i am sick, with a cold, cough and bits of asthma. lonesome and a little angry.

Hi, I went for my first birdwatch at Chintamoni Kar bird sanctuary today, and although the senior birders there said that not a lot of serious birdwatching happened, I found it very very good. Mane I was introduced to the place, to the basics of birding, and I saw some nice birds. The place is a bit like a forest, and it was ever so pleasant walking on earth paths strewn with dried/old/wet leaves. A while after we left, after I had been dropped off at a localoy, I smelt my hands, and they had the smell that villagers have, mane for me, the Puruliya, Bansa smell. I felt so glad, relieved, more than anything. It was familiar and I can’t wait to go back, to rock-climbing, trekking. And this was good in a way that trekking is not. Perhaps it is to do with the fact that I found that I liked this all by myself, without having it as a given, to like it. I can’t wait to do it all, in my own way.
I saw:
Greater coucal
Spangled drongo
Common kingfisher (such a pert beauty)
Tree pie (didja know children, that this was hnarichacha, the very same? My mum would have identified the bird, I think. This one was mobbed by a team of warblers.)
Little Grebe (at Shaatkhola, some distance away)
Cotton pigmy goose (ditto)
Black naped-oriole (ki pretty. Amader photographers have taken some lovely photos occasionally. Black-naped oriole and this blue-throated barbet, I think.)
An injured cuckoo (maramari korechhilo, they said)
White-throated? fantail
Aro pakhi chhilo, kintu sheygulo ami dekhini tai likhchhina. I wish I had my own binoculars. Mane they saw grey lapwing, aro koto ki, but I DIDN’T. So there.
Dear Jesus, it will soon be time for a better camera. It’s already time for a bird book that I will buy in this book fair.

(And I wish so hard that he would join me. More than happy, I would be relieved.)

hee hee, i've been tagged i've been tagged. think calvin rubbing his hands with evil glee and saying i am rich i am rich (his father gave him a quarter, i think, and tried teaching him the value of money) and you'll know how i feel.
pphoooey!

Well, this:
I was walking in Chandni Market today, and again, you know, after a while you enter this sense of total comfort amid tumultous crowds going about their business. And I am happiest then if I am alone. Only other person, perhaps Oli, or N (strange, but not so strange), but then, to be honest, it’s best when I am by myself. I never give this being its due. Mane, comfort with myself is like a fau that I keep saving for the hardest times which I think will come when no one is there. It’s this way with most things I do. I never give the things most easily available their due, and run after the harder ones, for the thrill of searching, and the pining if I don’t get it is a solid filler, a real taker-away from the boredom I am liable to lapse into. I seem to need little then, people only occasionally. I keen toward them, partly out of habit, and partly out of the fear of what might happen if I do actually need them. I trust myself so little. I dunno why. I am no worse than the average human..
Anyway, so I found Chin Wah, but apparently they open only after 6, and it was just after 5 then. The place is a little off the crowded Chandni Market ghinji golis. Ar tokhon ajan hochhilo as I emerged from the lane, and there were bright lights and people all around, and it was great. I wished I had a reason to keep on walking and searching for something there. Well, I bargained and got myself a DVD holder. It’s only now I wonder why I didn’t ask for a better colour. Mane it’s in a garish violet shade, and of garish colours, violet is not a real favourite. And I bought a scarf for 20 rupees in the morning, and felt really bad. Mane, I make such random purchases, and the reason for buying has long been lost, and it’s like I’ve given in to getting what takes the eye for just the moment. The moment it comes to hand, there is such a crashing sense of disappointment, cause there was no need for it.
Then I walked over for tea, and it’s a comfort, as usual, because the stall owner talks little, knows what you want. Makes good tea.
Hideous hideous, I wish I could evaporate into a particle in the atmosphere there, much as I would have liked best to exist in Vellore.

I walked to Park Street and back to get a cake for home. And rushed cause there was sthng to correct on the fucking page, which I wasn't getting in hand all the fucking time I was waiting. Somewhere I hope someone's recording that I am not the selfish monster I am made out to be.
I was panting for breath and am still sweating. (I did eat a sandwich at Park Street, the place was so fucking tempting). I am fat.

I have become one of those people who don't need to be hungry to eat. Chokher khide is no longer something to be fought, but registered as something to be answered with as much concern as real khide. I ate up three plates of fried pork momo yesterday. A chicken sandwich and a black forest cake out of merely the desire to do so. Doesn't sound like much, I suppose, but I feel like I am changing into someone else.
I also bought lingerie worth Rs bloody 595, which I can't find any functional use for.
People are getting married all over. I haven't known one year when so many people I knew got married. The boy jokingly (snidely!) said, biyer morok legechhe. Ebaba, chhee chhee.
And I did voters' ID card hearing today. If the fates and all their grandchildren are pleased with me, a card might emerge at the end of all this.
I am reading Aron Ralston's Between A Rock and A Hard Place. It's good.
And that I feel left out. But I'll be damned if I asked. Fucker, shala.

I dunno why I am writing about the boy's friend's marriage, but there's generally a biyer hirik on everywhere. C is getting married, Rituparna, a friend, is. A senior is. You almost feel as if you are obliged to follow suit. Or something. The boy had fun, I believe, as he is prone to, on such occasions, like musing what would happen if he were to tie his friend's dhuti (the friend himself being incapable of it) - mane, he said, shorshor kore akta awaj hobe, ar tarpor dekha jabe purut moshai ke ar dekha jachhe na. That is, the purut would be covered under the dhuti. I say! Also, that people should wear buzzers on their heads, and when you wished to speak to someone, the buzzers would ring or light up, and the person would come and speak to you. Mane, no random people coming up to get chatty with you, ar ki. I keep imagining this bald person in our off., going around wearing this buzzer, like bellboys. Angry giggles is a concept I now understand.
Ar toh he was awake through a lot of the night, wearing his ornate panjabi.
Oh well, whatever, I am more or less at a loss to understand why I am so excited about a wedding I havent even be invited to.
I guess I am so deprived of entertainement I would jump at anything.

