MystiqueSpeak

I'm still watching.

2012-01-03T22:28:00.001+04:00

I'm in the process of learning how to shut the fuck up. Thus, I am now mostly here.

I don't promise I'm any better.

Vomit.

2011-09-01T20:21:00.000+04:00

I will vomit memories.

Words.

Things that were said.

Things in my head.

Bad poetry.

Out on paper.

I will purge.

Visions.

Moments.

Sounds.

Feelings.

Blacken, blanken.

Clean out.

Walk away, start over.

(And the paper holds it all, leather-bound.)

#DearYoungSelf

2011-08-01T22:42:00.002+04:00

That's what's trending on twitter today. These are mine.

RT @mentalexotica: #dearyoungself you are cooler than you think you are.

RT @BBlessy: #DearYoungSelf Thank you for reading everything you could get your hands on. No, really. <3

RT @BBlessy: #DearYoungSelf, Take it easy. The debauchery will come. And how.

#dearyoungself We both know you can't and won't do a science undergrad, but you're going to miss physics and math.

#dearyoungself Your parents decided never to argue in your presence. There will come a time when you'll appreciate the magnitude of this.

#dearyoungself Make exceptions to your rules.

#dearyoungself don't let anyone let you think less of yourself.

#dearyoungself Good call, quitting the IIT coaching. RT @parapraxist: #dearYoungSelf engineering, REALLY??

#dearyoungself YOU HAVE NO ISSUES YOU IDIOT. Deal with it.

#dearyoungself Always, always trust your instincts.

#dearyoungself talk to your dad more. Really.

RT @parapraxist: #dearYoungSelf nothing was really worth it. No, really.

RT @Sunneith: #dearYoungSelf Your mission: Travel to Canada. Kill Justin Bieber's dad.

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Them that I have RT'd are people you should be following, if you're on twitter. That is all.

It gets better.

2011-07-17T18:22:00.003+04:00

Azaad Bazaar shared this lovely video, and I thought I'd reshare. Because, it does get better.

Maldives: Day six

2011-06-15T21:49:00.000+04:00

My lovely blue ocean vacation is over. All different shades of blue, now only in my mind. A lovely blue bubble.
Grey bombay, here I come. Back to constant connectivity, turmoil of the mind, and everything that is opposite of peaceful.

Maldives: Day Five

2011-06-15T21:45:00.000+04:00

Hassan, the very sweet water-sports instructor, took me out for a gratis snorkeling session today, at a reef a five-minute swim away. For an hour, yes, and I saw SO much. Two turtles, many, many parrotfish, an eagle ray, clownfish, some trippy looking trigger-fish, and oh, lots more. It was all very blissful, and incredibly tiring.
I have a painful sunburn. My whole back has gone sepia.

Maldives: Day Four.

2011-06-15T21:34:00.000+04:00

Dear J,
I am sitting out on the deck of the coffee shop/bar, wearing tiny shorts and a huge top. I have in front of me a lovely goblet of coffee with Kahlua in it. The sunset is, sadly, covered by trees, and I don't want to move as I only just got my coffee. It's delicious.

J, I've been away from the internet for four whole days, which is more than has happened in a long time. I have completely dropped off the radar. No phone, no internet, nothing. Unplugged.

I only wish I could unplug my mind.

Oui, it is all erased here, by the wind and the waves, but I fear it will hit me worse than ever when I get back. But. One can't only live in fear, eh? The only connections I have right now are in my head, to people I'm writing to. Though if I want total solitude, even that's cheating.

This place, filled with couples. Of the younger ones, the women are mostly drop-dead gorgeous, and the men are, well, not. Though there are exceptions. Afternoon seems to be photoshoot time. All the bikini-clad ladies (I've only seen one one-piece swimsuit here) go posing, the men get shutter-happy. Can't help but think we'd have laughed our asses off.

Waiters here are always delighted to hear I'm Indian. They don't get many Indians here, said the waiter who collected my coffee.

Maldives: Day Three

2011-06-15T21:22:00.000+04:00

I was going to sunbathe after breakfast, but it rained. I went out, sat on a deck-chair, and glared at the sky as a raincloud smugly floated over the island, settled there, and began to piss it down. It's all windy now, and I'm sitting in the bar/coffee shop, wanting a drink (but it's barely 10am).
At least I am alone here.
I hope it's still summer in Bombay when I get back. I need me some blaze.
Ah, Bombay. The place, polar opposite of this blue-ness, has become a faint memory. But the people have not.

LET THERE BE SUN! No? Okay.

I am cloud-bathing and lady-gazing. Dammit. More drizzles. Walking on the shore, I saw two confused baby sharks and a stingray. Yes, a stingray! This is before I even got into the water.

Maldives: Day Two.

2011-06-15T21:07:00.001+04:00

(Written at breakfast)

I want to photograph all these lovely women. One who looks and walks like a supermodel, who just took her dress off outside the restaurant and sauntered off in a bustier blue bikini. She's stick-thin, and she's with a man who, honestly, resembles a potato.
Then the impossibly tall, athletic, blonde girl who just walked in. I'm sure she swims. She's one of the few non-couples here.
Too many pretty people here. Most are golden-haired. I think we're the only Indians. This particular island is no gujju family vacation spot, looks like.

Today we take a Male tour.

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(Written in evening)

Male is a small city, all narrow lanes and two-wheelers. I got myself a shark-tooth.

Dear R,
Today, I went diving. Scuba diving, with an instructor. And. It was everything you said. Visibility wasn't perfect, but still. I had to watch a video, learn how to clean the mask, equalise and regulate and then, holding an instructor very firmly by the hand, breathing deep, focusing on not panicking...down. No sound except the zombie-like (ir Darth Vader-esque) exhalation. Surrounded by the blue of a badly-made block of glass. Glide over coral. A very trippy giant clam that shut as we approached. Anemones and anemone fish. Parrotfish and angelfish. A slight dizziness. And now I am blissed out. I can hardly swim, and I went scuba diving. WOW.

Maldives: Day One.

2011-06-15T20:12:00.000+04:00

These posts have been long overdue, from the journal and photos of my week-long Maldives trip last month. I decided to make them letters instead of a random ramble. So.
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Dear J,
You'd absolutely LOVE it here. Blinding white sand, superlatively blue water, a beautiful hue even when it's cloudy. It's a teeny island. Mum was rather unnerved bu the fact that one of the walls of our shower stall in the bathroom was glass. One-way glass, but you can see the sun-deck and the ocean.

The people who are staying on this island, I have divided into three categories: Honeymooning couples, water-sport couples, retired couples. So basically, couples. I've seen only one child. I've been people-watching and swimsuit watching.

Dear N,

It's so beautiful, I wouldn't mind dying here. I really wouldn't. I'm going to put the camera to good use.

Dear A,

Here is silence. Here.

You should come here sometime. Alone. Also, the breakfast buffet had waffles.

It is going to be a week's worth of silence here. I hope it does not shatter completely when I get back to grey Bombay.

Hobby

2011-05-09T14:15:00.000+04:00

A secret? Okay, okay. If you insist.

So I was flying back to Bombay from London, a good long nine-hour flight. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows had just come out. I'd bought the book the day before and painstakingly managed to resist opening it until I got onto the plane. I gazed at the cover art for sereval minutes, running my fingers over the hard spine, and finally opened the tome as the flight took off.
Three chapters into it, the man on my right spoke.
"So, flying to Bombay, eh?"
Aha. An annoying Indian uncle trying to make new friends.
"Yes." I mutter, nose deep in my book.
"Came to visit boyfriend in London? Heh-heh."
"No." A page turns.
And so it went on, my nerves shredding finer with every word he spoke. He was even chattier after the air hostess brought him his drink. ("Oh you don't know what a patiala peg is? Arrey you've obviously never been to Delhi then. Let me pour you one?)
*****
The plane was dark. Everyone slept. Everyone except me. My reading light was the only one on, my mind was in the Ministry of Magic...
"So, you like to read?"
...and I'm snapped out of it, back in a too-small seat with no legroom.
"Obviously." Irritated fingers tap the spine of the book.
"It's a good hobby," he said, settling back into his seat.

My head snapped right to look at him for the first time, hatred in my eyes.
*****
The rest of the night went quite peacefully. I even managed to finish the book.
"He's asleep," I told an air-hostess while exiting the plane. I pointed at the uncle-ji, his head slumped down, shawl-covered. "Do wake him. I didn't have the heart to."
As I stepped out into the humid Bombay air, I inspected my book.
I'm just glad I didn't get any of his blood on it.
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Fiction. But I do loathe the word 'hobby'. Reading is not a 'hobby'. No.

How to get over writer's block.

2011-05-04T23:00:00.000+04:00

Somewhere, in the multiverse that is your mind, there is a floating graveyard. stretching out towards towards the horizon. It is a dark place, but then most graveyards are. Push open the gates, listen to them creak gloomily. Walk in.

Meander among the headstones, reading inscriptions. Here lies the first realisation of sin. There, a fallen god, long forgotten. Here are notions, ideas. What could have been, but never was. Designs, stories, machines. Concepts. A child that was never conceived, but sorely wanted. A dress pattern that didn't work, a screenplay that was never written, a movie that was never made.
Touch a gravestone. Feel its cracks. Stand before it and hear the ghost of an idea whisper your name. Take out of your pocket the notebook you always carry (you know you do). Now, with the ghost in your mind, write.

I do like my black and white.

2011-04-30T16:50:00.000+04:00

...and my beer. But not Heineken.

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I haven't written anything in almost a month. Quite frankly? I'm out of ideas. Very much so.

Halfway.

2011-04-06T23:56:00.000+04:00

One day, he finally snapped.

He was tired. Tired of trying so hard not to mope. (For other people’s sakes more than his own. If it was up to him, he’d settle into a seat with a drink and glare at the universe till the end of eternity.) Tired of being the one at parties with the blazing eyes and the sad smiles. Tired of having to remove himself from company so he didn’t upset the ones who loved and worried about him. But most of all, he could not anymore handle being around his girlfriend (he couldn’t bring himself to think of her as his ex, no, not even six months later) who

would not have him back.

So he left.

He packed everything he truly needed into a small backpack. Many books to read, a notebook to write in, a pen to write with, and music to save him. A photo of her.

He walked. For hours, days, he didn’t know. He walked till he had run out of thoughts. That was when he saw the house.

The sign on the gate said ‘Here live those whom love hath taken away’. He looked at it for a long time. Observed the quaint little garden, the empty swing, the shed. Then he entered the house.

Around a table sat people young and old, sharing stories. Memories. Remnants of souls wrung dry.

“I’m here because I can’t be anywhere else. Back there, all I think of is her, after she…she died. This is the only place I can sleep. I’ve been here so long…nothing matters anymore.” Grizzled old man, hands shaking.

