went for dinner.
we had a round table given to us and just the way long dinners go, the people became more relaxed and started being themsleves. which wasn't altogether a good idea.
there was obese man puffed up with self-importance who thinks only people with the "right pedigree" can be successful and the riffraff can't be tolerated nor worked with; semi-normal girl on his right who thinks the sun shines out of said man and sets best in new mexico; to her right was the spoilt rich entity with the loudest voice and manners who had disrupted the performance every five minutes, who has serious issues with life, self-perception, family and other people and has no qualms sharing them with the world and its brother; across her was her cousin - old, bald, uninteresting but could be a nice man for all i know but had horrible shoes and great degree of social awkwardness; on his right was R - distressingly nomal in all moments. on my left sat the potential communal rioter and elitist friend of mine and on my right decent Oxbridge guy who practices law.
the token normal presence from people-i-don't-know-world, the guy had impeccable manners, a good conversation to him, a sense of humour, generally the mature, understated sort of a person who still manages to have a presence.
all good, except for one thing - his habit of taking his car out at night and running over stray dogs. in serious, logical, well-thought out manner.
i have never been this scared. or so i thought till the Cow asked on her way home if she should call the guy over for dinner next week and when R started spluttering, she said casually "it's ok i guess. so many people kill chicken and lambs and eat them. this is ok."

thought of the day: i am incapable of being an adult. particularly so in adult relationships. whatever form they may be in.
i cannot deal with decision- making, commitment, responsibility and of course sanity.
and THAT makes me happy, according to 99% of people i know.
except it does not and i'd really like to grow up now. if only i knew how to.
and if, actually not if, when, i hurt people, i don't mean to. sometimes, i just don't know how not to.


and unrelated to all of this, i'm very confused about some other things as well.

i didn't realise it's been this long. i'm too sleepy to do anything else and too tired to go to sleep yet.
life is not much the same. but that's all i feel like typing at the moment.

we have to keep a life journal for our spanish class. i had two pages to show this week. all the entries were about work.
the ones not directly about it spoke of things i do AT work when i'm not working.
but then again, nothing much to speak outside of it:
had another cigarette fight. which just robbed me of my pious intentions of quitting.
the sibling coming home tonight, after two years.
trying very hard not to play cradle-snatching games.
i might go to south africa. just when the race riots are in full bloom.
it's not even ten. i can't think of having to face the long day ahead.
and i feel guilty about cribbing. even on my own blog.

like looking for viagra, prozac and LSD all over the city wasn't enough. in fact, one of the med shop people looked at me and sternly said " we are not THAT kind of a shop". i told them i am not THAT kind of person, but wasn't believed. anyway, the whole enterprise got me almost on the verge of putting in my papers and THEN when i am working at finishing the whole sordid business, really close to midnight i get to explain for public benefit again the shape, size and colour of viagra. and then a carful of middle-aged people of both genders look at me, bursting from the seams with fake innocence and ask me how i know all these things and isn't it wonderful to be young.
as somebody helpfully pointed out we'd say fuck work if we already didn't have a sordidly close relationship with it.
and no, i am not THAT kind of person and i needed it for my work which, again, is not THAT kind of work.

and speaking of relationships, i need to have a dialogue with the powers that be or the power that bes.
God, WTF? i mean, WTF? you being God should know better. seriously.

anyway, that's enough of venom spewing. but there's one more bit i need to put here.
i made a compromise today. and found out how easy it is. i'd always thought that i should be honest enough with people i love. they deserve at least that much. i wasn't honest, and i told myself that i am being dishonest about the way i feel because it could save a friendship and therefore is the responsible thing to do. and that it doesn't count because i'm not hurting anybody and not done any wrong, just faking a feeling.
i am disgusted with myself.

it's been a bit long since i got the time to sit down and sift through life. not that anything major happened.
silence helped. a lot. but it doesn't necessarily make me feel better. it stops other people from feeling worse though. but that's just one minor aspect.
learnt one thing - falling out of friendship hurts as much as falling out of love.
trying to grapple with one thing - why and how you can manage to love somebody even when you don't like them
gained one thing - a new friendship which feels great at the moment.
and then on a happier note - took a short break. went to b'lore. The Friend lives there with brand new husband and the Southern Wonder dropped in. very pleasant yellow submarine kind of weekend. it almost felt sinfully good to be with people who rid you of the responsibility to think around them.
and moment of epiphanies as they arrive in the most awkward junctures - the thought crossed my mind how ridiculously happy i am for no reason and started grinning right in the middle of Important Meeting with Very Senior Person, who understandably enough wasn't as happy as i was.
sometimes i seriously amaze myself.

silence sorts many things out. many.

and my nose is still running, my ears are clogged, my bedside table is piled a foot high with antibiotics, i have to get up at six tomorrow morning and i don't want any part of tomorrow to happen. life? i'm not lovin' it right now.

i am tired. i don't care.
this is ridiculous.
i mean, will i go through the next few decades of my life feeling miserable every sunday evening, barring maybe a few?
i need a job with a three-day weekend. or independent wealth.

estoy enferma. poor baby. sniff sniff.

we've been wrestling with the problem of making didi take her appropriate medicines. it's been going on for quite some time now. she has different sets of medicines for day and night and she can't read the labels. she is illiterate...a result of having spat on her pathshala teacher at the tender yet revolutionary age of 5. and nobody's at home most of the time to sort out her daytime medication.
i got her two boxes today - she chose, ironically enough, pencil boxes. one black for night and the other one a sunflower yellow for day. she thinks this could work.
made me think. what happens to most of the rest?
will the healthcare industry ever be able to work around that one? when people don't have the language to express their ailment, the language to seek relief, the skill to access help at hand, then how can it be reached to them?
100% literacy is a distant dream, even if the scales are tilting, functional literacy as officially declared translates to the ability to scribble the semblance of a signature. what is to be done in the meantime?

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

i saw a sidey ad for Feel Good isabgul on my way to work. feel good factor now means a whole new thing to me.

privatization of currency

i used coins to pay for the subway fare and then paper money for lunch ( awesome - kirim palak and rumali roti, i want to marry you) and then i used some acebucks to buy a virtual skateboard and fluffmoney to buy virtual petfood and then i had to make my dragon chompa koli go out and hunt for some gold, so i could get it some potion as well. it is then that the thought struck me. i am sure moist von lipwig was nudging me along too.
this is going to be the future.
private currency.
there may or may not be stocks, there may or may not be international currency exchange rates, but there will be the MNC money. and everyone knows that the giant corporations spread their tentacles to own everything under the sun. so you'll have, say, a GE money which will be good for buying not only light bulbs and stuff but who knows medicines and a pack of atta as well. and then if you happen to live in a far flung place where the stores are such that MNC1 does not own the stakes, you'll need some MNC2 currency to get by. and depending on the currency you own, your chances of survival will fluctuate. if MNC1 is making profit, you're rich. if not, you're just a sad loser with a bunch of useless assets.
maybe it will be such that you'll have to drink tea because all you have is tata bucks and you finished all the cola money. you'll have to travel in an LPG powered vehicle because you can't own the big oil giant currency.
you'll live in one of the mycotoxin-mentioned MNCnagar and will be entitled to only that a certain kind of food, entertainment, essentials, or even umbrellas.
i can't stop thinking about it. the possibility seems so huge and so inevitable. why haven't they thought of it?
the mind. it boggles.

