whatever

social network

2011-11-11T20:24:00.000-08:00

i told my cook yesterday at 10 am that i’d be appointing someone else from december 1. so she gets a three week notice period. i told my cleaning lady and driver to look for a cook for me, someone who can handle my kitchen and not rush from my house to the next.

today at 8 am, before i have even finished my first cup of tea, the watchman introduces me to a prospective cook.

and i haven’t even spoken to him in two years.

2011-10-17T02:11:00.000-07:00

dear s,

this year i didn’t write about you. so the something out there that makes sure i do, every year, made me finally read a book that was lying in my bookcase for three years. aruna’s story. and today as i started to write a little note about what the book did to me, i thought of you.

i pray for both of you.

2011-10-02T22:18:00.001-07:00

every day i want to do one thing i love and one thing i fear

2011-09-27T23:56:00.001-07:00

the same things will keep happening in your life again and again till you don't learn your lesson.

sometimes the lesson is as simple as - get off your ass.

the bridge over the sea

2011-08-05T00:54:00.001-07:00

twice a day i fly over the sea. from the slits in my cement wings i watch grey waves gather up their white hems. i hear their breath. i inhale their voice. as the day wakes up i tell them what i’m afraid might happen or not happen today. later, as i hurl myself into the fist of night i whisper to them what happened today. they listen and they speak all together. (i must learn how)

2011-04-14T07:26:00.000-07:00

"geet boodhe nahin hotey, unke chehron par jhooriyaan nahin girtin, woh paltey rehtey hain chaltey rehtey hain"

2011-04-13T23:00:00.001-07:00

dexter season 3 is getting lax. c'mon dex, don't make me kill you.

2011-04-10T22:11:00.001-07:00

i watched four seasons of desperate housewives back to back and i was hooked. then i waited for season 5 to be available to watch (i don't like watching a series in pieces, i prefer watching all of it at one go.)
finally, i had all the episodes with me. i eagerly watched the first episode. it was suddenly unbearable. i was not just bored, i was disgusted. it seemed so stupid, so loose, so forced. the writing was just a poor play on words all the time. the characters were suddenly fake. the sets seemed tacky. the plot was too pat and where it wasn't, i couldn't really care less what the mystery was, where it was heading.
what is this shit, i was asking myself. did they lose it in season 5? no, it was pretty much the same kind of stuff i was hooked to in the previous 4 seasons.
then i realised that while i was waiting for season 5, i had watched six feet under. and the sopranos. a bit of curb your enthusiasm. sarah connor chronicles. tru blood.

i guess this is what happens when you see something far superior to what you thought was good.

i'm on to dexter now. planning band of brothers, in treatment, the wire. and maybe six feet under again.

i am a cat

2011-04-08T03:49:00.000-07:00

i don’t come running to you because

i don’t really miss you much.

i’m not a pet.

i don’t like being touched.

i’m wild. i’m a hunter. i can find my own food.

i don’t make demands over your time.

i don’t smell.

i don’t need to be bathed.

i hate dirty toilets.

yes, i like to have my own toilet.

and i like the feeling

that there’s enough food around for me.

i know there are psychoanalysts

who slot people as selfish if they love me and

caring & warm if they love dogs.

the basic truth is deep down,

you humans like being needed.

you humans can’t imagine an existence where you are a by-the-way.

well to me you are and always will be.

it’s not an agenda i made, it’s just the way i am.

i don’t hate dogs.

they’re not so important that i should have an opinion about them.

i just wish they had a little more dignity.

a little more independence.

a little less smell.

anyway. coming back to me.

sorry but i don’t need you.

i know that frustrates you.

i don’t care if you understand me.

or misunderstand me.

who’re you anyway.

2011-04-07T11:18:00.000-07:00

sometimes you need to see light

to see the tunnel

it’s ok to want attention

2011-04-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

really. just don’t act like you don’t want it. don’t pretend like you don’t like it. don’t talk of it like it just happened. like you didn’t work tirelessly silently stubbornly for it. like you don’t have that deep unbearable desire to be liked by e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e. you have it. you like it. you toil bloody hard for it. you want it. you live for it. you pose out every action, every stance, every smile, every flick of hair, every word, every advise, every display of skin and charm and wit, every wistful look out of the window, every soulful crypticism if there ever is a word like that, you pose for it subconsciously as if you know there is someone in the room with a camera. the point is, you fool no one. you crave it. so enjoy it. you’re terrified of losing it. so protect it. don’t hide it. it’s ok. it’s sad but it’s ok. really. you’re worried sick that one day you will wake up and nobody will miss you. because you wouldn’t know what you are without another’s opinion of you. you’d be broken, undone, unfinished without someone else talking about you. you’d be like a child who fears the dark, left in a room without light, without windows, without doors. groping smooth ice walls for the switch. panting drooling grovelling for a hug. looking for anything except the mirror. anything but that. please. afraid of finally facing the real you. with no one around to click on like.

