Monday, December 19, 2005

January Calling

Tuesday, December 20, 2005
12:04:07 AM

I am so sick of condoning the mindless, ruthless, frivolous bantering…it’s strange how people interact when a certain level of frolicking thresholds and time limits are crossed…even myself!

Osiris intervention, I gather…

Meanwhile, I am deeply moved (honest…) by the burgeoning bard…carry on, my wannabe girl


But I doubt whether CD really comprehended the real meaning lurking behind those poetically challenged phrases…Hats off to the bard, once again…may Homer shine upon you…

I am now soothing my olfactory with Morrison (not Van) and Dylan (not Thomas) and Baez…so the jazzy buffoon can no longer keep my mind engaged with the crass ramblings of his pulverized, xenophobic cerebrum.

I wish I survive my trip and remain in one piece, scuttling and skating through my deltaic land, endangered by bombs and walking, talking, human mines, till I get my copy of McRae’s creepy, chilled, voluptuous music…and The Doors live videos…that too…

This will probably be my last post for this year…and I resolute upon making a new blog next year, with more verve and enthusiasm…and this time I promise to upload images to get rid of any residual bleakness forever…

To people who love me and hate me, and those who know me and do not know me, plus those who would comment and not comment on my posts:

Merry Christmas and A Joyful New Year!

P.s. Loony, I will try to get u a sketchbook like mine…do u want a bigger size???

Evening At The Fulcrum

Sunday, December 18, 2005
11:14:02 PM

They strolled along the woods with hands around each other’s waists, exchanging warmth, each step conjuring up romance, longing, and fear of the next step.

Left, right, left, right, left…

“How come we still keep pace with each other?”, he asked.

“No, no, no…this makes no sense…we keep pace with anybody we walk with…this is no magic…”, she answered, pulling him hard out of the deeply rooted illusion.

She pointed at the navy blue sky surmising the stars from the planets…

“Betelguese…Bellatrix…(ouch!)”, falling off ineptly as her feet met the uneven ground with friction and doubt. He held her firmly and resumed the consonance of their fateful steps.

“Mars and Venus…”, she concluded, as he pecked a swift kiss on her forehead.

The advent of dire consequences foreboding, the resplendent constellations rhapsodizing, she allowed the zephyr to alleviate any discordant thoughts. The tryst was about to end and they would soon be lost in their vapid worlds.

They have run out of soliloquies, confounded by the conundrum of surprise…There was no need to cogitate further; the end was about to emancipate from its diffidence…

The forlorn minds lingered along through the harrowing moments. The future was fraught with mist and the present was too abstruse…only the past remained diligently fluent and blissfully sanguine. Serendipity was fading away from their interface…lights no longer went off as they passed across light bulbs…not anymore.

“When can I see you again?”, she asked.

He was crestfallen, craven, debilitated to the size of raisins…He wanted to lament with music, lament with pain, anger and contempt…but it was too late…or too early, perhaps…She smiled at him with unknown foolishness, and they strolled along incessantly…

Thursday, December 15, 2005


Wednesday, December 14, 2005
8:48:38 PM

What a day, man! (“Do you know the transistor, man?”) The otherwise mute, motionless librarian of our viscous Computer Centre suddenly got busy having animated conversations with my mom…finding nothing else, he complained about me not taking any book from the center!!! IS THERE A PROBLEM IF I OWN THE BOOKS AND NOT HAVE TO VISIT THE LIBRARY??? I mean I know I am poor, but is it sacrilege if I say I own my textbooks? Anyway, apparently I am being exploited by my present friends’ circle, according to our HOD…In fact, when my shoes got torn, Fubu gave away his shoes to me so I would be on someone else’s shoes and get exploited in the process…

And what’s this business about my day out??? I mean is it new that I have a day-out-story to tell??? Isn’t it dull already?

Our HOD also emphasized that my mind remains somewhere else in class…as if he can tell…If I were to show that I am concentrating and in reality I don’t give a damn, he would never get to know about it…If I had anything to hide, I would hide it with expertise and art…On top of all that, my shoes got torn halfway to Fubu’s house… and it looked like a crocodile opening and closing its mouth simultaneously as I was walking… guess who saw us while we were at the underground Metro…HOD of course…

Lunatic interventions of the full moon…or maybe a real life Airplane – Sequel II.

And oh, I lost my mother’s Floppy on the way somewhere…it fell off from my pocket probably…The only things good about today were Fubu’s wonderfully disheveled hair, the disheveled pictures shot by Anchoo, a lovely shot of myself taken by papa paddy, food offered by Fubu and his mother, Fubu’s den, FRIENDS season 10 episode, and the meatwhore musical connotations…even all that were part of the exploitation by G’s gang!

P.S. And my socks were stinking!!!


Wednesday, December 14, 2005
1:02:41 AM

“If you miss this train I warn
You will know that I have gone
You can hear the whistle blow
A hundred miles………………..”

I never knew my college had so much beauty hidden in its enclosure… this blend of déjà vu: the Dirty fella’s choir music and the little guy almost resembling an elf by the moonlight, the light just beside shadowy corners and the winter…the non-existent Giant… leaving me more eve-struck than moonstruck…Moonstruck has a bit different mushy kind of meaning in the Oxford Dictionary, which I don’t intend to refer to…

Have I come such a long way for this, and this alone??? I must keep walking, though, like Johnny Walker (I know that’s a very bad pj, but couldn’t help it)… this can’t be all…

I pretend that I am 500 miles away from home… “Is it that far???” Well, it’s so far that it’s pointless to even estimate… Do I have a home anyway?

No, no, no…I don’t mean I want a family…hell, no…I just need a place to call my own…with no one to dictate, no one to advise, no one to roll their eyes and no one to order me around…so I can sketch, sing, or just read a book whenever I want to, without any interruption…or simply write…or just delve into motionless activity of the mind – think!

I wish they didn’t linger their talk about Ayn Rand at such lengths…it was frustrating, and didn’t keep pace with the cadence all over the field and the sky… I wish they could talk of how Dirty looked so bright… I wish there was a stormy Caribbean sea just outside the back-gate, so our Dirty could deal with the pirates with exquisitely flowery usage of English… I wish the moon would really magnetize the poor guy who rocks and would take him away with a large spider-web so I didn’t have to live with his never-ending urgency to be absolutely right about anything and everything…It’s so annoying that it can put you back to senses and ready for an argument even if you are high on LSD…you could even get annoyed right at your deathbed… Death can wait so long as there is an argument to continue…

Argument makes death nervous…

I know there’s someone not too far who would interpret all of this as a reflection of my sadness deep inside (no ‘sad’ implications puhleez, no pun intended)…but trust me I am happy and privileged…than many others starved of Life and Twists and Surprises…Surprise always brings happiness, even if it’s inside a packet of sadness…
Delacroix’s portrait is looking good…there’s not a man like that in college so I can pass my time staring at…and really be moonstruck, with all implications of the word in the big fat Oxford Dictionary…

Monday, December 12, 2005

Rumours in the air...Riders on the storm...