“She filed for divorce. I got fed up of all the sympathy, the worried looks. Fuck that,” says another.

A photo thrown onto the table. The thrower sits in a corner, a seeming poster-child for the starved and the gender confused. “She killed herself.” Throaty voice, barely female. “She slit her wrists because her family wouldn’t let us be together. She just too the easy way out, didn’t she? Didn’t wonder what I’d have to do. What I can’t do.”

There is anger in the room. There is grief. There are memories, craved for, never to come back. There is yearning. There is love.

There is acceptance that comes only when you know everyone here’s hit bottom just as hard as you have.

He swings his bag to the floor and settles into a chair.

He’s home.

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Extra points to you if you get the 'poster-child for the starved and the gender confused' reference.

Written...a few days after the last karaoke night. Possibly for someone I'll never actually show it to.

2011-03-27T22:37:00.000+04:00

Eternity begins here.

2011-03-19T10:51:00.000+04:00

In a parallel universe of grainy monochrome, she sits on a pavement with her hair hanging over her shoulders and smoke curls escaping her parted lips.

It is raining.

Smoke winds through the raindrops, dispersing into mist.

Stub it out, throw it away.

Roll another, yes please.

She closes her eyes and puts black pen to white ruled paper.

Stringing words together like beads, thoughts flow in black inky veins from head to hand to black pen to black ink on white paper. Letters curling out to fill a page, mind and soul laid bare on paper.

Pick up the sheet. Careful, don’t spill the thoughts. Gingerly roll it all up. It’s all there. Tamp it down into a beautiful neat cylinder.

Ignite.

Inhale deeply.

She leans back and lets the smoke curl away into the rain.

It’s the only high worth having.

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Written a month an a half ago on a late night on the way home from Blue Frog, with The Doors curling into my brain. Putting it up now because I have nothing else.

It's been a while, I know. Tonight, I'm flying from one furnace-like city to another. Again, mental disconnect from place, from most people, from everything. Lie on a beach, map out my brain. Shoot, run, lie on cold tile and pester my cats for some love.

Girls.

2011-03-08T22:55:00.000+04:00

Young, old, and whatever lies in between.

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Side note: Technology has begun to irritate me. My Sandman files (yes, I only just started reading it) won't open in Comical for some reason. I am going to retreat into paper and printed word and new-book smell. Or old-book smell. And the feel of rough paper and the sound a page makes when it turns.

Retreat into film and photos I can smooth my fingers over, and clear crisp monochrome without the confusion of colour.

Retreat. Regress.

2011-02-18T01:34:00.000+04:00

I think in images now, it seems, more than words. I have written, yes, but I'm not ready for it to be up here yet. Maybe someday. Soon.

Hello, taken on the morning where I didn't bother sleeping at night. I'd forgotten what 8am looked like.

Until the words come back, there's always the image.

Morning.

2011-02-07T17:06:00.001+04:00

It is the most beautiful feeling in the world to walk, oblivious of time and space. Plugged into music (The Doors), with a camera, by your side, watching the city wake up. Capture, in monochrome. Drink some chai. Walk. Grin as the music curls and hits the sides of your mind.

For those who haven't already read it

2011-01-31T21:33:00.002+04:00

An article titled Worse than a daughter's death, about the Aarushi Talwar murder case. In the five or so minutes it took me to peruse this, I went from anger to outrage to a deep disgust of the Indian judiciary system. Maybe not the system, per se, but the administration of it, definitely. The rampant corruption. The absolute fucking inability to think. People who just WILL not think.

Please do read and opine.

Monochrome.

2011-01-17T21:28:00.000+04:00

Some things just look better in black and white.

And shades of grey.

Uncomplicated.

Escape.

2011-01-07T16:15:00.000+04:00

Disconnect.

To a place where you don't seem to need the constant hum of the internet. To a place that you don't want to escape from. To brightness, to lightness. To quietness.
To books.

To life, as it were.

It's just so much easier when you're not in a city that seems grey, bogged down, and buzzing.
The challenge is to make it easy, wherever I am.

2010 in my head.

2010-12-30T11:57:00.000+04:00

I just said all that. But what would sum it up is, I have lived, loved, felt loved. Searched till I was made to realize I didn't need to. Learnt some lessons, hope to remember them. I don't remember forgiving (maybe I forgave and forgot) but I have had to be forgiven, ask for forgiveness, yes, more times than one. Lived and learned, in my head. Still learning, always figuring it out. Never knowing what's right, probably because nothing is. So yes, it's been an interesting year.

I can't word it very well, but, I love you people. You people who've loved me, forgiven me, surprised me, uplifted me. I even love some of you people who've made me feel like shit (for no fault of my own) and need to be clonked over the head.

Thank you.

It's not very articulate, but it is heartfelt.

What I want for myself from next year is to screw up less. With myself and with other people. Be wiser. Face up for whatever I do. And make use of the constant reminder I've now given myself.

#2010Memories

2010-12-30T11:44:00.000+04:00

I suppose it has to be done, yes? And if I must do it, I might as well do it full justice, with photos. Instead of 140 character updates on Twitter.

So we begin at the beginning. What my feeble memory discloses to me.

January begins with play rehearsals, walking around chor bazaar looking for props, and then finally, The Night of January 16th, by Ayn Rand, staged in college, on, well, the night of January....15th. Too bad. But wonderful it was.

Then there was the after-party, and all the debauchery that went with it. And then there was the re-telling of the stories, by the girl who sat curled up in a chair all night, watching everyone.

February went by in a flash, studying...er...trying to study. After the Kala Ghoda Art Festival, that is. My first. :)

February, I believe, was also when Nam and I started the writing threads. Some very awesome, creepy, and awesomely creepy things have come out of those threads. Feb was also the month of the slash. Sigh. Feb had one 70's party to its name, courtesy M, and a bboy battle event the day after, where MuSick debuts. The beginning of something big.

Exams were in March. After which I rushed home to see Chikki off...a two-night send-off, as it were. Lots of laughter. LOTS of fun. Much love for Chikki and all the boys.

Call them the LMAO nights, yes. March was also when I started the internship at The Week, in Muscat.

April blurs into the beginning of May. The internship made sure I actually woke up in the morning, as opposed to 1pm. Good fun, good work. A few movie reviews, with byline. Invictus with Sruti, Date Night, with Nam as company, and of course, Clash of the Titans. Nam, Liz, Vee. The brus. Slushkaz!!

Camping on the beach with the parents. Calm, serene. Lazing with the cats at home. Hanging out with Aarushi.

May was, well, Singapore! Kay, Bhai, tiny shorts, MANY malls, rollerblading, Bailey's, the metro, Universal studios, HRC, yada de yada. Forgetting the camera memory card at Jurong bird park, and being caught in the rain for an hour, with pretty owls to stare at. Spectacular walks at Singapore zoo. And a final flight back home.

June and July, traipsing around college. And all the wonderful Twitter people I met. E, Piu. Ladies' Nights, Azbaz. June was a green-streaked fauxhawk and a week in Pune, July was Burger & Beer at Woodside and the fun that followed and the people I met.

July and August, I assist Annie with her MA project on Dharavi. I did more photography than assistance, really. But it was wonderful. Profoundity, opinions, a new outlook, and the best chai ever. And, of course, seeing Annie, after SO long.

August, later, was the EA bake sale, where we positively raked in the bucks. And WONDERFUL brownies!

August, also, Olio and all the fun and stress that came with it. Likla was a nice dragon.

September was when I was introduced to fire theater, with Nikhil. Mesmerising. Absolutely brilliant stuff.

Sept was also the month I got sick. Food poisoning, I say. I was down and out for two weeks. Sigh.

It's all downhill from here...October was mad study, exam mornings at CBTL with Ankiet, exams, a birthday post-exam lunch with Ankiet (his birthday, not mine), exams, and then Muscat. Lazing with the cats and dad. Chilling alone on the beach. And of course, the Canon EOS 50D and what I did with it.

Then back to Bombay with the parents. November would have been a trek in Nepal, but that got cancelled, which meant I was 'on vacation' in Bombay. Which I haven't really been since I moved here, so it was quite nice. Much roaming about the city, talking to the mother, TTS launch, and Garudmachi. Dad and I escape to the hills for two days, where I am in absolute bliss.

Also, I hit the beautiful rock-climbing wall there, attacked each face of it, and was left with beautifully sore muscles for the next two days. Such utter bliss.

November was also my first Diwali in India, Irish coffee, getting DRENCHED in the rain with Nikhil, cursing all the way from Dadar station to wherever we found the cab.

Also, Elephanta.

November was the beginning of another play, (Two plays, actually, The Boor, and The Proposal, by Anton Chekov) 8-hour rehearsals, and the month ended with my 19th birthday. Bringing it in with another birthday girl at Krish's, then lunch, then rehearsals, then E & Nam, and then Janata, and the wonderful fire-spin night (where I did eventually fall asleep), fire wielding, and Marine Drive at 6 am on a Sunday, with Nikhil and Bidi. Dosas at the lovely Ram Ashray at 8. UnderDog Kombat Anniversary battles in Andheri, in the evening, me with the camera, happy.

December, rehearsals, rehearsals, falling asleep in rehearsals, bad music (HOW CAN SHE SLAP?), good guitar playing, inside jokes, McDonalds, Subway, pizza, all kinds of junk, all ordered in, and then, showtime. And quite seriously, after that, it's just been a countdown to the week off college (which is right now). Global Fusion lunch with Dad, who was here, one fun birthday/christmas party, bike ride on Marine drive, bringing in Kutt's 19th, all of that. It's a countdown to tomorrow and to the 1st of jan when I'll be on a plane, heading to the parental and feline abode.

So yeah, it's been an interesting year. With much love to the Bombay people, R, Datta, Nikhil, Ankiet, Radhika, Kutt, E, who, well, make me feel loved. Goodnight, 2010.

Light me up.

2010-12-22T21:36:00.000+04:00

I eat light. It shines from within me.

They light up my room. And my heart.

Festivities all around.

2010-12-11T23:18:00.000+04:00

The smiles have gone,
There was a time when she could smile without thinking, when laughter would bubble out of her like sludge from a malfunctioning drain. When it didn't take much to make her laugh, smile, giggle, chortle, guffaw, grin.
Not any more.
She's always in the middle of the group, laughing, joking.
But look carefully at her face.
Her mouth curls.
Her eyes yearn.
Beseech.
Envy.
Want.
All she wants is to smile.

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Conceived in rehearsal, when I could only fake-smile. Written later, so it didn't turn out like I wanted it to. Thanks to Aldish for the edit advice.

One Random Memory. Some updates.