Hounded at every end. People are civil only so long as you are of use to them, or less they toss you away. I feel tautly stretched, and I see no way this is ever going to change. Everything, work, life outside seems to be part of walking the same tightrope. Say a word out of line, and people scream. If you are thinking according to the way someone else thinks, they are willing to hear you out. Otherwise, you are just an irrational lout, and what you speak is nonsense. Even with your own people, you are constantly proving a point. Taking a stand. You cannot just talk.
I barely feel human. And very alone.

Can I say I am tired? He did not call, and I don't feel so well, and no one will be bothered how this edition is doing. An sms helps, you know. I am tired, just tired.

Ooo hoo, I know now that I have visitors, mane just a wee few, one of whom I know is D.sir. Who are the rest, apart from Oli? Delurk, delurk, mes amis

Achha, I was reading this blog of a junior of mine, and I want to clarify: haleem at Aliyah is NOT like sexual satisfaction, it's miserable. Haleem is palatable only when A's baba cooks it. Neither is it great when you eat it from the stalls outside Statesman House. You merely keep feeling suspicious what it is you are sending down your gullet, and the meat is not good.

And this, also from her blog:
"In college they're playing a corridor cricket series. And I wake up dreaming of jstor. Disconcerting, that."
It's something that someone who has not been to JU will not know. As I will not know of the peculiar spots of closeness that other people have with other places they love, centres of learning, to be specific. That renders it plebeian, but it's not the point really. It's so about memeories: roddur on the balcony, and chilly, dry empty afternoons when one was at a loose end.
Y'know like that song by the Chandrani woman in Krosswindz: Oi dokkhin khola janlay. And the melody is kind of let loose somewhere in the middle of the song, and it rises to the sky where it goes wherever you might want to take it.
It's something the boy wouldn't know, something Oli knows and values exactly like I do, if not more. A yearns for it, perhaps, but she wouldn't change things, C is in a hurry to move on from there. And yeah, after a little more'n a year of work, I wish I woke up dreaming of Jstor too, as corridor cricket seen from outside the classroom.
The dear dear place, how nothing can duplicate what you left behind. It's like leaving your mum.

We had lunch at Sabir today, the boy and I. And as happens so often these days, it remains inexplicable how it turned out so good, how suddenly it all became so pleasant. The light flavour of the firni, my happiness over his liking the mutton, his undivertable love for chicken bharta. And I suspect we both enjoy good meals. That he likes the taste of boiled meat, and I like it grilled, with the woodsmoke lending to the taste. And how it was like we had been living this way for years, as we walked back. I suddenly found I was walking with my hands together behind me, and he was quietly talking, and I could anticipate the pauses. And I wished bye bye, and left.
The silence.

Somebody exclaimed 'uff! angst mama!'
I think my last post wanted that, if it deserved being called a post. Hee hee, I had a good day. I habe done a lotof organisational work tooday. Hooh, my coolth, level-headedness, my thanda mathay kaaj kora...kya kehne! All thanks to a certain boy who refuses to lose his temper. Maybe now that I've said it, we will have unforeseen trouble.
You do know that a colleague is leaving and we have a supplement hanging for which there is NO matter?
I slept at 6 in the morning yesterday after two hours of watching X Files.
I can't think of profound things to say.
Well, there's Kali pujo tomorrow, and humongous sized idols are being carted all around the city.
I see them when I come home every night.
Everybody was buying lights today, and baji. I wanted to buy lights, but well, it'll all be gone tomorrow, and I haven't bought anything.

My life seems to be falling apart. Things seem to be going out of control, as I control less and less of how I want things to be. It's an indulgence, giving in to this feeling, but I just wish now, at well, 1:15 tonight, that certain things had never happened. And yet, that it did, was perhaps better. It's out of my system, hopefully.
And work, I, well, I don't know what will happen. It's like the old 'when rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy.' I can't be bothered to get up and let myself not be raped, 'cause I don't know what to do, where to go.
Oh dear God, I feel so tired. I feel so tired. I just want to get away from all this, get away. Not wake up again for a long time with a tired mind, and a tired body, to drag myself to another whirligig of confusion again. To wake up to peaceful work. But then again you have to make peace and all that, so...tired.

Park Circus. On new camera. You are not to try using it without my permission. Presuming you make the mistake of wanting to in the first place.

It's really late at night. and writing does give me a high, but i am scared i will soon discover i haven't enough information.
It's about half an hour later, and my brain seems to be shutting down. Anyway, what with the bandh and an early pick up and all, I didn't get much of a chance to make the much-looked forward to daily morning visit to the loo. So stomach sheitao janan dichhe. It would be such a comfort to be back in my room, and going into the bathroom now. Still an hour to go before I reach. Atleast Potato Man won't be there in my car, which is a real, tangiblr relief.
Come to think, amar ato night hochhe, I could make up for a day missed with a few night allowances. What a life.
I am tired.

Everything is now beginning to seem the same. Am I merely being lazy?

I am writing a horrible story, with which I shall succeed in embarrassing several near and dear ones.

My exploits o'er le weekend. I wish I could have a lost weekend too, but amar gyan shorboda atoi tontone thake je it's fat hopes that I might be able to have one of that. (Or perhaps I never am in my full senses??? I wonder)
Well, ennyway, Shubhayu and I planned to meet at Park Street on Sunday morn. Great, adventurous Shubhayu didn't mind it being a Sunday and hence no Metro at all. Just a bus ride, so I was elated to find similarly minded people.
Well, I also had the Great Conversation with the boy. So got burningly late for meeting S. Was very good talking, and then, S was very cool about me being about an hour and a half late. That was like a breath of fresh air, the freedom of childhood/college, like, when you didn't feel pressed all the time, like your breath was drawn constrainedly.
Well, I did cab it. And I got down and saw him sitting on the steps in front of Musicworld, not fuming, as I or anyone I'd thought was waiting for me would have. So I sat down and whined that I was hungry and wanted lunch, and he was ok with that change of plans as well.
Then a cheel across the street got hit, and like most unplanned things, I went over to see what happened. Then the guard who'd come out to see it, took him to the footpath, I kinda impotently asking him to do so, 'cause I am scared of birds. Well, then there were people and a girl made phonecalls, and I followed up on the calls after she left. And then, the bird couldn't stay straight anymore, and toppled to its side, what with people pouring copious amounts of water on its head, and goading it to drink copious amounts of water, I suppose. Then toh it looked at us, me and S arai chokhe, and what with people saying o to more jabe, and kamre debe, I was shit scared. I really didn't want it/him to die. And the look was not at all hingsro, just kinda kator and arai chokhe. So I called Mr D of PFA, and he got a vehicle to come along and pick it up. And oh, a liquor shop person nearby also very kindly gave us a large cardbox to keep it in, as we'd been told to. And its wings were also getting dusty lying in the dirt there. And much better than the absurd jutor baksho the laughing BarBQ watchman laughingly got for us.
Then we loped off, to Free School Street to find 'Khaliq', a beef biriyani place, d'apres S. On Sunday it's closed, we found. We'd also planned to have shwarma, and we found the eatery where it's sold, I think. Turkish Corner. We'll come back.
Well, he suggested we go to Oly for beef steak, and yaah, that's what we did. Great stuff, and I saw what the oh-so-hallowed place was like. Fairly decent, with ratty so-called carpets, and open liquor bottles with water stacked on a table. You go and pick up. It was apparently S's first time at the place when he didn't have liquor. We went over and had cold coffee at T3 after that. Then back to office. And lots and lots to talk. The cheel is good, since no bleeding anyway. And his wing was a little injured, but he'll be ok. And they dunno yet whether there are wounds on the feet. I feel very good. And it was a very lovely day.

