i want to climb into a big box and stay on top of the wardrobe forever.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
did two things i wanted to do with all my heart. one was to watch MI3 and the other was to bake a devil's food cake. tom cruise is superawesome. yes, he IS indeed the male answer to jolie and wins hands down anyday. scientology and leaping on the couch notwithstanding, he is the ultimate pin-up material. though typing this sentence makes me feel a wee bit disloyal towards george clooney (why, i always wanted to fit in).
i had to wake up obscenely early, go without my coffee and was in a horrible mood. called a not-so-deserving friend a bloody stupid fuck for no good reason and boiled in the heat, getting elbowed by half of calcutta who were gleaming, dazzling and tinkling in loud attires that had no business being out of the wardrobe on a sunday morning at 9:30 with the humidity upto the 90's. but the movie made up for most of it. also, being misinformed by well-meaning souls, i kept expecting to see tom cruise die in the first half. so things were super tense for me, while friends who did not have that insider knowledge were relatively chilled, except when they spotted their mobile phone on the screen and had to be restrained by force and later disowned for the emotional outbursts that occurred more than once.
later, i also managed to handle two consecutive lunches, get a ninety minute nap with my mouth open - 3 inches i'm told, and baked a cake from scratch in 25 minutes flat. knowing that i can still bake makes me feel smug
i had to wake up obscenely early, go without my coffee and was in a horrible mood. called a not-so-deserving friend a bloody stupid fuck for no good reason and boiled in the heat, getting elbowed by half of calcutta who were gleaming, dazzling and tinkling in loud attires that had no business being out of the wardrobe on a sunday morning at 9:30 with the humidity upto the 90's. but the movie made up for most of it. also, being misinformed by well-meaning souls, i kept expecting to see tom cruise die in the first half. so things were super tense for me, while friends who did not have that insider knowledge were relatively chilled, except when they spotted their mobile phone on the screen and had to be restrained by force and later disowned for the emotional outbursts that occurred more than once.
later, i also managed to handle two consecutive lunches, get a ninety minute nap with my mouth open - 3 inches i'm told, and baked a cake from scratch in 25 minutes flat. knowing that i can still bake makes me feel smug
Friday, June 16, 2006
perfect friday. came home early, had dinner, ondaatje in the basket, not too tired and its raining. life's blissful. braindead freaks and unimaginative morons with goatee, ponytail AND celluloid framed specs may have ruined my day and will possibly pull a repeat performace tomorrow, but right now i am winning.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
i have stopped being a cigarette slut. i just can't smoke other brands of cigarettes - no matter how good. makes me slightly sad thinking of all the fun i may be missing out on. and this streak of commitment shows itself at a time when i no longer smoke more than two cigarettes a day. some days its down to one.
going downstairs for a smoke at two in the afternoon is downright hazardous. walking across to the other side of the road felt like i was swimming through fire. watching fat marwari ladies in magenta and lime green saris made me feel like someone was putting hot skewers through my eyeballs. they reciprocated the feeling with heartfelt enthusiasm.
someday i'll quit smoking entirely and use cigarettes solely for sticking the lit ends into people. when i'm done with them, i'll make them eat the filters.
going downstairs for a smoke at two in the afternoon is downright hazardous. walking across to the other side of the road felt like i was swimming through fire. watching fat marwari ladies in magenta and lime green saris made me feel like someone was putting hot skewers through my eyeballs. they reciprocated the feeling with heartfelt enthusiasm.
someday i'll quit smoking entirely and use cigarettes solely for sticking the lit ends into people. when i'm done with them, i'll make them eat the filters.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
a day for you
its one of those grey afternoons. the sky seems too low and every noise very sharp against a backdrop of stark silence. not that there is much noise to start with, even the birds have gone quiet.
there is a small park in the square, off a little chapel. some people go inside. somehow the dark silence within is not too welcoming. the park has old fashioned carved wooden benches. on top of a small hillock in the park there is a tiny enclosed look-out point that offers a view of the lake. very still this morning.
suddenly the sky seems to come and kiss the ground. it starts snowing. powdery droplets turn into feathery flakes and then the wind turns harsher and the snow gritty. it feels like a sharp point of pain against the skin, but the cold numbs it out fast. the flower barrow packs up. in its hurry it leaves a few carnations strewn in the ground. the bright flowers lying uncared for and half covered in snow look tragically brave.