Monday, December 12, 2005
9:56:41 PM

Today I have heard the most brilliant thing ever…it’s like a dream come true…Sam just suggested me that we don’t need to have a net connection to be online…that it’s simply possible to be online if I have a PC…huh, this is something I used to always daydream and also dream in sleep years back in my lovely city…Like every computer has a mind of its own and is connected to every other computer in the city…

Strange things are happening all around…people are at cross-purposes, messages are going astray, in the midst of which some messages manage to hit the bull’s eye…A commotion of emotions all around…Eyes wandering, philandering, dripping, wringing, empathizing, or maybe just checking! Some eyes are lovely in their own right, but can’t wait after the veg food is offered…and also manages to be ruthless to jokes thrown at him quite harmlessly and without any evil intentions. I was only asking him to look through the works of Delacroix, with a pinch of salt that seemed to hit him so hard, I couldn’t imagine…otherwise I wouldn’t have asked…

My so-called seductive voice failed to seduce the microphone once more, and I am just consoled by Mirinda and the same old Monginis food…I think I am burping and smelling of Monginis even now… Some people are outright felicitous that I screwed up the song… The one devilish woman in black… Don’t know how she will contain and savourrrr the pleasurrrrre of my failurrrrre… She was even trying to “jest at my scars” in vain…poor bitch!

Feelings From The Crypt - II

Monday, December 12, 2005
1:28:51 AM

Right, here we are…in the middle of acres and acres of barren, abandoned land…stretching far and wide on both sides of the interminable highway…no traffic, no lights, zero warmth…I look at his eyes…he doesn’t want me here…or may be, he does…I can’t tell, without any lights…A sudden beam glows up in his eyes, telling me “Here we are”.

“Where are we, Dark Lord?
Pretty damsel, strike a chord!
Hello, ain’t we bored?
Will the rain be poured?
Don’t you make me real
There’s no time to feel
Come on, give me a chill
Make me a nice red pill”

The black sky started where the crops let out their last bit of inflorescence, as though a thick curtain lifted only halfway, and the stage-man controlling the strings have collapsed for no reason and forgot to pull them further… and the fog, as though the dry ice have just been sprayed by somebody back-stage.

The swift breeze swept away his otherwise settled hair. He has no clue how we got there. We were in some busy office floor in a conference room, sipping through coffee…and now, we are in the middle of nowhere. Whichever way we run, desolation welcomes us with open arms… I see myself standing in front of a sign… it has its arrow in a weird direction…up…

The label looks foolish and incomprehensible:


How can the upward direction be full? How can upward be fool? Is there a fool hovering up above??? Doesn’t make any sense…I look at him and there’s a sudden spark all over his face…He thrusts his left hand towards me…the watch at his wrist has stopped functioning…Hell no, the time hasn’t stopped… the crops are still swaying back and forth with the breeze…time has not stopped for good…

I am fighting hard to get out of this stagnancy, but Neo is nowhere in sight. “Time flies by like an arrow and fruit flies like banana”.

I can see him now laughing like a lunatic, without ever stopping for an after-laugh…

Thursday, December 08, 2005


Wednesday, December 07, 2005
7:58:05 PM

“People are strange
When you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly
When you’re alone.
Women seem wicked
When you’re unwanted…”
- The Doors

Have you ever seen anyone trying and working on being superficial? I have seen one and trust me, once you have had enough of that, you won’t mind spending protracted hours with the sea horse…oh, lovely lady, this sea horse… she has a fairly high need-for-affiliation, which is far, far better to connect with than to try and act nice to any superficiality thrown at your direction. At least, this lovely sea-horse lady is REAL and spontaneous about herself breathing with the camouflaged gills on her head…

And I also know this person whose sensual feelings are centered on the head, pretty amazing, innit? She needs to hide it with a Reebok ski-cap. Amazing lady… I idolize her. She is bored by the winter, even if she finds her winter clothes interesting. She is crazy about singing in public, although she keeps herself at bay at all times, so as not to look stupid. She loves Kati Roll, and loves Joan Baez without ever owning a single record by Baez, just cos’ she had been Dylan’s companion. She has a hard time concealing her eccentricity…That’s just about all I can say for now…There was more…so much more that it would be prosaic to mention it here at this moment…

SIMON SINGH: Knight of Wands (Consult Tarot deck, not Harry Potter!)

Monday, December 05, 2005
11:55:43 PM

Simply umazeeng! This fellow, Dr. Singh…I half expected this man to be coming with a turban and looking old and all, and what I see is a cool guy with chhimply umajing hair! I think it’s more of a statement that papajis can be absolutely eccentric and replace their turban with anything else, if they wanted…but anyway, never mind…His communication skills are unparallel, compared to whatever we encounter here…I don’t think I would be able to attend any college lectures after this. I have never seen a man as confident as him…of course, there are many in this world, but it’s just that I haven’t met…He just knows his thing so well…He didn’t scribble esoteric equations, which was such a relief…But poor Simon, some aged “spherical b*******” pestered him with stupid questions like “Is microwave radiation coming from space harmful?” after he was talking of evidence for The Big Bang theory. The first, last and middle part of his lecture were all so interesting and fascinating…the way he put it…I have never seen anybody so consistently humorous…and so consistently intelligent…His was a musical, humorous, substantial, brief, terse lecture…very neat and well controlled…the frequently ringing cell phones made no effect at all…And he said he couldn’t argue with me! That really will make my day every day for the rest of this month…I am phlatarred!!!

The coffee was perfect, though I spilled my second cup in the whole excitement…


Saturday, December 03, 2005
9:02:43 PM

I had this strangest dream ever. I saw myself walking into a garden in the evening…the lighting was very soft and in the night sky I could see figures and holographic screens like as we see in planetariums. The garden had a feel of Alice in Wonderland and Finding Neverland. Suddenly I see a picture and recognize it as Picasso’s Guernica…it had very vague resemblances to the painting itself…There were other people I don’t know confirming me about the fact that it was Guernica indeed, in the dream. I left the place, and when I came back again I saw an owl flying in the garden, but only now that the garden had a little pond over which the owl was flying. Suddenly I see that it’s not a real owl, but a puppet whose strings are maneuvered by some 4/5 struggling grown people standing up on a large, leafy tree.

I did see other stuff in the dream but I don’t remember anything now…

Pretty “atel” …

But much better than the so-called movie I was forced to watch at a friend’s place which had nothing but still shots…seemed like an ‘atel’ remix music video footage to me…or correctly put, the pictures seemed like the video supporting the music in the background, and not vice versa.