life - on a sunday evening with 7 new movies ready and waiting, two new books and a calvin and hobbes, piping hot dinner and new pillows, not to mention flannel pajamas - is blissful.

sob story 101

i am seriously depressed and for the weirdest fucking reason.
it's been weeks of putting together crappy mushy insane and boring v-day stuff together to fill up pages.
my mother, by way of introduction to a family friend described us as "elderly single ladies".
all the intelligent, smart fun women i know are getting crap . i am getting crap.
while i couldn't care less about v-day, i am putting together a singletons' dinner for 14th and 3 separate conversations with people and scrolling through my phone and mail address book reveals that i don't know any single men living in this city that i can even bring to the dinner, let's not even think dating.
i am having desperate mood swings alternating between feelings of i am immortal and i'll die alone and what will happen to my corpse.
drinking doesn't help.
ditto tripping.
tried making new friends and their tragedies seem bigger than mine.
this girl i met at someplace today says she thinks her corpse will not get time to decompose, the cat will eat her face before that.
if i die ( i can't bring myself to write when i die) my corpse will be undiscovered for months, until passersby notice the stench (my neighbours will be too old and they'll be dead by then) and the cops will come and break the door and find splotchy bits and the lizards will have eaten my eyes, the roaches and the ants most other parts and since this is india, no alsatians will be involved hopefully, but there might just be a stray cat or two.
no one will know i'm dead. no one will miss me when i'm dead.
but then again, if i'm surrounded by ten people when i die, i'll still be dead. and once dead it doesn't matter.
i actually called people and started making binding promises like if we're still single by whenever we'll move in to a commune (can't do the safety net marriage, puhleez) and got 3 people to commit. 2 women and 1 person whom for lack of my descriptive skills we'll refer to as person.
this is ridiculous. but i still feel depressed.

thirsty kya?

i am reading chitrita banerji's eating india. not spectacularly good, but a comforting book. however, all this food made me thirsty. i think one day i will drink up india and make a documentary on country liquor. i will follow it up with smoking india. but for now, i will record for my own benefit a simple lemon liqueur recipe. not quite limoncello, but quite a solid deal.
all you need is a bottle of fuel and about 6 lemons, ripe yellow ones. fuel is the best because i've been told it's the flatest one without any flavour or smell that could interfere. oh, you need sugar too.
so you need to put half a bottle of the fuel in a glass container. scrape the rind off five lemons and put the lemons in this container. after about half a day, strain the liquid into the glass bottle where you'll keep the thing. then make sugar syrup - heat a cup of sugar and a cup of water together till the liquid darkens. cool it and add to the bottle. now squeeze the remaining lemon and strain it's juice into the bottle. seal it up and park in your fridge for two weeks. serve ice cold in shot glasses with shrimps.
like anyone could really afford or even want to eat caviar. doh.

baby lizard.

finding voice

nothing earthshaking. but it took me all life to realise that being articulate, being in control of language - even one's mother tongue - is something that your socioeconomic position determines. you have to be able to buy language.
the autowallah was talking to his friend about arbitrary cases filed by the local cop. he took mentality and humanity to be synonymns. all this happening in bengali. "loktar moddhe kono manoshikota nei." he thought it derives from manush. and i was struck not by his usage, but by how easily we take our privileges granted. rather belatedly, i revisited the concept of finding voice, giving voice. i could understand finally why it is so important.

you are alive and safe. now. it could easily have been otherwise. it was going to be otherwise in the last few months.
i didn't know what to think of when i heard. then i realised i don't have to. but it still didn't matter. i thought about you and felt sad. not because of you. i don't have the capacity to be so humane at the moment, though i acknowledge that you need someone to feel sad for you and understand. but i won't do that. i don't even want to find out if i can do that.
i could only feel sad for myself. it's been a few years. i thought i had it all down, at last. but i was wrong. i was back in that space where i'd been three years ago in no time at all. i whispered another possibility goodbye.
i thought exorcising myself of you would do the trick. but i forgot the fear, the grief, the fatigue. you don't exist anymore. but the rest of it does. and it's still crowding people out.
i can't figure out if i've sinned or wronged enough or it's simply time to call for a review of my karmic scorecard.

one of these weekends i travelled on a train. just a couple of hours. but it totally messed me up
in just about the time it took me to finish reading the gossip columns and down a cha, the scene outside had gone all green and brown. it was just something else. i could see to the horizon and it was almost shocking. like my eye would take it in and do a double-take like it's not supposed to see that far. alive, shimmering greens dotted with yellow, a nice dusty winter brown lined with farrows, a piece of sky on the ground with the clouds slowly getting under the water hyacinths, and darker woods in the shades looking just the way the night does during summer when you suddenly wake up and look outside trying to remember what you were thinking before you fell asleep. it was so big, so alive. and it just felt like this is what reality is and the boxy cities are just blips that take themselves so seriously that they start existing and spreading on sheer will power.
and while i was tripping on this, i saw an engine. THE engine. red and shiny and had a pointed nose. sleek, powerful lines and a menacing air about it. i totally fell in love and i want to be an engine driver again. i just can't fathom how i could let that dream go as i grew up. my choices as a three-year old still hold good. before i die i want to be an engine driver. like that bulgarian or prussian king. he'd drive the orient express and then when people got scared of diplomatic deep shit if an accident ever happened, he was banned. he simply decreed that when the train would be inside the borders of his country he'd be the only one allowed to drive. i want that. not the country, but definitely an engine.

what is the difference between animals and humans?

what is the difference between animals and humans? somewhere, sometime i'd come across the idea that it could well lie in the human ability to imagine and engage with death. it sort of resurfaced and i can't stop obsessing.
not the ability to imagine and create love - well some animals can do that, not the ability to imagine and recreate sunsets - some primates can paint, not the ability to embrace and live life - every organism does so; but to think about the the cessation of life, to be able to imagine what death is and to arrange life around the absence of life - that is being human!
i'm seriously thinking of sending a chain mail to all the entries in my address book and ask people what they think could the actual difference be. for this, surely, can't be it. can it?

christmas heartbreaks. deja vou? perhaps. tired.
it seems like the right to remain clueless comes with a shelflife. and the best by date is coming perilously close.
light a candle for me and send a stinking rich marwari lover my way ye gods.
but on the sunny side, i got a towel and a kitkat for christmas.

i miss more than one thing, more than one place, more than one person and more that one life. my capacity to miss sometimes amazes me. i miss you. i miss me too.

my mother and uncle asked me to stop smoking for the sake of my children. i asked them, quite logically if i may say so, "what children?" they were cross. sometimes i wonder if i am the only sane person living in this entire world. probably yes.
sometimes i really feel like taking them apart to see what makes them tick. but i'd do that only if i could put them back together. even though they are very clueless.

i have become alarmingly good at lying. not even white lies. great big hulking jet black hairy ones too. and it feels so good. particularly when i convince myself to believe one or two of them.
even my normally clueless progenitor couldn't help remarking on that when he was subjected to hearing my side of a phone conversation this morning on the way to work. his work. i was cadging a lift so i could go and watch a movie. and on the way concocted 5 different lies for different categories of people. it gave me such a high.
and what's even more scary is that it's so much more of a delight when it's a lie without a reason. when it's 'just a lie'.
god save my soul, or whatever has been left shriveling inside.
but for the time being, i want to give truth a miss. it's nicer.