there is an ancient italian cafe across the street. instead of a deli it comes with a bookstore. the interiors are darkwood and not well-lit, there is a strange flickering glow inside, but not much light to be see. the wooden door with brass knockers seem austere but inviting. there is actually a log-fire roaring inside. but the armchairs by the baywindow overlooking the street are too far from it. the coffeetables are set heavy with browser's selections . the cafe is cold enough - the fire seeems to create a visual imagery , but not much savage warmth. but the respite from the lashing wind is more than enough. the christmasy smell of freshly roasted coffee beans, cinnamon and nutmeg waft in. the promise of comfort and an unclaimed afternoon knows how to work its charm.
the grey gradually turns to a deep purple twilight before giving in to inky darkness. the snowing has stopped, but the cobbled stones paving the street are completely covered in white. the biting cold is turning it into ice, beautifully translucent, but dangerous. stray lights and people are now to be seen, voices and music drift in. turning the corner there is a a group of people , wonderfully alive, playing on an odd assortment of instruments. not so young anymore, but not old enough to fade into the background. they sell music, two minutes of unmeasured conversation, and mulled wine over an open fire. they strike a jarring note against the bleak night.
the wind has died down and it has stopped snowing. the cold is ruthless now. it is an unhurried, passive chill that reaches to the core. but that sharpness also has a cleansing quality. with each breath that burns itself down the throat, the system gets rinsed. with a startling clarity of vision, a tomorrow is seen - one that takes away a bit farther and then quite some way far. seems the only way to go.
there is a small park in the square, off a little chapel. some people go inside. somehow the dark silence within is not too welcoming. the park has old fashioned carved wooden benches. on top of a small hillock in the park there is a tiny enclosed look-out point that offers a view of the lake. very still this morning.
suddenly the sky seems to come and kiss the ground. it starts snowing. powdery droplets turn into feathery flakes and then the wind turns harsher and the snow gritty. it feels like a sharp point of pain against the skin, but the cold numbs it out fast. the flower barrow packs up. in its hurry it leaves a few carnations strewn in the ground. the bright flowers lying uncared for and half covered in snow look tragically brave.
there is an ancient italian cafe across the street. instead of a deli it comes with a bookstore. the interiors are darkwood and not well-lit, there is a strange flickering glow inside, but not much light to be see. the wooden door with brass knockers seem austere but inviting. there is actually a log-fire roaring inside. but the armchairs by the baywindow overlooking the street are too far from it. the coffeetables are set heavy with browser's selections . the cafe is cold enough - the fire seeems to create a visual imagery , but not much savage warmth. but the respite from the lashing wind is more than enough. the christmasy smell of freshly roasted coffee beans, cinnamon and nutmeg waft in. the promise of comfort and an unclaimed afternoon knows how to work its charm.
the grey gradually turns to a deep purple twilight before giving in to inky darkness. the snowing has stopped, but the cobbled stones paving the street are completely covered in white. the biting cold is turning it into ice, beautifully translucent, but dangerous. stray lights and people are now to be seen, voices and music drift in. turning the corner there is a a group of people , wonderfully alive, playing on an odd assortment of instruments. not so young anymore, but not old enough to fade into the background. they sell music, two minutes of unmeasured conversation, and mulled wine over an open fire. they strike a jarring note against the bleak night.
the wind has died down and it has stopped snowing. the cold is ruthless now. it is an unhurried, passive chill that reaches to the core. but that sharpness also has a cleansing quality. with each breath that burns itself down the throat, the system gets rinsed. with a startling clarity of vision, a tomorrow is seen - one that takes away a bit farther and then quite some way far. seems the only way to go.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
this week has been unusually long and the weekend - though i tried my best to start it on wednesday (unsuccessfully) - unaccountably short. we went out every night of the week with religious fervour, but by general consensus sleeping it in is the best option. three sleepovers in the week has made a new convert out of me. it felt almost as good as THE vacation.
started off withR coming to town, picked momentum with the soccer world cup kickoff, reached climax with a rerun sleepover needed to check that it works in every location and without occasion. though i dodge the odd aam and fish that come my way, i'm still bengali enough to get a new tv for phootball. the occasion called for technologically not-as-retarded people coming over with chinese food, dvd's ( no mycotoxin, we did not get to watch kung-fu hustle either, everyone opted for roman holiday and i am in love with gregory peck, but more on that later). but we made the earth shattering discovery that we are now old - so old that we diss dancing in favour of playing uno (for players upto12 years, and i still didn't understand the instructions) till three in the morning.