The voice-over was surely inspired by the “Amaron-lasts-long-really-long-ting-tong” ad.

Girl, Interrupted

Friday, December 02, 2005
9:59:11 PM

I can never practice anything, or do my own thing in the vicinity of my mom. Period.


Thursday, December 01, 2005
8:43:36 PM

I don’t know if I should really call it serendipity or not, but I guess there’s no other word for it…I happen to be gifted with the opportunity to notice a single sign many times in different situations and places, simultaneously.

First, it used to be any random, catchy words…I used to encounter them often after having it read for the first time. In a certain English Comprehension test in school long back, I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of “harlequin”. When the test was over, our teacher told us the meaning. And then, on my way back home by car, I spotted a new fast food restaurant that had just opened, named Harlequin! Next, I went home and as I was lazily flipping through the pages of a children’s “People & Places” mini encyclopedia, I found Harlequin again, this time with a picture as well…

Sometimes, my dreams are also linked with such activities…I had a dream two years back about a desert where I was stranded with my friend Fatty, having delicious Lebanese food nearby an oasis…A few days after dreaming that, I accidentally got hold of this book “Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho and it talked of deserts mostly and the main character happened to meet a girl named by the same name as my friend in the dream, near an oasis…In the book, there was also mention of the place Tangier. When I finished reading that book, I just happened to listen to one of tracks of “Blood On The Tracks” by Bob Dylan for the first time, where he happened to be singing the lines:
“If you see her, say hello
She might be in Tangier…”

There, I see a fine thread going along the words desert, Fatty and Tangier…

Again, very recently I was reading Harry Potter, where I was reading a certain chapter called “The Deathday Party”, and on the same day I got to know that a friend’s grandma has passed away. The very next day I go online and find out that another friend’s father has passed away too. He was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.

Should I call this serendipity?

Monday, November 28, 2005

The Non-Conformist

Monday, November 28, 2005
9:33:01 PM

Is it so bad that I fool around so much…may be bug a little…or even accidentally throw away in the process of taking away somebody’s much protected, longed, last chunk of chocolate bar??? Would the world be happier if I turned sane overnight? I would rather be sane than see my insanity ruined by extremely misjudged thoughts and words. What can I do if I can’t behave like all girls do (i.e. never bother anyone…rehearse calculated, controlled, beautiful smiles and perform just that in front of others…never act like a clown) and can’t think twice before asking something from somebody? Would everybody find peace if I never say ‘hi’ to Jerry?

Then so be it…it’s just that I would find myself immersed in so much boredom, that no amount of stimulation would compensate…but then:

Let the world never see me blabbering any non-sense ever again. Hey, will that make me pleasant and great to be simply tolerated? Ooh, am I curious to see myself with an altered self! So, let them be undisturbed until it is time for me to absolutely have nothing to do with anybody whatsoever…




Friday, November 25, 2005
8:20:16 PM

This is the best time of the year. The college is almost empty, with four people sitting at the left corner, one loner at the back and a twosome (guys!) in front, of Arunda’s canteen. I am sitting at the center round table. Fortunately the radio is playing the ‘FRIENDS’ title song in some sensible FM station. Classes are called off, what a relief and I’ve still some time to live with myself until my classmates show up.

More people are coming in right now…The first to enter was our foolish third-yearian, who grabs at every opportunity to demonstrate his classical singing skills. The last one to enter till now was Mr. Peter Pan, for once, without any girl along with him. Lots of schoolboys have filed in.

They don’t remind me anything of my schooldays. I had a rather bleak, restricted school-life. I had nothing much to do other than falling in love. No, come on, it wasn’t that bad: I had my two best friends with whom I always hung around…We threesome always intimidated the teachers in some way. They made every effort to separate us by putting us in different sections, but that didn’t stop us from teaming up during the break or pass cryptic messages across the classrooms. We skated through trouble almost every other day. We were famous for the terror we caused by jumping on the sofa placed inside the Principal’s room, stealing school supplies from there and of course, we have photographic evidence of taking out facial tissues in style from the tissue box on the Principal’s desk…I remember making frivolous phone calls from the Principal’s office itself. Stealing Jules Verne’s “Journey To The Center Of The Earth” from the library was just as easy.

I feel proud to say that I never returned “Space Stories” from the Russian Cultural Center library. It had accounts from the diary of Pavel Popovich, Yuri Gagarin and other astronauts.

Anyway, let’s get back to my school-life again. Smoking in the teachers’ staff room…aah, a fairly good act of juvenile bravado. And guess who accompanied me? Fatty, of course… We have been subject to the effects of mutual Michelangelo phenomenon and now she is more like me and I am more like her. We sculpted each other’s symbolic self-awareness. Hey man, are you reading this??? Man, I miss our lovely times together… The times we blurted out the same thing, in the same tone, at identical timings…the times we delivered dialogues from movies and serials…Due South…remember, Fatty???
“I owe him”

“You owe nobody. He’s gonna get u killed”

Man, I forgot half the dialogues…most of them actually…
“In the name of the Royal Canadian…..(shot guns fired)”

“I don’t think he heard you”

Man, I forgot the most famous dialogues of them all…what was it???? Dammit! Damn the memory!
There are strange things done
In the midnight sun
By the men, who toil for gold”

“Moil Ray, not toil”

“Aah, moil toil who cares?”

“Robert (something), apparently”

“Who’s he?”

“The poet”

Feels good to remember them all back again. Damn man, sign up in here so you can leave comments, so we can finally TALK! Like the old times…

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


Monday, November 21, 2005
7:55:32 PM
Why am I doing this to myself? Why? Making a fool out of myself, dammit. I shouldn’t have sung the song, really, when I don’t stand a chance…Anyway, what’s over is over. It’s always fine to look forward: the perfect mantra of this Aquarian Age.

Something threatening has come up. Was the dream I had about Mars a premonition of this threat? Mars in Aries stands for everything drastic, like as in travel and change…Anyway, I am not surprised. Disappointed, yes. But not surprised. I am seasoned over the years.

I am a really bad singer. I can sketch just okay, I guess. I can’t play the guitar, piano, cello, drums etc. I remember being good at mouth organ, but I lost it. It was a long maroon-red one. I know where it is, but access denied.