2010-11-30T21:12:00.000+04:00

Once, I was given a butterfly.

It must've been four years ago, maybe.
I was waiting for him, in an empty school. Perched on the bar of a free-standing basketball hoop, a few feet above the ground. A couple of small girls chattered away by my side, I was supposed to be watching them.
Suddenly, I'm shoved in the back. I involuntarily jump off the bar and turn to see him. standing there.
He grins at me, his fist is raised.

The fist opens, releasing an orange butterfly, which flits away.

In the background of my mind, I hear the little girls chorus "Ewwwww!" but I'm too busy smiling.

To date, that remains the most unusual thing anyone's ever done for me.
But then again, he was never a conventional guy.

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I know I haven't written in over a month. I haven't been feeling it. I've been low, and I've tried to raise my spirits. In many ways.
A large part of my Diwali break was spent chilling in and around Bombay. I got a new camera. It's my baby. I'm delighted, yes.

Another birthday has come and gone. It started well, and ended better...thanks to my lovely, lovely friends. And in the middle, I had to attend college. The night, well, it had flames, and it had cake. And wonderful people.
I don't feel any older or wiser, really. But age, it's in the head, isn't it? I feel ageless.
I am ageless.

Home.

2010-10-18T13:25:00.000+04:00

Dad's here. Mom's not.

I spend my mornings alone, in a sleepy stupor. With cats. I don't seem to NEED the laptop to be on. I don't need anyone, really.
I sleep. I read. The cats flop around me, fat white furry. I wake up late nights sometimes to see a white mound curled at my feet.
Closest I can get to contentment under the circumstances.

Dear SPai.

2010-10-02T22:41:00.000+04:00

Stop seeking it. Stop seeking fluid for your words, eyes for the images you want to create. Stop searching for things, people, to complete you, for you are whole. Stop looking to fill the emptiness because your eyes are closed to the fullness of your life. Stop looking for love from others, because all the love you get won't matter if you have no love for yourself. Stop trying to be me and burning the bridges back to yourself. Stop seeking to be someone else, a shadow, a projection, for you have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide. Stop shutting away your joys and your tears, your smiles and your fears.
Just stop.
Stop. Let everything be still, and look forward into the wind and the waves and everything will be better than just okay.
And as long as you have me, you'll never be alone.
Love, Myst.

It's been an insanely happy day. Very balanced. Just. I *studied*. And I had a Double Chocolate from CBTL and a Bachelor's Special on the same day. Yay!

2010-10-01T22:54:00.001+04:00

We talk so much, but hardly ever say anything.

Food. For stomach and mind and soul.

2010-09-19T14:57:00.000+04:00

Let it be said that I love food blogs. Well, blog. The Pioneer Woman is as good as it gets. Because she is awesome. And provides step-by-step photos that make your hungry. And she makes it look oh-so-easy, and it is! And this is food with a ton of butter and cheese in everything. Mmm.
Also, Bakerella and her cake pops are adorable.

Meanwhile.

I am studying! Finally! I realise that I tend to stress-eat around exams, like during my 10th grade boards when I baked many batches of very dark brownies and ate them all, or during the end of 12th grade when there always, always had to be mini-croissants in the house, many of them. These days, I make do with whatever's at home. My current way of dealing is forgetting that any time between now and the night of Oct 15th even exists. I'm in limbo. No dates, no days. Just notes. Bed. And whatever food's around. And the images in my head.

Failwhale Birds, and other such.

2010-09-08T21:48:00.000+04:00

The problem with using Twitter so much, is that soon you get used to the 140 character limit. You learn to disintegrate and separate thoughts into simple witty/poignant lines.
Don't see a real problem with this? Well, I do. The trouble is, that it makes me forget ho to write. Fic, blogposts, random abysmal poetry, anything. I write in the black notebook that I carry around with me, but only occasionally, When I feel like. When I'm inspired, or whatever.

Pen touches paper, fingers tap on keys, nothing comes out. The ink that I need...is in my brain, not the pen.

The other thing about Twitter is that it kind of conditions you to be very very aware of grammatical errors. Including typin lyk dis.
In most cases, I want to hand them a dictionary. Gone are the days of the SMS lingo, man.
This is, of course, if I check your FB page before I actually talk to you.
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I never thought I'd resent this city, but with every strike that happens, every auto/taxiwallah that refuses to ply, every pothole we're jolted into, my sneer goes wider. I have no idea where to go after this, or what to do, I just know that I cannot be here after my time is up. It's like life for me is stages. Muscat, then Bombay...where next, no one knows.

Some days, I feel like Spider Jerusalem.

I re-read Transmetropolitan recently and, once again, let the brilliance wash over me. It's not just the concept or the art, it's just that it's almost essential reading for anyone who gives a crap about journalistic integrity.

Random happiness is found in the flashes of great weather before the rain, in really good chai, in all things laden with cheese (the dairy product, not the soppiness) , in random cats I meet.

----------------------------------------------

I await :

Home, bed, parents, beach.

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Now Reading : The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Now waiting for : Weeds Season 5, from Spanks.

Grey

2010-08-21T19:06:00.000+04:00

There is no morning. There is no evening. Only grey.
No sunrise, no sunset.
Shades of grey.
Time doesn't make sense any more, everything looks the same.

Breeze.
"It's so lovely."
"Let's drink some chai."
"Old Monk and Coke!"
What wonderful weather. Make excuses for the lack of blue. No colour. No...light.
Cross your fingers and hope the sky doesn't fall on your head.

It rains.
For hours. Days. Weeks. The calendar is drenched. The clock has stopped. There's water in the gears.
Wake up arbitrarily. Go out. Work. Come back. Drenched. Like a wet cat. Have you ever seen a happy cat in the rain?
No.

The day the blue skies and the breeze are back is the day we'll stop shaking our fists at the universe.

Play Cool.

2010-08-09T22:23:00.000+04:00

http://issuu.com/startmag/docs/issue1

Pages 16 to 20.

Someone who reads this blog contacted me out of the blue, and said she's starting an E-zine featuring young artists from over the country, and would I like to be featured in the first issue? I jumped. Above is the link.
I'm rather happy right now.

Also. I've been traipsing around Dharavi with Annie, who's filming her MA dissertation there. Stories have been heard. Interesting ones. Touching ones. I can't really give a positive or negative opinion...I can just say, it's a place everyone living in Bombay should visit. At least once.

Uniform.

2010-07-31T14:59:00.000+04:00

Some days, I tumble out of bed, late by a crucial five minutes, and stare at all the clothes crammed into my two shelves, wondering what to wear that I haven't worn in a while.

Sometimes, I wear the same pair of pants for a week, every day, because I'm either too late or too lazy to find anything new.

Some days, I miss the uniform.

Sure, I've left my school days behind, and the grey uniform with them, but there is something to be said for the comfort that a uniform offers you. Button up the shirt, pull the pinafore, fresh from mom's iron, over your head, and you're good to go. No need to stand before the mirror wondering if this shirt goes with these pants and whether I need leggings with that skirt. No worries about whether you looked femme or butch or cool or funky. The uniform was cool.

Yes, we did crib about the length of the skirt, and we did crib about it being a pinafore instead of a skirt-and-shirt. We'd wear them loose, with the waistband cradling our hip bones, a few inches hacked off the skirt. Socks carefully folded close to the ankles. This took a mere five minutes, and I'd have time for a real breakfast.

I wouldn't want college to have a uniform, obviously, because that time is gone. Just saying, I shouldn't have cribbed so much when I had to wear it, because when you're in uniform, there isn't much room for a fashion faux pas.

Taken from something that the girl in uniform up there said to me yesterday.

Reductio Ad Absurdum

2010-07-27T18:36:00.001+04:00

Thanks to a friend, I stumbled across this book, which I am currently reading. What the poet does is quite simple and awesome: he picks a page of the New York Times and blackens it with a permanent marker, eliminating the words he doesn't need. The result is something that is art, poetry, and a tinge of humour.

Quite an interesting concept of creation. More than creating, it's eliminating, negating.

I think I shall try this.

I like to be gone most of the time.

2010-07-10T19:34:00.000+04:00

It feels like I've forgotten how to write. Or read seriously, for that matter. And since I am currently inarticulate, I can't express just how big a tragedy that is.

I was in Pune a couple of weeks ago. Fun was had. My cousin has not so recently acquired a ridiculously cute looking daschund pup, called Coffee. Look at her, the sweet little thing.

She hated me. At least, I think she did. After the first day of loving shyness, she attacked my knees every time I went to my cousin's place. *Sigh* I wonder what she smelled on me. Or my jeans.

In other, quite random, news, a friend wondered about Hippo. Why would anyone market a snack as healthy and baked, and then call it Hippo? (she said) Turns out Hippo cares about our hunger :|

I'm not too fond of monsoon. Mostly because of the rain. And the humidity. And those days when a cab ride that should take ten minutes, takes forty. So you're claustrophobic and nauseous and bored.

To conclude, not that I had much to say, on 2nd July 2010, for reasons best known to myself, I looked like this.

A very epic day that was.

SNam is in Bombay and I am initiating her. Well, somewhat. Today, I took her to the foodgasmic wonder that is Theobroma. Next week, we shall tackle the Western Railway. And the suburbs. More chocolatey goodness. And then I'll have stuff to write about.

Cheerio.

2010-06-30T22:27:00.000+04:00

Too much has happened.

This was two, maybe three weeks ago. It grew out a little bit, and faded.

So.

2010-06-20T13:22:00.000+04:00

I have not been having the best time. The rain makes sure I do not ever want to wake up in the morning (feeling like P. Diddy, or not).
I have been stupid, in more ways than one, as is my wont.
All I can say is, this year better not be like the last.

I'll be back when inspiration or whatever hits.

Rage against Machines.

2010-06-03T00:50:00.000+04:00

Power on.

A screen lights up.

Why get out of the house, or even her bed, when she has the world on her lap?
Good Morning.

Outside is inclement weather, traffic, stress. A hundred people with a hundred different demands. Outside: Bad. Inside: Good. In here, she can sit in her soft bed, with the A/C on, with a mug of coffee by her side, and watch the world unfold.

Windows popping up. MSN, oovoo, Facebook, Twitter.

Friends? They're all here, all of them. Who else does she need? She can talk to you, typing is talking, isn't it?
What? You want to hear her voice? Fine, then, she'll switch on the webcam, plug in the mic. Video conferencing is a wonder, isn't it?

Outside is limited. Stepping out of the house, she can only see so much. Just one city, just the rain, the trains, the same people everyday. The same language, same college, same routes. After a while, it gets old, doesn't it?
The world's on her lap, she's connected to everywhere and everyone, it's magical and wonderful and she doesn't have to move an inch. A few words typed in, a tap of the Enter key, and she can see geisha from Kyoto, and Valentino's fall line. Read newspapers from New York and London side by side. Watch movies that released internationally months ago, but still haven't come to her city. With a little patience, she can have her favourite TV shows without having to hunt for the remote.

