Thursday, May 28, 2009

To hear him talk

One of the more fortifying aspects of writing is understanding how writers write.

This man is so brilliant!

If you are watching it, do, DO see it until the end.

Later on in the interview, Salman Rushdie talks of how he wrote 'Haroun and the Sea of Stories' for his ten year old son. When he gave it to his son to read and asked him for feedback, his son replied, "Some people might get bored. It doesn't have enough jump in it." Rushdie regards this as one of the finest editorial comments he's received.

He is so many, many know...immense!

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Now, THAT is money well spent!

Monday, May 25, 2009

A riposte to no-one in particular

An 'ode' to everyone who spends one life getting out of a situation, spends the next one repenting it, and the third one consoling themselves that it was all for the best.

I hear them talk
On and on
About how its all for the best
How they’re better off
Without the grime
How they’re better off than the rest

I hear them talk
On and on
About how much happier they are
How miserable they were in proximity
And how much better it is afar

It would be easier to believe
If I didn’t see the longing in their eyes
If I didn’t notice their hopeful stares
On things they so loudly despise

How they say ‘I’m meant for better things’
And yet wait to be called back
How they say ‘It feels complete now’
Yet live with a sense of lack

I hear them trying to convince themselves
That its fabulous to be away
I see them break when the realization hits
They’re not really being asked to stay

I sense the keen longing
Of a validation that doesn’t come
I listen to the distraught judgment
That now, it’s all muck and drudgery and scum

They say this place will never have
All the treasures they want to find
They talk themselves into believing
That they’ve left all this behind

I watch as they try to fool themselves
And rattle on hard and fast
And as they try to forget the fact
That they’ve been forsaken at last

And when they turn to me and say
In voices all brittle and new
I stop myself from glibly quoting
To thine ownself be true

And when they start blaming the place
For their bruises and their falls
It’s tempting to point to them and say
“But you never had it in you at all.”

It’s tempting to hush and stop
And brook the weary tirade
And say
“You didn’t have to try so hard…
And you’d have it easily made.”

The disappointment isn’t about
Witholding bounty with reserve
It’s about understanding simply, but acutely
You got what you deserved.

That groovy kind of...

Sometimes it gladdens ones heart to know that one just shares the planet with the likes of him... :-D

(Oh, and I love it that sometimes they refer to him simply as...the Bombay boy!)

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Soon enough, I hope

One of these days, the skies will be overcast and I will have nowhere to go and nothing to do. No-one will call, no-one will visit. There will be no plans, there will be no schedules. Nothing to keep up with, no-one to keep up for.

One of these days, clouds pregnant with such peace will shower down this earth. This swatch of hard, dried, caked earth that I see from my pink room. There will be the rain and there will be me, lying on my bed looking up at the ceiling. I will think nothing, I will feel little. My eyes will close and I will drift off. To an inexperienced eye, I will be asleep. To one who knows, I will be watching.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I am so angry I could explode! Today is literally the very worst day to control my temper. I mean, if there is a God, He's pretty stupid. A dumb-ass, shit-faced hole in the gaping ozone, all fatted up in his own blooming self-importance. Idiot! See, the best way to get back at a lazy, half-brained twit of supreme consciousness is not to disbelieve it, but to believe in its abundant, perfect capacity to dish out moronic platitudes to unsuspecting people.

Anyway, I have been fuming so much since the last one hour that, unknowingly, I was digging my nails deep into my palm. And guess what? Now it's started bleeding (well, not bleeding exactly, but a little blood has been spotted.) Although I must say that the angry, little crescent moon wound does look pretty. Like something one would probably spot when one is sailing away on a yacht under a serene, black sky. And suddenly out of nowhere, you come to this spot in the ocean where you can see copper junipers on both sides. And haltingly, the clouds part ways to reveal a sweet, little red crescent. You reach out to pluck the moon from the sky - like a souvenir. The moon singes your skin when you grasp it, but you now have it forever.

Hmm, I suppose my day could still turn better. But it's so much harder to control one's anger without a yacht.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

About a month


Seven-thirty in the evening. The sky is an angry indigo. Two people walking together look up, surprised. Trying to remember. They, silently, connect the dots and discuss how similar the sky now is to the one that morning. Makes one wonder if time actually mirrors itself. Or maybe the sky repeats itself. Like the history it has watched unfold.

Deep, visceral digging is on for the Metro Rails. Lots of men work fervently in yellow light. Light, that if soaked into some form of handmade paper, would make it look like parchment. Tall rods poking up, straight and narrow. Like spines of upright people who eroded into memory.