2011-02-08T22:32:00.000-08:00

in the past one year, i didn’t lose my temper even when i was furious.

i learnt that people can be talented and not be evil at the same time.

i unlearnt to write.

i applied cancelled applied postponed shortened and finally went on leave.

made retirement plans. again.

decided never to work with people who don’t respect me. or my team. or my friends.

smiled at white hair.

smiled at white cat.

discovered new music.

discovered new wrinkles.

i stopped running. i stopped asking. i stopped waiting. i stopped looking back.

i jumped off the cliff with eyes shut and without parachute and discovered that i have wings. whoever wants to fly with me, my hands are always outstretched.

i decided that it’s nicer to watch others fighting over my ideas. i believe i'm beginning to win now, slowly, painfully, definitely.

i heard the unique sound effects of pressing the clutch and accelerator together.

i didn’t write as much as i love to.

i didn’t publish much of what i wrote.

i cried through a movie. but then it could be pms.

i met people i’d love to be like.

i met people i’d shudder to be like.

i met peace.

i decided that i have so much to be thankful for. most of all, the gift of seeing what i have.

i decided to see more of my country.

for that i need a retirement plan. again.

i realised that for a lot of people, sorrow is a shiny disco ball. they hang it up when they want to get noticed.

then there are those for whom grief is blood, thought and heartbeat. it will show or vanish only when one of these stops.

i turned vegetarian. no eggs either. it's been a few months and i'm feeling great. i'm weak, but clean.

i made plans to start an animal shelter.

i seriously considered shaving my head. like so many times in the past decade.

i can now talk in decade-terms.

i’m turning 33. but my waist is still 26.

not bad.

2010-06-11T11:39:00.000-07:00

i'm slowly beginning to see that i'm like most others. i write not for you but for myself. i hope the rain reaches you and delights you and that you know that what you are feeling is delight and that you can spell it and pronounce it and roll the r as you say rain like you used to when you used to say rain. when you could say rain and when you could say all the things i still do and i'm afraid you probably still can't. i wish every new day takes you back and keeps going back till the day you were you and we were just a bunch of foolish young nods and heys and wassups. dear dear s. my hair is turning grey and my joints are creaking and i can no longer write this without crying freely so i am doing this alone so late in the night and you're still such a heartbreaker.

2010-04-19T21:48:00.000-07:00

we move on in a steel bubble no one can burst or see through
in turns
clanging against
clinging to
what we hate
what we are

2010-04-18T23:39:00.001-07:00

only loss is constant

2010-02-25T05:35:00.000-08:00

i will always be me and it will always be bombay.

2009-12-29T02:43:00.000-08:00

2009-12-29T02:32:00.001-08:00

you don't qualify to judge till you don't know all the sides of the coin.

2009-12-27T21:29:00.000-08:00

you win only when you have nothing to lose

seams

2009-11-19T20:26:00.000-08:00

funny how sometimes they hold you together
and sometimes pull you apart,
tug tug tug.

2009-10-22T02:46:00.000-07:00

sometimes you have to keep aside
everything that makes unmakes fills stills kills rips grips trips strips cuts hurts tears cheers soothes calms balms takes breaks slices ices heats beats finds binds cares pares gets pets treasures protects nurtures tortures outlines moulds gives saves heals grounds frees loves uses calls tails fails pains sustains suffocates resuscitates does undoes you
and then ask yourself
what are you now.

i do this nowadays.

2009-09-08T05:31:00.000-07:00

i leave my cab windows down. i leave my hair open. i let my eyes travel as far as they dare. outside and inside.

2009-08-06T04:48:00.001-07:00

go with what makes your heart flutter

2009-08-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

self pity is a pudding quicksand

2009-08-03T09:53:00.000-07:00

things are supposed to look smaller as they go away from you.
so how come what leaves always seems greater than what stays.

2009-08-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

giving up is not easy.

2009-08-01T09:05:00.000-07:00

ruin is boring.
self-destruction is terribly overrated.
pain is not a badge. unless you're wearing it under your skin.
the pride of being a victim is about as understandable as superman's red underwear.
if you're happy don't look for justifications.
if you're not happy leave.
we often don't know how much we hurt others.
after a while we don't know that we don't care.
this is a blog not a bottle. there is no message for you here.
at least none that you didn't write yourself.

