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...