I had to write a story. So I am writing this. I had meant a newspaper story.
Well, yesterday, my colleague and holy mother, N and I went out to get medicines for her at Chandni Chowk at 9:30 at night. Well, we did, I munching chips greedily along the way. Chandni was minus most of its bustle at that time, and we walked about among traders lazily packing up their wares, some old sad random Hindi songs kyat kyat kore bajchhe. Very pleasant. We walked along the Chandni Market road, towards CR Avenue, the road got perceptively seedier, and I was thinking of turning another way, when voila! there was Sabir. The restaurant.
It was a lovely end to a very nice walk, very relaxed, mooching about in semi-known surroundings, wondering what the piles of screws displayed are for, and N.di informing that they belonged to people who'd lost theirs. And if you found yourself needing one, you could come and buy some for yourself.
We didn't have much money yesterday, but she agreed to go along to Sabir, completely acquieseing to a wish I expressed, very pleasant, that. We decided to split expenses in half, and carefully selected a mutton biriyani and a chicken tikia kebab, to delicately match our tastes and our pockets. Roshonar poritripti. We ate and a very nice meal it was. We laughed and laughed, I whined over the gha on my lip, and how it hurt, and bit my tongue and drew blood again, for good measure. N couldn’t stop laughing. I looked around, there were men eating alone, a man brandishing a stack of 500 rupee notes, and our waiter, nice waiter, hovering in the background, and me exclaiming in loud whispers, ‘What does he want?" Again the woman couldn’t stop laughing. It was such a delight. And then we walked back, our gullets full for the moment, N.di clutching onto my arm in a clawy grip, scared that I would run into the next passing vehicle I found. We walked past the hovering car-waiters outside office, and sat at the wooden thek. Their chawala passed by, saying ‘ebar bari jao’, and we sat and chatted. We went back to get cold drink for N’s home again, then came back to office. I missed the 11:15 drop to chat some more, and we were in office laughing away still, the other blowsers in the room eventually hollering at us to stop.

There's this thing, whenever I write sad things about myself, no one replies, ok, comments. Even the boy's like that: when I am really down and out, ok just upset, I am to haul myself out of it like any healthy person.
The ravings of a madwoman will not be indulged.
It is seen as 'layzinesss', I believe.

'frequently second guesses self', is a good description of me.

I am scared, embarrassed, at my imperfection, lack of impulse.
"Consume my heart away,
Sick with desire and chained to a dying animal,
It knows not what it is."
Yeats wrote this, and I got the lines from my own blog when I googled for it.
There are times I want to be put down. Take me away God.

Oh, please believe, all the people I hold dear are not that. I am a consciousness. Without memory.
I need oblivion. Mostly from love, and the corollary, emptiness and hurt.

I think I am boring of the masterly kind. Oh if you were only to stay with me, you would discover how I nag, how I can be endlessly hurt. This is of course, my perceived perspective of another's perspective of me.
Pujo will come. I will see pujos. So thereio. Bloody.
And oh what else, I read some horrible pujo shonkhas, all really bad writing, really. I read Dirk Gently. What I need, I think, are some real speedy thrillers, to read at night. And since we are all here in Calcutta this pujas, we would all go out watching pratima, I think. And yaywoo, I look forward to taking photographs, so there.
See, how boring I am


'Labels for this post:e.g. scooters, vacation, fall'
Does it look like I am writing on any of these? I do work through pujo, y'know.

Well, this is just writing for the sake of it. Yeah, 'cause you never get to what you want to say unless you're at home. Things I found:
I don't have a life, with staying at office most of the day, and then, so irritated afterward that I merely ask to be left alone, and scream unholily when I am not.
It's not so much that, y'know. I, well, want to get away. Want to be alone. I want to go to Khajuraho, for one. I dunno how good I am with relationships. Perhaps I am not. Perhaps it's the persons we are. I want to breathe. And a lot of things that I dearly want to write and let loose over the internet, knowing that no one would read it.
I used to write stories once. Not newspaper story, but fiction story. Kotoi na shohoj chhilo shob takhon.
Aj baire giyechhilam anekdin por. Ki je shanti.

Life quite genuinely sucks. It's not funny, though it sounds that way. Jesus, I could whack all my so-called friends. Nijer ta bujhe niye shala tumi jaley porle na morei gele, karur jay ashe na. fucking buggers.

I was going through Orkut profiles of people in college now. Khub pulok holo, so am writing. Well, y'know, there's a distinct difference between people that are good and those you learn to tolerate, ar chakri korte korte you see so many of the latter kind that you forget the difference. Aj ak jon ke dekhe mone holo she was the kind I'd have liked to be friends with.
Eishob, ar the boy has had a fierce crew-cut hair-cut, like he was going to war, or to be a sailor, at the least. Ki bhoyanok, ami to prothome takachhilam i na. And I have a camera, discovering the joys of a camera. Ami ashole akhon khub khushi khushi bodh korchhi. Y'know, like Oli was saying, how you can be happy despite there not really being anything to be happy about, if someone were to hold you to the cause-effect of it. Actually, she said the opposite, but you get the picture. Blissfully happy, akhon. And you realise that you are rather lucky to be given someone with whom to share your days with. And that God gives his gifts carefully.
Ami kal akta documentary dekhchhilam Nandigram er opor: shekhane a person's intestines were puching their way out of his stomach after he'd been shot. And his wife was so quiet and nonchalant: what could she do, really. What is there to do once it's gone and happened. And you realise how close death lives to your skin, and that things might happen to those you love, need. You are glad they are all good. And the petty feel-bads seem small, then, when you think there's love enough, or maybe caring, to hold you together with another.