2009-08-01T09:01:00.001-07:00

some people are just waste of hurt

2009-08-01T02:10:00.000-07:00

never underestimate the survival instinct of mediocrity

2009-07-29T22:56:00.001-07:00

'you are someone else
i am still right here'

a love that baffles the heart

2009-07-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

i thought loving and destroying yourself for someone who made you willingly or by default, is the greatest passion in the world. till i saw someone loving unconditionally unendingly unhealingly, the one who destroyed him. by default and by design. who tore him to so many pieces that he forgot what jigsaw he belonged to. who ate his shell and threw him away, open to the raw jaws of uncertainty. the one who then, inspite of a bloating stomach, went after his core and burned that down as well. who negated him by refusing to acknowledge him. who taught him nothing by choice. who gave nothing and took everything, sometimes even things he didn't have, things he couldn't live without, things i suspect he would willingly give him anyway, had he just said the word. the one who rode on the chiselled shoulders of his stubborn adoration and then promptly chopped off his arms. in that someone's knifemarked back i've seen true hurt. in his refusal to utter a single word of complaint i've heard true devotion. in the silence of his skipped beat at the mention of that other one, i have witnessed a love of unbelieveble strength. a love that feeds on itself. a love so completely self-made that it doesn't need the fuel of a good memory, a loving look, a secret touch, a late night sms, a drunk promise, a word of encouragement, a show of affection, a shield, a smile, a nod, a caress or a shred of hope to keep it going. a love that doesn't fade, no matter how much pain and rejection seeps into its pores. it's as if his love has become him. if it goes away, he will disappear. it is a love i couldn't imagine could exist. it humbles me. inspires me. mocks me. teaches me. makes me feel lucky. makes me feel like a fool.

2009-07-24T02:43:00.000-07:00

funny how people tend to confuse knowing someone inside out with the right to hurt them. when in reality, neither exists.

2009-07-24T02:34:00.000-07:00

there is nothing more difficult than setting the alarm for a lazy conscience

2009-07-24T02:21:00.000-07:00

for years a warm bird sat on my cold chest
for years it made my heart flutter
the day it suddenly flew off
was the day i suddenly knew
it was my warm heart that made the cold bird flutter

2009-07-24T02:01:00.000-07:00

if there is anything that makes unmakes changes breaks tricks defines defeats incites intimidates uproots unhinges you, let it not be someone else's opinion of you. that would be an insult to life.

2009-07-24T01:49:00.000-07:00

love with the thirst of a deep breath
hate with the finality of indifference

2009-07-24T01:42:00.000-07:00

people who are really obsessed are rare and are usually unaware, unvocal of it. most are just obsessed with the image of being obsessed. the saddest part is, they go through their whole lives believing they are the first kind. the second saddest part is, those who see through them and love them despite them, will never have the heart to tell them what they are or what they have become. because, and that's the third saddest part, because that image is all they have. let them hold on to it. all we can do is spread out our arms below them, to hold them when eventually they do see the mirror. by courage or accident, whichever hits first.

2009-07-20T22:50:00.001-07:00

next we know baba ramdev might claim he can cure people who like the colour red.

2009-07-15T23:35:00.000-07:00

started reading kazuo ishiguro, my second jap writer. he is surprisingly brit in his writing. especially after haruki murakami it sounds strangely alien. i think i like haruki better. but then i'm only a few pages into kazuo.

2009-07-15T02:07:00.000-07:00

you can fool everyone. you can fool yourself if you put in a little effort. but you can never fool the ones who truly love you.

and if i don't remember, i am reminded.

2009-07-07T02:31:00.000-07:00

"hey do you know this guy called t? did you work with him?"
"i know him but never worked with him."
"ok. he's joining us tonight."
"great. i'll be seeing him after 5 years. you know when i quit, i went to say goodbye to him. i said, 'nice not working with you.' that was fun."
"heh ya he's a fun guy. you know he had an accident? a very very bad one."
"what! i'd no idea."
"ya he did. car rammed into a lamppost. head smashed into the windshield. his face was fully embedded with glass shards.'
"fuck. was he..."
"...drunk? yes. stupid fucker."
"lucky stupid fucker."
"you bet. touchwood. his face was in a mummy-like plaster. we couldn't recognise him. he had to drink his lunch out of a straw stuck at the edge of his mouth. but he had surgery done and now his face is back to what it was. no signs of the accident at all."
"he has no idea how lucky he is. fuck. i need a drink."
"thankfully he didn't kill anyone."
"that too."
*********
ironic i should hear this story in july. a story about a fun guy, a last drink, a late drive, a lamppost. except this one stops at a shattered face reconstructed by surgery. and that other one has ended with a shattered mind trying to reconstruct a lifetime. perhaps i heard this one because this year i forgot to write about that one. how long has it been now S, 4 years? and how old is your mind now, 4 years? do you recognise yourself in the mirror? do you even recognise that it's the mirror you're looking at? i hope you're stronger now, because i'm still chicken. i still don't ask after you. but i admit i've been asking myself what would have happened if your guardian angel had lifted your face gently and let it collapse into the windshield instead of the steering wheel. maybe we'd be teasing you about your chin-scars. maybe we wouldn't be teasing these you-shaped scars, absently scratching them every once in a while till they bleed fresh red rivulets of memories.

