Feverish

To write. All I want. All I could ever want. All I could ever think. To respond, to reciprocate to the loud silence, demure whispers and the silent thumps of a curious humanity; demanding, belligerent, vulnerable. Through words - turned meanings - turned stories - turned lives; demanding, belligerent, vulnerable.

To Mumbai

I have a feeling that I should be doing more justice to this blog, So that's what i am here for, justice :)

May be a little retrospection? Yes that sounds just perfect. The timing could not have been more perfect what with my course is over and i am doing what i am most awesome at; wondering! Wondering what next, wondering should I pack my bags and visit Kerala or should I wait till the familiar roar of Monsoon. Yes, i have esoteric reasons to visit home. I mean, who doesn't know that Kerala is one lush bod during monsoon and it can evoke the deepest of romance in any bonafide philistine and make him a little Wordsworth himself.

On the contrary, rain in Mumbai is a catastrophe. Sheer, unadulterated agony.  I never thought rain could ever depress me until i landed in Mumbai, that too at the peak of Monsoon last year.  Let's just say, the slum dwellers and homeless who constitute a good share of Mumbai would be the last to itch for rain let alone rain-induced romance.

Grit. Along with the glamour and glitz, that's what Mumbai demands of you.

Speaking of Mumbai and my successful completion of 10 months here, may i solicit your attention to pure narcissism? I am in a mood to reflect on the self, in a new light. I already hinted that i have a lot of free time at hand and its about the perfect time to indulge in, well, joblessness. So.

Post 10 months.

1. A nosedive in hygiene

2. Perpetual hunger, at times cannibalistic

3. Involuntary twitch of facial muscles at the mention of vada pao or its accomplished cousins.

4. Leaner, Meaner, Worldly-Wiser

5. Optimism, my foot!

6. Borderline agnostic

7. Borderline misanthrope

8. Adventure sports enthusiast (read local trains)

9. Recklesser, restlesser ( yea, i make my own words)

10. Goddess of small things

But the sunny side is that I have inadvertently grown fond of this city despite my personal decadence. I love this city to bits for the insane freedom it endowed me with. For representing the quintessential humanity; scaling and struggling.  For being un-apologetically brave. For being a curious mix of love and intolerance. For being my home. And million others'.

To Mumbai.

PMS

Sometimes I just wish if I could con myself into believing that me and my pet peeves are two different entities. Wistful thinking but.  And my inexorable worry over them is silly and foolish because I don’t even own them in the first place and I don’t know them hence. I just want to disown them like you would a torn, washed out cloth of yours that no longer brought you compliments nor confidence.

I can't help but be tickled at the inane efforts of humanity to stay buoyant amidst all the grueling struggle and mind numbing clamour.  It’s hilarious -the things we do to cheer ourselves up, to take it on the chin and on our stride. To bear it and grin like “Paalam kulungiyalum Kelan kulungilla” (a funny  usage in Malayalam, if any non Malayalee reads this. Can be roughly translated into ‘Unshakable Dude’).  But why? Why all these excruciating ordeals? Wouldn’t I be better off with some peace of mind and a books-to-read list and a rocker?

Sometimes I realize with an appalling gravity that how close I am to give up. I don't like it when universe makes faces at me. It pushes my boundaries and I go all metaphor. Like how close I am to gently push the unsuspected stone into the precipice and listen to its betrayed cry and wait with a lunatic grin for its final plummet. See what I mean? I have started to doubt my once-upon-a-time flamboyant optimism too. I think it’s that pessimistic wolf in sheep’s clothing. And for all I know, it had been him all this while along.

What I need is more than a sunscreen with SPF 50 for this summer. 

21 grams

The lives we live are not ours.

The life you live, the life you see reflecting at you every day, the life you think you solely own, is not solely yours. Your joys you let infect you, your sorrows you let corrode you, your fears you never confront are not yours. The desires you let choke you, the lust you never quench enough, are not yours too.

You own nothing. You are nothing.

