Chiffonesque

They pick out moonlight from grains of sand that lie sprawled over a beach, The beach that’s hidden In the groove of a conch used to summon and to beseech Tired gods and strong sharp forces That hold the world this way Tired gods that stop and strengthen This weary world’s decay The moonlight is so hard to find In that state of dark Light does not glint or hint Or indicate the spark That mortal eyes now expect and hope to see this way But what can they do for they do not know their gods have feet of clay

I wonder if there’s something a little off in the world. Or my world. I think it is mighty rude to keep criticizing someone’s city in front of a native. At some point, the gripes cease to be ‘opinions’- that beautiful can of worms everyone seems to be entitled to. The gripes turn into something more insidious – judgments and remarks or, at the very least, stuff that hurt someone’s feelings. Okay, so it is an age-old debate as to which place is better – Bombay or Delhi. Maybe the verdict has come in the favour of the capital. Great news! It’s good if the capital of one’s country is deemed to be paradise and all that. But…I mean, I think it is one thing to praise one’s city. It’s another thing to constantly compare and carp about another’s region – especially if it is one where you have come to work and live, out of choice. Sure, I get that this city is not as clean and the roads are not as wide and the food is not as tasty and the people are not as decent or well-groomed. But this city

It’s late at night. Dei (my roommate) and I are having tea in the verandah. We are dozing off in the cool, yummy rainy air. We’ve planted a banana tree outside our home and there are pretty white flowers blooming all over our gate. There’s a dog cozying up to a bag of cement across the garden. And a soufflé shaped cloud hides a thick wedge of moon. She’s talking about men. I listen and offer my advice – which isn’t much. And then she says something strange. She says, “You’re interesting. When you’re there, I guess your girl friends won’t miss their guys when they’re not around.” A very odd thing to say. I’m touched.

Man! I am so tired. In fact, the last few weeks (or even months, I think) just rolled by like a white lie off my tongue. I suppose that’s exactly what September is for…to make you feel that the year you had built, one anticipation at a time, is now slipping out of your hands and will be crashing into a crescendo soon; to a countdown, no less. Anyway, apart from the incidents that parade inside my head like a line of blurry marching ants, there are some things that I’ve managed to soaked in- frenzy notwithstanding. A really sweet e-mail from an ex-colleague (a friend really) on l’affairs de Coeur (perhaps I’m not spelling it right…although it’s interesting that Coeur meaning ‘heart’ in French and cur meaning ‘dog’ in English sound the same. What could it mean? That a dog is all heart? Or maybe a French dog is all heart. Or wait! An English heart is like a dog! Interesting). The thing is - I would really like to write about the book I enjoyed- ‘ Marrying Anita’ by Anita Jain . Howev

http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/09/01/business/01vogue.php I got an email that forwarded this link and called the Vogue article tasteless and shocking. I wonder why...I'm not too sure whether the photo-shoot in Vogue is tasteless or not. My instinct is to say no...because I don't like any judgment calls given from a moral high ground. But again, the article does have a point. Around me, people are celebrating with feasts and submergence of deities when elsewhere a part of country is drowning. But that isn't shocking or tasteless because....? I don't know.

Tears at the turn of a road that doesn’t lead home anymore, Waves at unseeing people Frolicking away on the shore Peripheral stuff and sideway fluff Find their ways in a scratchy song Or become those soothing achy truths- Those dreams that don’t belong.