Chiffonesque

I am slightly high on nervous energy at the moment. There is lots to finish at work. L-O-T-S. It's not because I don't know where to start and where to finish. I do know. I have started, and after working steadily for a few hours, I've come to realize that 'finishing' today's allotted work is like having hope that's drunk on hemlock. What a way to die. I missed my yoga class today and I definitely don't feel good about that. Thankfully, I have controlled my diet thus far. I am likely to not overeat today. It's good to feel that I have this kind of self-control. Right now, from where I sit, I can see some tree-tops. They look pretty. A nice, sunny yellowish-green and shaggy type of a gypsy head - a gypsy who travelled all over various lands and decided to set up tent here. Sometimes, when I am really busy or bogged down, I like looking at the swaying boughs - they resemble a happy person swaying to music in her head. It makes me happy Whenever I see

It is 11 p.m. now. I still have questions. Rather, I think the trouble is that I don’t have questions. I have a gnawing feeling that something’s off. My head feels like this drawer that’s stuffed with a million things. At first, I couldn’t get it open, and now that I have it open, I can’t close it. Now, all this stuff is just spilling out. But there’s so much mess that I don’t know where to begin. I mean, at this point in time, I’m feeling so confused that I don’t even have a question. Just a couple of hours ago, I made a promise that I’ll find my answers in two weeks. Now I realize that I don’t even have a question to ask myself in that time. Talk about landing at the airport without a ticket. Or rather, landing at the station with a plane ticket. Or landing at the bus stop with a train ticket. These analogies don’t even make sense. But for five seconds now, they amused me. Maybe I don’t need a question. I’ll still arrive at the answer, and then I wouldn’t know what to do with it. It’

It is 8:30 at night now. I’m actually feeling really restless and uneasy. I wonder why I feel this way since the last week. Could it be because it’s almost October now? Everywhere around the world, the country at the very least, winter must be setting in. And I think I am genetically not equipped to handle winter. Maybe I just yearn for some kind of hibernation when that time approaches. I feel that way about winter – it’s a façade. Winter’s like a woman wearing a lot of make-up to hide her scars she’s had from an accident a long time ago. She wears a heavy layer of foundation to cover the stitches on her cheek, and garish eyeshadow to cover up the scars around her eyes. Winter places and winter people, I associate with disguised motives. They cloak their pain. You only see it when it’s transmitted to someone else. Like a rude remark, a sarcastic comment, a sly glance, a disdainful look. I don’t like winter. Actually, I don’t think that’s entirely correct. I like it. It makes a place l

A stuffy room, noisy crowd. Inchoate, pulsating anticipation. Scented mist of dhoop . Rousing chanting and blare of conch shells. Large platters of diyas swaying around the deity. Ascending rhythym of the dhol . A priest moving a feathered pankh to the sound of shlokas. Customs designed to mesmerize. In the end, absolute pin-drop silence as a hundred heads bow in devotion. And yet all this pale before the searing eyes of Ma Durga – eyes that blaze through ceremony and rituals with something…something that’s the mark of a true goddess and testament to a true human – courage. Happy Dassera.

Not in front of known ones But before strange faces Not with a legacy of blazing trails But with assortments of traces Not in neat, straight flushes But in haphazard aces Not in large, loud, shiny cities Big hearts break in small places

It was late night and rainy – a perfect time to be out on the streets. There’s a time of the night when walking along Marol actually feels beautiful. Limpid light from the lamps, reasonably empty walkways, fruits and vegetables stacked on wooden carts and looking ornate in the soft, lantern glow. A few yards ahead, though, a huge crowd had converged. The traffic had started to build up. The next second, an auto sidled up to me and…well, the temptation of an empty auto was too much to resist. We zipped off to Bandra. Fifteen seconds later, we were stuck in a traffic snarl. It was around eleven thirty. I love being in traffic at that time of the night. It’s comforting. Makes me feel that people are busy and everything’s all right with the world. It had started pouring heavily and the city seemed to be shrouded in this cold, gauzy mist – like those souvenirs that are wrapped in strips of silver nets. We inched along, slowly but steadily. Up ahead, there was a basti to my left. People dres