I am half-frozen, it's so cold in here, and my head feels as if it's been replaced with a lump of ice. How supremely unoriginal. Well, it was very different today, and I was not really surprised. It's high time.
It's a while later, and I am a bit more alive, and less dazed. Though it's just a lot of work to just get the page off the board. Now all I want to do is to go home and sleep. and I still have two copies to file.
The pages went just now. God, this is horrid. And there's the specs to take care of.

can i come said he- e.e. cummings
may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she
(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she
(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)
may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she
may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she
but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she
(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she
(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

I am awfully scared. And lonely. I want to recede.
Est-ce que c'est le fin? De quoi, qui?

"You don't need a hair-do or 'cool' 'rockstar' clothes chains and dark glasses to do music. It's like choosing your deo when you are going to war."

www.urinnersmile.blogspot.com/ He wrote it. I love it.

Went for the health check-up thing today. Was at the hospital for quite a while, and it was like going back to Vellore, the same closeness, intimacy, peace amongst people you don't know at all. It's addictive, engrossing, makes the world bearable.
I was going through a colleague of mine's album today, and I felt, I dunno, awfully sorry for what I saw. Or rather that I had a look into the world the olleague inhabits. The structure I so dislike, and yet I rather like her. And you feel kinda bad that she's stuck in this. Though that's awfully condescending. I might be considered stuck in a structure myself. Blah. You would perhaps knew it if you saw. Y'know, it's that you realise why she migh feel outside her element now, and it sorry if the structure's the reason. Ugh I don't like it.
And I am glad for everything. For what I have been given. A blessing.

Oh it seemed forever stopped today
All the lonely hearts in London Caught a plane and flew away
And all the best women are married
All the handsome men are gay
You feel deprived Yeah are you questioning your size?
Is there a tumour in your humour,
Are there bags under your eyes?
Do you leave dents where you sit,
Are you getting on a bit?
Will you survive
You must survive

When there's no love in town
This new century keeps bringing you down
All the places you have been
Trying to find a love supreme
A love supreme
Oh what are you really looking for?
Another partner in your life to abuse and to adore? I
s it lovey dovey stuff, Do you need a bit of rough?
Get on your knees
Yeah turn down the love songs that you hear
'Cause you can't avoid the sentiment
That echoes in your ear
Saying love will stop the pain
Saying love will kill the fear
Do you believe
You must believe

I spy with my little eye
Something beginning with (ah)
Got my back up
And now she's screaming
So I've got to turn the track up
Sit back and watch the royalties stack up
I know this girl she likes to switch teams
And I'm a fiend but I'm living for a love supreme


I loved Robbie Williams once, and this song's still so good.
And does it ring true?
Am I losing my mind? I feel scared to write here, the constant rage and the hurt, this is surely not normal. And is there anyone who will be patient enough to listen? And you fall in love thinking, y'know what he said, that love will killl the pain, allay the fear, but doesn't really happen. Gets to be a bit of a farce. Should people like me be put away, and if I am quite so bad, why do friends stay? What for?
It's like the girl in Park Avenue who poured hot water in her hand as she cried for a physical outlet for the pain of just being alive. Who knows, maybe it was not that. And you wonder whether it is quite right to take someone else on board when you know this is what you can be. That you might be worse.
There's no one to ask, really.

a blog is for thinking aloud

Such an unfamiliar state of being: copy finished and I am waiting for the car. But then, it is also almost 3 in the morning. Well, the thing is, I finished reading Harry Potter. I loved it, my unequivocal reaction, thank you. And I am awfully sorry that it's gotten over.
I now have an account on Orkut as well as Facebook. It's slightly manic, if you decided to get serious about it. You have to keep tabs on one account after another to check the latest progress. Siphon friends from one network to the other, and so forth.
I have had long gchats with Debasis sir. It's rather very lovely to talk with him once more, and yet he was always just a step away.
I was reading The Viceroy of Ouidah until this Potter frenzy started, with everyone shouting out endings (bloody pilfs, and I do NOT mean A), so you had to get your hands on it, and get it over with. But may I say what a lovely pleasure it was. I efinitely don't think Hogwarts was dark. It was sun and well, magic. The boy has not read the book, but even then, might not like the fluidity that the magic's about. No, I think he will, if he reads it, and knows this is what I am talking about. Not just magic being imagination, that's so just the surface of it, but of will, choice, the post-modernist (or is it post-postmodernist) way of looking at things: you are what you make yourself. Then again, that sounds so like the Renaissance man. Rowling so gets that, although she must drench it in soppy love and we are all good. Y'know, what I am trying to say is that the vehicle is a spot clumsy, but the idea, you cannot but love it. But then, maybe it's cuz I have really hardly read anything. And inarticulate as usual. And then, what's new.

If rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy.

Came upon this for the first time in the Presidency magazine in first year. In office, pretty late. Things are not as out of control as you would like to fancy it to be. I just want to believe they are. Can I say I ache to go back to freer days, freer to move, to imagine, without the trouble of having to translate it into facts. I feel like writing again, to make things whichever way I want it. To lose me in it, if one may say so. The Tale of Genji: make up your face to be what you want it to be. This perfect perfect surface, brittle and seamless as china. Clink it and a chink will appear. Will go away to a rarefied world among clouds, The Aeneid's Elysium, where Aeneas's father Anchises (I remember) would be. What is this clutter, the sadnesses of a rag-tag mind, the rage of a mind (y'know, looking like one of those cancer-marked lungs, markes of tobacco). I really really want to lose myself in, well, the subliminal: get a high, with nothing to hold you back...Jhoom barabar jhoom gives me flight... Wild with all regret/those things that are no more, Koel Poorie doing a turn, with those wild wild eyes that seemed to have lost everything.
There is no one there, I would have wished in another time that he would be, I'll wish tomorrow. But let me go away, go away to my world of books, where the mind can be let to fly. Come with me, come with me. I cannot ever ask, request you to come along repeatedly. I don't want to forget what I have loved. Don't think I can for very long. Please know, please know.

