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.