23 pairs of shoes last counted - but can wear only 1. and it's hideous too.
but that's not the real issue.
in the last few months 7 people quit from work. i am quite tired going through repeated cycles of separation anxiety. one subsides only to let the next one begin in an even more vicious note. it was especially bad today, because P left yesterday. she was a friend.
and i am even more pissed because she was my smoking buddy. and it's not really that big a sceret that women need their smoking buddies even more than the restroom buddies. they are needed too, but the smoking buddy is a different thing altogether.
particularly in our delightful little shady alley where you get spare motor parts, roti tadka, overripe fruit, great chinese food, butter-and-pepper-and-sugar toast, chhamiya dance after 6 and raw rum in a kerosene can after 11, the smoking buddy is your fellow trooper protecting democracy.
they help you stake out your claim on the particular little corner just right of the parked amby, point out which particular brother of the panwallah is stingy about lighter fuel, what exactly to scribble on the flat brown paper bit torn out of a carton on which somebody has written KNOT SMOKING, how to lock eyes and smile engagingly at the irate mothers walking past with the kids and the special strategy you need to whip out for marwari matrons. they also let you have that 5 minutes of zoning out, lend a willing ear and almost always sage advice (except when it comes to fashion), a cup of coffee or tea and a bite of whatever it is and pre-order your two o clock smoke for you before giving an irate call. they also lend credence to the truism that the inside stories are actually the ones you get outside the office.
anyhoo, the new recruit is frighteningly proper, has a health food fetish and gaped open mouthed at the rogues'gallery when she came in to pick up her letter. the hideous-one-we're-hearing-rumours-about does all that and more and the third-one-whom-everyone-can remember-but-can't-quite-place is supposed to be mental. november is going to be interesting.

why the break? because i can.
and other stuff too, but this makes me sound cooler.
this apart, if you wish on a fallen eyelash and then rediscover it in a few seconds and wish on it a second time, does it work? blowing hard may get you some wonderful results otherwise - but when it comes to acts of faith does it work?
which begs the question, if the blowing hard involves monogamous, exclusive partners then can that kind of blowing be termed as an act of faith too? whatever.
this is the reason why this space needs to be pristine and blank.

sunny afternoon, pink evening sky, stars on a velvety dark night after a long time. yet, i have a rainy day inside me.

the progenitor counted three reasons to feel macho. top of the list - near death experience, tied for second place - the skull cup of bandages to cover up his split head which makes him feel like a gangsta thug and the shaved chest which makes him feel like a "classier" salman khan.
so far he's cribbed about the diet, the tv remote, the poor little resident medical thingy's lack of fashion sense, the tea - make that thrice, chinese food (unconnected, but that doesn't stop him) and life in general.
if my mother doesn't go to work tomorrow, he might just get into a situation that's even more life-threatening. so far i've been lying about visiting hours being shorter than they actually are. but she got the full blast today and passions ran high. blazing eyes, gnashing teeth, monosyllables and the whole works. well there were polysyllables too, but necessarily contained to the sibilant variety.
god, or anybody else, help.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

alone. scared.
very.

every day i live in fear of someone asking me the simple question "what perfume are you wearing?" i either duck my head and pretend not to have heard the question at all or i look blankly and pretend i have forgotten it's name. this blasted thing is going to see me dragged to the hr bitch one of these days and heavens help me, there's worse fate yet if the khaki and the navy and the charcoal dorks think i'm coming on to them collectively.
my new perfume's called:
that breathtaking moment when the heart stands still.

i've been having very morbidly fascinating dreams lately. the latest seems to be series - a story unfolding in my dreamscape.
i woke up very sad the other day and when i tried to figure out why, i remembered that dead people had to wanted to talk to me desperately. their desperation was still almost palpable. i knew they were dead. i knew they wanted to talk to me. but they couldn't. i couldn't understand what they were saying. but they seemed to be very sad. and i was sad for them.
probably because i couldn't stop thinking about it, i dreamt of a conversation with these same dead people again. except, i couldn't remember what it was about and had a feeling that even in my dream i knew i'd not be able to recall it, once i get out of the dream.
but i want to.
it is strange to be waiting for an unknown moment, for a largely unknown state of mind, for unknown, unalive people, for a conversation to happen about an unknown topic. but at the moment, it seems eerily urgent.

i have thrown up seventeen times. S said "she's feeling slightly nauseous".

oxy has put herself in a position where she has to choose between being a good friend and being a good person and both choices yield damage. major damage. what is scary that it is a pretty black and white situation with just one logical option. yet, oxyacetelyne thought there is a choice to be made here.
this one slip is going to be a heartbreaking mistake.
no matter how i look at it, i can't help feeling like a base person.

for all of three and a half days this week, i got to live in my yellow submarine. coming back to surface is something i didn't like, i hadn't quite anticipated the extent of which. but i did come away a little richer, knowing my friends - old and new - better, knowing how strong they are. i also came back with reinforcements for my long-held belief in what goes towards building my own yellow submarine.
mine differs from yours, yours differs from the next person's, but it is very necessary that you have your own submarine and refuse to let it go. even when it hurts to fight for it. even when it hurts people you are fighting for. it is very strange, but the only people who you can hurt are the people you care for. the chaff doesn't matter. you don't need to convince the chaff, you don't need to win them over, you don't need to agonise over being heard and understood. the heartache is meant only for people whose hearts you care for. but you still have to do it, don't you?
for, a life without an yellow submarine is surely not worth living.

colours of the day : pink, yellow and grey, sunny, green, KFC red, white, grey, steel grey, black.
i watched the clouds closing in, the rains coming to a distant hill, sending the storm our way and then lashing rains coming out of nowhere. the first raindrops of the season on an upturned face, feeling the wetness on the tips of your fingers, piercing rain that soaks through your skin like mini-shafts of happiness - could you have enough of it?