So connected. She can access everyone, and everyone can access her. Even more, maybe, than if she actually went out. Isn't this so much better? So much less effort? Twitter, FourSquare, Facebook. What wonder. She knows what everyone's doing, even if they're a continent away. She has them tracked.

She hasn't been out of the bed in a week, there's a pile of dirty dishes on the floor and a pack of cookies by her side. She's gained 10 kilos in a month. She's smiling, the glow from the 13 inch screen illuminating her face. Her eyes ache....
She will power off only to sleep at night.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A rather disturbing half-piece that came to me just before I woke up. (Yes, the dreams HAVE gone, for now. Joy.) It seemed much better then, as always, I should just have written it down.

I finally got a new laptop battery, and it doesn't seem to be working. The laptop doesn't boot, and when it does, it takes aaaaaaaaaages. It works just fine with the old battery, though. I'm a little disturbed that I liken this whole situation to a transplant, where the patient doesn't accept the transplanted organ, or something like that. Likening my laptop, in effect a machine, to a sentient being. Who can maybe hear me mentally, and sometimes loudly, curse and plead at it.

That's how the above bit came out, in a fit of anger today, I was grumbling at this generation's almost-dependance on...well, I suppose computers is a given, I guess...Facebook. The internet. Connectivity. I hear last week, many celebrated Quit Facebook day...though I don't think anyone I know actually did it. We're too scared of losing out, aren't we? Especially people like me, and so many others I know who've shifted cities and leave old friends behind...we live our lives, but FB's a boon to us, isn't it? We keep up, kind of.

It's rather sad, actually. And the most we'll do is deactivate our accounts for a while, and then get back on.

It's really quite tragic.

------------------------

Now Re-reading: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Now Feeling: Tired. I should sleep less. And write more. Like, physically. With pen and paper.

Playing with Mr Brightside

2010-05-26T03:02:00.002+04:00

I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine gotta gotta be down because I want it all

Sitting on the parapet under a light drizzle, flicking an old lighter on and off. The sound soothes me, the flame keeps dying. Waiting for someone who’ll never come back; not everyone holds on to old flames like I do.

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this, it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

I see lips. Parted lips. Soft lips. Pretty lips. They’re the last thing I see before I close my eyes and smile.

Now I'm falling asleep and she's calling a cab while he's having a smoke and she's taking a drag

I taught you how to smoke. You tried to smoke one of my cigs and dissolved into a coughing mess. Somehow, smoking someone else’s lights makes you more unfaithful than actually sleeping with him.

Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick and it's all in my head

Watching a cab pull up on the street below me, giggles, high-heels clacking. A window lights up opposite me.

But she's touching his-chest now, he takes off her dress now, letting me go

The sheets on my bed are still rumpled, but the candles have burned out. Rose petals on the floor, a pretty pout. You don’t remember any of this, it’s a wisp of smoke in your head, now gone. I light my last cig of the day.

And I just can't look, its killing me…and taking control

Some cigarette ash falls onto my arm, I gasp and then surrender the small mark on my arm to the drizzle outside my balcony. In the window, there are shadows. Silhouettes. Now the light goes off. I lean my head back and blow out smoke.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies

I used to watch you while you slept sometimes. Hogging the covers, your mouth all pouty, curled up in a little feline ball. I’d stroke your hair once, and then go to sleep with you fitting close against me like the last piece of the puzzle.

Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr Brightside

Somehow, this song always manages to remind me of someone or the other.

It's weird, sometimes, that's the song I listen to when I'm sad, so I can be sadder, and then I listen to the words, But when I'm happy I listen to the tune and how the same few notes roll round and round.

Such a strange song.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Playing with the lyrics of one of my favourite songs. I heard the song, I thought of you, I thought I should write. I reaffirm that I do not smoke.

2010-05-21T22:27:00.004+04:00

There's no real reason that photo's in here, it's one of the murals at Lasalle college of the arts, Singapore.

Yes, I'm back in Muscat.

Yes, I'm fine.

Yes, I do indeed have only two more weeks left to the end of my glorious vacation.

Back to Bombay and the rain and the early-morning wake up alarms.

Maybe there's a reason that particular photo's there, I guess. It drips with...lightbulbs. Signifying ideas. And I want to create. I haven't written anything decent in forever, drawing, well. And I might have taken some good photos, but that's more...capturing than creating, isn't it?

Bad Luck, Good Luck.

2010-05-14T20:52:00.000+04:00

What to do when going to Jurong Bird Park, Singapore: Take some money, a bottle of water, and a really good camera, with a zoom lens if possible, with charged batteries. Wear REALLY comfortable shoes.

What NOT to do when going to Jurong Bird Park, Singapore: Forget the memory card of the camera.

Yeah. That happened. We reached Jurong yesterday, I turned on the camera and it said No Card. AND I'd forgotten my ixus. We survived the rest of the day with a Kodak disposable film camera, and my cell phone cam. And every pretty bird we saw, we mourned our stupidity.

AND, about fifteen minutes in, it started PISSING rain, and we had to wait it out for an HOUR.

But after it stopped, the park was beautiful, and so were the birds.

Today, however, more than made up for yesterday's malheureusement. Singapore Zoo is beyond beautiful, so much that it doesn't feel like a zoo at all. It's a lot of walking, but we got some excellent photos out of it, and even though it rained for a while, it was so pleasant, walking in what was basically a misty rainforest. It did turn humid-as-hell, though. But Kay got some beautiful shots of a white tiger swimming, and some frolicking ducks, and I snapped a Capuchin monkey as he and Kay made faces at each other. (Photos to come soon)

On my last night in Singapore (The flight doesn't count) I finally had one of those specialities: the Singapore Sling. Quite good, mixed too darn strong though. As for the other two specialities....I'll try and have chicken rice for lunch tomorrow, and I can't have chili crab because I don't eat seafood.

Remember when two months weren't over yet? Now they nearly goddamned are. Only two weeks left and my lovely vacation will be over. I've had SUCH a good one this time, I'm almost dreading going back to college. Those two weeks better be the longest, funnest, craziest two weeks of the vacation. I know classmate reunions will happen, and hopefully some good times with the rest of the crowd too.

I just...want those two weeks to last forever. Go on another vacation. Why not?

Travelogues, vignettes, I love airports.

2010-05-09T09:16:00.000+04:00

Right now, I'm sitting in Kay's hostel room, listening to thunder, shuddering, watching her pack, so that she doesn't have to do it later in the week. Our plans to go rollerblading on the beach have been foiled, at least put off by a couple of hours by the thunder and the rain. Hmf, this is like being in my room in Bombay, disgruntled with the downpour.

Snippets from the past three days...I wrote mostly at the airport. I like airports, you see?

Written 7th may, 7.00am local time, Abu Dhabi Intl airport.

Airports are wonderful, I've always loved them, if for nothing else then the sheer people-watching potential. Look at people, burly sporty types with backpacks and tattoos, a mother with her young son who insists on eating pizza at 7am, bored-looking woman at the table next to me, interesting couple with backpacks playing UNO. Accents and languages blend in a murmur with the sound of cash registers and clinking coins, people come in, walk through, walk out. What I really want to do is pull out my camera and capture.

Written 9.15 am, Abu dhabi intl Airport.

After a 40min phone call to Chikki, and about ten minutes at a free wifi terminal (I think these are very cool) I'm sitting at gate 33, with an 8-hour flight ahead.
My vacation is nearly over! I'll have only 2 weeks once I get back, there better be a lot of fun nights!

Written 10.15pm local time, Changi Intl Airport Singapore

Flight landed 20 minutes ahead of schedule, so no Kay yet. She left after I called her. I'm people watching, looking at many pretty girls in TINY shorts and long tops. I think i'm going to like it here.

I could swear a man just JOGGED past me, in running shorts and a vest :|

-----------------------------------

That was when Kay arrived, looking very Singaporean indeed, with a denim skirt, black top, pin-straight hair and a huge smile. I'm happily shocked at how well she blends in. We cabbed it to the hotel, where Bhaiyya was waiting. Happy times with good food and stuff. We got BACK to the hotel at...what, 3?

Ah yes I DO like it here.

Yesterday, I shopped. Girls, read on. Guys, go away if you wish.
I didn't buy much, but I did squee a lot in the 4-storeied Forever 21 (I shall never stop calling it that) where I bought a skirt and some tank tops. I don't have the courage for the uber-sex lace skirt yet, I'll buy stockings first. Orchard Road, you see huge signs for Prada, Louis Vuitton, all the usual suspects. I grinned at the thought that was just the WRONG person to be here, Ankiet, SNam and Chinmoi would KILL to be here, and have the cash for it (ofcourse I don't have the cash for hardcore designerwear, but I don't want it either). I did go to Charles & Keith, and got a beautiful bag, and shoes. For the interested, black peep-toes with crossover straps. Ankiet, are you listening? Be proud.

Quote of the YEAR: Arvind - Is that Britney Spears being sung by a man?
Kay - That's Savage Garden :|

The rain has stopped, so I'm off to the beach. Later, peeps.

Vacation from a vacation

2010-05-06T15:25:00.003+04:00

An update: a local paper churned out a story on Facebook ethics and cybersnooping, talking about incidences that happened last week. What was supposed to be damped down became...a sizeable deal. Read the article here.

Meanwhile.

Bags are half packed, rather neatly if I may say so myself. Just have to dump in my shoes and straightener, and find the keys to that bag. So that I can lock it.

Camera batteries are charging.

Excitement...is high. Money has been exchanged. Lists have been made.

Singapore, here I come.

A story about ethics, or something like that.

2010-04-28T13:33:00.000+04:00

The characters: Tiger, Failboat, Spinach, Nikon. And, to some extent, the Man. You know, the proverbial Man who puts us all down? Also known as the System. The actual Man is an Assistant Vice Principal.

The setting: A fictional high school in a fictional multiverse. Note: Tiger is Head Boy of this school.

The background: Last October, after a party to which absolutely everyone was invited, these four split. After a bit of a discussion, they decide to not go home at all, and just...go where the fates and the winds and the cabs take them. So off they went, to normally crowded spots on the beach that were now so quiet, and then, bored and hungry, they went to the airport, post midnight. Everything else was closed. They ate, they chilled, and then they came back to the beach to watch the sunrise. All very cool, and if I belonged to that multiverse, I'd have been jealous.
Now here's the cinch. Still way back in October, one of them published a note about it. On Facebook. Referred to as Nomadic Night.
That was in October 2009. Since then, Nikon has left the school.