Your life is his’. Hers’ too. Your desires, fears and your morbidity; it’s the same, you are sharing it with them. In the same breath. In the same sticky sweat. In the very same blink of the eye. You don’t know it yet. You may not know it ever. You are a fucking fool all your life. That is the game.

You wait all your life for the Godot. You wait till the moment arrives when your life is capsized. And then you are up! Like a kitten from a nap that smelled fish. You sit upright, you look around, awake from the drunken torpor, and sit by the window with the dappled sun on your messed up life and decide to give life a serious thought. You pick up the pieces of the jigsaw and try to act smart. But try as you might, the pieces defy to fall into place.

You sit there, like a retard, wondering what to do with the pieces and how to get your acts together. May be all you have to do is just shift a little in your seat to accommodate one simple truth, and still have that sun shine on you. That, the puzzle you are fiddling with, the pieces you hold staring at, are not just. That, its not just about you. That, you need more than you. That, you are only one of the gazillion pieces of the very puzzle that you try to solve.

Yes, you woke up only to realize you travelled just half the way. To realize your life is inextricably knotted with everyone else’s out there. To simply perceive, might or might not you want it, you are an inexplicable scrap of a convoluted plot that some extremely witty playwright is penning and somehow has an ensemble cast.

Oh honey, the lives we live are not ours alone.


PS. Inspired by the film 21 Grams. After been blown away into smithereens and floating around for sometime weightless, i picked myself up and sat down and wrote this.

The Game

I used to punish my stupid tears, you know,
Those sprang up for no reason.
I would trap them inside my eyes
Rolling them from one corner to other
And niftily tilting my head
In time not to let them spill over and escape
Feeling a miniature river inside
That was unduly restricted to
a back and forth course
washing away the same sins over and over.


But just so you know
For the deserved ones
I was always a good mother to
Letting them stream
Down my cheeks

Before they plunged
Into the abyss of my lap
And hid happily ever after.

the easy way

the easy way because uploading pictures is any day easier than writing ;) no no, i loveee writing. its just that some serious writer's block been hampering yours truly and the ever so demure muse. so photos. enjoy.

You.

i don't even know what your eyes do to me
other than the magic of seeing me through
i don't even know what your words are made of
only that they make my world up
i no longer know love from you
and myself from us
i no longer know strength from weakness
and you from my reasons
its just that you were born
and time lingered
then we started our journey back
and forward on a curious day.

Ache

I looked deep into the crevice
And called out loud
for a poem
A poem it was
Naked, limbless,
quivering,
and moaning its first words.

Time machine-d

Hey, let’s go for a ride down the memory lane.
Okay, But why suddenly?
Just so, you know,
Want to know you a little better.

Oh. That’s curious.
But, why don’t you look forward
To know me a little better?

Because,
I am afraid
I might know you too much.

Madness

There are days when words fly towards you
From the just unearthed soil
From the autumn trees
From everything beautiful and ugly
Like fleas to a meat loaf
Buzzing, busy sucking
And high on craze
That’s a good day
To grab them ruthless
And cook a sumptuous meal
To be served with good red wine
Good, the goodness of a man who toils till dusk
Red, the redness of his sweat

Vampire love

Would you rather
The pile of unsaid
Or said?
Tossing the question
Into the evening sun
And leaning on his shoulders
was the rainbow girl
And the boy?
He flashed his
Demonic grin
Before he morphed into
A vampire
And flew away.

The goddess of small things

Movies. Music. Books. Not necessarily in that order. Plus a good amount of beauty. Sometimes I think that’s all I require to stay buoyant in this at-times-sickening world. And by beauty I don’t necessarily mean humans, but the kind of beauty that stops you in your walk but yet leaves you the happiest pair of legs that ever walked on earth. Beauty that engulfs your senses and overwhelms you. Beauty that makes you vulnerable, beauty that makes you go weak in your knees, beauty that keeps you close to God.