2009-06-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

if you don't stop doing what you say you don't like doing
then you're doing it because you like it

2009-05-27T23:19:00.000-07:00

hey you working late?

ya a bit.

you don't mind a little noise right?

no... it's ok i guess.

i'm gonna use the comp behind you.

you're playing music?

no, we're all playing call of duty.

oh ok that's cool.

no it will get very loud and very noisy.

i know. it's ok.

look do you have ipod headphones?

no i don't.

well it'd help if you wore them.

well, can't help it if i don't have them.

ok.

(silence. i am anticipating war sounds. whistling bombs. crashing electricity towers, footsteps of heavy soldiers. bullets. tanks. shrieks of wounded heros and evil laughs of triumphant villains.)

MEOW!

MEEEEEEEOW!

MEOWWWWWWWWWW!

MEOW!

(four different guys from four different computers, all on speaker mics. loud, yes. noise, yes. call of duty? err.)

2009-05-27T02:53:00.000-07:00

hello crossword.

hi i'm looking for a book, kari by amruta patil?

yes m'am, which book?

kari?

by?

amruta patil?

spelling m'am?

a m r u t a p a t i l.

and the book spelling m'am?

k a r i.

ok. yes m'am. i'm very sorry m'am we have only one book by the author.

okkk... you don't have kari?

no m'am.

so which one do you have then?

curry.

sorry?

curry m'am.

could you... could you spell it please?

k... a... r... i... m'am.

ok. see, that is the same book that i was asking for.

yes m'am?

never mind. can you deliver it to me?

one moment m'am... no m'am we can't send it to you today.

okkkk, can you send it tomorrow or day after?

one moment m'am... no m'am, we don't have any vendors m'am.

you ... don't have any vendors.

yes m'am.

you mean delivery boys.

yes m'am.

ok. i'll pick it up then. till what time are you open?

one moment m'am... monday to friday m'am.

(silently i put down the phone and sit still. very still.)

2009-05-26T05:01:00.000-07:00

middle is not a nice word. small, large, is a character. big, tiny, is a shape. fast lane, slow lane, is a pace. middle of the road is an invitation to accident. middle is a compromise. middle is a cry to be taken for granted. i don't like the middles. the maybes. the perhapses. the greys. give me black or give me white. and maybe i'll give you the same.

2009-05-26T04:54:00.000-07:00

i'm not afraid of hate. i'm afraid of indifference.

2009-05-25T00:12:00.000-07:00

about two months back we moved houses. we live in a house with a garden now. a cat comes sometimes and sits in the door that leads out into the garden. we feed her milk. she finishes as much as she likes. she leaves. she disappears for days. we know she's back when she upsets our garbage bin if we leave it in the back door. yes we have a back door. sometimes she enters our home and walks about with dirty paws. meows. we shoo her out. then we feed her milk. she sometimes refuses to drink the milk. she doesn't sniff twice at rotis. she wants sausages. we give her sausages. then she wants milk. she stares at us and settles down in the door again. the garden belongs to her. we belong to her. she belongs to no one.

2009-05-25T00:10:00.000-07:00

the quietest guys won. it gives me hope.

2009-05-16T07:39:00.000-07:00

can't someone bottle the smell of books,
of the spot on their inner spine that the nose buries its senses in?

there is always a choice.

2009-05-15T00:43:00.000-07:00

unless it's an accident.

fester or die

2009-05-06T02:11:00.000-07:00

i am severely negative and fiercely positive.
i can take to my grave a barely perceptible frown
and i can ignore and shield the darkest, deepest evil.
i sometimes refuse to heal and i sometimes refuse to hurt.
of course i don't go daggers at those who hurt me but i don't close the chapter either.
of late i've been asking myself what gives me the right to sit in judgement, what gives me the right to decide that i will forgive x and remember y.
i've been wondering if the reason why we are willing to forgive is the horror of being never forgiven in turn, of living in the slime-shadow of curses and wails.
if the reason why we don't forgive
is because it involves wilfully erasing that one intense memory
that still connects us to a once-loved villain.
i've been feeling that if i don't let go, something slippery wraps itself around my soul and gets greenblacker everytime i peep in.
and if i do let go, a part of me vanishes.
i can't be sure whether it's a good part or a bad one but sometimes i miss it bad.

2009-05-06T02:06:00.000-07:00

and when you're done
laughing at my feeble poetry
will you be strong
and not secretly write
a better one?

