Love

love has levels 

it is still love, when I say I love you, and I mean I love 
how you smile, the small sounds you make
the paths your mind takes, where you land
how you land, how you receive 
the way you give

even if
I miss you, but I don't yearn
I don't need to be where you are

it is also love, when I say I love you, and I mean I love
how you make yourself available for me
drop of a hat
how you brought me into this world and cared to keep me happy
my dreams so easily displace yours
and the idea of losing you drowns me in fear
not just sorrow

even if 
it is largely a remnant of childhood
being lost in a crowd having let go of your hand



and of course it is love, when I say I love you, and I mean
there is nothing else 

Hope grows like a weed

I try hard
to plant and tend to
my garden of contentment

but hope grows like a weed

every time I think
I've managed this time, to snip
remove it
poison it
destroy

I sit to enjoy my garden
my eyes relax, my body is calm
and there I see it
again

my heart races

it is so pretty

how the wind catches it
the sun illuminates

no
damn the weed and damn the garden

let me get the flamethrower

Inside

If you broke me open right now
like a coconut smashed in sacrifice 
though I would prefer 
you break me like a fortune cookie 
knowing you'll need to eat the pieces you create

you will find a wish

I'm keeping it hidden
and will not release it till I'm broken

Permanence

If I only feel seen

when you hold the pencil

and draw me into existence

is it so surprising 

that you can erase me out of being

Give me that fucking thing

Crack

(Pencil breaks in 1/3 and 2/3)

I’m holding the instrument now

that shows me

that keeps me here

oh and 

it’s a fucking pen  

Frame

I would need to come live with you. 

For how long? Well, it could be anywhere between a week to a few months, though I usually 'call it' around six months and terminate the assignment, if we haven't got what we set out to do by then. 

Some people are perfectly comfortable letting a stranger into their lives, to record, perfectly happy to be captured just as they are. It could be because they are truly comfortable with how and who they are, though, it's not usually this category who hire me. 

It's more often because they do want 'the truth', they hope to find something in my work that validates their existence, or lets them reframe how they see their lives, themselves. Something they don't need to second guess, clearly they do plenty of that - I mean, that's why they come to me. 

Most often though, it takes a while to break down the facade. Again, the time this takes often lines up with how aware the person is of the existence of a facade and over how many years this has been built and reinforced.

I've noticed though, when you insert yourself into a person's home, which is the closest you get to entering their life - the fastest route, too - cracks appear quicker, and the guard comes down, if nothing out of pure exhaustion of holding up something so heavy for so long. 

What do I charge? 

Well, it depends on the style you want your life and self captured. Wes Anderson is a big favourite. I can do Woody Allen, though people are often embarrassed to request for it. Sure, yes, Noah Baumbach is doable. Black and white too, yes. 

No, I don't usually allow people to choose their own background score. We can talk though.

Alive

though really, staying silent on your blog for countless years does not usually have people suspecting you may be dead. 

What would make people suspect you may be dead? 

see, in this exercise, one has to exclude immediate family members who are used to seeing your face/body on a fairly regular basis. 

others, well

if someone posts a photo of you (preferably sepia/BW), with a teardropface smiley caption. 

if someone sees a bus run over you in a highly unapologetic and smashing manner.

if someone watches you keel over at work and lie on the grimy office floor in a disgraceful fashion. 

if you were standing near a window, with no door in sight, one second, and the next second you were nowhere to be seen. Might help to have an off-white linen curtain flapping rather dramatically out the window.

I'll think of some more. 

Conversations with a ghost

What do you want to say?

I'm thinking of you.

What else?

Come back to me.
Find a way back to me. 

Hello

Hello, my name is Gauri
when I grow up I want to be a rowdy
I want to wear leather
in sweaty weather
and drive around in an Omni

--

Hello, my name is Ravikesh
what my name means I don't know
Don't keep asking me,
don't keep giggling,
I will kill you.

--

Hello, my name is Pinky
I don't mind you calling me sweety
or baby
or sexy
but tell me I'm hotter than
Lovely

--

Hello, my name is Hema
my sister's name is Prema
my parents have no imagination
they couldn't care less
the name they had ready was
Rama

This year

has not been good.

There were times I was unsure of whether it was just bent on being average, and that fell short of my expectations of it being great, and therefore felt like it was bad.