It was a nice weekend – a perfect blend of spending time with family, spending time with friends, and spending time with myself. And there was peaceful weather and of course, good food. My cook had made a really nice, spicy-sweet chutney – grated coconut, lots of peanuts, lump of jaggery, and a hint of ginger and chillies. It was really tasty. In fact, I spent my time snacking on scoops of chutney with soft, hot rotis. I saw ‘The Ugly Truth’ on Friday night with Jaygee and quite liked it. It’s clichéd, and there’s a very annoying cat in it, but the cast is quite competent. Especially Gerard Butler. He doesn’t look like the typical Casanova – with square jaw and razor-sharp nose. He looks like he’s rough around the edges, a bit of a boor, resigned if a woman out of his league exits his life, and pleasantly surprised when she returns. The movie had its moments. Although I did think that the script got drunk on Harry met Sally the night before and tiptoed in its hang-over the next day. I

A wounded bird A hurtful word A sarcastic smile An unused pile Haggard summers And rims of rust Bloated nights And fingernail dust Tasteful sludge and mucky blood Searing sermons in an explosive flood golden flowers with Jules Winnfield To urge and push and use to yield Magenta slits on the wifey's wrist Vincent Vega and the twist trippy dreams and vanilla shakes Marsellus' fiefdom in smokes and quakes Snaky music that twists the brain And haunts and hurts like acrylic rain Pulverizing shocks and beautifully so What were you thinking, tarantino? on a clear night, you see THAT movie sparkiling in its own constellation of unprecedented genius...a constellation of one

They debated about the existence of love. They said it was a hormone. They said there was no such thing. In time, a beautiful cloud passed over. Somewhere, they smelled a warm cake. Somewhere in a car, a song began to play on a scratchy sound system. They remembered - cycle rides on the beach, feeding donkeys on hill-tops, mother's day cards that had purple butterflies painted on them, fireflies in a jar, sugarcane for the teacher, blue checked shirt that got torn with overuse. They remembered and they smiled. Over what, who knows? Then they looked up this smile in a thesaurus. And it came up with this word: love.

If you can do one thing after a long, tiring, dull day at work - go watch 'Aage se right.' It is super! Watch it especially for Kay Kay Menon and Vijay Maurya. Shreyas is good as usual. The title track is catchy, the story's funny, and don't miss the beginning - especially the animation when the credits roll. It is too cute! The movie though belongs to the two of them - Kay Kay, a terrorist who falls in love with a Bombay crooner, and Vijay Maurya, a Shetty gangster, who teaches him to call his lady love 'item' (out of respect, he explains solemnly)...they are brilliant! :-) It's been a long, long time I have laughed this hard in a Hindi film...for the right reasons, that is.

Something shone on the marble floor Something shimmered on the glass paneled door Somewhere there was ivory light Here, though, it was a blackbird night Little sprays of promises splattered through restlessness in the dream Inexplicably grew Woke up to see silver mist Threading perfect needles of rain Woke up a fairy tale Not seen before, and perhaps never again Woke up to an ethereal haze Shrouding everything in sight And so, unseeing, I lost My heart at two o'clock at night

Yesterday, I joined the working class again. The first of September. I like starting a job or resuming work, on the first of a month. It feels new and fresh. Young, one might say. Jaunty, in fact. Like reading a book where the first chapter begins on page 1. Or writing an impeccable essay on the first, fresh, white sheet of a notebook and getting an A plus. My day at work was good. I had expected to flail about a whole lot given my workload. It was fine, though. I actually exhaled within fifteen minutes of getting in. And as good signs go, that one’s solid gold. However, I worked a little late. Not out of design. I had stepped out of office early, but it was raining. Lovely, beautiful, friendly rain. Unfortunately, I wasn’t carrying an umbrella, I had just recovered from malaria, and I was wearing a very, light baby-pink shirt that would get really transparent when wet. (I wouldn’t have minded that too much, if it would have helped me get an auto. But I knew it wouldn’t…so, why take ch