Chiffonesque

On the first page of a book: To Lori - my search was over the day I met you. The book: ‘The Google Story’ by David Vise. Emphasis supplied, by the way.

It's played with much anguish This twisted, seething game Where you search and find and hold in your hands To lose it all again The 'it',usually, in poetic minds, could be love, life, or time; But in truth, it's just the house key And nothing too sublime

Since last week, I seem to be coming down with something. Like, maybe I had stepped into this bath tub of slow fever and was getting submerged bit by bit. I think if I had just heeded the steady pounding in my head, I would have slept it off and been fine. But that would have been a smart thing to do. And one has generally displayed proclivities to do stupid things, so one didn’t sleep it off. What one did, in fact, is exerted oneself some more. I believe there was a dinner with Anumita, SS, and J in Malad. We went to the Lemon Grass there which is okay, I guess. I don’t remember what I had; and I, strangely, don’t remember much of the dinner conversation. I remember giggling over something trite with SS, and wondering why bedsheets aren’t made of flannel…but most of the time, I was just drifting in and out of some grand swishy feeling. I think there was some talk of Bandra colliding with an auto… (I’ve apologized to her numerous times thereafter and also shed copious tears and promise

A colleague's male friend sent her this text: This week is Breast Awareness week....Spread the slogan: "We stare because we care!" ******** I wonder what Hallmark has to say to that.

There’s something wrong with my head. Something’s always been wrong. As a kid, I used to have blackouts and stuff and my father had taken me to Hinduja Hospital for a brain scan. After the scan, the doctor peered into some ghoulish looking images of my brain. He then told my father, “Don’t worry Mr. Raut, there’s absolutely nothing there.” Today, I feel so woozy and light. I feel as if I’m walking on air. And if I disregard the fever and the headache, I’m quite happy. I am zipping through Aarey and I sort of see orange tips on the large stalks of glass and some sort of purple congealed puddles in the middle of fields. Sometimes, when my head spins a little bit more, the world around acquires an iridescent sheen. So beautiful. I want to go home, have soup, and sleep. I want to go home and have soup. I want to go home. And sleep.

I am: dreaming a messy, beautiful heap of dreams. I think: about how relative life is. Some days go by so quickly; some days they stay so long; most times, they crumble and fit into, the last verses of a song. I know: that everything changes; that nothing is stronger than the pull of unfinished business I want: a world with beautiful beaches, forests, and walkways; a place that is safe enough for a mother to take her children out late at night and sit on a pavement watching stars. I have: had a very solid, beautiful life thus far, and a strong possibility that the story's going to continue this way I wish: that everyone lives and dies happy. Also, that smoking is banned from the world. AND..I travel more I hate: I’m trying not to hate anything anymore. But I seriously dislike cynicism, pessimism, dishonesty, pettiness, and a judgmental attitude. And smoking. I miss: my days of pure innocence and the Bombay of my childhood. I fear: Fear. Or that I’ll get cancer because of s

Momentous things will happen Those grey clouds seemed to say Between chunks of imbued lightning And timbres of sombre grey Momentous things will happen Across the wet, green land Momentous things will happen With a book in my two hands p.s. – Started reading this book at Anumita’s place: love and longing in Bombay . Just started…but oh! what a book! If there’s a book to be read in this wet, wet season, it is definitely this. Interestingly, the author’s (Vikram Chandra) earlier work was titled ‘ Red Earth and Pouring Rain’ . He seems to be some sort of a eulogist for the gifts of the clouds.

Today, I finally understand why some people refer to it as 'my baby'. It looks so young and shiny and bright. It looks eager to move around and sometimes, when it thinks no-ones looking, I can see it blink with anticipation to seek the beyond. It purrs and zips about here and there, so keen to explore every inch of this place, this city, this world. It's enthusiastic and rambunctious and can't contain itself, even on a bustling road or an area choc-o-bloc with cars and cows. It can't help itself. It's young. In time there will be love. Right now, there is satisfaction and an incredible, incredible fondness. Since the time I got it, my heart changed into this trembling, fluttering vortex. There is this overwhelming sense of being capable of handling it...or even worthy of handling it. I got it a week ago, all gleaming in this shade of blue that that you see over pastures in spring. It's with me at work now. My Ozone blue Swift zxi, who I shall call Bandra -