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.

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

it is difficult to believe that one cares so much. In the office when one is impersonal, he looks so looming. One longs and longs, the very sight is a pleasure. Yet feel scared to love. One feels marked to be cold, detached, heartless. Compelled to fit the pattern someone else has decided to cast you in. and yet there was love, the heart overflows, his for me. The softness is unwarranted. And then, there is work. Once you begin, the heart lifts up by the prospect of hard work. Out of this darkness that infests the mind, it is a shining hope. I had thought of giving up, on me. I shall not stop working. It is what will keep me going. No relationship is worth the people it costs to live it. I can sit here and say that. When I return home, it is like a dark compulsion to give in to what will cause you pain. Hope that things shall turn out right. Yet it is not that. I do not feel incomplete at all. Just hurt to bits that he could think that of me, decided to typecast me as such. Stamped and typecast and pinned upon the wall, like a fly to others' whims. From here, there can be no solace. I write this while wanting more from him, demanding that he put things to rights. Who knows what will happen? We are best left as islands on a floating, passing sea.
Is this like her, when he knew that it would not work? Waif again? Does anyone know how to bring me in?
Nothing matters at the end of the day, nothing does.

hazy shades of winter

This for only me. This was what Simon and Garfunkel said:
mailprintvotesmallerlarger

Time, time, time, see whats become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hear the salvation army band
Down by the riverside, its bound to be a better ride
Than what youve got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hang on to your hopes, my friend
Thats an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, its the springtime of my life

Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Wont you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime

But look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Look around, leaves are brown
Theres a patch of snow on the ground...



And I am back to music. I lost sight, didn’t quite remember what I wanted. Music wets my arid insides, and am listening with deepest feeling to S&G

“And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries”
Yet that’s not quite what I feel. I feel delirious, to come back to me, to feel no vagueness, to feel the music seeping closely into my pores. I badly need time for myself, not amours, or work. My books, my music, a room. Is what I shall wait a little longer to have. There’s Mrs Robinson playin’ now, and it’s ooooo! so sexy. And I love the curly letters I type, and to know that this trash doesn’t mean much. Nothing does, peut-etre pas meme lui, when it’s me that’s gonna live. I shall not hurt more than my head can hold. Et ce qui m’a touché, c’est qu’il m’a dit la meme chose. J’aime son silence, pas d’absence des mots- il parle assez, la silence de l’esprit, qu’il ne permettra personne a casser, pas qu’il a travaille pour achever cet etat au jourd’hui. Je l’aime beaucoup, tu sais, c’est tellement evident, meme a moi. Ca m’assure, que je peux aimer un homme comme ca, it also makes me delirious a me trouver comme ca.
And now it’s Scarborough Fair, and it melts completely, like fresh caramel. That’s so perfect. Like Seal’s A Kiss from A Rose. “She was once a true love of mine.” Quite quite wonderful. I love you quite, dear God that this is there, now, a ce moment-la. And then there’ll be New Year, and they shall all dance, and I shall be happy. “Remember me, to

You fill me, you make me overflow. And I badly want my Chatwin now, I want lots and lots of comfort. I want just what I want to read. And ruddy convocations shall be done and over with. And I shall get my holiday, and do exactly “Ask me and I will play, all the love I have inside.” What I want. And I shall take my trip. Oh dear God, I shall barf my mind, one can’t live like this. One can’t love like this, one step forward and two back. There is no place for compartments, quiet, holding back, fear even. I want me. I want me I want me I want me I want me. Tepid useless bogus insanity, mossy depression of an organized mind. I shall get a life. Whatever comes my way. And don’t come to my blog, ever. Anyone. Thank you. S&G quite wonderful, quite quite. J’aime tout les deux. Absolument.

Back home. Alone and bossless. I was sitting in the car with the window wound down, and it got colder and colder and by the time it was V.I.P Road, I couldn't breathe. Bring down this lonely fetish for punctuation to the guy, I feel overwrought tonite. My hair was flying wildly, and I don't know what I was trying to do, to bring myself to tears or just spite myself with the cold. Both, I think. And tomorrow you go back and there is a mess again. I hate it, I so hate it, so everyone can tell her when she gets back, they just can't manage without you. The editorial quality gets worse by the day, there's less of matter, it's sketchier, scrappier. What are we sending off to the schools? What do they think when they see this supplement of a paper which is otherwise quite fine. I hate the infamy, ignominy of it: not merely the shame, the guilt that arises from it, I suppose. And these two guys, so frightfully competent, and R.da so kind. I feel very lonely amidst all of this, not to be so competent and fast myself. It's not to mope, je ki holo, so you do a cry. It's something that shouldn't be. And then to return, with the next day not planned at all, and alone. What am I to do?
And then, we recede into silence. And I don't mind. Somewhere, la visage est la, toujours, il me semble, et meme maintenant c'est un confort que j'eatait dans la meme voiture que lui. Que'est-ce qu'il pense? Hier, nous parlions jusqu'a 4 heures au matin. Et je l'aime. Je ne veux pas partir, je veux rester au tour de lui, avec lui. dans sa visage, il y a de la silence, et je l'aime. J'aime tous que je decouvre, comment, donc qu'est-ce qu'on fait. Et donc, est-ce que c'est lui? Je t'aime, tu me manque. It's a cliche, and at the level which it is, I refuse it. Il me manque ou je le veux. Et demain, ca sera un autre jour, tout sers nouveaux. Pas des memoires, pas des rancunes, les nouveaux peurs. C'est de la profession...........

theoutsider

c'est encore comme toujours. a la fin, on pense que c'est mieux si on reste seul. Il n'y aura pas de la peine. que'est-ce qui c'est passe aujourd'hui dans le voiture, tout le part? que'est-ce qui c'est passe? je comprend pas, mais c'est le sens familiale- de desespoir, de la peur, que je cree un interet detache dans les gens qui j'aime- de la curiosite pour cette chose-ci. je sais pas. je veux que tout va bien encore, comment je sais pas, c'est toi qui va faire ca, mon dieu. i feel prickly, insensate. j'ai perdu la capabilite, capacite de communiquer.
ne viens pas ici, toi. get lost.