everyone in torn t-shirts and crumpled pj's, some shared clothes giving rise to severe gender confusion to certain people who had to be convinced that their masculity was not compromised by cross-dressing (outright lie, looked like a little girl), squabbling for space, battle over remote rights, pillow talk on the profound topic of merits of a chocolate sundae, waking up to a lazy morning with friends - just what life should be like. as was pointed out by pragmatic people, if only we had an invisible cash flow.
but returning to the topic of greg peck - ooooooooooooooooooooooooooof. i'm totally besotted with him. if only men now knew how to carry a suit with such easy elegance and still be cool and be as dishy and have that dry but kind style under a veneer of confidence bordering on arrogance and, and, and ...
started off withR coming to town, picked momentum with the soccer world cup kickoff, reached climax with a rerun sleepover needed to check that it works in every location and without occasion. though i dodge the odd aam and fish that come my way, i'm still bengali enough to get a new tv for phootball. the occasion called for technologically not-as-retarded people coming over with chinese food, dvd's ( no mycotoxin, we did not get to watch kung-fu hustle either, everyone opted for roman holiday and i am in love with gregory peck, but more on that later). but we made the earth shattering discovery that we are now old - so old that we diss dancing in favour of playing uno (for players upto12 years, and i still didn't understand the instructions) till three in the morning.
everyone in torn t-shirts and crumpled pj's, some shared clothes giving rise to severe gender confusion to certain people who had to be convinced that their masculity was not compromised by cross-dressing (outright lie, looked like a little girl), squabbling for space, battle over remote rights, pillow talk on the profound topic of merits of a chocolate sundae, waking up to a lazy morning with friends - just what life should be like. as was pointed out by pragmatic people, if only we had an invisible cash flow.
but returning to the topic of greg peck - ooooooooooooooooooooooooooof. i'm totally besotted with him. if only men now knew how to carry a suit with such easy elegance and still be cool and be as dishy and have that dry but kind style under a veneer of confidence bordering on arrogance and, and, and ...
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
83% of my energy went in having to directly deal with pin-headed morons throughout the day, the rest of it went away on its own after listening to hours of overheard(involuntarily) conversation about bappi lahiri, "boyjone" and "clibhayj". now bappi may have manboobs that require a training bra for plus sizes, but surely he does not have a clibhayj?
only good part of the day, no himesh so far.
only good part of the day, no himesh so far.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
creativity possibly demands a certain degree of detachment of the self from the creative identity. the person and the artist are two different entities. the latter almost always makes its mark on the former, but the other way round probably takes away from the art. considering the fact that art in any form is created for an object outside the self, for a receptive audience however small, it is perhaps natural that art by definition is not something entirely personal. if it is, it seldom attains that level of excellence.
the exception to the rule are autobiographies; i don't know if there are parallels in other art forms. then again very few of those are great pieces of literature. and some don't fit neatly into any box. for instance garcia marquez - reading his book, it seems that the person GM writes about the writer GM.
the obsession with fudging the borders of the personal and public space is peculiarly post-modern, or maybe even post-postmodern in its origins. it is still a long wait to see if this makes a mark in the art of our times, but there is a definite trend. blog-turned-books are the most apparent ones for obvious reasons, but there are other things too. reality tv, talk shows on tv and radio constructed around bits of ones self that is put on a very public space, interactive multi media experience, people, instead of events and incidents, hogging more than their fair share of newsprint.
a question to ask here is then what part of the self is left uninvaded, unexposed, belonging solely in the personal space. by choice or by compulsion, the compartmentalization seems to be less relevant for people. incidentally, it is not art in isolation, academia seems to be affected, albeit slowly and one hopes reluctantly. the new genre in qualitative sociology and anthropology is no longer cyber ethnography. auto ethnographies are creeping in - academic exploration of a society using the individual as the unit of observation, and getting the insider view because the individual studies herself in her social context. it seems like a perverted form of self-obsession, but there are actually some arguements in favour of the methological relevance of such studies.
i wonder how many more boundaries shall i see dismantled in my lifetime. it looks like its going to be long list.
the exception to the rule are autobiographies; i don't know if there are parallels in other art forms. then again very few of those are great pieces of literature. and some don't fit neatly into any box. for instance garcia marquez - reading his book, it seems that the person GM writes about the writer GM.