Ok, stop rolling your eyes to heaven. Let’s face it. I am romantic. As romance could be. I have reasons to believe I am Wordsworth’s sensitivity reincarnated. I mean that guy would have been mighty proud of me had he been alive and I chanced upon him and confided in him over a cuppa what these evening sky, happy trees, roaring rain, window seats, wooden stairways, rainy windows et all do to me. I sure mean that. I don’t know how dreamy and outlandish I sound by stating my predicament here.

But it’s my bloody blog, I might bloody as well babble.

It’s just that it fills me in a way it chokes me. People ask me why am I so lost always, that why do I look through them, that why I forget my conversation midway. But hey, that's me. I have a mechanism to retreat to my intimate space ever so often, without letting you know, hardly letting myself know.

And I digress. A lot.

What I wanted to say actually was just this. You know some people (oh God, please take care of them) make films in such a way that it does magic to you. It takes your heart gently in its hand and makes it feel things that you didn’t know existed. It tells stories of humans that you will listen to with your heart aching with almost every emotion that life did intend to take you through but at various points.

(500) Days of Summer. This film wears its heart on its sleeve. Watch it if you had been in love and out of it. And if you are still waiting for the Autumn.

Back to the future

There is childhood and then there is horrible childhood. For reasons best known to me I was fortunate enough to enjoy the latter. Thanks to a rather eccentric pair of parents and a worm of a brother, who by some cosmic conspiracy had to be elder to me. Ah, life was just Utopian.

This particular incident i am going to elaborate on is something that’s been seared into my memory thanks to the sheer torture I went through.

I was 6 years old, puny and worn out of absolute anarchy administered by my brother. It was one of those rare days in school when your class is dismissed a little before the stipulated time and wicked ideas spring up in elder brothers’ heads. There was an hour or so left till it was time for our school bus. What do normal kids do when they have time to kill in such a case? They wait. They sulk, nevertheless they wait. But no, not my brother. He and his friend have this sudden brainwave, to go explore the school surroundings until it was time for bus.

As an aside, if you’ve noticed every school has this forbidden land where students are not supposed to enter, and if caught trespassing, you will be knee-deep in shit. And the reason that you are forbidden could not be more ridiculous. A) there is a mango tree that’s in good shape B) there is a guava orchard C) as silly reasons as that

It’s that forbidden area my brother and his friend decided to trespass that fateful day. And what little choice I have other than to tag along when the elders make decisions and especially when you are strictly advised by your parents to follow your brother’s instructions in such crucial moments.

Ignoring my frowns and feeble grunts, they set off for the adventure, and I, the hapless victim followed. All the way to the no-entry zone the boys chattered, laughed, smacked on each other’s shoulders, not giving the slightest recognition to the little one tailing behind. I must have come this close to telling on him to my father but then knowing my brother and his staunch belief in quid-pro-quo, I chucked it.

We were almost there. I could see the mango tree across the white fence, packed with oddly round mangoes, slightly yellowish in tinge, promising a sweet heaven once I put them inside my mouth. The three of us looked longingly at the tree, mouth agape, eyes almost hurting with gluttony. We felt the mangoes beckoning us in its slight swaying in the friendly breeze. What stopped us from being on top of the tree and whip out our animalistic streak in that very moment was a small brook in front of us, of which the other side we were standing. Not a very wide one, can be easily jumped off according to the boys’ calculations, the water not too deep, the brook gurgled away happily.

As I was still pondering if I should attempt to jump over the boys had reached the other side of the brook and was giving me those contemptuous looks. “just jump ok, it’s no big deal, see, we jumped, right?” never short of words of motivation, my brother.

And people, I jumped, or at least I thought I did. Splash! I nosedived right into the water, spread-eagled. Wet, furious, mortified I tried to get up but in vain. My chivalrous brother and his friend rose to the occasion, pat they jumped into the stream, picked me up by the scruff of my neck like a wet kitten, dragged me onto the ridge and rolled me over on the ground to dry me up. Too humiliated to say anything, I got up, could not look the morons in the eyes, I started counting the fingers on my feet. I could have sworn on my life that my brother was trying his best to suppress his spurting chuckles.