What have they done with you, kid? Is nothing inviolate?
This I shan't forgive.

And what shall I do? And when shall I begin?
I was rather overwrought today, what with not meeting and wanting very much to meet. Yet, there's also this. I am forgetting to have a life of my own. There's work. There's also this thought that runs through my head ever so often. Well, that's not exactly the reason. It's rather that I have lost the rhythm quite.

Apart from it all. I feel a little scared by my own franticness, by the extent to which I end up investing in an affection. I have very little idea of how he feels, whether he loses sleep over the lack of words, over the daily forgetting, the reforging of connection over mail, over the emptiness otherwise. It is true , you know, to a certain extent that I am lonelier now than before, when I was reading. I feel very bereft now, but I can't seem to come to books. A paranoia, or laziness, fear. Animal reassurance, again and again, that things will be alright. Of a smiling face, of beauty- of finding the eyes as beautiful over and over again. Of even happiness, of a permeating sense of calm that does't threaten to go away. It's frightening that I keep hoping for all of this of a person. That I have dreamt and wanted it already, that I might have to turn back and walk alone again. My desperation, kindness, and more kindness, as Forster put it with such love

the perpetual etranger

Fantastic! I can post after ages! Cookie not disabled anymore!! I feel like Bridget, Calvin!

Well, my life. My head feels wrecked. The animal comfort, only of physical proximity, the closeness of a body next to you. I came back alone today. Good in a way. Was blabbering and in rather a black mood. I sent a lot of Eliot, mijeke ujar kore deoa to put out all you feel for someone you don't even know. There is so much and I feel overwrought. Yet I am already confined to myself. Unable to think beyond immediate reference to myself. My this nature despairs me. I hate to find myself self-centred so repeatedly. A little succour. A touch. Things working out. What that means I dunno, whatever is right, wherever, and yet you fashion your own rights. Miss my own self control. Tonight, I am copletely disoriented

It's seems such a long while since i had a holiday. You have to discover anew what a day off means. Well, i was thinking about l'homme de bureau (shall be referred to as such henceforth). My painful encounters with the opposite sex, must they always be as such? I mean there's something wrong in my head. I am waiting to back out given the slightest opportunity, waiting to be assured of the worst that people can think of me. Work, that's in a different league of its won. Now i don't care. When it does, I'll write about it. Right now, I am struggling to hold up my end of it. Little kid S seems to be a relentless relieving factor in this chaos. But everything reaches a plateau, then they change. Something like that will eventually happen, then we'll see where we go. Met P yesterday, was rather a pleasure. She told me about the guy she was going out with.

After such a long time of work (6 days, I don't mean the hours), when you sit down to write, all you want to gratefully handle are daily mundanities, the flow of life. Anything more profound, or structured (copy: trash dished out decently) gets on to stretched mental resources. It's not quite so bad, but a change of mode does one a lot of good, and one day is hardly enough for that. You only begin to gauge the difference from the workday, and the break comes to an end. God knows hoe S works, coming in 7 days a week, how does he recharge, on the run? I want to have some nice hours with K, hours which shall be pleasant for me, without having to be on your toes trying to be presentable, or whatever we are always trying to be in office- perpetually equable, I suppose. He is like that, but he can guard his selfness closely, without letting it be violated in any way. Or so I surmised. I may be wrong, as C says so glibly.
Well, A's sis had reception. A marathon thing, really. By today, I was ready to go back to the normal pace of things. I bought a lip-gloss (what fun!) and A seemed inordinately pleased about it. O is working, C landed up alone at reception today, but msg.ed in the end that he had a nice time. I guess we can't help but make things tolerable, and even interesting for ourselves in the end. I was going to meet another person off Orkut, but think shall not after seeing hideus photograph. Still to scarred by previous experience of hideous ugliness that couldn't stomach. Met some, a lot of kids, as my job entails I do. Anything does: that's how we live these days. For anything better one is too tired to ask.
Crib korteo enthu lagey. Ami to shudhu narrate korchhi...

I have lots to say. Apart from the fact that I am worried/bored about my copies- streetfood story etc etc etc- slogging on, this is work, so make a tedious snail-paced activity of it. Well, also this, C.di shan't be seeing our pages anymore, and that takes away one reason why the place didn't seem like a prison to me. You are sitting in that white buliding, high up, insulated, and it is easy to lose touch with the world outside if you stay cooped in that long. I am a child of moods, and I need that smile, to have your two-bit worth intelligence recognised and responded to. And she is so reassuringly human..not just the inhumanly competent automatic newsgatherer, which she might be, but it still leaves her with time to be human. The person we have now, she is nice and okay, but well, the creature of moods that I am, I take a fancy to things. aajke when I was sending that msg to C.di, amar chokhe jol eshe jachhilo, i felt so bad. And she was kind, repeatedly kind. And her smile lights up my world there. It sound adolescent, infantile to like anyone so much so shortly, but if you do, what can you but let yourself feel it as much as you do?
I worry about dadu too. And what they do there. Ma doesn't seem to realise, the stakes are so much higher now, there's no shelter left anymore. She doesn't seem to get any of it. Oli was talking about A.da's peace, the unshakeable peace that he has within him, that's the kind that makes you feel cool. And I realise all the more strongly how much not-peace I have within me, how I am hankering for it. How I actively go ahead and destroy peace, y'know, that I can't engineer peace, but give in to chaos all the time. And this guy who goes places: I don't like my equilibrium being taken for a gratuitous toss out of the blue. I don't like it. Any equilibrium is hard earned y'know.
And there's more, which shall go into the diary