the tiger came again last night. not the dusty, tan sort of tiger, but a bright lemon yellow and jet black one, much like the ones that used to be on the cover of camel water colours. it had come into the house and i tried to shoo it away with some gardening tool and when it backed into the staircase, we shut the door and called the police. the irritating policeman (with a moustache) refused to believe that a tiger could come into a house in the city and i was extremely frustrated. for i could also sense how unbelievable it was, but it had happened.
then i don't remember much, but i was in my (another) white and dark blue and darkwood house with a big kitchen and glass windows and a garden. i knew if i went out through the door i'd get to the backyard which overlooks the sea. but i had to give them water first. it was very sunny oustide.
i woke up feeling terribly tired today.

it's not funny. i am dying. how can this cause so much mirth amongst so many different people? if i die, i'll come back and haunt everyone with a vengeance, i swear. today i produced multicoloured snot, copius enough to equal in snot-litres the yearly per capita water usage of some of those strife-ridden angsty ghetto-teenager type african nation.
and my mind indeed is dead. my body craves vegetable soup. like vegetables. not two-legged, four-legged, multi-legged, multi-boned creatures. vegetables. despite my attempts at reasoning, my recalcitrant body tried to drown itself in hot slimy liquid with green, orange, yellow and limp botanical exhibits, half of which i couldn't identify. there was some mushroom, some baby corn and something that looked pale green and ribbed and crunchy to eat in it too.
but before i log off and die (with fanfare, i don't think i'm the quiet, classy exit sort today) tell me what is the difference between mind and soul?

i have fever, backache, blocked nose, sore throat, a/an yearning to be a prima donna and order about everyone in a feeble voice and see their faces light up to see they can provide me with the slightest comfort like fluffy pillows and jimmy nail numbers and something drippy and cheesy.
instead i was made to do a story ideas session with the toad who's conveniently taking time off and going to nether ends of the world with everyone and everything including the tadpole's stuffed toy.
i was also made to drink warm milk and handed out a pill that i know has an expiry date marked 2006 and told not to be paranoid.
i have a good mind to throw a tantrum. if only my throat didn't hurt so.
i am a poor baby. i am a poor little baby. oh i am soooo sick (like ill, not that kind of sick) and suffering so much. i want fawning attention, cloying sympathy, a new rubic's cube and mtv to show that sania badnam number once more.

i am tired of stonewalling people. so now i am stonewalling my blog.

my mother tried her best, but...

You Are 84% Spoiled

You are a total spoiled brat, and you're probably proud of it. You always get want you want - even if you have to whine to get it.

Are You Spoiled?

and this is not the reason why i am up till two in the morning. i just can't sleep.

confused.
it's a matter of order that i stonewall (at times, only very infrequently). if i do not stonewall, then i wriggle out of the conversation. if i do not wriggle out, then i give out the wrong impression and determinedly neutralise and distance myself.
however, when it has the desired effect, why do i end up being the unhappy party?
but that apart, vacation rocks. i think i've found my life's calling. i want to be unemployed.

georgie peorgie pudding and pie,
kissed the girls and made them cry

i was subjected to another one of those personality thingummies. and this rhyme has been playing in my head in a loop. snigger, snigger, snigger.

while i am not in the mood to ascribe any particular state of mind to myself, the following brought it as close to mellow as it could get under the present circumstances:
i ate crabs and didn't get allergies. yet.
i got a white linen tunic top that's fabulous and sets off my silver clutch to perfection. (FYI, clutch is a kind of wallet that women carry). *
i went and watched a movie. i was fed lemon butter masala corn too. however,when that mandatory idiot with irritatingly loud ringtone and louder voice simply had to take a call from whichever pathetic lifeform cares to socialise with him, i was not allowed to throw the cup or the spoon at him.** but i elbowed someone in the gut, so it all sort of balances out.

*i need new shoes. shiny silver slingbacks or matte ballet flats with the neat strap and mini-bow around ankle?
** it was quite interesting to see a friend remove his own cup and spoon with such speed and then grab mine before i could turn and for good measure, sweep up S' discarded cup as well and deposit it all on the aisle. under three seconds flat.

the toad and i had so far had a relationship that parallels a bad marriage just days before the D word has crept in. one where neither party are energized enough to call it a day. yet they fantasise about other people. wonder how life would have been if they hadn't met the other. and think. of options.
he lies. i fall for it. sometimes i see that he's lying yet i ignore it. he breaks promises, i hope there will be a next time. sometimes he keeps promises, i couldn't care less. it's an emotional drain, trying to believe one day it'll all be better. just when i reach breaking point, it does get better. and then he does an about turn with the speed of lightning.
today was the pits. i was tempted to pack it in then and there, but settled for a week off (it was a rare treat to hear him plead), wished minor disaster and major discomfort on the new bitch and walked away.
toad needs to exit my life. pronto.
is a good boss a myth?

if karma were on my speed dial 2 (#1 would obviously be shiraz for chicken biriyani) then i'd just call for a casual chat and promise to exchange my synthx Cd for something else and make him do the following to these people:
first caller today: make him listen to himself for 24 hours, non-stop and if he wants a break he gets a 3-hr detention with himesh plugged in his ears.
taxiwallah: nothing drastic, but needs a lesson so as to remember not to be so eager to please and return the loose change down to the exact rupee, just when one is spoiling for a fight
fatman: make him smell his socks, t-shirt, and general self and bottle the whiff and spray over him every half hour; consider full body waxing ( his body-hair is so lush that they have their own dandruff)
chipmunk: take away his speakers and watch him shrivel; gag and duct-tape him to the chair for four hours each day for two months
new bitch: wrap in a blanket, beat with rubber hose, administer forty pages of derrida each day and put her in the bihar polls
panwallah: heaps of money, bevy of women, any three cars of his choice and any six dreams of his coming true
random fuschia woman at three in the afternoon: two years of mandatory dressing in monochromes, make eat a large carton of charminar or some such strong stuff without water if facial expression directed at smoking junta is repeated
toad: there's nothing i can do. he's a toad. he has to live with himself. that should be enough by itself

B gave me a stepehn king. i read it. grew uncomfortable. read some more. then decided against getting out of the bed to switch off the light, because the clothesline outside on the terrace seemed too close, and there was an owl i'd never seen before. couldn't sleep with the lights on my eyes. so perversely, read on some more till i finished the library police. closed pages, turned turtle. what do you think caught my eyes? not one, not two, but three overdue books from the library - i can't find my card, it's 30 days overdue and my membership ran out on 9th march. and i lost the fourth one and can't remember what it was. mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
i wanted to think if there are any famous last words i'd like to tap on, but my inner whines are too strong to be ignored. so know what bothers me before the library police come - it's frikkin' baking outside; i have to go to work and deal with retards till ten tonight; the bloody marketing idiots have stopped supply on normal silk cuts so the bat shit purple ones catch on; S slyly gave me the a dvd marked 300 and it only has the audio track on it, i mean WTF; i am hungry; i have nothing to wear; i have to buy a thoughtful gift and birthday cake; i haven't had coffee in eight days, i can't get more than 2 cigarettes a day; i have to take a shower that's scalding hot; i have to make my bed; i have been banned by the local dvd rentalwallah; i am late and i hate 90% of the people i interact with on a daily basis. some days, i hate all of them. particularly the ones with less facial hair than me.