Oh yes, I never knew the spelling of planchette until today (although I don’t know why the MS spell check is still making a red underline underneath the apparently right spelling…u wouldn’t notice that in this blog…since I am typing in Word and guess what, the spell check has also put a red underline under the word ‘blog’!). Something’s wrong with my pc, really, files are getting corrupted out of the blue. Some virus maybe, even AVG couldn’t detect. It’s fine now, though a while ago weird things were happening. I guess my pc goes berserk once in a while just like me. I am still high on the Cosmic Plane. Don’t know what the hell that means…

I might lose my place again…and I am numb about it, cos there’s nothing left to do. I don’t want to end up in Malaysia please, although I know it’s a nice place. Canada is even better. But what the hell…I always wanted to study abroad. Always. Still do. But what the hell…
I never knew I was so weak at heart. Very close friends of mine revere me as being strong, intelligent, artistic, witty, tubelight, stupid and vulnerable, all at the same time. Hell knows what that means…


Monday, November 21, 20051:36:22 AM
I wrote this poem months back…last year, if I recall correctly:

She couldn’t hear anything
When words kept blowing
Looking up, far at Orion
And the signs of neon
Hearing nothing but the wind,
Perhaps the calling.
“Was it a calling?”, she wondered.
After all, her hiking hindered.
Then the road led nowhere,
Back and forth somewhere,
In-between the mud and snow.
All but stopped,
Her compass dropped,
And she broke into a laughter.

I named it Exodus. Strong name for an otherwise naïve non-poem, I must say.


Saturday, November 19, 2005
9:40:16 PM

I am high on the Cosmic Plane. Hell knows what that means. But it surely means something or the other. It had been a busy week: zero studying, assessing human behavior, watching movies in the Film Festival and all that. I am finally reading Harry Potter, I don’t even believe myself. It turned out to be a lot better than I apprehended. Don’t know why I am not being able to read it faster. Maybe I am just plain lazy.

Something just came up my mind. The whole idea of black and white seems all very clear to me. From years of preconceived notion that black stands for the dark, which is related to mourning, fear, death and the like, we have it deeply rooted in our memory that Black is anything negative, bad and mournful. White, on the contrary, is preconceived to be the color of peace, tranquility, and life. Is it exactly why we are all so prejudiced? Is it exactly why the Whites think they are superior to the Blacks? I have a sneaky feeling that it’s exactly so. In many cultures, black clothes are worn to mourn for the dead. The Spades cards are considered to be unlucky to cut in fortune reading.

What would happen in a society, which firmly grew up on the idea that black is the color of dignity, knowledge, wisdom, aristocracy and the sorts? Whites would be first taken as slaves and eventually, when the Human Rights commission would form, the whites would still be considered as inferior. Biologically speaking, the color of our skin is only a variation, and to be honest, black people are less prone to skin cancer due to natural resistance conferred by melanin.

If people were grown in a society where we considered Mongoloid features and broad lips as a sign of beauty, perfection and attractiveness, then beautiful men and women like Jude Law, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts and George Clooney would be considered utterly ugly.
I love to be in the dark. Too much sunlight makes me irritated and uncomfortable. Does that mean I am drawn to the evil, dark forces of Nature? And what does it mean anyway to be drawn to these so-called dark forces???


Wednesday, November 09, 2005
11:31:11 PM

I did not attend physics practical class today. Although the real reason was that I had to go somewhere to collect some documents and also because my lab partner was absent today, but I like to put forward some outrageous reasons as well. First, the staff in the Physics lab is corrupted. Have you ever heard of such a thing as apparatus-involving corruption? That is exactly what we encounter here. If you break a beaker of Rs 5, you will be charged Rs. 100. That’s 20 times the actual price! These people should join the Government.

How can they still work with such ancient apparatus, I still don’t understand. I don’t think anybody will gain any practical knowledge here, because nobody looks forward to this class, far less get enlightened by it. If they think I should be content using such ancient apparatus, they must be aware of the fact that I am not Lara Croft and I don’t like working with ancient dials (hell knows why they insist that those are galvanometers) when it comes to Physics lab class. Nobody ever complains… Not even the students…very strange… Why don’t they just settle inside caves like our nomadic forefathers used to do? And guess what, you don’t have to bother about clothes too: Flintstone-style barks would do and I am sure some of the girls in this college can do without them as well (no offence to vagabonds, their idea of not wearing any clothes is completely different from what I write here).

And oh, I almost forgot to mention… The lab itself. Aah, what great architecture and maintenance: a natural spring flows out of certain parts of the ceiling healing us Myth Units of Greek origin and Norsemen as well. The spring and the gong-like sound of the Sonometer create a perfect symphony and enhance concentration of students working in the lab.
So, what do you put on the front cover? “Back to the ancient caves, dials and the barks” I guess…

This is surely becoming a pretty mournful, scornful, rebellious blog… so much so that it is dangling at the brink of getting entirely boring… and stop I must… until I actually think of something good to write about.


Saturday, October 29, 2005
8:38:22 PM

I woke up from a weird dream in the morning today…I saw a great scientist of our country confronting my father. When my father started defending himself, I shouted back at him, “You are not a man of science! So don’t dare speak up…All you do is stupid calculations of commerce…plus and minus…. And now you don’t even do that, all you do is sign… You are not a man of science!”

Then I saw myself leaving the scene and climbing up a stair with a little difficulty cos’ the stairs were too narrow and the steps were too high. When I climbed up, I saw a friend of mine (Deep Blue Sea) wearing a maroon full-shirt and off-white trousers.

I came down, cos somebody asked me to come down… When I got down, I found my aunt and my mom conspiring with my father…As soon as they saw me, they put an end to their hush-hush conversation and giggled away at me…I was mad at all of them, and was pretty disgusted by the steel-box my father was opening where he kept his betel-leaf and betel-nuts…I don’t remember anything else after that…I probably woke up just after that…

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Tuesday Blues

Tuesday, October 25, 2005
7:22:14 PM

People. I am so sick of them. All they talk of is other people. And not about great people mind you… All they get to talk about is ordinary, stupid people with equally stupid ideas and leading equally meaningless lives. More irritating is that when someone talks to me about ‘people’…I mean, have they nothing else to talk about? I recall a friend of mine wondering where are all the elves gone from this world…At least, we would then have some other topics to talk about. Elves. (Reminds me of Elvis…damn, included in the set of people again!).

Where are all the ideas gone? Or events, for that matter. Carnivals are great events, I tell you. And nobody talks of that either. I can’t lead this bleak life, lack of Revolution, full of limitations and failure and frustration. Sometimes I wish I could change my sex. Really. I don’t like being a girl sometimes. Makes me feel so stereotyped. And hey, that’s not me. I feel comfortable being a vagabond… Are there any female vagabonds out there??? I don’t think so. Even if there are, they can be grossly misunderstood and hence misused as whores.

I have finally started sketching…finally got hold of it again… I am looking for a model…any volunteers out there with Greek features? I don’t understand why I don’t identify much with abstract art… It’s too personal…but you can actually pass abstract messages through impressionistic art, somewhat like Leonardo (not De Caprio, especially if Hugh Grant is by any chance reading this post)… That’s much more intriguing than directly painting something abstract…you can conceal and reveal so much in impressionistic art at the same time. But as a starter, my intentions won’t be so grand and colossal…I’m just a novice.

