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.

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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.