But no, it's just been bad.

I acknowledge that, but I don't feel heartbroken by it. Yes, it was bad, and now it's over and another year is coming up, and there is hope.

Very happy positive hope.

I spent 6 hours in a shopping mall

It only struck me when I found myself wondering why my feet were protesting so much.  Here's the thought process:

Me: Ow, my feet hurt.

(I don't know why I put in a 'Me'.  My thought process only involves me)

That's not true.

Oh, right.

Me: Ow, my feet hurt.
Me: I wonder why.
Me: Good though, maybe I've exercised unconsciously and lost some weight.
...
Me: Where but, what did I do.
Me: Shit, what time is it!?
Me: OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN HERE 6 HOURS!

You're a moron.

Ey.

I felt terrible when it struck me.  Just repeatedly the thought of 'oh my god, you spent a whole bloody day in a mall, just walking around, eating junk, buying nonsense, and and what. how. how 6 hours. how did this happen. that hot chocolate was good though. no, focus. HOW.'

Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed myself, I had a good day. I spent time with a friend, I felt like some stores hadn't yet launched a 'let's make our clothes smaller and make her feel fat' conspiracy. I bought a case, with a bow, for my writing and art pens.

I ate mushrooms filled with cheese and fried with crumbs.
I drank some really refreshing Lemon Ice Tea.  I mean, not often that I walk away thinking 'refreshing' 'equivalent of a Lyril ad'.
I had some amazing hot chocolate, you know the ones with a block of chocolate stuck on a stick which melts gloriously into your hot mug of milk.  HAZELNUT chocolate no less.

Good days are found in the most unexpected places.  Actually, maybe it is not so unexpected, maybe this explains the crowds flocking towards PHOENIX MARKET CITY every weekend, taking selfies against escalators and toilets.

But

Yes ok I took a selfie.

whats up whats up whats up

We really kill that term na, 'whats up'.  I realise, more often than not, the words just slip out of my mouth and all I want to do is some matrixy move to get them back in and swallow.

Why, because I really do not want to know what is up with some people. I need to force myself to say HELLO instead of 'what's up', it is Not a substitute.

Hello doesn't lead to, "don't ask yaar, I have 99 problems and a bitch is one". What's up does. 

---

I have an airconditioner behind my chair at work and I'm forced to sit under its freeze ray directed spitefully at me the entire day because my whole floor depends on this one shit machine with no way of controlling temperature. I HATE YOU AIRCONDITIONER AND STUPID OFFICE.

Ok, if it troubles you so much why don't you just move?

The office or the airconditioner? The former is undiscussable. The latter, well I have a window seat brah. The view isnt much but it is a view and it lets me know what time of the day it is and allows me a space to stare out of while I day dream.  In my Bombay office there was no such window and I'm sure the guy next to me assumed I found him super attractive (given all my day dreaming).

Ok boring next.

---

I sometimes wonder how people fall asleep so trustingly. You switch off while asleep, don't you ever question if you'll wake up again?

Jute

I have an idea, well it's a joke really.

Let me run you through it.

Scene 1:
Lady walks by in a saree.
Other lady comments "oh lovely saree, what is it".
Lady in saree says "Jute".
A crow attacks her.

Scene 2:
A child walks by with a tiffin box and water bottle in a bag.
A lady, presumably his teacher, comments "my Ramu, that's a smart bag, what is it".
Child says "Jute Miss"
A crow attacks him.



We end with,
Jute Bole Kauwa Kaate

*Applause*

Not everyone you meet
has the potential to make, or break you
But there are those who do.

How much are you willing to open your eyes and curtail your brain.

Who'dhavethunk growing up would feel sluggish, would feel anything.

At the end of some days I feel like, man, today was one of those days from which there is no going back. I have crossed a bloody threshold and there is no growing young to make up for this.  Like the day I cleaned my house, through and through. It was done, there was no going back to the me before the clean up.

But there has been only two or three such instances when it feels quick and painless. Otherwise, it feels more like slowly pulling off a broken nail. Can't let it hang there, have to voluntarily and slowly tear it off.

Sometimes I think this bothers me so much that I rush headfirst into something I've labelled and stored in my mindhouse (not a mind palace mind you) as "Grown Up Stuff (Misc.)".  Just to beat the slugginess. Tear the nail off.