2009-05-05T10:04:00.001-07:00

silence
does not mean
absence

2009-03-23T08:28:00.002-07:00

i'll wear your shoes someday
and you wear mine
i'll see what your steps weigh
you'll feel my toe-whine
perhaps
and somehow
we'll decide
barefoot is the best way to hide
the crustwraps
and skindough
that hurt
and blurt
and salten the crack we share
that actually shouldn't be there

2009-03-23T08:28:00.001-07:00

i love balconies

2009-02-21T04:05:00.000-08:00

he looked the sun in the eye
a curtained square of fire
the last piece of his ash-dream
threatening to blink on him

the greatest compliment a man can pay his woman

2008-12-24T02:06:00.000-08:00

is not the biggest diamond in the store
or the reddest of roses or the gooiest of chocolates.
it’s not surprise tickets to paris
or an elaborate proposal on a wine-lit gondola.
it’s not a fairy tale wedding
or a yachted honeymoon on a secret island.
it’s not scented whispers or candleglow intoxications.
it’s not gift-wrapped manolos or christian no. 1
or coded i love yous in a loud party
or hidden i miss yous in her handbag or all-night international calls
or rain-soaked road trips or annie’s song warming a wintry bonfire.
it’s not even his willingness to wait for her
to be accepted by those he’s loved
before he met her (err, not ex-girlfriends).
the greatest compliment a man can pay his woman
is his decision to not wait anymore.
it’s his calm courage to go against.
it’s his quiet resolve to go ahead, with or without.
it’s the look in his eye that shushes her panicked heartbeat.
it’s the promise smiling in his outstretched hand.
it’s his silent definition of who matters most.

after more than ten months of waiting,
n has paid me the greatest compliment a man can pay his woman.
we’ll be signing the knot on 12th of jan 2009.
with or without.

2008-12-10T04:46:00.000-08:00

there must be something i can do. it's not possible that this is it.

before and after 26/11

2008-12-05T05:54:00.000-08:00

that's how i'm hoping the history of bombay will be written

2008-12-05T02:59:00.000-08:00

and 3o billion trembling fingers
unenough to count
where all to fly the half-mast now.

well said, slogan.

2008-12-04T21:09:00.001-08:00

http://sloganmurugan.blogspot.com/2008/12/lead-india.html

2008-12-03T05:20:00.000-08:00

and then i can't help thinking, without uttering a word, i have in my own way insulted my country's martyrs. by being dazed and awed and secretly thankful to my guardian angel for making sure that the one bomb that was in a scooter near my house, the one bomb that would have taken me with it because it was on a street i had actually walked past that fatal day that fatal time, that one bomb was faulty and later de-fused. that he made sure i had a fracture and was forced to take the taxi home instead of the train that other fatal day. that he made sure i refused to go to an awards ceremony on this fatal day in that part of town. i have defiled their sacrifices by not standing up and demanding an answer to their deaths and an end to this 16 year gangrape of my city. by gaping at the pictures in the newspapers and eagerly discussing with classmates how the blasts took place and what evil mastermind what cruel genius it took to do this, how narrowly who escaped, how so and so escaped fom this blast but died in that, discussing all this in between bites from my lunch box. by ignoring the voice in my head that was saying that i should say something. by getting on with my life as if nothing had happened. as if nothing would happen. as if everything was as it was. by laughing. by joking. by shopping. by partying. by not following up the cases. by shaking my head. by pointing fingers at the politicians and saying look how they point fingers. by turning away everytime i pass mahim station. by not crying. by not feeling enough to cry. by going on even when i'm shaking with impotent anger and sadness. by keeping silent when the basti behind me blares 'touch me touch me touch me' and my only answer is to turn up the volume on the tv in which my taj is proudly smouldering at the other end of our fragile little island, silently asking me when i will accept moral responsibility for its fate and step down from my high chair of indifference.

2008-12-03T04:57:00.000-08:00

i believe these are the true colours of our politicians. for the first time in their long long life, some of them i'm sure were presidents of gondwana, for the first time they are being asked questions to which none of the five standard answers will suffice. these are not questions which can be explained away by saying "karyavaahi chaalu hain" "commitee bithaayenge" "stithi niyantran mein hain" "apraadhiyon ko sazaa dee jaayegi" or the latest "yeh samay sawaal karne ka nahin hain"

this time they have no time to anticipate the questions or rehearse answers. no option to say they don't have an answer. no excuse to not have an answer.

which is why they are losing their cool. which is why the real opinion, the real language and the real priorities are spilling out of their twisted mouths despite themselves. i'm sure if we had a record of their personal meetings we would find much more outrageous statements over the years.

it's just that this time they're caught in the headlights.