Posting after such a long time, and there's lots od work to do. But yeah, that's very satisfying, of course the quality is another story. Well, about us, I, well, y'know, you can be angry and sulk for the luxury of it, or you can be robust about it, look at the other person's point of view, get over the anger and move on. Yeah, I'll do that, but what can I say. That I am angry, and I don't care two hoots about who might think what. Or rather, that I do, but that that's not the end all. There is the moment, and you can choose to embrace it, or crib about what's not right, and how it might have been perfect if x and y factor were alright. And I just feel angry, at what feels like cussedness, weariness. And I don't want to drag him out if he is going to feel not right, forced, I dunno what about it. I want to do my work. Ami dukkho pelam, na onno keu dukkho pelo, ei niye ami ar bhabte parchhi na.
I had a very good birthday, the happiest I remember in years. Quite usually, it is the ones nearest you that bring the tears to your eyes again and again, who for reasons of circumstance, are not a part of your happiness. And it is perhaps yet a luxury to indulge hurt. I feel angry, and wild. It's like that birthday, when I could only cry, and baba, blast him, sent ma to ask if I wanted to go and eat somewhere. Like hell I would, and be told later how much money got spent eating out, and how we could have saved if we made the same thing at home. I will waste no time for those who can't take things as they are, who hang on to past actions, and count every sin you have supposedly committed. I would rather keep away, though I might love. Keep distance.

There's much to be said for sanity, I think. It's different from doing whatever thrills you at the moment, for the sake of the thrill, without thinking of consequences, what people call irresponsible action, I suppose. It is not as heavy as it sounds. Irresponsibility for the sake of it isn't anything more than very easy fun any longer. It's a different course of life you embark on. It's a different kind of happiness, one I find myself reacting very pleasantly to. The surety of presence, of being anchored, perhaps once again. I blabber, not much sense. Somewhere, I ask my mind to please be considered in what it does.

"A member of the working middle class. A bonafide contributor to the economy and to society as a whole, even. For the first time in my short and largely frittered life, I was going to be productive."
http://positivelylowbrow.blogspot.com/2006/04/lets-face-it.html

That's how I feel. Felt. Stifled. And this too:
"saw no reason to give up everything I held sacred (the right to loaf, the freedom to sleep till two, the liberty to watch television all day until my brain began to atrophy and so on). "
This I would have perhaps continued to do awhile, like Jaydeep continues to perhaps. If I wasn't shit scared of never landing myself a job at all. I miss the footlooseness, I do. Of not having any commitment, or responsibility. It's one of the things you teach yourself, to cultivate patience. For the sake of your own needs. For shelter, calmness. Though ever so often, you wonder if you don't want to hurl it all away, your own good, with a vicious kick (yeah, that's funny), to leave yourself completely bereft, and incapable of wanting. Why people love the desert, eschew lands of plenty, and want the aridness of not having. That dream I'd had once, of a desrt girl, and I was scared by the gleam in my own eyes. Because it didn't care to wait for anybody for what it/she wanted. I wish I could be that to get what I want.
And needless to say, I did not ask for the quoted person's permission to quote him. He goes by the name of Leo, apparently.

Y'know, the people you come together with, after a while their qualitative merits cease to matter. I mean, they are with you regardless of whether they act badly or well, they are a part of you. That is a rather pleasant feeling, the assurance of presence. That apart, there's the job. Egad! people are depressed, and I never did count PR as one of my special skills ever. I can't quite think what's about to happen, and how I'll find meself dealing with it. Well, there's the boy, thank heavens, and the nocturnal parleys. A feeling that seeps into you.

I had a rather nice day yesterday. Went to the Oh Lord! MD'S review, met people there which was rather nice, had a boring lunch, bought underwear, stuff of trauma, really, met Shubhayu, which was really really nice. We sat in this nook, one of the thin golis that lead to courtyards of old apartment mansions. This one was on Park Street, a few houses after T3. There's this rather wide berth there, where you can really stretch your feet and lounge, and we sat there for a while and talked, as cars passed by, people came to dump stuff, people decked up and stepped out of houses, 'lots of activity', he said. The weather was nice, after-drizzle and all that, and we'd met after one really long time. We stepped into T3 after a while, rebutting ichhes of going into Olypub. He smoked and smoked, and had hideous sugacube after sugercube, ugh ugh ugh. But his youth, and his openness to things, his freedom, the master he is of his own time. some of it is cause he's still a student, but it's a lot a state of the mind. And there's a lot to be said for a friendship like this....

well

Reallt tired and desirous to meet the boy. Had two great days, one day of fun with the kids. Got our bags, watched 15, Park Avenue, My Brother Nikhil, met cousin and cousin's wife, and was rather surpised at how happy they seemed. They are really newly married, y'know. It's not mundane. And reality struck home with Park Avenue, and Nikhil was baba all over again. I wanted to tell the boy everything, did too. And I wonder about what O calls post-adolescence. What is it all now? It is rather very different from college, and there seems to be nothing to loving but love, quite unreasonably. Endless pleasure, and happiness, for no reason, apparently, save a person. Well, I forgot what I began with, so..

.

I got very scared today. A dada of ours asked me to smile. Is it so bad? Will I become like many I see in the room? Where do I belong, where should I be?