have you seen people disintegrate piece by piece? have you seen people give up bit by bit, every minute? have you seen them lose what's left of the human they once were, in a constant, gradual process that never reverses? have you seen people lose their last shred of sanity? have you seen people abandoning the last touch with love? have you wondered whether there's a difference between the person and the personality dying? have you waited, watching on, wondering when it'll be your turn to join the ranks?
there's book out on the sale racks, dwelves on how many people will cry when you die. have you ever wondered about the answer? have you ever wished and wished it would be a null set, so you don't have to be so watchful, so vigilant, so guilty all the time?

what is the right way - do you express your fears for someone you love or do you express your hopes for them? why does it all seem like the wrong answer no matter how carefully you think it over?

i need new clothes, new shoes and those metallic bags, two weeks off from work, a windfall gain in six figures, a decline in temperatures by at least seven degrees and several things more that i decline to post here.

"due to technical problems, the light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off."

no. i haven't gone over the other side. i also bought a tom holt and a madhur jaffrey cookbook.
i bought a cookbook.
i. a cookbook.
i. cook.
i ...

We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

there should be a ban on old dead poets.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

(disclaimer: nothing topical, just found the dusty volume. there is something about neruda that makes you want to share what you read.)

it was a shame waking up to the headlines today. it was a shame realising there's no recourse. it was a shame to acknowledge that this carnage over land-acquisition is still a non-issue to the average citizen. we are apathetic, amoral, apolitical creatures who just exist, feeding on the benefits that passivity throws our way. it makes my blood boil to think that this incident too will go unrectified. there is absolutely no meaning to the word justice.
the muzzled bitch whose owner feeds on scraps thrown his way by the reds will go to work today and comment on the style quotient of giordamo watches. and will she gnaw at the muzzle? hell no. comfort comes first.

it's going to be a horribe day. just you see.

it's monday tomorrow. life is so unfair. moan, moan, whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
i think they shortchange us on at least a couple of hours on sundays.

as usual my retardation comes to the fore. in case you're wondering, i tried my hand at global warming, then moved on to HIV and finally thought i might get the badge right if i support the cause of music. you can't say i'm picky about extending my supoort. all i need is a cause. and if i'm pushed i can believe in as many as six and that too before breakfast or after a vegetarian dinner, as it is.

| Get your own badge!

on second thoughts, its becoming more common for me to dream without images. i wonder what that means. the last dream i recall was this vision of a dark night and a pond beyond a church or a chapel. i was scared that my brother had drowned. but then i saw that the two of us going into a distant graveyard to find the man who tells stories to the dead. it seemed very urgent to find that man. did he have a story to tell us? probably not, we were both alive or so it seemed.
when i called him next morning, he listened solemnly and copyrighted the idea arguing that the dream would be nothing without his "starring role". he's going to write a very difficult-to-understand-and-hence-critique novella on the storyteller of the dead.

i dreamt of a smell again. i smelt that wood and sulphur smell of a fire lighting up. then i woke up. i switched on the light and could only smell the bud of beli on the side table. now i can't go back to sleep.

the hat fell into the sewers.
the cat and the hat discovered something fascinating (which is a state of mind when you think something is so interesting that you can't stop thinking about it, but preferably it shouldn't be something like dorritos or red crayons). the gardener was telling the cook that in new york, where the angry bearded man who regularly smashed up his old fiat had moved to, huge alligators live in the sewers and have a parallel city under the city.
now neither the cat nor the hat knew what an alligator was but it sounded like they could be some glamorous golden-scaled, rainbow-winged magical creatures. they were actually thinking about a dragon, but they didn't know that since both of them are very ignorant about certain zoological and mythical facts.
the two of them raced excitedly to the spider who was in the middle of a deep conversation with the crow. all the conversations between the spider and the crow tended to be deep. the crow was very intelligent and got very angry if people failed to recognize that. in order to keep his BP down, he devised the strategy of talking on intelligent-sounding things so that no-one would slip up and consequently make him angry. the cat and the hat sometimes thought the crow made no sense, but kept quiet since they didn't want to hurt the spider.
now the crow and the spider were talking about alphabets that sounded complicated like SEBI and SEZ and whatnot. so the hat and the cat grinned and waved and left without saying anything. it was really a pity because if they stopped to talk, they'd hear about urban legends and a lot of the trouble that followed would be spared.
the cat raced straight to the back gate that led to road and took up position on top of the sewers and the hat who didn't like being the second bravest (actually neither of them were very brave but didn't like to admit it) ran right after and peered underneath the iron sewers. that's when the bat came swooping down to see what the fuss was all about and the startled hat fell right in.
the cat and the bat were both stunned. then the bat started laughing and the cat started yelling. it went round and round the sewers, alternately yelling at the bat and screaming down to the hat. now the hat was very scared. it was very dark and smelly down in there and the hat could hear scraping noises, which could be alligators that suddenly didn't seem all that glamorous to encounter in a dank hole with no way out. and when it heard the cat making all that fuss, it became a bit more scared. after a lot of yelling back and forth, they decided that the spider needed to be called. the hat wanted the bat to go fetch the spider and the cat to stay. the cat didn't trust the bat and wanted to go on its own. the bat was a bit hurt, but it was also feeling a bit scared for the hat. so it agreed to what the cat said and stayed back. but that didn't stop it from looking down the sewers and making faces at the poor hat.
the spider came running along. though it did take some time to tick off the cat and the hat and point out that alligators do not live in sewers and nor are they particularly glamorous or magical. (it was wrong of course, but you can't expect a spider to know everything). it quickly spun a web and went down to talk to the hat and calm it down. the hat acquiesced and settled down to wait quietly. it also spent some time thinking how much better the spider was than toby maguire.
then the spider called out to the crow. the crow was smirking nastily all the while. it came dragging it's feet and a thin branch from the lemon tree. it held the branch on its beak and lowered it down the sewer. the spider helped the hat to get hold of one end of it and the cat helped the crow to pull it back up. finally, the hat was rescued and before anyone could turn nasty the bat fled.
anyway tired from all that excitement, the cat and the hat went to the back garden to take a nap and this time they didn't even have to count anything. they just fell asleep as soon as they closed their eyes. but before falling asleep, the hat told the cat that it had seen a pair of beady eyes and it thought that alligators do have a small village, if not a city, down in those sewers. what neither of them knew was that it was not a village, but a small municipal town with its own elected representatives and an 8-station subway system.