2008-12-03T04:42:00.000-08:00

for the first time since almost the time he was elected to his ex/current post, i saw him frown while talking. i saw his hair out of place. i saw him answering from the gut and not a piece of paper. nervous replies. angry looks. disbelief that this was happening to him. fear that he was all alone. that he was the scapegoat. all because he had sensed that if he did offer to step down, no one would stop him. that if he didn't, they would snatch his beloved chair from under his firmly planted, ever-expanding butt.

but of course when he made his first press statement on that first night, he had all the time to gel and comb his hair. to wear a crisp white kurta. to read from a piece of paper and struggle to pronounce the words 'operation chaalu kiya hain'.

when he surveyed the carnage with his shield of bodyguards, perhaps destroying evidence and certainly hindering the cleanup process, he had all the time to dress up and oil his moustache and hold his head high as his patent leather slippers crunched through shattered heritage and hope-cinders. he never frowned when he said 'hostages? why do you keep saying hostages? there are no hostages in there anymore, they are just people in their rooms who are not coming out' just about 30 hours before the last terrorist was shot. there were no shifty-eyed glances then. there was no worry line on his indifference-fattened forehead. there was no fear then, was there mr. c m?

2008-12-03T04:22:00.000-08:00

i want to go there and i can't bring myself to go there.

2008-12-02T03:24:00.000-08:00

priy raj thackeray,

me tumhaala priy mhantey hyaacha artha asaa naahin ki tumhi malaa priy ahaat. me zari osama bin laden la patra lihile tari hi priy osama asech suru kareen. kaaran sabhya lok je astaat tyaaanchya bolnyaachi ek padhdhat astey. tumhaalaa nahin kalaaychi ti padhdhat. zaau dya.

maazaa janma zaala thane zillyaat dombivli madhye. jya varshi me janamle, tyach varshi maajhi family dadarla shift zaali. maaze aai-vadeel malaa kityek vela saangaayche ki maazaa janma tyaanchya saathi lucky hota kaaran aamhi tyach varshi ‘bombay’ madhye aalo.

maaze lahanpan dadarchya ekaa lahanshya chaalit gele. maajhya buildingchya samor bhagwan dada rahaayche. maajhya address madhye shankar abbaji palav marg asaayche. maajhi shaala, king george urf raja shivaji vidya sankul urf indian education society’s english medium school urf pandit dhamdhere high school urf kunaas thaauk aata kuthchya naavaa khaali aahe. maajhya shaalet ingraji hi marathit shikvaayche.

aamchya building madhye sarvaat pahila tv aamchya ghari aala. black and white ec tv. dar shanivaari ani ravivaari poorna building aamchya ghari gola whaichi, dd varti picture baghaayla. budhwaari chhayageet, guruvaari chitrageet. me kityek sakaali bhupali aikoon uthle aahe, sandhyakaali baatmya aikoon zople aahe. kilbil baghaayla utsukt zaale aahe. navratri madhye mothya khidkitoon chhote chhote haath baher kaadhoon samorchya maidaanat chaalu aslele ‘ambabaicha udho udho’ chya taalaat taalya vaazvilya aahet me. batatyachi chaal aikoon hasle va shamchi aai baghoon radle.

ya varshi tumchya mule maajhya tees varshaanchya aayushyaat pahilyaanda malaa aathavle ki me marathi naahi. tumchya mule malaa aathavla ki marathi majhi maatrubhasha naahi. tumchya mule malaa kalla ki roz sakaali oon, paaoos, thandichi parva na karta jo manoos majhya ghari hasat hasat doodh gheoon yeto, toh manoos bhaiyya aahe. ha gujrati aahe, to bihari aahe, aani to tikde bengali aahe. kaal paryenta jo mumbaikar hota, to tumchya mule bihari, gujrati, bengali, jaat, haryaanvi zaala aahe.

aaz jithe tumhi aaplya bodyguards chya kushit zopta, bullet proof gaadit firtaa, aaplya mulaana foreign chya oxford ani cambridge university madhye bharti karnyaachi khshamata thevtaa, tithe aapli tarun berozgar mula gundyaan saarkhi vaagat aahet. aapla taarunya shikshan aani samaaj kalyan chya aivaji dadagiri madhye ghaalavtaait.

maharashtraane tumche kiti laad kele. itki varsha tumhi ya rashtraakadoon, mumbaikaraan kadoon kaay kaay naahi kamaavle – pratishta, power, paisa, lokaanchi jai jai kar, lokaanche prem, lokaanche vote. aani parat kaay dilat?

amravati aani vidarbha madhye ze shetkari aatmahatya karit aahet, te marathi manoos naahit? tyaanchya kutumbaanche haal kon samaznaar? kon saambhaalnaar tyaanna?

laturchya bhookampaa nantar tithe kaay zaale?

malegaon baddal kami bollelach bara, naahi ka?

kaa aaplya police force kade saadhe basic bullet proof jackets naahit? ka aaplya havaldaraancha pagar itka kami aahe ki tyaanna aaplya mulaanche kamit kami shikshanahi mahaag padte?

kaa aaplya sheheraat rastey kami aani khadde jaasta aahet? khaddyaanvar zunya puraanya rickshaw-taxi madhye travel karoon karoon aamchi kambar tutli aahe.