remember when you were young...You shone like the sun

I was reading Robert Graves' Greek Myths. Apart from the fact that it is so good, I wanna remark on the bit about the birth of Hermaphroditus. The footnotes explain it as a representaion of a transition from matriarchy to patriarchy. Also about the sacred king lying with his daughter Smyrna: the king in a matrilineal society trying to keep his kingdom to himself by marrying the next term Queen. I remembered Oli talking about the peaks, about Hanuman puchh, the MASSIVE Satopanth and the formation of mythologies: ways of seeing, methods of representation. And about Queer, another method of representing. Representing a feeling that is heterogened from a contemporary fashion, way, mode. I love human beings, I don't think I can love men or women. I don't think it does to decide that you are lesbian and like only women. The Greeks had life simple. I know that's like such a sweeping, erroneous statement. But I think life would be easier in so many ways if we were to recognise the fact.
The sun on the way to the auto-stand will be a memory track to remembering that daythat I had decided i wanted a family and a marriage.

'britwa' means gun

Well, I have forgotten what I had meant to write about. So that's how it should be. But one thing that I wanted to mention and remember, I have taken the link of this thing outta orkut. So mercifully, I can stop being absurdly significatory about everybody, call a spade a spade and rest in peace. No imaginory marauders to come here off orkut.
I was thinking about N.ji actually. He lost his wife exactly a month after baba at Vellore. Dadiji had phoned and told me. I was so shocked. That was a strangely (that's just a word) intimate time to know their family. I was grateful for any understanding, and dadiji seemed to know it all. She was so kind to me, me the 22 year old that was leaving that place a waif for life. I touched her feet before I left. I don't touch feet usually. I am so glad you cared. I have not looked for you later, you are my closer tie than N.ji, though his loss was greater, and so I am in touch with him now and all that. He is may be about 4/5 years older than me and he's lost his wife and has a tiny kid whose future he worries about. What does a man do when that happens. I don't know. My loss (it drops quite easily off my tongue now. Perhaps it's the time that's passed, more, it's the job. There's no subtelety here. Everything is either in your face or not there), weel it seems smaller compared to his. When you've made a shelter to last your life in, and then everything goes haywire. It's not smaller, I know.
I was with my pal today. It felt so nice so nice. It's this feeling that goes under your skin, and you feel oooo! so cool. But then I knew that would happen. She makes my world work, I see her and can get things in perspective. Y'know, what happiness I want, the infiniteness of possibilities. I am reading Gabriel's Gift by Hanif Kereishi (C likes the name. Me too). Gabriel reminds me of her. Who are just born sensitive, who knows at 15 that he would like his dad to be around when he is old. I was always so terrified he would'nt be. I always thought I was insecure and so... But may be I would not have lost him if I hadn't been so afraid. I was watching Surya Shikar (the Utpal Dutt play) the other day, and I thought of baba. In the scenes where the character is writhing in pain under torture. And I couldn't bear it, my beautiful baba, he fell so many times, this was like all those other times, he was so prone to falling, and this was just like that. Not only because he had gotten weak, hadn't had any solid food that day because of that bloody bloody test he had had to undergo, clean bowels they wanted for that. So make a sick man guzzle purgative liquids the whole day till he is fit to burst. make him visit the toilet numerous times, when it's so tiresome for him. It's with time that these form from images in your head and come tumbling out. And if You are reading, don't talk about the medical/humanitarian rights and wrongs of it. I don't whisper it to myself ever. I look at my friend's dad. It's illogical but I keep thinking that he came back and he didn't. Like I couldn't bring him back. People blame me. I blame me. There was this popcorn Backstreet Boys song one of whose lines went, "How I wish I could turn back time...", it was called Quit Playing Games with my Heart. I can't wish that. Wish that and ask for what in return? Is there a God? There must be. It is, in my head. And who is there, in this tangible, palpable world? He is only in my head, I was so scared to lose him. I am still so scared, even now when one of the biggest fears has been terminated. I think I LOOK scared all the time. Where did it all begin? Where every smile became overshadowed with this musty quilty kind of thing? I wish things were whole again. The patches just seem to go on appearing. Patchwork quilt.

theoutsider

Gilthoniel A Elbereth!
A Elbereth Gilthoniel
O menel palan-diriel,
Le nallon si dinguruthos!
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!

kissu likhbo na, hooh!

right, since I've dicided to be verbose, let's get along with it. How would I like a blog to be? It's someplace where you can air your views without too many people watching. Well, for me. I wanted the fun of writing online, wanted the fun of writing, actually, and some freedom. No prying eyes, least of all judgements. Last thing I'd care for is something like, Bloggers of Calcutta Unite! Not as if people are falling over themselves reading it here.
But may be it's the job, may be it's how I am, but now, with a job and all, you have to put a lot of yourself away here, talk in weird coded language out of the fear of observers whose existence it's a vanity to presume. So yesterday I had a diary entry like, 3 pages long (usually it's just half a page once in a blue moon when I am feeling too upset to keep it to myself) though I was opening this page to write almost everyday. I even thought of going for another blog.
So here's not the place for my many crushes, fears, frustrations, loneliness (yeah, about that. Too many people who are somewhat like I am situated now are really lonely. It's the same old story- love, friends, places, insomniated nights, parents there but not there- young urban Indian, blah) Why must growing up be so painful. Why must you be royally fucked to cross any bridge? Where's the enjoyment? Oh yeah I am a fanatic cribber, have made a religion out of it.
And there we go again! 'Think will have to quit pretty soon now, this is getting to be the old hackneyed rant again. Oh if it even had the dignity of a rant. Edmund White, Edmund White, where art thou?