Barbados is a lovely word

There's someone here who's into blogs, so I can't post save when she ain't here. Well, I've been dying to scream out to the world that I have 'follicular tonsilitis', one manifestation of which is this huge wart in my throat that I can see- it's white with pus: grotesque, completely, hee hee. I certainly hope I will gross out people who read about it. And then, there's antibiotics, which make you feel out of this world, quite literally. All I want to do is to be left to myself and to sleep. Instead of ruddy office. Tobe shei woe niye ar na i bollam. And the boy and I had such a good chat over phone last night that I took so long to get over it that I fell asleep without eating. Now this none save ma know yet.
Ar it's generally not pleasant to feel that there's cotton wool wedged up your throat. And then, intimations of mortality. Bhoy lage, if you have to die. I so don't want to die.
I began reading Love in the Time of Cholera jedin office jai ni over this thing. I think it's rather rather nice. Majhe majhe khub ichhe hoy, jodi anek din pai, to live like the old days: sharadin boi pore katiye ditam, break only to eat, or bathe, fall asleep over the book, wake to read. May be get out for a brief while.
Summer is for receding inside yourself, to find happiness, standing on the verandah deep at night, feel the breeze, be happy. Lightness, freedness. And let me yet say, there is great joy in loving the boy, to be allowed to let be, to call and say I feel vomitty. Oh yeah, it sounds simperingly saccharine. But it's well, all of what I was saying earlier. I am rather happy.

pluperfect

A post for rip:

Well, it is about kindness. Of joking away sadness, panic. What O has done over five years, for me and dare I say, for so many of us. I miss it very much. I don't want others to take life as darkly as I end up doing ever so often, to forget the happiness and believe doomsday to be near. The happiness of space, the unbearable lightness of being. To see a rose and smile in fulfilment.

There is also something to be said about a white shirted fair gent noticing you at the end of his day. Nothing to do with the gent as such, just you.
Well, my back's aching awfully, and I can hardly make sense. I want to go home, though I know I can finish the copy if I push myself enough. I also tramped with that jumble of a knap to a hotail on the bypass, after I had listened to a seminar on IT management at something on Little Russell Street. Souffles suck, chocolate mud pies are brilliant things. As are taxi drivers scared you might turn out to be a gangster or something. At least that's what I imagined, kept asking er por kothay jaben, eta ki apnar guest house, tumi apni, general befuddlement. Amar bhishon pithey byatha korchhe. Period.
The whole post was not for rip.

can't take it anymore. am i losing it? feel at the end of my tether. desperately want a break, to get away. happened quite suddenly on monday. sunday i was fresh and happy & monday, i was somehow dragging on like i hadn't stopped in a long while. and the end of the week is lined with assignments, absolutely snowed under. what can i do?

can't take it anymore. am i losing it? feel at the end of my tether. desperately want a break, to get away. happened quite suddenly on monday. sunday i was fresh and happy & monday, i was somehow dragging on like i hadn't stopped in a long while. and the end of the week is lined with assignments, absolutely snowed under. what can i do?

Day

I got Leonard Cohen. I am not going to Gourbhanga. Should I be methodical and sad?
I filched a NatGeo from O's place. Haven't told her yet. Will I be righteous and depressed?
I took the easy way out again, didn't I.
On other terms, I have to decide much more in advance that I am quite conclusively going to go. The situation didn't suggest itself. N went off for his Advanced Course today. O goes in May. I met a very quiet, niriho French author. I wanted to sit down and talk with him for a long time, the dishevelled man with ash blond hair and perplexed eyes. You were so sweet to me. Such small units of grace, come alive and frame your day.
I'd had a lovely day yesterday, perhaps an aftermath of that: wrote the story in a prolonged leisurely way (for which in trouble), it was that rare rare time when you don't feel someone playing strings with your nerves, and you are free to think, to pick and choose what you shall include and what not and why. Bought food (tasteless biryani from Rahmania), went over to O's feeling guilty for not having bought ma's Poila Baishakh sari that still mean to give. Sat with kaku kakima, sitting around, listening to them planning train tickets for her course, it's home, in dimensions I don't quite know. I was more comfortable between them than I have been for a while. We had chips, we had tea, food, ice-cream, I had golap jamun. The humdrumness is so pleasing. We talked, and that she is rather very much desperation, that she is studying so much in some desperation. And we fell asleep, eventually. I in the other room. The comfort of a bed after a very long time. Cuz I choose the floor now. I woke up in some darkness, the coolness of the room. Went up, smiled, kaku kakima were cooking, came away. It was so pleasant.

coming close

Was leaving the room the same time as K. There are two glass doors on the way. As he walked away in the other direction, there was his outline, through one door, and then the next. Is this how it will be, me looking in front and seeing him, as he walks away?

.....

I have nothing to write, so. Life trundles on. WHY, the same inevitable pattern?
I hardly worked today. Don't feel too enthused about it.

.

It is very strange where I am now. I feel lonelier than I have felt in a long while, like in a sea, o very vast. Alone in an unfamiliar world. There's no one here now, I find that so difficult to encompass, and upstairs the world's a flurry of frenetic activity. It's like a drug, and once in it, you can't bear to give it up. I don't know what shall happen, cannot say. He holds words to heart, and what I said today might be given back to me tomorrow. Such uncertainty, and you a mere spectator. I feel very very lonely. It becomes more and more frequent that I find myself amongst those less wise than I. Which had never been the case before. There is no one to rely on but your own wits.
What he says makes sense, I suppose. Which casts a very poor light on what I have been doing. Indeed none of the skills, save kichhuta by default ayotto kara, which you can't do without. Oh I had yearned for someone intelligent. Those that are expect you to pick up stuff. I haven't. "We need to be looked into," he said. How hideous we must have become. Afraid I don't make much sense, I am keying letters in some desperation, because I can't think. There is no peace at all. Very sleepy, and the day had begun well. O you, you, you, why are you human, why don't problems melt away of their own accord at the sight of you. They do, but not to be brushed away under the carpet. Excuse me. I don't know what I feel, what I must do. Insensate, balm
O O O O, the Shakespehearean rag....it's so elegant, so intelligent

.