Friday, October 07, 2005


Well, that's exactly 55 words of rubbish too...

Long ago, some entities were tagged to “write” in 55 words, causing mass failing in exam, a heretic act of murdering creativity, (=which is the only means of survival at present). The chain of events has followed till today, where certain individuals were born with a recessive allele Factor M, making them mushy by nature.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Just Being

Tuesday, October 04, 2005
1:06:53 AM

How is it that it is more important that I sleep less and keep my bed done when we don’t know a thing about how big the Universe is or why it exists? The Ultimate Question seems to be less important than what I actually do or don’t. It’s not even funny, man.

I like to be untidy. No, no, I luuuvvvv to be untidy. Gives me more time to do all sorts of things. I don’t need to spend time in keeping things orderly. And there’s so much fun in finding out stuff, cos’ you know exactly where something is. The complex structure of untidiness reminds me of pre-impressionism, post-impressionism and everything in-between. There’s a certain sense of aesthetics which we can only see in the paintings of Van Gogh, although I don’t like his paintings much. He has a signature in the piece itself, which makes him so special. But I can’t take my eyes off Renoir’s perfection and Cézanne’s glowing details.

Just a while ago, my mom came in for inspection, thinking I was typing a love letter. Thanks heaven that I was only being assertive of my limited knowledge of Fine Arts. Anyway, I wouldn’t be typing a love letter, I would rather write one. What’s the charm in writing a love letter electronically? The depth, pressure and flow of handwriting as par your emotions are lost.

Am listening to Dylan Unplugged. I wish I could be like him. I wish I could be Dylan, Jim Morrison or Bob Marley, any one of them. Then I could curse anybody on the microphone and people would find it quite interesting, and even aesthetic. Plus I could be untidy without show-cause. I could travel from place to place, and read any book I wanted to. There are a few lines in Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate” that I often ponder:

People tell me it’s a sin
To think and feel too much within
I still believe she was my queen
But I lost the ring
She was born in the spring
But I, was born today!
Blame it on, a simple twist of fate

Watch the’s so lovely! Dylan is still alive, unlike Marley and Morrison. I wish I could meet him someday. I wish I met him accidentally, like I won’t even recognize him when I come across him, and he would simply chat on with me...and I would only know it’s him when we bid adieu to each other. I wish I was born in his time, and that he never knew Joan Baez.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Rushing Thoughts

Friday, September 02, 2005
9:13:41 PM
I am a number 4 person…no, no, no I don’t mean I am cunning, deceptive or live illicitly (although I am not sure if I haven’t done anything I ought not to do or not)...Its just that I was born on the 4th of a certain month…so I am a number 4 person, or so it seems...according to Cheiro...which makes me very much fated to destiny...even if a little less definitely than number 8 people, which makes them painfully fated to destiny...but all the same, the letters of my name makes me a number 8 there u go again! Try harming me any time, u will be successful, guaranteed...but wait! Why would anybody harm me for no reason...or even if they wanted to, why would they buy my invitation??? Well then, try that for a good cause- such as crane me away as human subject for research on regenerating nerve cells…cut up my spine and extract all those fluid and nerve fibers, ultra-centrifuge them, or dispose them off to CERN and keep your fingers crossed till my cells give rise to anti-particles in the humongous synchrotron, do anything...u will surely be crowned with the Nobel Prize.

I don’t know what Destiny has in store for me...well, duh! Nobody does…but it leaves me awestruck when I find myself ‘destined’ to take up this surprisingly alien subject (at least for me) instead of Genetics, Medicine or the like, of which I was so sure of landing myself into...nothing intrigues me more than a karyotype of a trisomy 21 Down’s syndrome human cell or the microscopic photograph of blood containing cancerous cells...or even the physiology of the Nervous System… “The” nervous system…Heavens! How much I revere what I passionately love to study about...and oh the microscopic devils: Salmonella typhi causing typhoid; Candida albicans causing Candidiasis (commonly known as ‘thrush’) in humans…and hence associated with commensalism…I don’t even care if people think I am trying to ‘jahir’ (couldn’t find the English word for that! I won’t even apologize for that) my knowledge by naming all these organisms...(by the way, I just remembered a sickly pathetic joke some hooligans cracked about hearing “orgasm” when I was talking about “organism” in the biology class in school...u can laugh your heads off too and sign the hooligan membership) as I was saying...or rather rambling on and on...right, RNA retroviruses, involved in both AIDS and Cancer…and a rare symptom, Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a certain tumor seen in people with HIV positive...And those lovely variety of proteins, I was mostly interested in tropocollagen and tertiary structures, which include the haemoglobin molecule...and all that...huh, I am hungry for more details, but who cares! (hey wait! I forgot the organism causing tuberculosis...I know now, that’s exactly why I’m not into Bio anymore...WHAT A LAME EXCUSE!)

I wish I knew somebody, anybody (straight, gay, lesbian…with special preference to all three), as passionate as I am about biology...anybody out there in this vast web of virtual insanity, trapped in dossiers with fancy names such as Cookies, History and Temp, addicted to Biology? (This is cheapstake beckoning, just like the ones who call up Jimmy every Friday after midnight in some forlorn FM station to put their pseudo-sensitive, artless, so-called ‘feelings’ on air...and not to mention the even cheaper beckoning (or coaxing?) of the jockey to the listeners to pour out their pseudo-tales of woes and ‘feelings’...squeezing water out of hard rock)

Now, I am tired of the nested brackets I am delving all ye mortals to strain your eyes into…speaking of mortals, I always felt that there are always immortals at any given time, prying into blogs and chat rooms…I definitely had such a feeling of déjà vu when I entered into this oddly named chat room in MSN years back...yes, when they still let us mortals this side of the planet to log on to MSN chat rooms...and I was sure they were not mortals, cos they had electronic and/or lord-of-the-rings-and-mortal-combat genre of nicks and they talked in a language I had no way of comprehending, albeit they were in English...the language of the colonizers...But anyway, I miss access to those chat rooms cos I used to be a regular chatterbox at a room named “Philosophy” at one point of time...not that people talked of Bertrand Russell or Socrates...plain simple people, simply slang, no stupidity whatsoever...they had disciplined Bots, and even cared to give their Bot-ship away to other deserving people joining the room. I remember explaining to a Swedish what “shon papri” sweets look and taste like...hay-like and all, grainy and sugary, with a soft crunchy feel on your tongue...And then there was this chat room where a middle-aged guy talked of a book called the Matrix with its url, which has the same theme and philosophy as in the movie, but not the movie itself...he also advised me that it wasn’t healthy for nature to let births to babies in “the matrix” cos in “reality” there are not many souls...most of them are rotten, exhausted and don’t want to enter the Matrix, i.e. be born in our eyes, which is embedded in Maya. The man showed me his picture, which I had no reason to believe as his...and even if he was being true, I couldn’t care...but anyway, the picture was weird...he had certain kind of eyes which compelled me to think of those aliens lurking inside human-skin in the movie Men In Black...He might have been an alien, who knows...I am an alien too, to some could-be creatures in Epsilon Eridani and also to the homo-sapiens of this planet...if NASA keeps secret documents of homo sapiens living in outer space, to them too...