the obsession with fudging the borders of the personal and public space is peculiarly post-modern, or maybe even post-postmodern in its origins. it is still a long wait to see if this makes a mark in the art of our times, but there is a definite trend. blog-turned-books are the most apparent ones for obvious reasons, but there are other things too. reality tv, talk shows on tv and radio constructed around bits of ones self that is put on a very public space, interactive multi media experience, people, instead of events and incidents, hogging more than their fair share of newsprint.
a question to ask here is then what part of the self is left uninvaded, unexposed, belonging solely in the personal space. by choice or by compulsion, the compartmentalization seems to be less relevant for people. incidentally, it is not art in isolation, academia seems to be affected, albeit slowly and one hopes reluctantly. the new genre in qualitative sociology and anthropology is no longer cyber ethnography. auto ethnographies are creeping in - academic exploration of a society using the individual as the unit of observation, and getting the insider view because the individual studies herself in her social context. it seems like a perverted form of self-obsession, but there are actually some arguements in favour of the methological relevance of such studies.
i wonder how many more boundaries shall i see dismantled in my lifetime. it looks like its going to be long list.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
it must be so wonderful to have faith. to know you have something you can always take to be true, to know there is something for which you will always be true. to have a part of you untainted by cynicism, unassailed by doubts. a part yet to be jaded and violated, a part where you always find safety instead of having to logically construct it; a sense of peace, a sense of grace lying around like a pair of old emerald earrings covered by a thin film of dust. a sudden drop of sunlight brings out a green fire and you stop to touch it.
on a different topic, the price for my soul at the moment is a jiggly-wiggly.
on a different topic, the price for my soul at the moment is a jiggly-wiggly.
Friday, May 26, 2006
ugly baby
new born babies are really, really (how do i put it in an appropriate and sensitive manner?) not always very pretty. well, some of them are, but some are DEFINITELY not. women at work were gushing over one ugly little customer on someone's desktop. i've never seen such a vision before. ok, i've seen something fairly close when my niece was born, but not quite to this extent. wrinkled skin, weird hair, peach fuzz all over, a distinct six-o clock shadow, malevolent expression and eyes that look like they've seen the world ninety-six times and none of those have been a pleasant experience.
i can put a disclaimer and say they probably grow up to win beauty contests or something, but i can't be bothered. some babies are born extremely ugly. period.
i can put a disclaimer and say they probably grow up to win beauty contests or something, but i can't be bothered. some babies are born extremely ugly. period.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
someone up there loves me
i got my drink, my evening, a wicked conversation and the blue side (and subsequently the green side) done on my rubic's cube in no time at all. a weekday evening out is so much more fun. in hindsight, i think there was some truth when they said jesus loves me!
Monday, May 22, 2006
monday ended
thought of the day, i want to be wizard bartender- the fifties hollywood kind who seemed to know what drink would suit your mood and gently place the works in front of you with all formality. when drinking was a pleasure and mixing an art. tonight i'd give me the following and rename it something totally ridiculous like Languid manipulation or Streetcar satire.
a little bit of sugar, equal parts fizzy water, soda and dry white wine; some ice, and a nice twisty peel of tangy and glistening lemon. no silly umbrellas on the top.i'd also give me an entire evening, a breezy sunset,a cool night and city lights in the distance.
a little bit of sugar, equal parts fizzy water, soda and dry white wine; some ice, and a nice twisty peel of tangy and glistening lemon. no silly umbrellas on the top.i'd also give me an entire evening, a breezy sunset,a cool night and city lights in the distance.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
hearbreak sunday
my heart gets regularly broken on sundays. this time it was Bdada's little four year old son. they'd come down from boston for a couple of weeks and he loves being here. in a single sentence he conveyed what i've tried screaming, weeping, signing, writing and thinking about. bostone gaadi, gaadi, gaadi, ekhane lok, lok, lok and burst into a delighted laughter. he said if he didn't love his mommy so much, he'd consider living with me. and gave me a butterfly kiss.
i watched the sky change colour just before dawn today. everything seemed darker than usual when i opened my eyes. i could see the outline of the tree through the window. impercetibly, the outline started filling in and i could make out the leaves - not green - but standing out as something darker greyish and gleaming against a backdrop of velvet black. and then the darkness changed itself. it became less heavy and assumed a misty character. my tree was now outlined against a purplish haze. and the faint beginnings of a green started showing. i turned my head towards the other window just in time to see a star beginning to fade. i watched and watched and the purple turned to a dirty white and suddenly an unknown shade of pink. i could not find my star anymore.
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