I am gonna be screwed. I have a story to write and I am here writing. I had a paneer roll, and one from office offered me biryani, which i graciously declined. My blog must seem so cloistered, what with talking about only work, and o-very-personal woes. Some more: the boy is ill. I don't like it. I hope he is better soon.
C leaved day after and we didn't get time to meet, all of us. Have grand plans of meeting C tomorrow somewhere, whisk her off to lunch, leave her standing bloated and scoot off to office. God, when we were young. I desperately need to taste some of it again. It's like being physically parched, age, work, responsibility, paper, relationships be damned. Where's the fuh-uh-un??? O would surely be scandalised.

blue

Well, I have a couple of gray hairs. I haven't seen them though. That's completely besides the point. Saw this blog www.oktoberblues.blogspot.com . Of being a free radical, drifting along. I would write like this about six months back. Then people, ties, job wrangling you down. Losing focus of what you liked. Forgetting to feel light. I refuse I refuse. Life shall not be like this. It can't all be like squealing eagles piercing their beaks into you randomly. That's bullshit, anyway.
C is in Cal for five days, and we've a precious pocket of 9 to whenever - two hours, I think - at night, for us to feed and have fun in. A going away to Bombay, bloody her, and O is here for the moment. I want to leave.
Life must be lightness, am I in the wrong place. That blog made me remember what I liked. I wonder what'll happen to us, though. And the days trundle on, in their bloated consumerist way.
I want the Net. I want to blog deep into the night on my brand new comp. in a dark room, with strange music playing, and not worry about tomorrow since it'd be my off day. I would wake up, iron and listen to music, something nice would happen which I'd enjoy immensely, may be a concert like the one we had at JU, with the three of us that day. Might even like to meet S. Basically an extra day would be nice.

twirling smoky fingers......

Here after a long time, mainly cuz don't have Net at home. K & I got my computer, he fixed it, our baby, it is. But life's kinda different after that. A black presence, beautiful and all, surrounds your existence. My mother superior went away, and it's a bit of not so friendly madness au bureau. He is a source of relief, surprisingly. There isn't much left to living. Save office, and he. Occasional bits of friends, snatches - whiffs of JU, long forgotten home, happiness, warmth fading away, the real world. Lonesomeness. And that's what I had liked about The Namesake, about Nikhil's loneliness, of growing up, of time, when the warmth of old friends falls away, and nothing can be as nice as what you left behind. It is also the serenity of age, K says, and I know. K is gold. It was something I found yesterday, realised rather. Brilliant, and beautiful to boot. Fiery beauty, quite. And what is now there is quiet, barely masked sometimes, but you can see what's happening, how it will shape up, perhaps. All of which I love. It is perhaps truer than you know, you are given what you need, at the time you need it most. It is not about grasping a person and possessing him, more about being let to perceive, to see, know.
Well, that. Apart, little music, fewer books. It's just too scattered, life is. Akhon para hobe na. I am not fighting it. I wish for a good day everyday. With minimum mental frazzlement, ravaging. Get back home, to oblivion, of pain from office for the night. Find something to work out the day after. It's overwhelmingly lonely, is all I can say. And I am not alone. Several my age, my kind - and there are more than I thought. It's not bad, a way of living, happens to everyone, shedin The namesake dekhe ato bhalo laglo, like a balm to frazzled soul. This too shall pass. Jhumpa Lahiri, Nikhil, Gogol. And he opened the book, and sat down to read. 24, I shall be. In July. Time flies. So. At such speed. All you can do is hang on and live. Where you dunno quite at all what's going to happen. Why baba died, the way ma and I are now - why; what happens to us. And you live wondering whether things don't fall into place sometime. Child of ruins, we are. We all. Something has died, and the rest is an attempt at salvaging, as serenely as you can, without losing your mind. The gold's not there anymore. And that's inevitable. For all. And yet we love, and love deeply, in serenity, and find a kind of sadder happiness that is nonetheless more lasting than the flash of brightness that was youth.
Remember when you were young, You shone like the sun..

I wonder what it is that makes me not care for lesbian and gay issues either. It's the next day's page, and anything I loved seems so airy-wairy, irrelevant. That I would be validated only through tangible, real, so-called things. There are things you don't know. It is a process, it does not feel abnormal, or forced either. Just that I paused to wonder, when I came to an Internet entry on the 1998 San Francisco International Lesbian & Gay Film Festival. I went to their site, looked at the films. It didn't make one whit of difference to me. And if I came to something I liked, I'd probably try to save it and keep it away, so that it didn't take my attention, for some later, less harrowed time, which inevitably does not come. What is left, really? I am too much a part of it to say, now. I wish to go away before it gets too consuming, and don't worry, I will. Will I leave a shattered heart in the process, how many, and? These are rather idle musings, the last one, anyway. As he calls them, he. And tonight I feel lonely and a twinge of pain, to not have what I want. And then, the trouble of wanting quite so much. And not really having it. I want to be lonely tonight. To not have anyone near me. Take my mind away, dear God, I don't want to think.

Your Song

It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen


Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
Available on the album Elton John

.........................................

consume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it is consume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it isconsume my heart away, sick with desire and chained to a dying animal, it knows not what it is

hnoo baba

In here and posting. Life's a topsy turvey. Met a German guy, stuck up, who spoke. He has one very ugly tooth and he laughs and laughs, something like Peter Wyman but not quite that. Met kid S's friend whom I liked. Some people you know are special. He is that, with beautiful hands, and calm face, in a way that S isn't. S is light, light as the world, forget, just to forget. The friend is quiet, he will reassure by just being. I wonder what one does to deserve these - these blessings, of knowing people so much better than you are. Aaj okhane bosheo mone hochhilo. And then, I saw his face today, grim but when he came to me, the biscuit, everything falls into place. I am a little animal. React thoughtlessly to comfort, kindness, assurance. It's a bit scary too, that this reaction is so instinctive, what about nurturing others?
Well, the nice thing about the day is, I have been out for the whole day, pushing myself more or less. I met up with pals, did my thing without worrying how tired I might get. I am tired, but rather happily so. Spoke to Oli yesternight for long hours, then went off to sleep. S woke me up, wailed ghumote dey and all, but went off nonetheless, glad to spend the three hours we did at T3, the weird food we ate, seeing S and friend, fixing appointment to teach S, other kid at 9 in the morning. And then next day shall begin. Is how life should be. And be married along the way and come back to a kid every night. Not baby. Kid.