Chatwin, Gilmore and a rainy day. ALONE...ah heaven!

I was reading On The Black Hill- Chatwin. It's been a lovely day, I managed to leave myself to myself today.

Chatwin's men are what he called himself in one of his travel books: sterile wanderers. I was thinking about Benjamin, about Utz- transvestism, effeminate homosexuals. And then there are people like Lewis, the usual straight kind, who are prevented from pursuing their proclivities, often straining the fabric of the narrative scheme. And the way the stories end: building up to a tumutuous climax, and then there's this delicate maze- where it's so easy to forget the climax a while after u've read it. It's so all of what Chatwin was- like a supernova, burning itself out. And the world becomes special when viewed through his mild blue eyes- am thinking of the Jerry Bauer phtograph. And I was thinking about the trip that he and Elizabeth had taken , shortly after which they decided to get married- the mercurial nature of it. That that world is there for me to partake of now. But that I'll have to make the magic, it won't come to me of my own accord.
And I was thinking of the way things were going- may be you have to leave familiar surroindings to shake off thr torpor of usuality.
I was reading this gay person's blog whom I knew. And this brilliant insight came to be, that it doesn't matter whether one was what's called gay or straight- I wouldn't be able to take love casually either way. Being queer doesen't make one liberated and one's life full of delightful experiences. Relationships matter, they are not casual. Every person I happen to like, I cannot treat casually, neither treat my feelings for them that way. Can't play around. Hurts too much.
To make of yourself a tabula rasa is an idea I don't care to play with anymore. Life seems to become mundane otherwise. That also brings untold misery. Don't wanna die like Chatwin either. I think of, what's his name- Edmund White, thank god- it's such a balm. There's one love that's absolutely mine. A 'passion' undiluted by opinion. Someday someday I'll do something about it.

And the idea of a date is such bunk!

i smile, and smile

bugger. my blog is not a public forum for people to carry on their adoloscent back-slapping conversation.
what the fuck.
well.

am listening to floyd. fearless, de Meddle.
is it that cool to be a journalist? the facts sure do make it sound rosy. but it's only rarely, for me now, at any rate, that I am also getting a high while doing it, not merely reading about it and feeling cool.
i reach office at about 2, feeling slightly guilty about not doing stuff that needs to be taken care of at home. My supplement is off for this month, so the deal is that we have plenty of storie ready in advance. Which is not something that works really well with me. I work best under threat of time thread being stretched really taut. well, the business with the supplement apart, there's me. And my all-important spiritual well-being. Which, well has gone for the toss for the time being.
I've gotten this theory of late: what is it that turns a girl into a woman? The woman-girl thingy is so corny most of the time. But in most 'females', there is this transition, when they cease to be girls. And the journalist that I am, I report the observation without trying to analyse. Will also report opinions/reactions if get any. See, at some point or other, girls stop hoping that the dreams will come true. The sane ones, most that is, who think that they've gotta survive, that madness is a luxury they can't afford, they become really calm and maternal. Their smiles are sad, resigned. Their happiness is grown up, like they've compromised with life, chosen not to fight in order to live. They've become women. I dunno about guys. They have it as tough as the rest, I guess. Perhaps tougher. There's always an advantage in being the tortured/underprivileged group which is recognised as the suffering/has suffered group.
My friend will come rearing at this sadness theory about women. She'll talk about S.di. And yes, I oh so agree. And the friend thinks differently. It's like what Satyakida said about golamda, 'Golamdake kharap rakha strictly shakto'.

But this stasis, it's getting to me. How much can you learn out of doing something that you are not enjoying? That will be a dead kind of learning.How long will it be this?

And there's the growing up bit. I am becoming different. The JU aura is leaving me. I am getting the skin of the place of the place where I work in. Which is fine, cuz I like the people I work with etc. But there is an inner life, and that is left more and more dissatisfied. Like squeezing out a dry sponge, I keep trying to materialise my dreams for what they are worth, and they refuse to turn into reality. I want constant fun out of my work. Want to be always doing well. Nothing else will give me any peace. And when and if I have that, I shall want more. I am bursting with all the dreams I have dreamt for which I find no outlet at this moment. My demand for supreme love, brilliant success, absolute wildness. Not this stymied, tepid, lukewarm, average thing that I walk through daily.

And yet another time, I did not write what I wanted to. For all that and more, thanksssss.

(uh, interrupting for an antel observation: 'Dogs' bole gaanta pink floyd er . Reba Hore er akta series of crayon sketches dekhechhilam Seagull e: street dogs howling in the night. the song recalls the sketches. Well)

theoutsider

i feel human again. atleast feel my head thawing. bonnie is absolutely out of this world. well, out of this world is probably an overstatement, but he's just so good man. band er gaan and all that stuff begin to make sense only here. the song, in my untutored shotta (well, apart from the 'kring kring kring madhur dhoni, shui tomar agomani' bit)sort of, mon ke shikto kore day. quite apart from the lyrics. the voice, the music, the man. ami khushi, anek khon pore. feel closer to being an human being. less of the futile roshagainst the world for creating creatures like le scum qui j'ai rencontre hier. was feeling terrified even to look at mon homme qui rit comme bete.
now am listening to 'ghare pherar gaan'. i love chandrani's voice. that's all this band has, those lovely, wonderful voices, utterly rich, mellifluous, dripping with vigourousness.
music do me good. god has funny ways, like he's sniggering quietly at my folly. well thanks, thanksssssss.