Then suddenly I'm in the middle of a conversation about what return gifts should be given to which aunt for my house warming, and I just want to run to my parents, ask them to handle it and sit in front of the TV while they do. 


---


It's 2014 guys.  I haven't blogged in a while.  This year I'm super optimistic about, but most of this year has been me being sick, very sick, sick again and mildly blue.  I'm still super optimistic.  Happy optimistic 2014 to you (and me).


---


I spent a lot of money on acquiring some Harry Potter Lego Sets. I've got mixed feelings about it.  Largely positive though.


---


I have a craving for gold bangles.  Does that happen? Have you seen the price of gold? Sigh.

Im so tired of this job, so bored, I just want out, I feel its killing me not so softly.

Quit then no

Eh no, Im just being a spoilt lazy brat.

It's ok to put your foot down sometimes

Yes, but I just want to put my feet up.

It crept up on her quietly this time, with no warning. 

She was reading a book on her flight home. It was a good book. Mort by Terry Pratchett. She'd read it before, laughed out loud. But this time she found herself taking it very seriously.

She shut it halfway just as the flight was about to land. She looked up and swallowed hard. Quite suddenly she was aware of the countless strangers around her. Living breathing sweating people. Each looking different from the other, each with an entire history an entire life she knew nothing of and will never know anything of.

So? So what so what so what. She shook herself. The lady next to her grunted her disapproval and went back to drooling on the window. Argh, so what, why did it feel so weird. She turned to her right, and an old muslim gentleman on the other side turned left and stared straight at her.

She was the first to look away. She was surprised to see how much that had shaken her. Was he still looking? What if she hadnt looked away, would he have said something? Would what he said have changed her life?

She forced herself to look at him again, he was reading a newspaper. No. He isn't some messenger. No, reality as she knew isn't slipping away into crazy. Everyone's just normal doing normal things. Turbulence.

Is it going down? Will this plane crash? Are these thoughts you have when you know somehow that you're going to die? She grips her seat handles hard. She notices that the man to her right counting something with his fingers. What? What is it. What is it. 

It's nothing. She is pleading with her brain to stop with the drama. The flight lands just fine. She can't get her heart to stop pounding. 

She looks down at her hands, turns them over. Stares at her palms. She doesn't know why that action always grounds her, stops her from screaming.

She calms down, looks up. 

She screams.

I have a way, for us all to be happy

for us all to feel fine, to be satisfied

 

It involves us following a rule,

a principle, that might help us get by

 

say it with me.

I am a rock, you are an island.

 

I am a rock, I have no feelings

you are an island, you need no friends.

I am a rock, I have no opinion

you are an island, you need no help

 

I cant bring myself to follow this rule though,

I believe more in

 

I am some fruit squash, you are a slurpie.

its amazing how sad we feel when someone dies, but couldnt care less when theyre alive.

Gur Naal Ishq Mita

I wonder what that song means.  The whole thing is absolute gibberish to me, but how Ive enjoyed it over the years.

When I was young(er), I think 12? who knows, I used to imagine the whole song was sung in a made up language and it inspired me to make plenty of my own. Usually the tunes were borrowed from Rahman or BSB (yo), but eventually (sung repeatedly with fair precision over a few days) they evolved into my own sound.

wah.

If someone came and said, hey man for one song we will allow your donkeybraysingvoice to be replaced and become perfect, what song do you choose?

I'd choose 'Aaj Jaane ki zid na karo'.

But first, I'd be all - how can you make that happen for me man?
They'd be all - its called a wish, we'd grant you the wish and it'd just be.
Ok, but are there conditions, like I would need to be on a stage and singing to a hundred people?
No...no nothing like that. Geez, accept a wish granting gracefully would you.

Hmm

Then I thought, I wonder if that was a wise choice. Being a Tam, I've always wanted to shove something in the face of those chicks who'd come over and plop themselves down in front of our nicely decorated Golu and start singing their hearts out while the entire family muttered in approval and slapped their thighs in tune (not lewd come on).

But, now I could sing beautifully as well - except everyone would be all, what is this sadhindisong cheh, come on sing about Ganapathy. I'd be all - oh, sorry I need to pee - and hide in the loo till they left.

Sad.

my love for you
fills songs with meaning
that make them unbearable to listen to,
and make it difficult to breathe.

damn you man.