kaa pannaas varshaan nanterahi aaplya sheheraat paaoos poor gheoon yeto?

kachra kaa dustbin madhye kami, rastyavar jaasta zama hoto?

marathi saahitya, marathi kala, marathi chitrapath, hi sagli industries kuthe aahet?

ritesh deshmukh aani seema thackeray marathi pictures ka naahi banvat? dadasaheb phalke kon hotey, hey tumhaala tari maahit aahe ka? mag tumhaala maahit asel ki tumchya eka foreign trip che je budget aahe, tyahoonahi kami budget madhye banleli ‘shwaas’ va ‘tingya’ saarkhi marathi chitrapatey national aani international award jinktaait. zara kalpana kara ki tyaanna barobar protsaahan milaale tar oscar mumbai pasoon door naahi.

kadhi marathi library ughadnyaacha vichaar naahi aala tumchya marathi manaat? tumchya mns madheel konihi kadhi 'mrutunjay' vaachoon radkundila aala asel ka? ki fakt dusryaanna radvinyasaathich banavli aahe hi sena?

berozgaari che samaadhaan hinsa, hey tumhaala koni ho shikalvle? berozgaaraanna wada pav stall kholoon denya aivaji computer science ka naahi shikvat? aarda-ordi karnaara gunda banavnya aivaji tyaanna kirloskar ka naahi banvat?

tumhaala bhiti vaatte na, ki shikleli mula tumchya kaaboot naahi raahnaar? hi mula zar sales vice president kivhaan marketing manager kivhaan college professor banlit tar kashi tumchya ishaaryavar “mumbai bandh” ordoon nirdosh lokaanvar besharam darodekhoraansaarkhe vaar karnaar?

lahaanpani me superman chya goshti aiknyaa aagodar shivaji maharajaanchya goshti aiklyaa. kasa tyaanni aaplya peksha ‘double size’ chya afzal khanchya mithitoon sutka keli aani tyaala maaroon taakle. kasa tyaanni khidkitun paloon zaanaarya shaistekhanchi bota kaapli.

aaz parat ekda aaplya khidkit aatankvaadi aaley aahet. te hindu astil kivaan muslim, tya aatankvaadyaanchi bota (aani barach kaahi) kaapnya aivaji, tumhi aaplyaach mumbaikaraanchi maane ka kaapat aahaat?

arrey nihattya maansaanvar matheranchi maakade hi vaar kartat. aatankvaadyanvarti vaar kara, mag swataahla 'sena' mhanaa.

aaz aaplyaa sheheraat ak-47, rdx pakdoon aatankvaadi khullam khulla firat aahet. ashi kuthchi hi zaaga naahi jithe nirdosh mumbaikaraancha rakta saandlele naahi. local train paasoon 5-star hotel paryenta, hya sheherachya pratyek saavlit bheeti cha tandav chaalu aahe. ashya veli maajhi tumchyashi ekach vinanti aahe –

aata tari bas karaa.

bas karaa dharmachi, jaatichi aani janmarashtraachi aadh gheoon lokaanchya jivashi khelna.

bas karaa mumbaikaaranna ekmekanviruddha bhadkaavna.

bas karaa mitraanna dushmani shikavna.

raj, bas karaa tumcha gundaraj.

nirdoshaancha asaa paschataap kadu nakaa.

votansaathi lokaanchya potaanvar laat maaru nakaa.

aaz aaplya mumbait zar koni ‘baaherche lok’ aahet, tar tey fakt ani fakt terrorists. tyanna thaambva na mumbait paay thevnya paasoon.

aapli power vaaproon mumbaila ekatra kara.

aamche tukde naka karoot. aamhi aadhich tutlele aahot.

ashya dukhachya veli tumhi parat mumbait raada kelaat, tar marathi manoosach naahi, kontaahi manoos tumhaalaa kadhihi maaf naahi karnaar. mumbai cha itihaas mumbaikaraanchya raktaat naka lihoot.

ingrajit mhantaat na, last but not the least. shevatcha mudda, pann kami mahatvaacha naahi – me baaherna ingraji aahe pann aatun marathit bolat aahe. tumhi baaherna marathit bolta pann aatoon ingrajaanchi divide and rule policy karat aahaat.

me marathi nasoonahi assal mumbaikar aahe.

tumhi marathi asoonahi mumbaikar naahit.

jai hind, jai maharashtra.

- ek saadhaaran mumbaikar.

