Chiffonesque

How does it always happen like this? There's a deadline and you have to finish something by lunch time the next day. And the ideas for a completely different story pop up? Other pieces start vying for your attention. Stories and Writer. Dogs and the Bone.

Hello world, How have you been? Today I put together an outfit that I love. It's a pair of palazzos in really faded, comfortable, soft cotton in faded brown print and a fitted white formal shirt that fits really well. Maybe I love this outfit a lot today because three or four months ago, this shirt didn't fit me but today it does. The loni  dosa guy who was away for a bit is here now. Felt good to see him. Liked my session at the gym. Went to the temple and it was so nice and peaceful. The shiv-ling was decorated with a chaadar  (blanket) made with mogra buds, roses, and orchids. Beauty is a very powerful way to worship. Now, I'm sipping a chilled can of Diet Coke and life is good.

A tough teacher who is lean, bald and dressed in black. A soft cheeked student who is naive and 19. Between acerbic insults and 'motherf###', 'faggot', 'you girls', 'fu## you', 'FU### YOU', some bleeding, drumming gets done. The theatre erupted in applause after the final scene. I thought it was a tad too cliched.

Dear you who does not exist because you exist so much, You exist all around me, not like god or air but maybe like the day. The day that I wake up to, in this tiny crag of time. You exist like the day, which is to say that you exist in a manner that is both steady and capricious. I will take you for granted because I have so much of you (so much 'you', in fact). I will also not take you for granted because when I wake up in the morning, I will not expect to find you there. But I'll see you all the same - in a lavender tree with lavender blooms and plum-soaked dawn. You let loose the night after brightness is done and go to sleep like a sweet child. When I look back at you, I think of you the way I think of the child...what a monster you were. And I smile. I write to you today because I did not write to you on Valentine's Day. Forgive the inaccuracies of tenses. To have you now feels like to have had you forever. The present with you unspools into the days gone by a

“Sheetal! Sheetal! Come here for a second!” “What now?!”, Sheetal yelled from the bedroom. “Your socks aren’t going to untangle themselves.” “Just come here. Please!”, Rohit yelled again. Sheetal came to where Rohit stood – in the cute, tiny strip of balcony in their spanking new flat in Gurgaon. A withering plant in the corner caught her eye. “Hey! Didn’t I water this rosemary bush yesterday? Why’s it so…” “What’s that?”, Rohit interrupted. He pointed through his plume of smoke at the opposite building.  “In that flat over there – what do you think that is?” Beyond Rohit’s finger, lay the vast beautiful Gurgaon sky. A bank of grey clouds moved against an evening canvas that spread conjugations of pink. Sheetal peered. “That’s…a rack of some sort. A cupboard, a…I don’t know…some shelves.” “It’s pointing their main door.”, Rohit pointed out. “Racks of shelves won’t be placed there.” “Yeah…and, I think the top is a little bit circular..” Sheetal peered

Outside my window Lies the suspense of an ocean The mystery of a lake The trivia of a pond; Outside my window Drops of water have percolated Through nibbles of seasons At the behest of the beyond; Outside my window Evaporate silkroutes of streams Exhaling blue into a non-stop sky; Outside my window Love stories in liquid Swirl and churn At times, all forceful, at times, all shy.

Last night I cooked something that was sinful, salty, spicy and absolutely delightful. I'd set out to make a simple Maggi. Midnight is not when I cook up anything fancy anyway. So I boiled the water, broke in the noodle stacks, added the Maggi masala and by mistake, added some manchurian masala from a separate packet of Ching's noodles too. It was so brown and spicy and delicious but a little strong. So I cooked some plain white rice on the side. Plating was a large scoop of the rice and then layered with a ladelful of the spicy noodles. It was so very good!

In the last few days, I was confronted with a strong sense of being judgmental. I know that there is a way in which this judgmental temparament can morph into a sweet, gentle kindness but I'm not able to figure out how. Also, bought some more books from this book sale by the kg event happening at some COEP hostel near Modern Cafe. I'm not sure how many people know about Modern Cafe but it's apparently 40 years old and all that. I returned by bus. It was fun and cheap, compared to an auto but still a bit steep I think for local bus standards. 

The other evening, I was walking back from the temple with a friend. We take a road that curves around a hill and is dotted with little cafes on the side. When the stars deck the sky, these cafes put out their purple and yellow lights and look like boxy cupcakes with twinkly sprinkles. That evening, we saw a little puppy frolicking in the bushes. He was the colour of coffee. We had seen him the day before when he was trying to lap up some water with another little puppy. This time, we thought he was playing by himself. On a closer look, we saw the other puppy. The other one was laying on the ground and this one - the frolicking one - seemed to be eating something. He was eating and licking the other puppy's legs. I am not an animal lover at all. My heart has opened up somewhat in Pune because there is a lot of communion with animals here. But I don't really get upset when animals suffer or anything. I'm vegetarian and even that is not for the benefit of animals. So seein

Gosh! Some days so overwhelmed that the only way I get through is to remind myself - it is all temporary. Breahe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is temporary.

I am sleepy. I have been since the last three or four days. Some things have changed in the last week of January. Where does sleep grow? Some nights I am so dazed, I imagine an orchard that's coated with a lavendar haze and it's filled with tiny silvery sleep flowers. Every time a sleep flower blooms, a little bit of a yawn comes out. I think there's a story there. But too tired now to think that through.