“Anyway we are on the other side, let’s go flick some mangoes”, my brother said solemnly. I nodded still counting my fingers.

The extra mangoes I got that day, I assume, must’ve been my penalty kick.

P.S. This was written as an assignment as part of my curriculum. Thought might as well post it :P

Mumbaiscope

Living in Mumbai is nothing short of Kaleidoscopic what with the riot of colours around and almost psychedelic moments that speed past you. The course I am pursuing required me to have a DSLR and I could not have been happier owning one. Below are the pictures taken by a month-old amateur, but overly enthusiastic wonder-eyed me. Do comment, please. I like comments :)

Limbo

People to love. Places to go. Things to do. Movies to live through. Books to devour. So much to do and so little time. I’m sad. I am distraught by the unfairness of life.

That said, I must add that I am overwrought by things I should not be burdening myself with, unless you have a thing for bugging yourself. Silliness, you might say. But I’m cluttered, messed up big time. It’s been more than a month in a new place and I’m still hung upon a distant past with echoes of equally distant dreams reverberating through me every now and then, leaving me in a state of limbo.

I’m disturbed. Period. And to list out the things that are perturbing me could not be more ludicrous. Like life is not as happening as it is ought to be. Duh. I contradict myself at a rate which urges me to double-check my sanity. You ask how. See, I consider myself a loner but then I get these random cravings to be amidst people. I talk to strangers who walk their dogs down the road where I live about its breed but I can’t make a conversation with people I see on a daily basis. I ride on delirious happiness and feel my heart about to burst of contentment and next moment I sink deep into despair and animosity. I mean, what the hell! I wish I could shake these disconcerting fleas off me and feel like a sun-bathed clean puppy and roll over and enjoy my day. How hard it is I wonder.

Heck. I want to make this work for me. I’m done sulking and lazing around and procrastinating and achieving new heights of escapism. I am gonna be a changed person. From Independence Day onwards. Nothing, just to have a good start on a great day in history, you know, might add to my perseverance. Hmm.

this is the list i have made to make me a better person. For starters, I will mend my torn slippers which I’ve been pushing off for god knows how long. Will be attentive in class. Won’t space out. Won’t miss train by a minute and resort to swearing. Will swear less, generally. Will reach college on time. Won’t take things for granted. Will catch up with lectures I’ve missed out. Will talk to people. Will chuck my ego (I’ll try. Promise). Will read like no one else’s business. Will cut out on facebooking and spend time wisely. Will keep the self happy and occupied. Will ensure productive time. Will travel. Will let the self vulnerable and sturdy accordingly. Which I don’t know if its something predeterminable. Will make friends. Will go out, chill and laugh out loud. Will capture good moments for now and posterity. Will watch movies and check off the must see list. Will keep my room neat and tidy. Will arrange clothes in the cupboard when it reaches the height of messiness. Or little before that. Will eat on time and decide the menu on goodness and not junkness. Will drink lots of water and work towards a cleaner skin. Will wash hair every two days. Or three. Will write. Will write more. Will keep the spirits up. Will keep up with the people I don’t want to miss out. Will smile. Will be happy. Will love. Oh! There's so much to do and so little time...

Fiver

Caught up between a Two and a Five
i contemplated
i looked once again
at the flea-strewn,
gooey clot of blood on her temple
the cupped palm she stuck at me
and the eyes that bore down on my blessings.
I decided on the fiver.

Another

Come here,
sleep in my arms
i will hold you close
and drown you in my kisses
now and then,
Okay?
He purred, Okay.

Random

Sometimes kaleidoscopic
Sometimes pitch black
Sometimes high on a carousel
Sometimes gone with the wind
Sometimes someone
Sometimes me

Faithful

The question was
who to be faithful to
you
or me
in the end, i chose me
Sorry,
I am selfish like that.