A breeze lightly stirs up the faint origins of impromptu poetry. Through that breeze, one hears the rustle of trees. Muted specimens that stand in silent attendance to the din and roar of traffic. City lights shine on high glass windows of office buildings.

The unlikely serendipity of finding a cheery deli to get cappuccinos and blueberry muffins from.

Finally, a sense of wonder and well-being. Finally, an aura of tickling hopes and delicious happenstance. Finally, a thrill. A discovery of how every blessing begins with a word that can be carried forward in a million different ways. Finally, a realization why a month choked with so many, many possibilities should be called (like the first word of every blessing)...what else...


Friday, May 15, 2009

Was thinking

Yet another late, late night in office. Was reading a few articles on the excellent

And suddenly, this thought popped up.

'Make over' means to transform yourself. 'Make out' means to get intimate with someone.

So, if one transforms oneself with the sole aim of getting intimate with someone, it should be called 'make over-n-out'.

I amuse myself so!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

I mean...really!

If you are gonna be mediocre, you may as well be polite!


Yes, I am getting pissed off at two individuals now. But on a happier note, I am just snowed under the realization that I'm so witty! And pithy! And can make a lot of money thinking up of slogans or ideating for presentations. (Not doing them, just conceptualizing presentations. High, lofty, brilliant ideating is what I want to do.)

In any case, a couple of colleagues are from out of town. They were complaining about Mumbai stuff - food, traffic, people (big surprise!). They come from a city with gardens and similar blotches on urban development, apparently. You know, where people have balconies and empty lots where nothing is coming up, nothing is going to come up, nothing is going to be illegally taken over...what a waste, but whatever.

One of them goes, "... and you know, wherever you go, you get that sickening feeling of sweat...It's not like that in my place."

And I say, "A city that works is a city that sweats."

I mean, WOW! Great statement, huh! Really! What a knockout! I have spent the better part of today being so solidly impressed with myself that I can't look at myself in the mirror without glowing with pride. Maybe someone could buy that slogan from me and pay me lots of money? Also, buy me a house on the top-most floor of a high-rise - where I am at eye-level with clouds. And where I have a pool in EVERY room! Each and every room!

And I can do that with other cities too. Hmm...for example, take Delhi. First of all, I would change the name to Del-high. Get it? Delhi is in the's high up there, so Del-high! And Pune...umm...that would be 'Pun-E = Pun for Everyone'. 'coz Pune IS quite tongue-in-cheek.

Well, suffice to say, I AM good!

But now that I have put my best ideas out there for free, no-one's going to pay me anything. Hmm, there's no point in being good if you're stupid!

Just like that my pool ran dry!

Monday, May 11, 2009

Good, peaceful nights

Last week, again, was a tough week. It didn’t seem as daunting as the previous week, though, because a gruelling schedule has practically become habit. Amongst the many things that got me through last week, was actually a trip to HyperCity.

In addition to the regular groceries, I bought a very fetching jar of chopped black olives and some flavoured goat cheese. Both were pricey (Waitrose products). But they beckoned with such simple, pastroral charm that I couldn’t resist. Over the last week, whenever I returned home around midnight or after, it was good to have a hunk of warm, mealy bread smothered with goat cheese and layered with lots and lots of chopped olives.

Sometimes, when I have dinner in the quiet of the night, with only my fan and laptop for company, I often wonder what it’s all about. Sinking my teeth into that slice of consummate fulfilment, I get my answer.

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

When I am the prize

Somewhere in the distance, where time and infinite time…and space and void-like space meet, there is a prize. Maybe, there’s a golden bird, or a beautiful musical note that trembles like mercury on the tip of one’s finger. There is a bush that maybe blooms with children’s laughter or a lake that’s dense with the colour of hibiscus. Maybe there, poetry lives in a tree-house architected by imagination. Somewhere in the distance, in a place I don’t know, there is a prize that today’s moments covet. That’s why they are rushing there like the wind. Leaving me behind. To be blown and scattered standing. Someday, they will return. Because these fragmented pieces will be the spot…the one where time and infinite time…and space and void-like space meet.

Friday, May 01, 2009

My moments of nothingness, where art thou?

Mid-april, duties and obligations crystallized from some inchoate, nebulous cloud to form little specks of tasks with deadlines. Each day, hour, minute in the last weeks of April was filled with neatly divided rows of such tasks. And suddenly, all these activities and all this time was gone. Poof! Just like that, the month was over. It's as if my time in the last few weeks was these neat rows of cocaine, and suddenly someone just snorted it.

Time, it seems, isn't just whizzing by, it's spinning in a different kind of high!

It's been extremely enjoyable, though...