Monday, September 05, 2005
7:52:11 PM
This is a strange indeed is...people are busy spreading anxiety and bad vibes all around. It gives them immense pleasure to keep asking questions...and mind you, not any important questions like “Why do we all exist at all?”...but it’s more like: who fucked who...I am compelled to quote a few lines from my diary:

This is all so weird…the whole damn idea of existence. When we are so illiterate about all these enigma, we fight over simple matters and turn the whole life into an albatross. People blame each other, they are too poky, and both dictated at and dictating themselves. The equilibrium of yin and yang seems too dull a concept. I mean, it isn’t that simple; can’t be. The Cosmos is filled with mysteries to be unraveled and we spend our whole lives solving the non-mysterious and idiotic social problems. It’s all a big farce! It all is…(7th June’ 2004)

I don’t know how I succeeded in building up a fiery image of myself in front of many people...I mean, am I really hot-tempered? Have I not been extremely unlucky? Some even think I am outright devilish and a culprit, and worst of all, that doesn’t even make me famous! It’s like Laden (as in Osama bin Laden, no pun intended) without any publicity...Some think I am dumb and stupid, which is a big relief...that way, I don’t have to live up to any expectations...If somebody asks me, “Why couldn’t you do it?” or “Why are you behaving like that?”, I can manage a broad grin and say, “Remember I am dumb and stupid???” I also have a good laugh when I think of some who fall into my trap and go beyond their limits to establish that I am dumb and stupid...I can give a censored version of an instance:
“Are you interested in PEEEEEEEEEP?”
“No, I don’t really understand...I am so dumb...hehe”
“Oh yah (somebody else goes on)...she doesn’t know a PEEP about PEEP...and she is PEEP(dumb) and PEEP(stupid)...well, blah blah blah PEEP PEEP...she peeps peep from peep...”

Anyway, some people are so lucky that they can spare time for such a foolish pursuit...Meanwhile I will get back to my Tarot cards and eventually to Galvin...I need to plan ahead, you see...lest I tumble and topple one more time for the n+1th time like The Fool...which I surely will...again!

Tuesday, September 06, 2005
5:55:40 PM
I keep asking the same question myself over and over again...I mean this whole business of life and being born...The first things I remember when I gained consciousness into this world were two vivid memories of my childhood. I remember once when my mother came home from Calcutta (where she went for her dissertation) after 7 days, I was pretty mad at her...but at that time, I hadn’t developed much of a vocabulary...I remember her bringing to the bed where she rested while I kept on pulling her hairs so as to hurt her and cried out of anguish...and second, I remember once running just out of a bath naked and suddenly this strange feeling of embarrassment enshrouded me...I don’t know how I got the feeling...I was just a kid, and there were no signs of maturity both in my mind or physically.I also remember clearly climbing on the stairs of the flat we were living and at the very last step my mother caught me and brought me down...she came to me as silent as a tigress to her prey...I was climbing the stairs without anybody’s knowledge to the forbidden rooftop, without any railings...

I shouldn’t have been born...With all the mess around me... “You have a messed up life” they say...And I read somewhere that the feelings associated during conception determines from which cosmic channel a soul would be born in this world of Maya...I guess that did it...I don’t think I come from a very high level of cosmic wonder, my whole means of existence is a big question mark.

But there’s no end to my dreaming big, far and wide...I sometimes savor the thought of living in a house all by myself...I would have a bedroom with attached study room and of course nature’s call has to be answered nearby with style and décor...the dining would be with a couch and a TV, with an espresso machine at one corner and a smuggled guitar...and of course the kitchen, although my culinary skills would only compel me to visit the MacDonald’s more often than not (carcinoma would have just about no problem in finding their way through my blood stream).

I want a reading lamp...and the study would overflow with all the books I have bought and want to buy...I would own a in a that I can go off anywhere at a moment’s notice, putting the nice helmet on my head...I would always have a backpack ready with all the dire necessities, including a compass and an atlas, and maps and cash...and of course, Patrick Moore’s guide for star star dial...My stock of pencils, pens and markers should never run out...and paper too...lots of fancy envelopes...and more papers still...And the telescope...yes, it has to be there...without it, life would be so bleak and unfinished...and a microscope, that too...the telescope would be mounted at the rooftop...and the microscope in the study, just near a centrifuge machine...and slides, petri dishes, beakers, graduated pipettes, suction pump, aquarium of some fishes and crabs...and oh, I need the refrigerator...a small one would do...loaded with Pepsi, Cadbury, cartons of Iced Tea, some samples that need to be at low short, the bounty of supplies...The pc should be companioned with lots of hardware, junk and useful...with CDs lying everywhere...Well, that’s my den...and I prefer to be alone without any distractions...occasional company is understandable and somehow times of sickness, I can romanticize pessimism like wine savored sip by sip...wrapped in a piece of cloth, wondering if this was heaven...then my pc would ring, and I would just be informed of an alien landing and I can rush to the spot with my backpack riding my bike, shoving a tablet of Nise under my tongue...

I want my studio at the rooftop, where the smell of turpentine oil would enamor me and linseed oil would please and grease the canvas...Brushes of all sizes, with extra large tubes of White and Ultramarine blue...and Prussian blue, and Cobalt blue...The bedroom can have charts of important formulae and theorems hung on the wall...and a big sized skeleton, standing and mocking me at times when I would become totally useless...