The Story:
It's happened a couple of times, the principal telling Tiger that he's received 'disturbing reports', and alluding to Facebook. I did wonder about the jurisdiction of a school over our cyber-lives. I mean, everyone's heard that with times and tech changing, we must too. Everyone's heard that applicants for prestigious jobs are thoroughly googled. I even read an article where college applicants changed their Facebook names so that they couldn't be found. But this isn't a job. This isn't a college application, this is school. And this...is somewhat out of the blue.
So, one fine day in April 2010, the vice principal called Tiger into his office to tell him that someone had seen the note about Nomadic Night, and lodged a complaint. I may need to add here, that there were photos in the note. And the first of those photos was taken at a home bar, with one of them holding up a bottle. Tiger told the Vice Principal that no one drank that night, and that even though they did stay out all night, the bar and the bottle was just a gag.
The Man was not happy about this note, as it gave a 'bad impression' or something like that.
On a bright and early Saturday in April, Tiger was called to the Vice Principal's office in the presence of all the AVPs, and was told that the School Committee had decided to ask him to resign his post as Head Boy. After Tiger's parents met all the authorities concerned, and Tiger submitted an apology letter, the decision was reconsidered at a meeting of the committee. Tiger submitted a resignation yesterday.

My point here is this. The person who put up the note has pretty tight privacy settings. How then, did anyone find it? And also, my main issue here. This is school. The characters in my story are barely 17. On Nomadic Night, no one was near the school, no one FROM the school was hurt, they did nothing related to the school in any manner.
Why then, is the school looking into something so unrelated? It's all...a not-so-thin line about privacy, and how much of ourselves we put online. A party isn't a party till it's on facebook, haven't I heard that before? Facebook is...the public's Page 3. Or something like that. I think I'm losing my point.

Opinions about the incident appreciated.

Change

2010-04-22T23:29:00.003+04:00

Whee, facelift!! Thanks to knowledge gleaned from Espera. Like it?

Right now, I have not much to say. It strikes me, however, that half my vacation is over, almost. And in two weeks, I'm off to Singapore. :)

Another reason for me not to like politics.

2010-04-19T14:21:00.002+04:00

Baba Ramdev.

"We clean up our bodies, then we clean up democracy!"

He announced last month that he would found a political party that would field candidates for each of the 543 parliamentary seats in India’s next general election in 2014.

Here is the link to the NYTimes Article.

The man infuriates me. Because in an age of globalisation, where the world is shrinking, he's just going backwards. I shudder to think of what would happen if he was in power.

I shudder.

BoredWorkText

2010-04-11T11:48:00.002+04:00

There's not too much to do at work on Sundays, because that's when the issue goes to print and everyone's busy finishing their own work. So I'm given nothing.
Facebook and Twitter are blocked at the office, so I end up doing all that online reading that I never do at home. The New York Times (I HATE the movie reviewers there, more on that in a bit), the New Yorker, and today, I'm reading a bunch of short stories by Neil Gaiman. For those interested, here's The Case of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds, and here's something strange called How to Talk to Girls at Parties. Also, some essays. Over at the New York Times, this article made me toy briefly with the idea of going platinum blonde. However, that idea was one of the few I've ever had to which mom said "See if I let you into my house..."
Sigh. Maybe someday, but not now. I'm over hair colouring for a bit, anyway. I always get tremendously irritated when it starts to fade.
Also from that article, I found out about Tavi Gevinson, the 13 year old fashion blogger.
Oh yes, I've been reading. Random humor pieces and cartoons at the New Yorker (Geoff Sarkins is using Twitter! is hilarious.), articles on how gossip blogging is becoming a career option, reviews of the iPad. Many, MANY photography slideshows, the latest being some by Annie Leibowitz. I absolutely LOVE her work. For the rest of the day, I moaned about how I wanted to be Annie Leibowitz.
I also checked out photos from a photo-book called Love Me. Forgot who it's by, but you should all check it out.
And, of course, I've been reading celeb gossip from when I need to compile the Hollywood pages, and many movie reviews. One thing I've realised? I do NOT like A.O.Scott.
A.O.Scott does movie reviews for the New York Times, and GENUINELY cannot seem to bring himself to LIKE anything, even in the best movies. While it is sadly true that I can't analyse for nuts (I tend to take books and movies at face value the first time round, trying to learn to change that. Case in point, Kafka's Metamorphosis. And I'm pursuing a Lit degree, IRONIC.) this guy...HUNTS for things to put down.
On Friday, I watched Date Night, I was supposed to review it. While it may not have been the best movie I've seen, I really did like it (the company helped, as did Mark Walhberg, shirtless). I wrote a happy review about how much I liked it, and THEN I read this. ARGH. Of course, I felt young and dumb. Maybe he's just past the age where he can enjoy movies like that...who knows, who knows.
I quite want to watch Kickass, by the way, I wonder when it releases.
The movies on my HDD are languishing, so far I've only watched Nick and Norah's Ultimate Playlist. Such a sweet movie.
Mom should be here in a bit to pick me up (The offices work till 6, I'm here till 2 or 3 at the latest) and I have...many browser tabs left to go through...so, toodles.

2010-04-08T14:13:00.001+04:00

Our thirst for approval is what's going to kill us one day.

This is my 350th post.

Off-Road

2010-04-03T19:43:00.003+04:00

I may have mentioned that my dad's a total outdoor person, and over the past year, he's built up a pretty good stash of camping supplies. He drives a Prado, which makes all those wonderful rocky areas of Oman much more accessible. Plus, we have tents. Three of them, a two-man tent, a four-man tent and a three-man tent. Dad also happily bought a camping stove and the gas packs, and last year, (sadly without me) my parents have been going camping around Oman. Of course, dad did feel rather bad that I wasn't there with them, so he kinda made it up to me last week.

On Thursday night, and I do mean night (we left at 8.30pm) we went to a wonderful quiet beach an hour's drive away. The parents, me, and some friends of the parents. We got there at 11.30, and the moon, though not full, was huge and bright, so I tried some long-exposure shots, all of which sucked. It was a pretty messy expedition, mom was supposed to cook, but she didn't have time, so we just picked up pav bhaji and some parathas, and we attacked them the minute we chose a spot on the beach. And then, Dad and I had the delightful task of setting up our tent in the dark. We're having pretty strange weather, it's normally boiling, but then there was this sudden breeze that WOULD have blown away the tent...if I wasn't sitting in it.

Mom woke me up at 6.30 to see the sun rising right in front of my face.

It's a pretty cool way to wake up, I guarantee you that.

This is a crop of a slightly bigger photo I took that day...

2010-03-30T14:19:00.000+04:00

I might not have mentioned, but I'm interning for a local weekly newspaper in Muscat for a while. It's a pretty good job, so far we (that is, Lucky, Katz and I. Chikki was with us before she left for the UAE) have just been doing the music and movie pages.

Gossip, trivia, all that. Currently, we're trying to do a feature story, but this isn't about that.

Today, before we got down to making calls for the feature story, Katz and I sat down to quickly finish with the Hollywood and music pages. A little trivia, the song charts, and a few gossip stories.

"Dude!" Katz was staring at the screen of the iMac when I went over. "Ricky Martin's gay!" And there it was, on the TMZ website, in all its glory.

No surprise, really, but the man finally came out, in a post of his official website.

Of course I grabbed full rights to this piece, and spent some time compiling a 200 word story on it, with a huge smile on my face and my fingers crossed. Once done with that, I finished the rest of the music page and submitted it to our supervisor.

Later, in between being irritated by receprionists who answered the phone and sent me to extentions where no one picked up, I went over to our supervisor to check if our music page was fine.

"Yeah, but the Ricky Martin thing..." she said, dryly, "You know we can't run that."

"Ah well, I was trying my luck." I replied. "Didn't think it'd work."

"Yeah...Don't you know there are no gay people in Oman?" she mocked as I returned to the desk I work at.

That tells you everything you need to know.

2010-03-28T22:10:00.000+04:00

Just two things for now:

I love being home...

And I bought skinny jeans.

Instant development.

2010-03-23T01:29:00.003+04:00

These days, I feel like drawing. More than drawing, really, I want to just freeze the images in my head. They're Polaroids, these images, with a thin white border and white space at the bottom to write on. Pity they don't make Polaroid film anymore. A quick and easy capture of a perfect moment. Well, now of course you have the digital experience, but you have to admit, there's something about those borders and that white space that makes so many of us edit our photos to look like Polaroids, right?

The point is, it's freezing a happy moment. It's freezing happy people on the beach, wrestling. It's freezing natural, delighted smiles. I want to see those moments around me, and I want to click them, unobserved. I want to be those moments and have someone capture them. People aren't really candid when you stand around them with a camera, they're just naturally trained to strike poses, look pretty and then complain about how horrible they look in all their photos. This is what society has trained us to be. A pose, coy smile, hand on hip. Measured emotion. Whatever happened to wild glee?

Meanwhile, two of the buttons on my Fuji S7000 have suddenly stopped working, and so I'm stuck in black and white mode. Now I love monochrome, but sometimes, I really, REALLY need the colour, plus I'm not great at getting my contrast ratios right. So I need to get this fixed, and soon. I wanted to take this shot in colour, it was a beautiful (and goddamned delicious) Chocolate cake, a rich brown with gold ribbons.

One last paper tomorrow, and then I'm gone.

2010-03-17T01:14:00.003+04:00

It is 2.45 am and I am reading French for tomorrow's paper. I have been procrastinating the whole day (Will&Grace FTW) and now I decided I should get down to it.

Let's say it again. Cannot WAIT for these exams to be over with.

Meanwhile: I wonder what it is that stylists do with my hair that I can NEVER seem to reproduce. It is going to take CRAZY amounts of hair products, not to mention a powerful straightening iron (yes I know I've been going on a little too much about that lately) to get my hair to look like this again.

What a tragedy.

Cherish those moments when I looked awesome.

I am rather behind on my reading. I am not even halfway through the Bill Bryson, which I must return before I leave, though I am reading a quirky little novel called Adverbs. Look it up. And of course I have Wicked to accompany me on the flight next week, and I think I'll get back to that book on a history of rape I bought last year and never ended up finishing, yes?

Summer movie marathons are planned, yes. Foremost being a Disney marathon. Don't judge me, it takes me back to those times when my biggest worry was whether or not I'd get to go to Kay's place after school. Speaking of Disney, it's pretty cool that their newest work, The Princess and the Frog, has a black protagonist.

Many, MANY things to do over the summer. That is, of course, if I don't melt into a little puddle in the searing heat.

It is now 2.55. Enough procrastination, methinks, and back to le francais.

Two weeks.