my heat rashes had been complemented by flaring red allergic reaction to peanut butter (or it could be bread, i'm not sure). now i have a matching set of inflammations triggered by the holi warpaint too. i am waiting to see if the drug allergy will come forth as well. not mood altering substances, but medicines - that kind of drugs. it keeps me on tenterhooks with a tantalising display of pre-symptoms and then disappears bashfully when i sit up and take notice.
but talking of mood-altering substances, i wonder if the toad would qualify as one. till date, all it takes is the subject of person toad, let alone a mail or call or his actual presence, to cause my mood to do a nose-dive.
but completely unrelated to all this, i want a beanbag and some good chocolates and that tom holt. and i really want didi to switch off the tv. if only i (and everyone else in my family and extended family on both sides) were not so scared of her, i'd watch vh1 instead of bengali megaserials. actually, that was a bit of inverted snobbery - i'd probably watch tom and jerry. i'm not too sharp that way.

i was very disturbed about certain things for the past couple of days. mainly concerning the idea of boundaries as far as friendship is concerned.

the idea of space dominates fairly largely in all my relationships with people, so it always stresses me out if i have to do something that i percieve as an encroachment on other people's space. i usually vascillate between being a detached bystander who keeps hoping that the adult in the other person will surface and being an overly protective mother hen.
so, in order to gain a perspective on things i decided to wiki friendship. here's what they say. its the third point at the end which is a killer though.

Friendship is a term used to denote co-operative and supportive behaviour between two or more humans. This article focuses on the notion specific to interpersonal relationships. In this sense, the term connotes a relationshipknowledge, esteem, and affection. Friends will welcome each other's company and exhibit loyalty towards each other, often to the point of altruism. Their tastes will usually be similar and may converge, and they will share enjoyable activities. They will also engage in mutually helping behavior, such as exchange of advice and the sharing of hardship. A friend is someone who may often demonstrate reciprocating and reflective behaviors. Yet for many, friendship is nothing more than the trust that someone or something will not harm them. Value that is found in friendships is often the result of a friend demonstrating on a consistent basis: which involves mutual

• the tendency to desire what is best for the other.
• sympathy and empathy.
• honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth.
• mutual understanding.

it really freaks me out to find that sometimes people take me seriously.

woke up at some goddamed hour when it was still raining. vegged for two hrs trying to figure out something so insignificant that i can't bother to retrieve it from my memory now.
my neck hurts. i have an aching back. we've run out of coffee. i have committed myself to 3 holi lunches. alcohol consumption in last two weeks- nil, niccotine consumption - increasing in an upward graph that has an 85-degree incline. my teeth are going to fall out soon if i don't go for my dentist's appointment. i have to calculate my income tax AND pay it too. it's so hot that are my allergies are in three-quarter bloom ( it'll take an april to get to full bloom). my bloody wrist has a cramp. i have a grand total of fifty three rupees left. somebody's pre-empted my bid to steal that copy of tom holt. i can't take a single fucking day off till forever. the toad's gone raving mad and is blissfully unaware of it.
i don't have money, i don't have peace of mind, i don't live near a sea, i don't have flat abs or sculpted upper-arms, i don't have a single white t-shirt, i don't have a life-altering problem and while we're at it, i still don't have my own copy of the life of brian and i don't have the faintest desire to go in to work today.
though i have a very rare personality, i feel like shit. no, seriously.
and someone tell me, why the fuck should a label for this post be either scooter or vacation? dickheads.

no i am not a deranged person as i had point out fairly emphatically twice today, i'm just a very rare personality. FYI, this has been corroborated by blogthings

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

will somebody get me an irish flag? its two parts creme de menthe, two parts bailey’s and one part brandy. pretty simple.
but life has a way of denying simple wants.
now if i had wanted a happy ending to a love pentagon with an odd homosexual thrown in or the miraculous overhaul of the kenyan infrastructure or a film where tushar kapoor finally learns to act or a consensus on the kiyoto protocol or maybe an applicatory study on world bank data using a probit analysis model - that would have been a different story.
but my yahoo horoscope did tell me to follow my mood. an irish flag would have been sooooo convenient rather than going out to find a victim whose limbs i can hack off with a blunt saw, whose ribcage i can break with a hockey stick, whose head i can mash up like stoneman, who i can then put on an anthill and then later maybe douse with petrol and set to fire. and while i am doing all this, the victim can listen to himesh or crazy kiya re on walkman. i'd expect it to bring it's own of course. i can't seriously be expected to provide all the entertainment, i am sure.

a day is just another thing to get through - some cheesy line from a 90's movie keeps playing in a loop in my head. 3 things about my day stand out -
suddenly remembering perks of being a wallflower, snooping around facebook and finally watching borat.
the rest of it was stuff that might have saved itself the bother of happening at all. i wonder if real people ask each other how their day went. must try it on somebody deserving.

my spam mails and i have had a very fulfilling relationship. low-maintenance and relaxed, not inducing wild passion maybe, but tuned highly to my needs.
like when i hit rock bottom, spam always gave me mails from the nigerian lawyer who wanted me to inherit a million dollars. when my grades were slipping, spam gave me mails from online institutions that promised to make a competent psychiatrist out of me. there were also extremely supportive mails to assure me that my penile dimensions could be magnified (though how spam knew it needed magnifying is a wonder still, i am not THAT sort of a girl). it was a peaceful co-existence. of late, it has been entirely concerned with the libidinous aspects of me. but i treated that as a part of being in this close a relationship.
but today, the subject line in my spam has started reading liposuction instead of libido. i think the best by date has gone by for this relationship.
sigh.

allergic reactions, anti-allergy pills that make me hyperactive instead of sleepy, co-workers (of both genders) with fascinating degrees of obsession with facial hair styling, incessant drizzle, a million bucks in overdue library fines, a ban from local dvd rental people, valentine's day crap sprouting out of everywhere including a sanitary-ware shop and i'm not fucking kidding,switching over to milds from silk cuts and being proven wrong there, autos and fm radios, reading dalrymple and not being able to take a week off to go on a walking tour of delhi, flashing(unknowingly) my blue underwear to diners at kfc on sunday, three grey hairs, residual memories, stolen lighter and three glitter pens, lost copy of the memories of my melancholy whore, toad, toad again, toad one time more - and a few more things make for my current grouse.
not necessarily in this order though. the magnitude of the contribution of each of these factors fluctuate.
one day if i can manage to wake up very early, i'll walk out and keep walking till i get to the sea. but if i get hungry, i'll come back home and eat a pb&j sandwich. then i'll start out on my getting lost for life mission once more.

i think i did something very horrible to the comments settings of this blog. but i think i've set it right now. i wish though communication was still a simple thing like when you'd get out of the house after spending 15 minutes trying to get the latch to open, go and yell for someone below their window, put your point across and head back with a sense of job well done.
anyhoo, what is not be is not to be.
meanwhile, i live my life or just experience fragments of it that jut out like shards of pottery from amidst stretches of muddy chaos.