Tuesday, August 16, 2005


Saturday, August 06, 2005

I wanted a telescope when I was in class-1. I was told that if I stood 1st in class, I would be gifted a telescope. I topped but no telescope came to me.The next year I was in class-2, and the same thing happened. Thus I stood 1st in a row till class-8. Afterwards, I never became first till now. Once I was taken to a telescope shop, given false hopes for the nth time, but still no telescope at my disposal. I guess I’ll have to do it with my naked eyes. It’s okay by me, I guess. As long as Alpha Centauri and Proxima Centauri keep sending light waves to my retina.I once observed a certain kind of planet, which moved quite fast, in retrograde motion up in the evening sky. I noted down each detail of the event, believing it was a UFO but later learned it was in fact an artificial satellite.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Sometimes I don’t understand myself. The statement is in no way meant to raise any importance, and neither is it rhetorical. I really don’t understand myself, and the more I try to, it gets me nowhere, so I resolve in understanding others. The great thing about that is, you don’t even need to know if what you think is true or false. You can mercilessly flirt with the idea and take no sweat about what anybody is thinking whatsoever, but with yourself, you always have to look for clarity. You can lie to yourself, be as illusive and confused as The Hanged Man (consult Tarot Cards), but you can never be sanguine about it. You expect so much from yourself, you see….you don’t expect so much from others. You may really understand others and it doesn’t matter even if you don’t, but you must give a good try to understand yourself….now, now…am I drunk or what? I am repeating the same thing over and over again. What else am I supposed to talk about then, Harry Potter? I don’t know what to do with that book…I mean, I never read it though, but that’s beside the point…someday I will write ‘Hari Puttar’ and read it myself….I think my nose has started running, wonder where my cod-liver oil tablets are….seven seas….why did they name it Seven Seas??? Cods from all the seven seas of the world were butchered, their livers ripped out and oil extracted? Or, a single cod whose oil travels far and wide across the seven seas, I have no clue…meanwhile, the viruses are finding their way through my immune system…wish my lymphatic system did not lay any red carpets for them…I once read a story about an aspiring doctor who could talk to viruses…he felt happy to host for them coz that’s the only way they can really live…poor viruses…

We all try to know so many things…most of us are so curious, yet we never think of death. It’s so much better kept sealed with the deepest fears of mankind. I really wonder why I do things I do. Does it really mean anything, whatever we do? I have an uncanny feeling that it’s all farce. But more important, as of this moment, is that I should really go to sleep now…perhaps, that’s similar to death. Once in 1994, the day we had carnival at school (I had a stall and sold many stuff, and I remember I did have a runny nose that day, might also have had fever…oh and I also remember I bought the audio cassette of the movie Rangeela…that time, I used to listen to lots of A. R. Rahman music…I still do…oh dammit, I even remember the clothes I was wearing that day…It was December, and I was wearing a white cardigan on top of a maroon top with a black crepe long skirt that had prints of western cowboys riding horses…it was my first real carnival, or more commonly “meena-bazaar”…I had a crush over a really stupid guy, six feet two inches, who even treated me phuchka for free from his stall…) I was sure I would die as soon as I would fall asleep…so I was afraid to sleep…I kept awake as long as I could, but the next morning I woke up from a safe sleep…sometimes, you can be so sure of something, but it never happens, which basically means, never be so sure of anything…

Tuesday, August 16, 200511:51:30 PM

I saw a wonderful movie today, Ella Enchanted…there’s so much fantasy into it…I just loved it…I haven’t seen a purely fantasy movie for a long time…I loved the elf in the movie, who hated to perform, and wanted to be a lawyer…but his fellow-elves won’t let him…and there’s Ella whose fairy godmother gave her a gift, as good as a curse, which made her obedient by default…and there were the Giants…

I am also reading a book called Life of Pi…The style of writing is good…I mean, I can read on without having to skip lines…I have become so impatient these days…I want to bite more that I can chew…I once read a comedy novel by Stella Duffy called “Eating the Cake”- it was pretty hilarious…a woman trying to find meaning in life, tries out everything from infidelity to homosexuality…then realizes none of these meant anything whatsoever…The author is Brit…Are all middle-aged Brit woman somewhat like Bridget Jones?

I did manage to squeeze some time for Data Structures…for the first time in my life, I actually opened the book by Tenenbaum…For once I have been able to erase any resemblances with hashish to Hashing. But it still seems pretty obscure to me, at a certain point. The thing is, I understand the language of Biology so well, but it’s difficult for me to adapt to the terms and language of computer science…or mathematics, for that matter…strangely though, I am beginning to find some interest in that recently…moreover, I might really miss on something really important about Life, which only mathematics can probably show me…but of course, I can’t forget my Lingua Pura, the language of Biology.

Thursday, August 04, 2005


“Are you a Bangali?”, the security guard asked me, trying to put up a conversation while I was waiting to meet a distinguished official in the Writers’ Building. I was very puzzled to hear the question. I just told him I was from Bangladesh, and now he is asking me if I was ‘Bangali’ or not! Wasn’t I speaking perfect ‘Bangla’ to him? What kind of a question was that?

For a moment, I thought he was implying if I was a ‘Bangal’ or a ‘Bangali’, but that seemed a bit too far-fetched. The fact that I am a citizen of Bangladesh rules out any possibilities of me not being a ‘Bangal’, as we know it so fantastically from the anecdotes of Bhanu Bandopaddhay.

I answered him yes quite nonchalantly but he asked me again, “Maney, Bangali Bagali tho?” Very strange. ‘Bangali’ itself is an adjective and a noun in itself. Why add a redundant adjective to an all-encompassing noun? I turned around at him and told him the fact that Bengali is my mother-tongue and I was born in a country where ‘Bangla’ is the national language, how can I be anything else except a Bangali? He seemed a bit impressed with my answer, still leaving me confused as to why my explanation was at all impressive anyway. I mean, wasn’t it pretty obvious?

“What’s your name?”, he asked me, trying to dig out every bit of information about me, as if my name was in his dossier! I began wondering if my accent was anything like Marwaris or not. I told my name and then there was this sudden glow on his face. He told me, “I am also ‘pucca’ Bangali. Brahmin.” Now I was alarmed. So, is this what he was implying? That I actually answered all his questions made me feel so fooled and ashamed of myself.

It is unfortunate that Bangali is used for referring Hindus who originate from Bengal. Isn’t that selling the word too short? This guard wanted to know if I was a Muslim or not, since majority of people in Bangladesh are followers of Islam. But does that take away their right to be Bangalis? Does that mean people of Bangladesh are not Bangalis? And what about all the Muslims who originate from Murshidabad or any place else in West Bengal, do they lose their right to be identified as Bangalis?

‘Bangali’ is a regional and a lingual classification. It has nothing to do with religion. In fact, the word ‘Bangali’ has no room for classification religion-wise, for there are no synonyms for ‘religion’ in the Bengali Language. The word we use mistakenly for religion is ‘Dharma’. But the word ‘dharma’ is derived from the Sanskrit ‘dhree+mann’, which literally means the vessel, which contains our mind. Or put simply, it means the way our mind is or our nature is. To be precise, the English word for dharma is ‘properties’ or ‘characteristics’ and not religion.

I feel helpless and unable to do anything to stop this mindless propaganda of a word, which is so dear to me. What will I answer to the insatiable souls of the martyrs, who died for this language refusing to accept Urdu as their national language?