'akhono shamne path hata bake, chaileo parbe na ditey phaki, nishchoy'- i love you, you bring me back to life. you make me feel young again.

theoutsider

sala baje din. j'ai rencontre un homme aujourd'hui matin. c'etait pas bien, pas bien. ca va mal, ces journees. didi, elle m'a dit que j'apparait 'available'. que'est-ce que je fait. personne comprend, personne comprend. tant de peine. 'ca vaut pas la peine'. je sais pas. comment elle pouvait dire comme ca? elle ne savait pas ca

what the fuck. i am becoming this alien creature that i don't even have the enthu to recognise as myself. i suppose i know on a factual level that it's me, but that's about it.
i am very very upset.

it's a completely different deal: net at home and net at office. now i have forgotten what i meant to write.
but well, oli's not here and i feel really weird, not having spent time away really after the BRC except during vellore, but then i was not the one staying behind.
i met shubhayu offline the other day, also today, actually.
my cd drive has gotten disabled. i feel absolutely shattered about that. well, i guess it's a way of making me shake ass. arr, kichhu hochhe anek i hochhe na. i feel all pent up, like things are really building up, but there's no outlet. somewhere there must be a falling action.

At home. Was reading this uponyash by Shekhar mukhopadhyay (i think) called biboshyoto. don't even know what the word means. reading it, i realised, got a really sharp feel of what not having baba means. for days, even today morning, I was dreaming of some encounter that is so pleasant, so what i seemed to have wanted for a long time. today, it struck home, sort of. It's what makes four year old kid bibashyan break into sobs when he meets his father after three years. it's the memory of love given that exists on a subconscious level. i did not realise it when i had it, and don't remember now it's gone. i do now. even now the feel is alive, like it's happening at this moment. Him, his unconditional love, I called it security. in my dream, it was tenderness. only that, the love, a state of being. and i woke up wanting this so strongly, not quite knowing what it was. the desire to replicate it motivates so many relationships, fledged and unfledged. sometimes i forget. forget what i had been yearning. only the absence, dredged out from memory, niggling, remains.
hahakar kake bole aj janlam.
khub boro shobdo mone hoy.
tumi chole gachho bole ki ar phire ashtey paro na?
it's not fair. to whoever who runs this world, two people should not be turned away thus from each other. my father and i do not deserve it. ami ke bolar. if that is the question, i can tell you i am exactly the person to give an opinion on the matter. and him thati lost.
i am waiting. i am waiting.

theoutsider

in office, and people have had a bout of sudden pujo-end navami(house style) epiphany. there's the bluffmaster title track playing, and everyone seems to be feeling friendly and smiley.
i haven't any work really and am hanging around hoping to go out and eat with my colleagues, with some pandal hopping thrown in for good measure. lets see how all else turns out.

i have a job. i am relieved. i am reading the hitchhiker's guide through the galaxy (or is it to?)and it's not a bad thing at all. my friend insists i should take the net. there's water all around my para. tomorrow i shall go to office. in my blinkered, unable to see beyond the moment way, i quite like the idea of tomorrow. if it doesent work out right, i shall pray really hard that it does the next day. it usually happens on alternate days. good day-bad day-good day.. so on. i dont want the pattern to change. except for good day-good day-good day.. i think one gets the idea.
somewhere across the horizon, there's really unbelievable amounts of happiness

I am not going for the trek. ki kori. wish somebody were to hold me. You take it in your stride, do you? kintu ektu bhalobashi, tar jonye holeo dishehara lagey. never prepared a reaction for what to do if you don't go. I feel bewildered, somewhat criminal. I just want to sit around my friend. Quietly to let it sink in. Around her there is peace. I find orientation.

And there is living after this too. Does baba's death make me so? So tired and slouchy. I need to trek as often as I can just to keep sane. To remember to be happy. Strong. That life is not something you drag along. Without JU, I need it all the more to remember, find focus, perspective. Kake eta bojhabo? That is my honesty about trekking. I don't love, dig it. I find, fodder, if you like. It shows me the way in a grim way. I am never fit the way I should be, and it's so often such a hard deal, and I don't take it well at all. Yet just being there strains it out of me. So I need to trek. I also dream of making my life with someone who will love to trek, will love the mountains and will always take me with him. May be sometime I will take him too. All this I hope for, dream about. These are my stakes. Without this, I feel lost. I will flounder giving names to things and fix meanings, and that kind of life is so tedious, I shall fall sick if I live it for more than a very short time. I am not doing very well now. I drag myself around the city instead of finding my pace. It used to be this way in school. I had forgotten that I used to get tired just going and coming back from school, so womanly, not being able to do vigorous activities. All that I had almost put out of my mind. I have been at home for a few months. Things are not with a lot of colour. It does not do me good. I have to get out. I will fall sick. You cannot live like this. There is no balm in the form of Jadavput either, that all-effacing place that at the end of the day takes you into its heart no matter how it's been. I must leave, God I must leave.

I wanted to write about a couple of things and one more:

It's spring and it's so beautiful that it's difficult to believe. I wish the world remained like this always. (I am talking English like an imbecile. Orkut has this effect among other things.)

David Gilmour gives me this bitter sweet feeling that kinda feels like a crush. (Of all the things to have crushes about)

I am doing some horrific French translations.
I like being at home during spring very much. On second thoughts, I like being outdoors as much. College specifically. I miss JU very very much.

I still haven't a job. It's kinda beginning to worry me now.

I think I shall fall sick for not having gone for the trek. Beginning winter in Calcutta does NOT do me good.
Stupid stupid life, where things don't always work out the way you want it to.

I shall no longer go to college and my English and general way with the world will get worse and worse for not having what they call intellectual nourishment. I shall become stupid.

Oh and I read this blog about a young about to have child person and I am really grossed. I do not want to marry or to have children in a very long time, thank you. What did you think life was for? To tow the line?
I mean not in the way she put it. Putting names to everything: I am a WIFE. What I am in is MARRIAGE. Why do we make nice things into boring and mind numbing patterns. That's what wrong with society. It's dying trying to understand itself by puttingnames to everything. Taking away the fun of writing your own relationships, your own life.