Merry leaves

I should rather put down in
Pretty, profound words
About what the wind does to me
When I stand against it
Than letting myself become
The dry, withered, yet playful leaves
On the pavement
That make merry,
Dance in swirls,
Subdue,
And wait for the next.

Silence

You said you like me more
when i am my silent self
which leaves me but curious
is it the silence
or me
you like after all

Hey there

Will you be kind enough
not to sweep those warm eyes
over me
and lock them with mine
from time to time?
And not break into those
beautiful, heartwarming laughs.

I may still be able to save myself.

Just getting it out of the system

Why is it suddenly difficult to put down the words that were rattling inside your head until few moments ago, once you open you a word page? You were listening to your favourite songs, downloaded secretly the other day in office, humming along or convincing you were, occasionally head banging, taking blind mad delight on the imaginary glimpses of you as the performer; not Curt Cobain, singing to the mad cheering of thousands and the inevitable; jumping on to the sea of admirers, being carried from hands to hands, back to the stage, the stunning finish and a standing ovation, unstoppable cheer, cries and wolf whistles, such a crazy joy it is, I tell you.

No harm in imagining, right? Even imagining a little beyond the periphery of common sense, right?

So I was just treating myself to this reverie and heck! it starts, the kind of rattle the crockery in your house make in an earth quake; if its intensity is on the lesser side of the Ritcher scale, that is. If the rattle can’t do justice, don’t just rattle, right? The bottom line is that I had to take the headphones off my ear, open my laptop, open a word page and bam! I don’t know what to write. Blank is my mind. I can’t even remember what the crockery racket was.

Fine.

Though, on an aside, I have been thinking a lot lately. Thinking about general stuff like people, people’s problems, people’s reactions, people’s complexes, people’s giving-shit-but-cant-take-shit stance. It amazes me you know, it amazes me beyond my wits. The universal rule is, you give shit, you take shit. Hand in hand. If you can’t take it don’t go delivering it around in the first place - Lesson number 2.

I am not liking you 2011, I am so not liking you.

What Sundays do to me

I am growing up. I can tell you that.  I have left the girl, that I essentially was for quite some time, back in the journey, suggesting she go back home for I can take over on my own from here, that I got a new company and I shall join her back home before not so long.

It was amazing, the journey so far. I have to stop and thank God before saying any further.  I only wonder if I could thank Him enough, for giving me a chance here on earth, for sending me away nevertheless watching me closely, for taking me through ups and downs, for patiently teaching me so and so of life, for letting me know the dark side of life too before making me a forever happy child, for blessing me with sensibilities and helping me grow few on my own, for pouring in me a desire for life, for giving me a heart so porous; the kickbacks I will have to cope up with, though, for giving me people I can love to bits, for making me a soul somebody can love too if not hundreds, for just being there and listening to me, for reprimanding me, for assuring me, for moulding me the way I am today, for everything dear God, for every single thing of my teeny weeny life, I thank You crores.

So, 22 years and few months, almost 23. Nothing roller coaster-ey it was, but can’t complain though. Looking back it seems a perfect sum of what it was meant to be. It could not have been otherwise. I loved, hated, believed, questioned, challenged, had fun, sulked, had own slice of existential issues, sown hatred, reaped galore, got bored, knew new realms of exhilaration, learned, forgot, caused pain, received aplenty, struggled, sailed through,  laughed, cried,  was destroyed, rose again, was hopeless, is clueless. You see a pocket size of ‘the life’ already. Can’t really complain.

It’s good to be here, generally speaking. Sometimes it feels dead silly, though. But good, more or less. Amidst all the pain, heart breaks, depressions and struggling, you would know few joys; priceless, overwhelming, settling. And life’s worth fighting for those. Or so do I believe.

Smile.

Thoughts

I want to know how it feels like after death

That if I could meet God, really

That if I would be lined up with many

Where they would weigh my sins against virtues

as my mom always threatens me

That if I stand any chance not to be

Thrown off to Purgatory

That if somebody would finally tell me

The meaning or meaninglessness of

Life and death-

I want to know.

Only if there was a way to know

Without being really gone.