A sentimental blues
Will wet your eye
You wonder why
You heave a sigh
You start to cry
Each time that you
Hear these blues

i cried for an hour. then i realised the futility of choosing to feel sad instead of angry. then i cried some more.
its raining outside. round drops of rain suddenly find themselves squashed flat against the pane. they make a soft pop. grey days and wet winter nights make me feel very lost.

i got a miles davis cd and an italian movie. and the normal quota of existential blues and random flak and tummy cramps.
and i finally confessed that i'd always liked madonna, oh the relief of getting that off my chest and then laughed hysterically when chipmunk told us he likes kenny rogers. hee hee har har. BUT what i haven't told anyone is that i kind of liked paris hilton's thing too.
i hate the thought of tomorrow and day after , but of course not sunday, and most definitely monday. once that is over, i'll have a whole new week to hate. but there's always zoning out.
in the meanwhile, as an oasis of constancy in my life, my irritation with the weather continues. my next home will be somewhere that has a decent winter, maybe a couple of weeks of snow (only if there is central heating) and a coffeeshop at the end of the block and a pub with reliable grub for sunday mornings. proximity to sea is optional. if i can afford the home, then i'd bloody well be able to afford a beach holiday now and then. i hate seeing people dress up in 13 layers of mismatched clothing in this pathetic excuse for a winter, hah, winter, that the weather gods or the scary schizoids at alipore weather office has thrown in calcutta's way.
there was actually a man who wore a cable-knot sweater AND a fleece-lined parka walking by the office. he stared at my cigarette, i stared at his outfit. eyeball for fucking eyeball man before the heat makes the fluid evaporate and the shrivelled eye falls off the socket i thought. but then the paper truck came and spoilt my view.

2006 - emotional rollercoaster. utterly exhausting, yet extremely enriching.
2007 - have a feeling is going to be even more eventful. omegawd!
only baggage carried over from last year - a sense of well-being which is also intimately connected to people who i'm learning each day are hard to lose.
and this new year's eve - no i didn't get my 16 hrs uninterrupted sleep despite manic manipulations, but it was a night memorable for its intensity if not anything else.

on the wishlist - more time, more travel, more music, longer winter, more letting in, more getting in, less of aishwaya rai, vast quantities of sketchpens and sequinned slippers, more nicotine (yeah i wanna smoke, i won't quit, i won't even pretend to want to quit, so there, what can you do?)

how can two little bits of roshomalai makes me throw up 6 times? there should a sense of proportion in things. and the next person who nudges a notun gurer shondesh my way will get a serving spoon jammed down their throat.
no presents today, smoking medium high, bullied people, million people to visit tomorrow and a million and one things waiting on monday. if i can't discard my life and get another one, then the least the world owes me is a spare clone kind of person to live parts of it for me.
i'd send the stupid clone to work and visit people and run errands and i'd stay at home, lazing in the sun on my favourite arm-chair and listen to old-fashioned acid rock. i'd read a fashion-magazine and eat grapes too, just to complete things, but i don't like the latter and the former would be too much like work.

this is unfrikkinbelievable. i sat up and made my calculations. i had an unbroken 22 day stint of getting presents every single day !!! and everything so far has been stuff i absolutely like, which is not a very usual occurrence when random people give you things. not that i'd ever concede that a normal existence is not traumatic, but this part of my life ... i'm lovvin' it.
today's booty: orange-pink cotton top, one asterix, rod stewart cd.

who do you give yourself to?
not in the virgin sacrifice kind of way, but really who do you give yourself to?
do you give yourself to you, keeping the rest of world at bay, keeping you safe and maybe lonely, a bit cold?
do you give yourself to a few, letting go in spurts, feeling warm in sporradic bursts of animosity?
do you give yourself to everything on the canvas - the causes you support, the vices you nurture, the friends you miss, the lovers you don't understand, the person at the other end of the wires, the person who's cut off all the wires, the dead and the living, the sunny mornings and warm water on your feet that try to balance on shifting sands, intense feelings, intense absence of feelings - and watch your anger when you can't pick up the strands of your life because the yarn has been woven into a tapestry you don't know how to unravel?
do you fight against detachment or do you fight for it?

i want a largish cardboard box or one half of a sewerage pipe where i can put up a blue plastic sheet and stay undisturbed and out of the world's way.

- god
-yeah?
- perform a miracle.
- fuck off.
- no, seriously.
- yeah, seriously, fuck off .
- like hell. you fuck off.
- oh ok. cool. seeya.

even prayer has lost its power these days.

colour code for the day: navy blue and blood red.
what the fuck is wrong with me?

bright, nice, sunny day; clear skies; black and green butterflies; feeling like a jellybean (waking up at six thirtyseven tsk); the easy-chair by the window nicely toasted by the morning sun.
i need to find a good reason why i have to go work today.
i also need to find a shirt, a pair of red socks, thirty bucks, my keys and somebody who'll give me something to eat.

meebo isn't working, the ym never did work on this piece of junk. whenever i type my id in, it is showing up as already logged in or invalid password. i can't even open my mail. it shows the same bloody thing.
and i have to go back to work tomorrow and i exhausted my week's quota of tantrums in one evening.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhhhhhh. pox on your polly, fate.

coffee, music, lunch, nap, tantrum, pizza, beer, music, sleepover and a repeat of the sequence today. taking two days off is so blissful. taking two days off when everyone else is on leave too - heavenly.
i heart mew.

i missed my chance today.
at the park street signals one of the urchins came and demanded two rupees. he assured me that by giving the money i would ensure that i'd get married or at least make lots of money in near future. but despite having control of my destiny, i could do nothing about it since the lights changed and the moron of a taxiwallah sped to overtake a scorpio.
when i'm old, single and penniless, i'll remember to put a curse on the driver of taxi number 8235 and the cop that was manning the signals on park street at 7:45 on 11th november, 2006.
just you wait.