Didya know Kavya Vishwanathan was Amitav Ghosh's student?
Joy Goswami is on Orkut.

Gilmour is ruthless in a very precise way, and no frills to himself. I find it really difficult to imagine him with Polly Samson. I guess it must be good..

Right, so I am on antibiotics now, and after just a day's worth of medicines, I feel much better. Almost okay, that it. Come back to the world and all that. My hair is all matted and curly from not having been washed for days and only now do I remember that mashi had asked me to take a sponge bath today.
There'e still the occasional tummy ache and I still don't feel like eating anything at all, but it's nothing at all like the past few days. I was wondering why I was so intent on starving myself then. When u're sick, you long for some special care at home. Yet, far as I am concerned, illness is a double price you have to pay. So, out of the pure desire to save your own skin, in my house, one had better not fall sick. Cuz you'll have to look out for yourself. And if you aren't in a position to do that, you're gonna get sicker and sicker like I was getting till dadu and mashi intervened.
One of those days, I woke up and there was this massive cold sweating session. I was completely drenched in sweat and had an awful, uncomfortable belly ache that just kept on coming in spasms and all you could do was just pray God please put an end to this. Which He did, pretty soon.
I think it was also in a way, a fallout of all the aniyom I had been doing over the last month with Express. Somewhere you have to pay. But I so hate the absolutely tasteless food at home. Coupled with all things else, there was Michael K. I would be having those cold sweats and wonder whether I was becoming like K too, cursing myself for having read that book.
And then, I am still in two minds regarding my metier. It's true you can do well in anything, and you had better since it's a question of survival. But I would dream about a quiet life somewhere far away, within some distant community, away from here. May be it'll happen some day. May be I'll have my quiet life some day.

My back aches like anything. I really feel like a poor girl today. The thing is, ya know, I have fever. Probably the result of translsting too much French commercial jargon. Did you know that 'vignette'is explained as 'tax disc' in Larousse? I don't know what it means, in French or English, and have used it, like, twenty times.
I am reading Coetzee's 'Life and Times of Michael K' and like it very much indeed. Trouble is, I have not had much in the day and that's not a good idea if u have a cold (mild), fever(fairly hot forehead), sore back, sore throat (okay, that;s just very little). But the back, the bloody back. I am just 23, why should one have back aches at 23? I was remembering baba a lot today, y'know, that it all began with a tickle down the spine. I don't think dying is a good idea now, even if it might cause me to be united with my father again. I thought about it. Death, even with promise of baba, is not nice. And I can't really believe, even when I try, that I'll meet him again.
You kind of, like, go on, you know, shut out things and live. And at some point, you won't have to shut them out either. You can remember even the most frightening things and be serene. Michael K is a lot about all this. And it soothes so much, Coetzee's simplicity, and the love with which he writes.
That's enough for the day, I'd think.

Friend came up with the following er, request:

"do, do make me a paper hare.
but should that be too difficult, a goose will do."

The quirks of the human species. Sigh

Iam a poor girl. I no longer go to JU.
Presently it is making me feel really teary. I try to think that I am forging a life for myself just like I always wanted, that I am reading books (atleast that isn't being taken away), and I am going to be in the world of letters if not directly associated with University.
Things people feel when JU gets truncated out of their lives. A took up an online poetry membership while at IMI,Delhi to be close to literature. I am coming up with these platitudes.
And I am already forgetting stuff I learnt, the wways of looking at texts which 'so loved. I am just gonna be a dumb 'galper boi portey bhalo lagey' type from now on.
'Course it is also a case of the grass is always greener on the other side. Yet ...

ghochat

friend posted at www.arcche.blogspot.com:

"adventures in quadruplicate. and the triplicate certainly knows.
u see, it is not only that things get done, but that they really do get done, and i have very lovely people around me. leaves me feeling rather good."

In the worst possible way of putting it,
'licking the chops of memory' we are.

Couldn't resist showing off my profound lnowledge of Robert Louis Stevenson.

Have to write article now. Hell waiting to break loose on many fronts.
Serves right for reading 4 Mills and Boon trash

All you need is love...

I have read four Mills and Boon thingies and feel positively yucky. Good side: hints at probability of a time when won't be able to stand the sight of them. In fact, pretty close.
I will never be able to make a coherent story-like post, so here's the fact in a nutshell:

Us 4 had great fun at A's place on the fourteenth. We ate (seems like the best part to me), chatted and watched Friends. I think the possibility of a job brings out the wackiest aspects of me most uninhibitedly.
(I do realise that what i term wacky has a chance of being interpreted as pure pain-in-the-ass by the threesome. But I really liked me that way myself, so whooya cares..
15th August too was so beautiful, man.
I don't mean that all my latent patriotism burst through yesterday. Rather that it was a beautiful day, a lovely day for a holiday (that's what it is), and it THEREFORE seemed a perfect day to remember that c'etait le jour de la liberte.
See, it's the way you shape a day in your mind. I remember, say, Janmashtami, and it creates no impressions in my mind.
15th August's another matter.
I guess it's just that I have nice memories.