limitless

"consume my heart away; sick with desire and fastened to a dying animal, it knows not what it is." This was by Yeats and today I feel guilty about writing about anything that i have ever liked because he does not care for the way we go about it. what happens to me, dear God? i want to be able to let go. to smile again, to make another smile, or simply get on with it. i have to go away. get away to another city, away from familiar faces, faces with whom i share a history. forget i ever was. there can be no happiness for me, i need must realise. i shall die, in fact, i am already dead. let me go, remove this immoveable weight from my heart, that refuses to let me see the bright side of things, only patches of what seems to be sunlight, and then the familiar endless pall of darkness. a moment of brightness, and i think things have finally fallen into place in my head, from now on, i will surely be happy, and then the debilitating darkness, that refuses to let me move, makes me call out for him, and he will not answer, and that somehow, makes a world of difference to skew my perspective. i have lost perspective completely. all objectivity. don't know what's good for me, anymore. only blindly chasing what seems xtremely difficult to give up. i know why, y'know. it's what i thought earlier - to have dreamt and wanted and then to not have it. to have walked so far and then to find the road not going anywhere. what do you do then? keep walking, since there will be a road somewhere, or turn back and run, to what i dunno. safety, perhaps. safety of nothingness, emptiness, meaninglessness. time stretching away like a yawning gap in endless timelessness, and where were my three kids and the guy with brown eyes that seemed waiting to gleam when sunlight fell on them. women, women, o women. addle-headed, indecisive, who do not know what they want. my father, i am sure thought the same. the man with the threatening nose winked, perhaps because he knew it all along (???). waiting to hand the shitty end of things. these words i write, hold such little information, just a state of mind. and as agu said, you realise that nothing you do is quite unique. people before you have been there, done that. no emotion is sacred. and that they all might be violated, and still you will live, even love. what blasphemy! people should die when once violated, spontaneously, losing all desire to live. i am tired tired. i am 23 and i admite tiredness. thank you. and i was afraid of not wanting him, and he was my only light, only guiding light. mauled, lacerated, and i don't know quite what to do. do i let go, and oh my lord! do i persevere? yes, i have wanted things easy. i lost my father to it. and i don'y even know what the fight is between. feeling, and the lack of it. or laziness and goodness, hard work. above all, be good to yourself, she said yesterday. quite frankly, i don't know how. the world seems such a frightening maze, these moments when you realise that what you thought you saw was actually something you had deluded yourself into seeing, or rather that your vision wasn't strong enough, it morphed into another's and engulfed you into his matrix.
and then, and then. after so many words having been expended, where does one stand? exactly where i had left. return to the darkness, do. believe me, there will be nobody will come to rescue you. don't refuse to believe. don't hope. another chip on the shoulder. confrming my darkest impressions of the world. for all that and more, thankssssss

i want to go into news. where there shan't be the agonising visions of subjectivity. it will just be information. these are not my words.

If you believe in something, believe in it till your last breath, believe in it even if everything you are being taught is against that belief. Otherwise do not believe at all.......


This off Guitar George's blog. Have asked for his permission, declaration, more like, hoping he won't mind.

a day, a day

A blog post on a merry morning. Actually not so merry considering that almost nothing has been put to tomorrow’s page. I shall have to go and start working on the lead. But it’s kinda cool to determinedly make a post although there’s no time- cuz it’s one piece of liberation I shan’t give up. I look at books these days: reading them has become, oh God!, passé. Well, I was reading about ASPD today, in our dear paper’s ‘science’ supplement. It’s anti-social personality disorder, and there was this lady spewing facts about how to identify it, its symptoms etc. you call it a disorder and then have ‘CORRUPT’ as an acronym for its symptoms, and then oh so kind heartedly suggest ways for this hell-begotten creature to still be allowed (our kindness be hailed with hallelujahs) to remain a member of society. Of course, this character remains perfectly passive in the entire transaction.
I dunno really. It’s the old dilemma about whether you leave a person who seems to harm others when left to his own wits. The same about mental patients and criminals. And mental patients are criminals, aren’t they, as my Foucault would say. The crime confirms the potential. Why I am ranting out of the blue to.morn- I am starved for anything to do, to care for. I want to study some. To think, to write. I miss all of that quite so much. And it’s something that the unspeakable feels yet too strongly about to care, and well, as I demand, to nurture. I shall go back and study. And do it with him. Was with R.da yesterday over page. I rather do like him. Love the sense of quiet, the smile, and the no-hassles way of passing on handles, tools. I do understand when k calls him a mentor. I rather rather like him. and today there shall be madness again. At least I shall be bathed. Filthy now, completely. Dirt oozing from every pore of surface.

la!

o and i have another boktobbo to make. i was going through a certain senior's blog again, and i still find it awfully smarmy. Again. je suis mariee je m'appelle wyf. femme. whatever. wonder, though, what it'll be to be married myself. certainly nthng like this. god help not. was walking with the unnameable today, and as we walked (there was a lot of sun), it was unlike anything typical i have seen before. his long slow strides and my bobbing self. felt rather nice, i did. things might just be very fine. for now, i shall go to sleep. been up since seven. six actually. got a bit of cleanig done, though. ironing, some more porcelain washing, and my day will have been perfect, and some books, of course.

hmmm............

Well, it's Republic Day, hallelujah! Nice time I've had too, so far. The unnameable visited for a couple of hours. I really don't know why I am giving a roster here. Suffice to say that winter mornings are nice. A lot of sun to spend together. The afternoons, and then the evening leading onto night get lonely. I would rather have the day after sundown to myself, to sort me out. All of days should be like this, without assignments breathig down your neck. And the fact that today even newspapers get a holiday lends an incredible lightness to things. And he smiled and smiled today. Such a lovely smile, and eyes, and woops, forehead!

....................................

Sunday this time. We are infested by doubts. There are no words, there is only to do, to be, to let happen. Hope for the best. Are we disoriented from lack of sleep? Probably. How can I react in such similar ways? I must have moulded myself to shape his thoughts. It's true that it seems to fast. Too rushing. What other way is there? I dunno. I would be glad to be told. He does not restrain. We were very happy day before. We fashioned a feeling and gave it a name. Actually, I suppose one just was. What comes after this? Why don't I know everything about it? What happens after? Both want very much for things to fall into place. More than things to happen even. And even that seems okay. I am drunk, completely intoxicated. In a massive, it darkens my sky with how overwhelming it is kind of way. My books had gone for a toss, my me, I seem to have been giving it such rude treatment for such a long while. It's notreally the fear of not being able to share, although that does crop up. It's perhaps the uncertainty, to have as much of it as you can while it lasts. I am so insecure, am I not, dear God? And yet I am up to wanting him. It amazes me, worries me, whether I shall not burn it out for the both of us.