2010-03-09T21:27:00.003+04:00

At this time in exactly two weeks, I'll be on a plane to Muscat, for my 2-month long summer vacation. But before that, there are exams. Which start Monday. HELP.

There will be fiction after exams. Or at least, intelligent writings. I will force it :)

Procrastination. Cyberspace discoveries.

2010-02-28T16:36:00.005+04:00

Ah, well. I have finally cracked my psych textbook, though I am making absolutely no progress. And it's all thanks to something I'd never thought possible: Fanfiction.

Actually, I'm done with the fanfic, now it's just me being lazy that stops my progress.

But seriously, after the Harry Potter series was complete, there was a void. In my life. Our lives. Everyone's lives. For some, that void was filled by the Meyer-menace called Twilight, others turned to fanfic.
At the onset, I resolved never to set eyes on these, but then I started reading SNam's work. And it is GOOD. The problem? It's not just fanfic, it's Harry/Draco slash fic.

*mutters to self*

Blasphemy, yes. Well written, yes. Want more....quite possible.

And so SNam, who's currently in India, and studying, and a tad bored, vowed to convert me. By sending me the link to the Shoebox Project. Notes, photos, letters, from the Marauders. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. And the making of the Map. In the authors’ words: “The Shoebox Project is a series of stories (of sort) written by the fabulous Jaida and Rave in the Harry Potter universe. It contains photos, notes, and stories, written about the Marauders (James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew) during their time at Hogwarts. While the story mostly takes place during their 6th and 7th years at Hogwarts, there are also tales of the Marauders younger years. While focusing on the mischievious Marauders, it also touches on the relationship between James and Lily Evans, the rise of Voldemort, and a relationship between Sirius and Remus (which is in the last few parts).”

I fell in love...with the writing, and more than the writing, the art. Oh, the beautiful beautiful art...I want.

See what I mean? This is NOT the best in there. By no means.

In other news, I have also discovered Community Queer, a blog written by 'Scudder' and 'Finn', from my old home, Muscat. This interests me because, well, the LGBT scene in Oman is so underground/closeted, you don't even think about it. Sure, you do hear the occasional rumour about that hairdresser at that salon near my place being gay, and having a boyfriend who went to one of our rival schools, but no more. I personally knew no gay boys at my school or any other, and I always wondered what would've happened to anyone in my school who chose to be open about their sexuality.

So yeah, I found Community Queer. It's kinda like a solidarity thing, I guess. And, it was in the (Omani) news, a bit, because the site was blocked by the service provider a while ago (the Government of Oman owns 70% of their main ISP, and thus chooses to block any sites that it finds to be...unsavory? While this includes all pornographic sites, and sites with sexual content, I once tried to venture into a website featuring tattoo designs and found it blocked.) and then, somehow, they realised that everyone had a right to free speech, and unblocked the site a few days later. In the words of Scudder and Finn: We have started something here, something that cannot be blocked or censored, something that will not go away, because people believe in it. We believe in it. And you seem to, as well.

I'm quite proud, I gotta say.

Meanwhile, it is with a slight exasperation that I announce that I have succumbed to Twitter. Hooray. Another way to waste time. Like I don't procrastinate enough already *shrugs shoulders, gives up*

I notice that my writing capabilities are deteriorating. How tragic. I haven't written any actual fiction in a while.

But I have been taking photos. I leave you with this, for now. Taken yesterday, at Worli seaface, with Datta bowing bubbles, attempting to get back some childhood joy, even as we slip out of our teens.

Damn, profound much? Screw that, man. Bubbles are happiness, don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

Post midnight portraiture.

2010-02-16T23:01:00.001+04:00

PS. The hoodie's not mine.

Hearts. Flowers. Chocolate. NOT.

2010-02-13T22:47:00.002+04:00

I've never been non-single on Valentine's Day. Last year, it was full of the spirit of Pink Chaddis. This year, it's the end of the Kala Ghoda Festival, a Devdas marathon ( Not that I'm going to watch any of them. I WOULD have gone for Dev D, but it's late, and home circumstances prevent me) and a pfft in the face of all you cheesefest couples.

So yes, hearts, flowers, chocolate, NOT. But if anyone's up for a ritual protest drink, do join me. I'll be that girl at the bar laughing at all the couples and hitting on the bartender.

Peace.

Happy Valentine's day, all.

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PS. This last part would be SO much easier if I wasn't in India.

Lens.

2010-02-09T22:39:00.004+04:00

I know I should write more, I do. But I'm beginning to feel I'm turning into a photographer more than a writer. I kinda like that.

For the record, the first photo is supposed to be horizontal. It looks a bit washed out, I have to figure out how to adjust contrasts while shooting in black and white.

Shot at Kala Ghoda Arts Festival. For more, go here.

2010-02-03T22:38:00.002+04:00

In five years, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be that girl who goes to her friend's weddings stag and hangs out sipping Cuba Libres (assuming my tastes don't change for a while) and hitting on hot guys.

Either that, or I'd be burning up the dance floor ( If there is one. NONE of the weddings I've been to have had dance floors. We're a boring family when it comes to weddings) because I love any excuse to dance.

Give us five years, we'll find out which.

Beyond the Frame

2010-01-26T16:30:00.002+04:00

Note: Credit for title goes to SNam.

Sitting at my usual booth in the bar earlier tonight, watching, waiting for someone worth my attention to come in, I saw her.

She was perched on a bar stool, so tall that her toes just skimmed the floor. Her black dress stopped at her knees, giving me a glorious view of a pair of perfectly arched legs, ending with the trademark red soles of her black Louboutin stilettos. Her hair was piled up in a messy chignon, and above the collar of her coat, I could see the beginnings of a tattoo on the nape of her neck.

Indeed, this woman was intriguing. So intriguing, in fact, that I lacked the courage to go over and talk to her, at least immediately. I nursed my drink and watched her.

The bartender smiled at her and put a mug of beer in front of her. I saw her reflection in the bar mirror smile back at him before taking a long sip of her drink. You don’t see too many women who like beer…this one was definitely my type, and as the minutes ticked by, I stared, fascinated. She put the mug down, leaving a perfect scarlet lip-print on the rim. That would have made such a wonderful photograph…that beer mug, with froth spilling down the side of the glass, and that immaculate lip-print. A visual treat, hinting at something beyond the frame of the picture.

That’s it. In five minutes, I thought, I was going to go up to her and say…what? I didn’t know. Something smooth and charming and witty. I’d make it up on the spot.

As I gathered the remaining shreds of courage, watching her, a man walked up to her. I was transfixed, I couldn’t go there till she had finished with him and (I hoped) turned him away, could I? I sat in my chair, melting in a puddle of my own cowardice. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

She turned to him, and said something, so soft I just barely caught the words….

“You’ll have to pay me in advance”

He slipped her a hundred dollar bill, which she hastily stashed in her coat pocket. Then she gulped down the remains of her drink and eased herself off the stool, taking his hand.

As they walked out the door, my heart shattered into a million pieces.
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I haven't written fiction in a while, so my apologies if this is a bit...shaky. It comes from me trying to do justice with words to an image in my head.

Beep.

2010-01-21T13:36:00.002+04:00

Disclaimer: For censorship reasons (obviously) we have had to replace a certain four-letter word, crucial to this piece, with 'beep'; we apologize if the impact is lost.

Beep.

Bee Eeh Eeh Pee. Beep.

Terrible little four letter word that taints my soul each time I utter it.

It's almost become like a mantra now, we regrettably admit, and only the clenching of our teeth stops us from spewing it out at the worst of times, in front of family and impressionable children.

On bad mornings, the first thought one's mind articulates, and one's mouth mutters, is a long-drawn painful 'Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep'. Beep dances in one's head, and rolls on the back of the tongue till one has fully woken up.

As the heat grows/you get irritated/NOISE grows, the one thought mulling, fermenting in your brain? Beep. Beep me, Beep you. Go beep yourself. I don't give a beep. Beep, beep, beep.

And with every bee eeh eeh pee, your headache swells. And why not?

It's a terrible thing, this bee eeh eeh pee, and we don't seem to realise it. Don't seem to realise that it has infiltrated our vocabulary, that for some of us, it has crossed the line, from being a cussword to a mere punctuation mark, a vocal tic in every beeping sentence, and I just illustrated that for the reader's benefit.

It's turned genteel ladies into foulmouths. It USED to differentiate between the well mannered upper crust and the crass low class, but apparently not any more. Now we're ALL pretty much beeped.

Beep doesn't discriminate by caste, class, colour or gender. Beep is a virus. Uttered by the 11 year old schoolboy who's trying to be all badass to impress, by the frustrated college student with deadlines, everyone.

So here it is, BEEP. We've reached the pinnacle of the cussword hierarchy, after decades of politesse. We've done something great, we've reached up to take that unattainable elitist bee eeh eeh pee and its relatives, and we've brought it down to the masses.

What next?

Slices of PentHouse Legend.

2010-01-16T14:47:00.002+04:00

If you like these....I'll put up the rest.

Vouloir

2010-01-06T08:32:00.002+04:00

I ache to write. I long to get the spark of an idea, it doesn't have to be phenomenal, any idea, and I want to catch it and trap it down on paper even as it struggles to escape me, pin in down with the lines and curves that form my near-illegible handwriting. I will write about people I know, and the people that come out of the depths of my head. I will...create.

I long to do random dance steps everywhere, but I don't. I'm waiting for the moment when I realise that my body is finally one with the beat.

I want to click. To capture light and shade. To freeze time into millions of pixels. To see the unusual in the ordinary. To frame life as it passes me by.

But I'll never get any of it done if all I do is want and wait.

The End.

2009-12-31T16:56:00.003+04:00

No, not of this blog, though at the pace I'm blogging, I might as well.

The end of the year. 2009. The 'Noughties' are done with, I guess. Woo hoo and all.

It's been a good decade. We've gone...from the Backstreet Boys to Hannah Montana, and everything in between, and I don't know WHICH is worse.

The year...well, it was the end of an era. School. CBSE. All that. My hair went from ostentatious red-streaked (sadly, THAT'S the photo that's on my college ID card) to pink streaked to punk short. And now....it's a little shorter than that. Whee. I got a third piercing on my right ear (it STILL hurts. SO many months later.) I fell in love with Bombay and so much more. I went from being angry that I couldn't go to college because of rain, to waking up, hearing rain, rolling over and going back to sleep quite happily. I loathe heavy rain.

It's been...a good year.

Plans? Well...My parents are in town. Leaving tomorrow. So, we're watching 3 Idiots tonight. Whee. A sober New Year.

Resolutions? Absolutely none, as of now. Take life as it comes. Make the best of everything. Grab opportunities by the nuts. Crib less. Dance more.

So.....here's to Twenty Ten, I wish everyone a great new year! I Apologize for the highly boring post.