Till the end of the fourth standard, I used to live at Rohini. If u've noticed the tall building just as you come off the incline of V.I.P. Road at the beginning of Ultadanga, that's a part of Rohini Complex, where we lived for 3 years till we came to stay at our own flat. It was the only place where I had a kind of normal-ish childhood. Ran around with a pile of friends, played the usual assortment of 'lukochuri' and 'kumirdanga', had wild fun during Holi, sat through lovely summer evenings during vacations with nary a care. It was a very communal thing at Rohini, and Independance Day meant flag hoisting (we had a pedestal kind of thing rounded in by interconnected chains where u could sit if you were less than four feet tall, and swing if you were shorter). Kids all turned out in white and there were sports activities. And the thing I remember especially that one year was this race where you had to run/walk with a spoon in your mouth which had a marble placed on it. Yours truly was as usual too shy/scared/ feeling the outsider, to participate. Anyway, that year, this girl who always used to be kinda the outcast among the gang of grown ups won and I remember she held the stem of the spoon inside her mouth almost to the end of it, and I thought it was so clever. It had been a balmy day just like yesterday morning. And I didn't realise until now that that day had become a happy memory in my mind.
Yesterday at A's place was also so lovely.
Her window faces the phallic building at Southern Avenue. There was this lilting breeze blowing and a sari strung outside one of the balconies of phallic build. was dancing away in this absolutely gay, liberating abandon in the breeze. Just now, it reminds me of American Beauty, where the kid (Wes Bentley, I mean) plays out a video of a plastic bag flying endlessly in the breeze with the autumn leaves swirling around in its wake.
Kailsh Kher's 'deewani' has the same lilting rhythm to it, you know --that things are happening and there's this incredible beauty and you are swept along in its wake and there's nothing to be done about it really save fitting yourself to the rhythm of events. Life is so beautiful.

And somewhere, Baba perhaps is watching me.

I am bored online. No, it's not a joke, just a filler post or something. I have an extremely productive life waiting for me to go and enjoy. Yet I have been online for about half an hour and I am bored.
My new template bores me, the idea of tommorow bores me, and somewhere I am afraid of something and I can't even remember what it is.
I think I am afraid of not having visitors here. I hate writing into vacuum. I am a sucker for attention. I am an attentionomaniac. And I am also really quite young, not so sober that it does not matter to me whether the world looks at me or not. Ideally, I would like to engineer situations such that they censure me very very much indeed, only so I can say "As if I care".
I am really really bored. Um UM unm um umumumumum....................


I think I shall not come here in a really long time.
I also think I severely lack imagination.
I am not blindingly funny.
I do not make for really severe tragedy.
I don't think I pass off very well as an unconventional person.
I think I am thoroughgoingly normal.
And I am mad in a not-so-good way. The kind that makes people really worry about you.

tumdidum
LA-LA-DI-DA....

Oooh, I do love my new template. The blog's, I mean. Feel astounded by own ingenuousness in choosing it. Feel like drooling over it all the time I am online. Ooooh!

You think you could tell...

I meant to crow with relief : je travaille, je travaille and all that. But a friend called. He's this good guy, but he's going through a phase right now. Things haven't yet fallen in place with him as yet. He spoke to the teachers about things in general, but, well, what I am trying to say is, ... God please make things fall in place with him. He's a good guy, and those are rare as it is. He IS rather not so well off. I wish he brings himself back into the groove. No one else can, ever. How can I put it through that it's only he who can do that, not a third person who'll come along and put it right, and also that while one does have time, it's not an eternity. That work, indeed mindless labour can be an antidote to feeling bad about things. If you didn't have the time to think, you wouldn't be feeling bad about yourself.
ei ar ki. Also about the trekking front. Is it possible to engineer a fifteen day holiday less than a month into work. That would indeed be a personal coup. I read a nice blog later in the afternoon today. The guy had gone trekking. It takes you to the other more vital way of looking at things. My friend would say, it's the only way. But I so often forget, what I want, how I want it to be. I look at these people and get this bolt out of the blue everytime: how could I have forgotten. Can one really believe: I forget I know how to get a high?
I think I've named my blog really well..

And to this friend of mine, I wish for you to be good to yourself. Cuz I don't believe you are ill in any way at all. As the friend says, you choose to be not ill.

heggg..

My blog looks absolutely absurd. I feel like I've abandoned a baby and adopted one. I feel absolutely perverse. Indulging my perversion for a protracted period. May be I'll change it back. May be I won't ever get time to look at it again, sso I am having fun while I can. I have read about three utterly depressing blogs, and feel utterly depressed. I am gong to go check out some blogs I like. I think Jadavpur always makes more sense than the rest of the world. In most respects.
There was one blog where the guy is crazy about English August and keeps conning lined off some book whose name I can't remember. This chappie cogs stray pieces off known people. Have you read Adrian Mole?--his compositions? This sounds exactly like that. I feel really pissed. And I was in such a good mood too. Having read Utz and J. D. Salinger and all.
And now I am writing for something I don't even recognise as my own...

I am sulking majorly. Only 71 people have visited my blog so far. and i've been blogging since June. And on dial up. And I post regularly. And I have measly memory. And can't post links. People have been told about this repeatedly and all they have done is tell me about certain mythic chains which refuse to make an appearance on my comp. Have you ever heard of blogging from a cyber cafe? I refuse to stoop to such low-brow addiction.

Its very sad je anarosh khelei jibhe allergy hoy. Especially since I like it so much

I want to have a fish fry and milk.
My mum has left a glass of the latter. Kintu fish fry kothay pai?

Grrrrr

If anybody can help me on this, I will be eternally grateful. (Atleast for a while)

I can't post links to my blog.
I have Windows 98 and measly amounts of memory.
I am also working on Dial Up

JUST SOMEONE BLOODY TELL ME HOW TO POST A LINK.
and i have tried the Help thingy on Blogspot. Doesen't work.
Reason i am especially irritated: there's this great post on Bangalis at http://insearchofthrills.blogspot.com/2005/12/bong-mind-at-work-no-excuses-for-not.html (atleast i hope this will serve as a rudimentary navigator)but i can't link it.

I am mighty pissed.