amader barite mistiri eshchhilo

i live in an orange and white house now, as opposed to the gritty-greyish-creamish-pinkish-can'tidentify and lightgreen-that-was-once-pink house. you see, the workmen came calling.
i didn't know that my dreams were portent of something. now after sharing bed, clothes, bathroom and every waking minute in the house with an extremely large number of members of the extended family, i feel that i should have known.i woke up one day to find three kids - two skinny and one fat - scraping the wall outside my room. as soon as i glared at them they stopped scraping and started putting a scaffold up. i stomped downstairs to find out that these were our latest houseguests.
the progenitor's brother is getting his house constructed. now junior is a conman par excellence and generally is the sort that gets things done. he got bored of the lack of excitement that his constructions were providing and decided to infuse some change in his routine. so the paint guys were given two-hours notice and told to pack for a week (don't forget toothbrushes and a sheet each) and were brought down from some 230 km away. my kakimoni came along as well - a saving grace - she's a cook worth dying for.
junior took them on an exploratory tour around the block and my mother and aunt cooked alurdom and luchi for "the boys". suitably fortified, "the boys" started on a demolition operation. i was held up at work that first day and when i got back home at 11, i saw three beady pairs of eyes in the living-room, peering from under a heap of sheets that looked extremely familiar. the rest of the house looked like it had been hit with a bomb. and then it all began.
every morning started with the scrape of a metallic sheet against plaster and a cloud of dust. as soon as they'd hear me moving around in the room, they'd stop the scraping and freeze till i went downstairs. there, the kitchen would be a veritable warzone with suggestions flying back and forth regarding what can be done for "the boys". breakfast, lunch and dinner had to offer enough variety - since they were not at home and must be missing their mums terribly - and junior and the progenitor would be sent to the market 13 times. the fish consumption in our house alone must have done something terrible to the ecological balance. each night i'd return home to find them happily watching my telly and i'd recieve frantic phone calls in the middle of interviews with strict instructions to get bengali blockbusters with improbable names. i had to rent 5 DVDs in three days and the local CDwallah gave me a look of disdain that i'll remember for a long time when i asked for abhimanyu. it' maybe a hit philim, but it's still infradig.
then they all decided that it wasn't enough fun as it were and so invitations were sent out. our happy family was joined by five more people, with the cheerful promise that the next team was on it's way. result: we got a lurid yellow bathroom with a pink plastic mirror; a confusion regarding what my great-grandfather's real name was; eleven house guests; three visits to extended family members everyone had forgotten existed; and a great big war over the choice of colours which revealed that my father can't climb trees (o' the shame of it) and that junior's choice of friends have always been inappropriate and that my aunt is extremely scared of monkeys and that my mother had been a closet-worshipper of santoshi-maa even though she knows it was a film and there's no actual deity. her reason - you never know.
anyway "the boys" scraped and cleaned and tried to paint the house a horrible yellow before being threatened with violence. after much heated debate and barbed exchanges regarding aesthetics and artistic sensibilities, the colour for the outer walls were chosen. in a rare moment of unanimity it was decided that we're not getting any more work done and all the paint work inside can be done some other time.
much suscpicious prodding and probing got the real story out. my mother and junior had promised the boys that they'd be sent back this weekend. reason being the local club that "the boys" belong to are hosting a play with cast that's being taken from calcutta and our boys have been assigned duty at the ladies' gate on monday. it would be unpardonable to make them miss that. and of course since it's their first visit to calcutta they'd have to be shown around. so, that thankfully ruled out any more of the paint work being done. this afternoon they were driven around the city by sulky and junior. "the boys" went plane-spotting via the rajarhat highway, they went and rode the metro, they went to victoria memorial and eden gardens and strand road and millenium park and made a round of both the howrah bridges and saw nicco park as well. they were fed coffee and chicken pakoras and dinner was chicken biriyani.
"the boys" are leaving early tomorrow morning.

i dreamt of snowflakes. stinging and burning on my tongue. i dreamt of vast open spaces, except it was just knowing that there was a space. all i remember of the dream is the feeling - nothing else. not much of a dream. yet waking up from it turned it all blue.
sometimes it feels like being rinsed with that purplish liquid - a faint blue patina over the normal colours. something you can't do much about.

Your Sloth Quotient: 59%

You're definitely lazier than the average person, but you're able to live a somewhat normal life. All your life needs is a little more effort and variety, and you might see that doing hard things is actually fun!

How Much Sloth Do You Have?

i need to concentrate more on not doing things. i wanna 99%.i just wanna be the supersloth.

a gruesome next day is truly appreciated when u are obsessive and insomniac.
sometimes i surprise myself with the profoundity of my thought process.

i found an idea i like very much. pigs fly when i'm not looking. what's to stop them? i like it. the possibility makes my life seem richer.

how can it be that after more than two decades, make it two point five decades, of education and constant hammering of concepts like self-worth, security and success, my only - one and only - ambition is not to do anything, ever? read books and raise dogs and sit and do nothing. yes, that's what i want my life to look like. and i can't even feel apologetic about it. how can it be?
i live for the day - that one day - when i'll stop and do nothing. and i don't want to be all old and washed out before i do that. i want my retirement now.

i am happy at the moment. ok, this has been one of my trademark drunk as a fish lines. but this time, i am sober and i mean it. the last few weeks haven't been too great.
work, toad, tempatation to walk away, restlessness, missing things and people and places i'm not supposed to miss, guilt, weariness...
R's father passed away a couple of weeks back. it was heartbreaking to watch her deal with it. it was even worse to watch her kid brother trying to be a "man" about it. none of us knew what to do, how to make things better (like that can be done) and felt like utter failures as human beings.
this evening was different, more relaxed and pleasant.
it seems like ages have passed since i had time enough for myself. which is sad, considering all major decsions i've made in the last two years have been geared to one goal - having more time.the other day, me and the southern wonder were mourning the fact that no-one recognises the fact that wanting contentment, wanting to be just happy - no more, no less - is a legitimate ambition.
time, people i care for, time for people i care for, and a good book or hundred when i get a bit tired of them - should be quite simple actually. except its not. there's some elusive ingredient that's always missing. but not tonight.

none of our diyas survived beyond 10 minutes. of course this is all the progenitor's fault for he insisted on earthen diyas and made those wicks himself, claiming technical knowledge having watched someone do those eons ago. undaunted we took out chrismas decorations out of a blue reindeer-y box and set those up. it was hard to pick which one was more hideous - half-dying, spluttering diyas or erratic mini-berries in blue, green and yellow; that lit up in sporradic bouts. to complete the look, we added some dry-ish marigold strings too.
we tried to look suitably mournful to show solidarity with the man, but it was too frikkin' hilarious. we left him sulking. then psycho kid from the 'hood came calling to ask for help with her fireworks. told her to piss off since i'm too scared and as a result was dragged to the shop to go and get some, which R, S and psycho kid then let off with greatest glee. i sat on R's steps with her mum, my mum ( who abandoned her dreamy musings on how to make my father's life a greater misery for the rest of the evening), the other R and three cats.
we may not have had lights enough, but there was lots of laughter.after a long time.

i'm pissed. a) i'm calvin, which is unfair, considering i take my maturity and cultivate it with all seriousness, b) i pasted it like an idiot three times on the blog and now i can neither see it nor delete it, c) some idiot has been letting off crackers right below my window and it's already too dark to see who it is, d) i'm expected to light up ten thousand fucking diyas dressed in a scratchy orange silk kurta ( with blue squiggles and golden spirals in it) and be happy about it, e) someone's messed up my pc so bad that opera's about the only thing that works , so half my fun things are denied to me and f) i haven't had my cup of coffee nor my two o clock cigarette.
and if that's not enough, my mother insisits on blasting devotional kali puja songs on the tv and is laughing like a maniac not eight inches away from me.
i am getting progessively pisseder and pisseder.
i need something monumental to get in a better mood. i'll be back. i need to celebrate the return of my cyberlife with something pleasant.