2009-12-17T16:40:00.001+04:00

Readying herself for bed, Juliet heard a sound

T’was the feet of brave Romeo, hitting the ground

From the wall into her orchard he has jumped

Adrenalin and love his systems have pumped

He opens his mouth, delivers a dose of sap:

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady, O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright

That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Ay me, thinks Julie, what do I say

This silly Casanova will not go away…

“Tis thy name that is my enemy, you cannot have me.

Oh, don’t protest, together we cannot be”

Says the emo Romeo, “Then if it is so

To the afterlife I will have to go

First I leave Rosaline, then I lose you

I now know what I have to do”

He shed a tear, and drew his sword

He slit his throat and thus kept his word.

Juliet she stared, and then gave a little shrug

The poor little chap must have been on a drug

Then she went back inside, before her mirror she did preen

For the lace-clad lover in her bed, her fair Rosaline.

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Just something I was trying out. Yes, the 'sap' IS lifted directly from the balcony scene. Please do not bash me for 'destroying' one of the greatest ever love stories. Literature is free to interpretation and all that.

On a slightly darker note, college has resumed, after them exams and that teeny break. It's a royal pain trying to wake up in the morning.

2009-12-16T13:56:00.000+04:00

Today, I am sick. I cannot seem to stop being sick and start being awesome.

How tragic.

F.O.P.E.B.S!

2009-12-09T21:04:00.005+04:00

That stands for Full On Post Exam Beach scene, as coined by Krish. The plan? Gather a bunch of people, rent a bungalow on Mandwa beach for the day, and CHILL. And that is exactly what we did.

We got to gateway at 9.45 am and took a ferry to Mandwa. Forty minutes sped by on the waves...and then we were on the beach. Mandwa...well, it's on the mainland. Serene, and deserted. The house Krish rented was perfect, no more than a tiny room, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a huge patio with chairs and beds, just right for a day trip.

It wasn't a party. It was an awesome day of relaxation, music, lazing, and frolicking in the water, and then more lazing. And posing, let's not forget. A wonderfully mellow day, the serene spot, the company and the music all added up to create something more awesome than each of them individually.

We caught the 5.15 ferry back...and it was unimaginably beautiful, with the sky glowing vermillion over the sea and seagulls escorting the boat halfway across the trip....

And I, listening to Floyd, blissed out.

Wallet cleaned out, I trudged home. Happy.

Miss Independent

2009-12-03T13:53:00.004+04:00

I packed a fast bag after my first paper on the 30th (so fast, in fact, that I forgot to pack in my underwear and had to return for it the next morning before my paper) and went to meet KayDee at Dadar.

Yes, Kay's in Bombay, on a 10 day stopover between Singapore and Muscat. I spent my birthday with her, actually...(The birthday itself was not as blurry as 18th birthdays should be, but what can one do three days before the exam? I DID however buy some awesome headphones and a Bob Dylan tantra shirt. And I did all this in an awesome dress and heels. Mehh.)

So. We cabbed and rick-ed it through to Thane, where Kay's parents have a flat. The flat is a little more spartan than I remembered it, in some ways, but it IS impressively well stocked. The fridge is loaded with spices and I even found a jar filled with chocos. I finished the Chocos.

As for the actual living...well, Kay's used to it, having lived alone for quite a while now, but for me, it was a little strange not having an adult in the house. Then again, it was an awesome kind of strange. Plus, I'm an adult now, I suppose. More than that, it just feels liberating and quite normal, really, to do exactly what we wanted (she lazes around, I come back from exams, laze, and try to study, and watch movies), go out and come back at our own will. We reached home from grocery shopping at 9.30 the other day, and it didn't feel too late, but that's really relative isn't it, late and early? Depending on which relative setting your curfews. Sigh.

This feels so right, living alone. I should really start looking for cheap studio flats with decently sized kitchen spaces. I might be learning a lot from Bombay, but living alone will be the big lessons : Independence and...how not to be a bitch.

It's tragic that rents are so high.

Age is but a number....

2009-11-26T22:54:00.002+04:00

But 18 is one of the best numbers to be at.

HAPPY FREAKIN' BIRTHDAY TO ME!!

A change of subject

2009-11-25T15:51:00.002+04:00

The acid test is the stupid exam.

From spending nights on end with a stack of foolscap, scribbling, solving, deriving and tossing, to perusing short stories, Animal Farm, excerpts from the Mahabharata and *shudder* Sindabad the Sailor (at BA level. REALLY.)

This is the stuff I have to write 3, maybe 5 page answers about.

Why do I get the feeling that MOST of this is gonna be on the spot bullshitting?

Myst needs a modus operandum.

2009-11-21T20:21:00.003+04:00

Situation: 'Tis my 18th birthday in a week. Unfortunately, my exams start 3 days after the aforementioned birthday. My best friend (okay, Rushi, ONE of them) is gonna be in town, so I need a plan.

My original plan was to gift myself something. I was going to get tattooed on my 18th, but i'd rather do it with mom's permission.

I currently have no plan. I know I want to be OUT the whole day, which involves me waking up in the morning and not the afternoon, yes. I know I'd like it to be memorable.

And I know I'm on a budget. Kinda.

It doesn't help that I'm relatively new to Bombay and don't always know were to take people out...

I have a beautiful new dress. I don't want to waste it.

So, to the universal forces, and to you people...I say HELP.

Offer your valuable advice. And I will tell you whether it has been followed.

2009-11-18T17:00:00.001+04:00

My dentist is a sadist, and I am in pain.

I wish I had masochistic tendencies, at least I'd be very turned on by this.

TWLOHA

2009-11-13T19:21:00.002+04:00

It's a bit late, but I'd planned to do it this year and I did.

It's in sketch pen, don't get too excited.

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

To Write Love On Her Arms Day is a day where anyone can write the words love on their arms, to support those who are fighting against depression and those who are trying to recovering. On this day, just write love on your arms, and show it off, other people will ask why you have love written on your arms, and you tell them you are supporting to write love on her arms day, and how its benefiting a non profit organization helping stop depression, and make love the movement ♥

I might've been late with the arm-decor, but I'm spreading the word.

November Rain

2009-11-10T16:34:00.002+04:00

For the past two days we've had terrible unwinterly humidity. Expecting the same today, I stepped out in shorts.

But what a surprise! The air was dry and blissfully chilly, with a breeze against my face. And a light drizzle.

So very blissful.

Lectures we had two. And after that I just HAD to go to Marine Drive to revel in the weather.

After prancing around, back to the Lit room to sit in on the reading of The Night of January 16th. It's a great play, really gripping. In the two hours it took to finish the reading, the drizzle had opened up into a full fledged shower.

I sat in the balcony wearing shorts and a hoodie, writing. It's PERFECT weather for scotch and smokes, but I have no scotch, and I don't smoke.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Very excited for tomorrow. Why? Eve Ensler (THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES!) is coming to Bombay. And she's gonna be talking at our college! Thus begins my frantic search to find, download and RE-read the Monologues.

Days go by, past my window.

2009-11-06T21:26:00.002+04:00

Yesterday...

I got fined in a train.

I spent the day with one of my favourite people.

I had lunch at Theo :D

I shopped.

Today, dance class, again. It feels SO good to be back!

Exams in....3 weeks.

*panics, runs away.*

I wish

2009-10-30T17:34:00.002+04:00

I wish I were older than the stars

I wish I had seen the beginning of time

The slow evolution

The first tool

The rise of a civilisation

Antony's speech

Helen of Sparta

The tayu courtesans

India's golden age

The newly built Taj.

If I wasn't Indian...

I'd want to be Japanese.

Petite sexy schoolgirl in tiny skirt uniform.

White face, tiny beautiful eyes, fair legs in knee socks

Land of bullet trains and geisha and sushi and karaoke.

(Maybe it's the book I was reading that makes me say this)

I want to live in Miami, wear hot shorts and lounge on the beach. Perfect weather too.

I want to live in New York, be street smart, know my way up and down Manhattan and the subway.

I want to be a chic Parisienne and have the lust for love, cheese and good food in my soul.

But yeah. Bombay works for now. Live in a city with the driving rain and local trains.

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Whimsy crap whimsy crap whimsy crap.

Oh gods of writing or whatever, strike me with inspiration. Please. Thank you.

Now REreading: Neil Gaiman - American Gods.

Trying, as always, to find the colour.

2009-10-27T20:57:00.003+04:00

I have not much to write right now. So, the photos. I'm loving my new Nokia 6303 (low budget, to compensate for the loss of my MOTOK1.), more for the camera than anything else. It helps greatly when I'm bored.

I have a group project to submit by November 1st, the topic is Celebrities as social activists. Growr.

Okay, photos, from top to bottom, we have:

1. Mosaic at Candies, Bandra. I could take photos of every single tile in the place, it's done up SO well!

2. My daily commute. I need to reshoot this tomorrow.

3. Pretty blue tile, Candies. My phone camera didn't capture the colour as it actually was.... :(

4. What I did in today's English class. Inspired by thegirlinthebigbox, specifically her rainbow art, which I absolutely adore. Great examples of her work are here, here and here. She's so incredibly talented....I'm gonna stop now.

5. I shamelessly advertise. I made that. Got all the beads and stuff when I went to Muscat over Diwali. Green garnet and silver.

6. Teeny carrot-cupcake at Candies. It was delicious.

7. Colaba causeway. The silk bangles.

8. Conversely. I have magenta, she has purple.

So yeah. That is me, for now. Enjoy.

Now reading: Lesley Downer - Geisha

Now listening: 3oh3 - Starstrukk

Now watching: Pretty Woman

2009-10-23T19:44:00.001+04:00

Diwali is OVER.

STOP BURSTING YOUR LEFTOVER FIRECRACKERS ALREADY DAMMIT!

Twinkly lights all over

2009-10-20T14:19:00.002+04:00

Aah, back to the buzz that is Bombay. I didn't get my big fat noisy Indian Diwali after all. I didn't even light a single firecracker. But my TV-addict cousin got his first bhaiduj from me, and I got a bit rich.

On my way home from my grandmom's, the sun had set and every window glittered with twinkly lights of every size and colour, beautiful paper lanterns swaying in the breeze. Even the slummier areas had something, a huge lantern over the highway, a haphazard sprinkling of bulbs. The chawls overlooking the highway were uniform, the same bright paper lantern in every balcony. Three chawls in a row, each lit in a different colour.

The last day of Diwali was rather quiet. Occasionally you'd hear a bang, and then a shiny green pustule would streak into the sky and explode in a shower of sparks.

Not so much after I got back to Matunga. My head throbbed as I unpacked and ate. Outside my window, down the lane, the noise was continuous. And hellishly irritating.