I also think I am very bad at writing the English language. I am feeling very sorry about that too. (I think there are two errors in the last two lines, one an instance of bad usage if not wrong grammar)

I slept from about 6 in the eve. to about 10:30 today. Would have gone on sleeping if the friend hadn't called up. I am utterly disgusted with myself. And all cause I was too lazy to ask ma if she'd make me some tea, please. Should mention in this regard that she came back from walk really pissed that ami filter e jal bhorini. So was kinda scared to ask. Then out of laziness, kept on sleeping, till it got to be that doomed hour when you can't call up anymore cuz it's way past the decent limits. Sometimes i wonder when my friends get homes of their own, what reason they'll proffer for asking me to keep to mythical hours when calling. Will they act as their own guardians then?

I am almost at the end of A Clockwork Orange. It's always the same, innit? Somewhere with all of your vitality, you still get screwed.
Remembering Rumblefish, Sleepers, Huckleberry Finn....

khnyak khnyak khnyak

Friend of mine scrapped another:

ami bhabchhie kono bhuri wala bangali chap k beeye korey baby make korbo...then one day when i am a little sick of all that i will run away to mayapur and become iskcon.

hmm

war movies

I have watched and enjoyed Catch 22 greatly. I think the guy who plays Yossarian does it very well, Dodds's good, so's Milo, the girl Yossarian falls for, chaplain great too, and Y's roomie just as good as imagined him to be, even better if that's possible. Of course you're making it from a book, so u do pick and choose, but all that's done so well. I think I like Mike Nicholls.Glad of the friend too to've passed it on.

Just think of another adaptation from a book, they make different kinds of hash out of every instalment of Harry Potter. Though admit that's a different game altogether. But the way this movie catches the flavour of the book is really good. And possibly there's also something to do with the fact of having lived through a war yourself. Not necessarily talking of participating in it. Think Oliver Stone's Platoon, for instance. Then again you'll wonder what possessed the director and the cast in the Guns of Navarone. How can a man strut like THAT throughout a film? You'd think Gregory Peck's arse would ache..And to climb a rock face like THAT- and then to suddenly let go of your hold out of the blue and to pretend that your hand slipped..Seriously, you'd wonder if they'd thought their audience to be retarded. Aar boi pore ki keu jante parto Andreas je sharakkhon without reason danth khichoy. I'd thought he was this beautiful man who called Mallory 'my Keith'. There's something about male camaraderie that is so unattaningly beautiful..
Then their's The Rainbow and The Rose by Nevil Shute(?) Haven't met anyone who's read it. When I was in 1st or may be 2nd year, there was this selection of Shute at Landmark saying that he was being reprinted after so-many years (splendidly vague that). I read it in school. Loved it very much indeed, the magic dream-like quality, of Johnny Pascoe, Robert something, of Tasmania, memories of the war, and of love..
Books...

But God how smug I sound passing judgement on people.
And by the way, Martin Sheen (in Catch 22) looked every bit as delicious when he was young as Charlie Sheen did. That's the son, by the way. Who, for ignoramuses comme mon amie, was also there in Platoon. Martin Sheen was also there in Apocalypse Now Redux, which, sadly, I haven't watched. He has a more important role there, I believe.

don't know where i'm going dont know where i'll be

I love the smell of cigarette smoke wafting up to my room from the house below, music in my head and the night a-glimmer outside, and me here writing (on dial up, if I may say)
sidling your fingers across the keyboard, riot of thoughts racing through head.
At peace with self if not with the world.
the happiness of having expressed a thought perfectly in words. The exquisiteness of perfect crafting, ah.

my baby,Themoon, this..

...play on

I am listening to an odd assortment of songs my student gave me. He got it from a friend who seemingly went berserk with the songs he had in hand. So I have a collection that has one track of Bob Marley (Buffalo Soldier: je l'aime), Hotel California, 1 Aerosmith, Ozzy Osbourne, Avril Lavigne, Limp Bizkit and Metallica, Evanescence, something called l'il Kim (i think) etc etc. I think one gets the general picture.

And oh, I am so glad. I just found out that Blogspot wasn't just swallowing up my posts- something I was attributing to the ban thing. It was only being carefully archived, I am happy to say.

akhon More Than Words play korchhe

where to...

pirates of the caribbean, johnny depp
peter pan
huckleberry finn
tom sawyer. why not

lovely day

Having to access through another domain again. Seriously, you'd wish people would grow up.
What hap. in life since last post?
Pirates of the Caribbean, all four of us
brother's (cousin's, to be technically correct) marriage
reading Peter Pan
buying Orhan Pamuk for brother (salivating over books at Landmark, thinking longingly about potential employment)

office er pa maraini for two days.

That's what.

Ain't life JUST great?

Wondering, whether should go ahead and write explicitly about each.

A sentence, I think.

Johnny Depp is unspeakably sexy.
today was the day of brother's marriage when the wife comes to her new home for the first time. Having been the only one among the cousins to've known her when he hadn't spoken about her to the family, I felt rather privileged for a while. She's as nice as she had seemed that day. And again, I was kinda surprised when I saw how nice they were with each other. Not cynical, not jaded. And how kind my brother was with people. Y'know, kind, just humane. I thought he'd changed over the last few years. I still think he has. Yet he was so nice today. And I LOVED it in the end.
He's the first of the next lot to get married. Thakuma saw her grandson getting married. Quite something.
We do bicker in quite disgusting ways that I don't care for, us relatives, I mean. But sometimes it all turns out right. This time, I think it was for the obvious happiness of the people concerned.
Though I wouldn't care for all of that myself. The rituals, I mean. But then, as the friend says, you never quite khow what may happen. I don't mean that like a bolt from the blue I'll develop this unfathomable love for the traditional way of getting married, but that I might come around it in ways I never thought I would.

I am quite elated with the day.