For all we know, four names- Salam, Barkat, Rafiq and Jabbar- will be always engraved with gold, first and foremost, in the history of the Language Movement, among all the youth, who bartered their blood for ‘Bangla’ on 21st February, which eventually baptized my country as Bangladesh from the then East Pakistan.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Tuesday Morning

Tuesday, July 26, 2005
It’s strange how simple things can piss one off right from the morning. I wake up late at 8 o’ clock, when I should be having my shower at 7am. I always set an alarm for 7am and a reminder for 6:30am (that makes two) the night before. But every time the cell phone vibrates, I conveniently wake up, put it off equally comfortably and resume my slumber. The next time I find myself awake and finally alarmed, I barely have time to attend my 9 o’ clock class…especially Da Silva’s English class, as of today’s.

Anyway, I brush my teeth, rush for a quick bath taking only 10 minutes. I iron my white top, which earned me quite a scolding from my mother for not having done it the night before. I leave out the drier considering the rush, and in the process forget my punch clip. Then comes the real part. Food. Sad and revolting, early in the morning, when you are served boiled egg with rice. I somehow manage to squeeze them all down my sleepy and not enough dilated oesophagus.

When I think I have forgotten nothing to take, including the keys, I am vexed by the perpetual dirt, which had accumulated on my shoes. I take one moment to make the wrong decision, wear my new shoes, the one with the funny keys and step out into the unknown. And the unknown bolts into a drizzle from the heavens and also under my feet, the muddy water ever malicious of my shoes, and it starts raining harder. It’s now 8:30am and I am still trying to hail an auto or a ricky. Finally, I get on the rickshaw, cursing the rain like hell, because it only drills a hole through my wallet, as the pullers always charge you extra when you need their service the most. I get to the bus-stand and when I am waiting for the goddamn bus, some zealous driver splashes the filthy water on the streets all over my clothes. I wish I was wearing my raincoat, no matter how much I am teased for wearing it and making an entrance of sort.

The bus takes me to Kasba Post-office stoppage, and I run to chase another bus, which will actually take me to my college (not quite though, since I still have to walk a while…) and when I have in fact run to catch the bus, I discover that it belongs to some other route. The bus can be deceptive, you see. The bus with the same name may have two routes.When I find my bus, I find difficulty saving my white top and my bare hands from being brushed by a filthy oil-head, who would not budge an inch. I am lucky to get a seat though, after a while.

The grand finale is inaugurated by three ‘loochchyas’, who made the mistake of walking close by me and eyeing me top to bottom. I shout at them, threatening to dump them at the police station. I seriously don’t understand how men can manage to be horny at any random girl, when the road is hustling due to the office-going passengers. I mean, what a way to start a day: get molested by any random guy on the roads! And not to mention the interminable vista of ogling B.Com all-male students in the college, who refuse to acknowledge that they really don’t know me.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Feelings from the Crypt

Saturday, July 16, 2005

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?”, could I not ask him that. This seething urge fills my very depth of abyss. Really, could I not ask him that? Could I not tell him that my hands are of no use anymore, I can’t paint anymore. I see him clearly. Lucid, and sparkling with rays, that dance out effortlessly from his holy aperture flanked over three-sixty degrees with drapes of brown iris.

Click and flash.

Say hello to illusion.

I offer him a seat and play about, wondering if I am wandering for a decade or so. I can’t think anymore, as I am completely left out blank. Thought is a ship, which is always sailing through, and often carried away by pirates. I try to light a fire on the water, hoping to scare the pirates away. What time is it now? Good or bad? Slow or fleeting? Could I not ask him all that. I could be sitting with him right under the gorgeous saucer, bathing in the beam that the UFO blessed us with. I see us running into a bar, the wildest thing to do. I could take only a sip of gin tonic, take a furtive glance around the rest of the people, throw away my drink and act as if I am helluva drunk. I could gaze at him shamelessly and pull him to dance with “I wanna get close to you”.

Fizz. The champagne bottle is uncorked and there’s no letting go off.

I see him now staring at the center of his field of vision, the concrete- his bed and the book- his pillow. It’s all the same from every angle. Isotropic. Concealed by the sharp edges of objects in space. He sees electrons drifting in space, with his X-ray vision. Funny that he is not Superman. I see his hands, which can create love at the slightest provocation, a living, talking example of order. Makes me want to have freshly made chocolate cake from those human tentacles, which strictly follow the chaos theory, and can lift me up in the air, the sandy breeze floating beneath me.

The ship is fighting through a storm, and Noah is nowhere in sight. The flame flickers vehemently on the salty water, cries frantically for some wax, and dissolves. I can see him now waiting in absolute darkness, with a pair of searching hands and a burning heart.

Thursday, May 26, 2005


Monday, May 23, 2005
The lights shone everywhere. Twinkle lights. It was hard to tell twinkle lights from the twinkling stars. Darkness. With lights thrown in sparsely. Makes one think of a moon covered by a thin sheet of clouds. So thin, it might as well be that a non-existent spider wove a fine web around our very own satellite. Nef had been sailing for 4months 22days. She was tired of so much water all around, but yet today was different. She looked up at Antares with pure ecstasy as she heard the tapping of a pair of shoes approaching her. Funny, even the tapping sounded lovely. As she turned around, a delicious pair of tuna sandwich lay on a tray with a glass of tamarind drink. She felt contentment like never before…‘No, no not tamarind juice in the middle of the night’, she said.‘I couldn’t think of anything else today’, said Void from void.‘But did I ever tell you I love tamarind juice?’‘I thought I know…’‘So you do…Void, do you ever sleep?’‘I don’t need to. I never get tired. Do you want some kind of a food drink?’‘It’s ok. I am happy with these.’‘I’ll be back in a moment with a dish of lobster’, said Void and left.
She wondered if Void ever ate. Or drank, for that matter. Oracle never talked to her about it. She only told her that on one twinkling night, Void would appear with a pair of sandwiches. And tamarind drink. She didn’t even talk about the tapping of shoes, but only that Nef would hear or feel a sign when Void would emerge from the land of the void. The Oracle didn’t give her any further piece of information. She was at her deathbed. After that, Nef didn’t waste a second. She ordered a ship to be made out of Belgium glass with silver framework for support. And now here she was 4 months 22days…
Void never came back with the lobster dish. She knew it. But the tamarind had made her imbecile and the sandwich made her wiser, all at the same time. Since then, it’s not clear if Void appeared again, but a strange thing happened every dawn. A pile of fish, crab, squid, shrimps and lobsters hopped on the deck every dawn and got themselves fried by the Sun of the noon and Nef didn’t have to bother to sail on for eternity.
She never found any land ever again. Once she had read about Xanadu, the never never land of imagination. She never found that either. Or may be if she did, it was largely unnecessary. Antares always shone upon her.