Furious, I fell asleep. Today morning as I walked down that same lane, so silent now, a thousand little bits of paper were the only evidence of last night's pyrotechnical play.

Mascate

2009-10-12T16:03:00.002+04:00

Clean roads.

Half empty streets at 10 am, then again, this city wakes up early.

Solitude.

Did I mention clean? And bright? And sunny?

Empty, so drastically empty.

Meeting the friends was awesome, I went to school. No one except Chikki knew I was in town. So I got a whole bunch of :

"What're you DOING here?"

"Oh my GAWWWWD"

*Startled looks*

"your HAIR!"

Quite surprisingly, people seem to have missed me. And not just my heroes, or my teammates. Even the wonderful people whose bras I have messed with, seem to genuinely have missed me.

As Chikki says "people seem to like you this time round"

Huh.

2009-10-12T02:05:00.001+04:00

I have a week of holiday.

And so, I'm in the parental home. This should be fun.

It's 2 am, I'm Halfway through Maximum City, and quite contented.

I will write, soon.

Grey days

2009-10-05T15:04:00.002+04:00

It's rained for the past two days. Perfect hoodie weather. I decided to actually DO something instead of sleeping away my Sunday, and that's where the necklace came from. Moonstone and silver. I'm especially happy with the earrings.

I'm even happier with the haircut. I love it so much, I'm still so infatuated with the way I look....everything I do and wear seems so much racier.

For now, i have nothing more to say. The winds are changing...and I'm catching a cold.

Thin girls hate mirrors too

2009-09-29T20:13:00.003+04:00

A skinny girl in a department store will sigh

"Everything's too large, nothing in my size"

To the kids section maybe they must go

But to the innocence there, they'll say no.

Fat girls will look into mirrors

With mind, chiselling away flabby horrors

Thin girls sigh at the angles

At stick arms that can't even support bangles

Clothes as tight as can be

Padded bras to show there's something to see

Anything to stimulate a hint of curves

Yes, our skinniness gets on our nerves

Everyone knows them guys like curvy girls

36-24-36 is what we aspire to be

To gain weight we chomp on cheese curls

Oh screw the guys, lets love me for me

-Skinny Chick.

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A stupid little something I wrote during the seminar on Saturday. I like the idea behind it, even though the poesie itself is crap.

Bond girls

2009-09-24T19:48:00.002+04:00

Isn't it just BEAUTIFUL? THIS is art, man. I'd borrowed For Your Eyes Only, and I was entranced by the cover. From this lot, my favourite by far is Casino Royale.

llustrator Michael Gillette was hired to produce 14 paintings for each of the 14 covers.

Thank me later

2009-09-22T19:33:00.001+04:00

How I Met Your Mother Season 5 Episode 1, for those who haven't already seen it.

http://www.himymepisodes.com/season-5/season-5-episode-1-definitions

you're welcome.

Lost

2009-09-20T19:09:00.002+04:00

I've lost my phone. In a cab, I believe.

I'll get a duplicate SIM soon, but I must be stuck with an old phone belonging to my aunt till December. :(

Yes, my contacts are all gone, now starts the slow process of getting them all back......

Hangover

2009-09-17T18:46:00.003+04:00

They say you talk too much when you're drunk. They say you do stupid things.

They say the whole truth comes out in that inebriated state.

No one knows that better than me....Kids, know your limits. Trust me on this one.

It started out as a great night. Fun, with good friends, great food, good music, and the vodka. Then they decided to play 'I never'. When it came around to me, I raised my glass.

"I never ever..." I paused to think of something I've never ever done.

And that's all I remember.

I woke up the next morning in the bedroom, with a very hazy image of a scream. That was all. I staggered out into the living room and was met with stony stares.

Silence all around.

I hadn't caught on yet. Nursing my aching head, I muttered, "Hey, I can't remember shit. What HAPPENED last night?"

Silence. All I saw, through the redness and the hammering in my head, were accusing looks.

"O-kaaaaaaaaaaaay....."

Now I was worried. Even with the massive hangover I could see that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I'd said something, hadn't I? Last night? Had I done something...? No. Calm. Think.

"Guys? Please help me out here...? What'd I do? I said something stupid, didn't I?"

A disgusted snort, someone I held very dear left the room.

Now I could feel their stares burn me. Their contempt-filled eyes seemed to strip through to my soul.

That can sober you up REALLY fast. A great hangover cure, but may you never have to take it.

And then I knew. I'd done something that wasn't just stupid. I'd done something that showed everyone the core inside the nice-guy exterior, the coldness of my deepest soul. Something so horrific it could not be comprehended by the devil himself.

I just didn't know what it was. And, what's worse, no one would tell me.

What did I do? What ELSE could I do? I changed and left. I went home, slept it off, and hoped it would blow over soon.

But it didn't. The guys at that party told everyone they knew. Now my whole school knows. And a few other schools too.

But not me.

Kids, from that day, I've stuck to one drink at a time.

But what difference does it make?

I have no one left to drink with.

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Bit of fiction I wrote a couple of months ago.....errr, lemme say it again, THIS IS FICTION. so don't get all worried and stuff.

2009-09-12T19:26:00.002+04:00

Bombay is huge. That's an understatement....Bombay might be a miniscule little reclaimed island clinging desperately to the west coast of India (like a leech onto a hiker's leg, like....a foetus to the womb), but by sheer volume of humanity, Bombay is colossal.

So when I randomly bump into someone I knew from my previous life, when I least expect it, it's a little more special than it should be.

2009-09-10T19:31:00.002+04:00

When I'm feeling low, I should just remember this....

The sound of the sea will help me. Always.

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yeah, i'm not writing too much these days...I'm just...tired.

2009-09-05T18:42:00.001+04:00

I wonder why they say that peer pressure drives one to smoke....If I ever started, it'd be when I was alone, out of the loneliness of my soul. To try and fill the gaping hole.

I haven't bothered trying, because I know it wouldn't help.

The Inkers

2009-09-02T18:01:00.002+04:00

Today, I learned that tattoo artists are always fun to talk to. My friend wants to get a tattoo for her birthday, so I trailed around Bandra with her, doing the rounds of Shoryuken and Al's, to check prices.

Today I also reaffirmed that tattoos are bad on the budget.

Sitting in Shoryuken, I comtemplated. I'm too scared of pain to get a tattoo, of course, and bony so it'd hurt like hell. But if I did....it'd be a black cat.

I was sketching it, something similar to the pic below, only a little rounder.

Later, the dude showed me an even better design, curved dagger-like lines forming the outline of a buxom, rounded cat. It was perfect. Was it already done, I asked. Possibly.

Dammit. I want something unique.

Of course, that is assuming I work up the guts (and the money) to get inked. Maybe, like my friend, I could save up and do it as an 18th bday gift to myself....

Epiphanies

2009-08-28T19:43:00.002+04:00

Those who know me will know that I'm not the biggest fan of organised religion, or even religion as a whole. I'm not atheist, but God, to me, is kinda formless. I don't even give it a name....

I've almost always shied away from poojas. When I've gone, I've always been in another room, playing with the other kids around. I haven't attended a pooja or a satsang in more than two years.

So I wasn't too pleased when my aunt, who I currently live with in Bombay, decided to drag me to a neighbour's place for a Ganpati pooja thingy. I sat awkwardly for a good half hour, right in the front, as others around me chanted, some mantras known, some alien.

Even the 7 year old kid next to me knew exactly what to do.

All I did was admire the decoreations and the pure white orchids used. Yeah, I checked, they were real.

And in the middle of all the noise and the chaos, my mind throwing up random bull, I looked into the compassionate eyes of the idol...and I had a conversation with Lord Ganesha.

Naah, it was probably the deluded mental diarhhea.

'Enjoying this, are you?', I asked the object of worship.

'YES!', he replied.

'But seriously dude,' I say, 'Why do people go through so much trouble for you anyway when you'd be just as happy even if they didn't?'

'Because,' and I could almost see a grin very familiar to me from somewhere else, 'I'm AWESOME.'

Erm.....

2009-08-28T17:07:00.001+04:00

There's a Facebook page for Lord Ganesha. Am I the only one who finds this weird?

She's back.

2009-08-26T18:47:00.002+04:00

Yes, I'm back in Bombay.

In a startling display of je ne sais pas quoi, I've lost my Bombay sim card, and the beautiful number that was mine. I had to rush around today getting a new number, which pisses me off. I hate changing numbers, or phones.

And all my contacts were on that sim. Grrrrrr.....

Anyhoo, I've got a lot of them back.

College is supposed to start tomorrow or the day after that, so i'm gonna have to go check it out tomorrow.

let's just hope.

Frustration

2009-08-24T15:01:00.000+04:00

Courtesy www.xkcd.com

Sometimes, all it takes to make me happy is this.

2009-08-18T18:15:00.004+04:00

A blue sea, a cool breeze.

Toes in the sand.

A tight hug from an awesome friend.

A cat who remembers me.

A warm soft cat who purrs when I hold her.

Home cooking.

My pink streaks.

Friends who know what I'm like.

Oh, being told I have an awesome ass, because that doesn't happen often!

Sometimes.

PS: This made my day.

And Just when I needed it most....

2009-08-16T21:58:00.002+04:00

I went home. To the place I've called home for the last 17 years.

Swine flu holidays and the ongoing teachers' strike put me on a plane to Muscat on Thursday...and now I'm home. My bright flat with my white cats. Who managed to remember me within two hours of my arrival.

Just being here makes me feel good. More than being here, I think it's being with my parents, and my mom's excellent cooking. And the white cats. I woke up to Maheen-cat biting my ankles. *Happy sigh*

Kaminey was yefterday, and after that movie, I have a newfound refpect for Fhahid Kapoor. A double role with TWO fpeech defects if no eafy tafk.

Today we gave Basu a farewell, well a kinda pseudo farewell, it just ended up with a bunch of us in his complex pool, buoyanting, as we call it. Truly awesome to see these guys again, these guys I love so much, after so long. Today I learnt to always keep camera batteries charged. I learnt that the element of surpise, and some sentimentality is a good thing to have. (SLK, LOL.) I've been spanked multiple times today, and pushed into the deep end of the pool. Which I enjoyed, even though I can't swim too well at all....

Very cool. I love being in the water though. Feels nice. Not too nice after I get out, like a drenched cat, hair all frizzy.

I learnt...that a few people don't forgive easy and there's nothing you can do about it. And I know my Muscat friends love me, and home will always be home.

For Once, I'm happy about this strike bullshittyness.

Koff koff .... Can it be...?

2009-08-11T18:34:00.004+04:00

Slowly but quite surely, the paranoia is reaching Bombay.

Meanwhile, Dadar Station (central side) has a new aquisition!