2008-11-28T06:03:00.001-08:00

http://www.anniezaidi.com/

2008-11-27T17:47:00.000-08:00

i'm furious and i'm in tears and i'm helpless and i don't really know what i'm feeling anymore and then i'm furious again. i want to lash out at someone, i want to see one indian politician speaking from that which none of them seem to have. i want to stop writing facebook status after status and deleting it and writing again and deleting again and feeling like a wimp because that's all i can do. i want to blame somebody and i want to stop wanting to blame anybody. i want to take a bath or at least wash my face. i want to remember what it was like to eat without wondering whether those men have eaten, have chai without wondering if they have water. i want to remember when i got up and cooked dinner and ate it and what i did in two nights in the spaces that are blank now, the spaces between watching tv and calling friends. i want to do something other than watch watch watch watch watch and watch and watch and doze off and fumble out of bed and run for the remote and half-wish it were all a dream and then hope it's over by now. i want to stop feeling and i want to feel something. i want to stop fantasizing that i'll find out that nothing happened and i want to stop getting on the internet for more watching and i want to not remember staring out at the chilly quiet 4 am dark outside my balcony, seeing a school girl in sports uniform walking on the street with a hockey stick and i want to not believe the numb shock at being surprised at the sight of that little girl, that i was asking myself who let her out alone and how long will we be able to walk out at any time we want, come home any time we want, i want to not believe that i was shuddering at the rumbling of a lone vehicle cruising my street in the wounded pre-dawn silence. i want to pretend that n and i didn't look at each other in alarm at that sound, that i didn't want to scream don't open the window when he started to, that i didn't believe him when he said it was just an idling motor in the garage under our building, that i didn't expect heart-breakingly young boys to jump out and bomb my building. i want to remember what day it is today it's thursday isn't it or friday? i want to pretend that nobody saw me as i stood in my balcony looking at my city, yesterday defined by and today destroyed by the sea, i want to pretend that nobody saw me looking at it like i was taking a last look at my limb about to be amputated, nobody saw me break into tears and shiver again and again and again and again and again even as the azaan and the church bells together screamed out a question to every tired god.

what fun!

2008-11-25T21:25:00.000-08:00

just when i learnt to walk straight
i learnt that life is a spiral staircase.

2008-11-24T23:33:00.000-08:00

of course i've come to terms with it.
i just need to figure out
what i've come to terms with.

2008-11-21T03:55:00.000-08:00

last year i fell asleep during an 11 pm show of the zodiac. last week i fell asleep during burn after reading. and the hunting party. at 9 pm.

i used to love the rides on A's kinetic. i'd put my head way back and see the trees and sky race by upside down. feel the wind go straight to the head through the ears (not much substance so it's a short route). yesterday i was on the highway and was scared of the bikes racing by. what if they tip over sideways?

i used to cut up my t-shirts and wear the first thing my fist found. today i change clothes at least five times before i leave home.

i used to jump nonstop through where the streets have no name. now i'm mostly panting and directionless by the time i see the dust cloud disappear without a trace.

i used to wonder where to go on a friday night. and with whom. today i can't wait to get home. and i know to whom.

i used to be young. and i'm proud to have survived.

2008-11-21T02:06:00.000-08:00

whatever you thought life was
it's just that
till you think elsewise
and then that's just what it is

2008-11-21T01:23:00.000-08:00

are you where you are because you want to escape
or because you refuse to be rescued?

mindblowing

2008-11-19T23:15:00.000-08:00

http://www.scripttease.tv/

deja vu

2008-11-19T06:39:00.000-08:00

feb 2005

i wrote you something did you get it? you were out. i left it at your door.

yeah i got it listen you need to stop writing to me ok?

why.

because it freaks me out.

why.

should i show them to you? i got them all i'll show them to you. you just have to stop writing to me ok? it really freaks me out.

if they freak you out why do you still have all of them?

i don't know? just. stop. are we ok?

ya. we're ok. cool.

feb 2007

you read it?

what?

the blog? you read it?

yeah i did, i'm not that good at hindi so i didn't like get all of it. but whatever i got was nice. did you read mine?

oh. ok. ya i read yours. some of it is sweet. a lot of it is gross.

heh. who's blog is it? that other one you made me read?

mine.

you write in hindi?

also. it's for you. did you get that? hello?

oh. i. didn't get that actually.

well it is. for you. i started a blog for you. about us.

that's. sweet really. heh.

nobody knows about it ok? i've not done this. not in some years. written to someone that is.

the english stuff is also very nice.

it's the truth. sometimes it's nice, the truth.

march 2007

that's that you know and then you're writing about us it's just you know

a lot of pressure? it doesn't have to be. it's not some eternal promise or obligation to commit. you said some scary things that night i don't know if you remember. about falling in love with me and marrying me and stuff. we knew each other for what half a night and half a crate? it freaked me out but i kinda let it slide you know.

it doesn't feel right. i'm not sure and

i'm not either. big deal. anyway if that's your decision then that's the decision. i guess.

it's not my decision. i'm just not sure. about you.

i get it.

july 2007

i wrote to two boyfriends before you and both were uncomfortable.

so what did they do?

they ran. i've sent you an invitation to a blog.

what blog?

you know this is a big risk i'm taking.

you started a blog for me?

you can write in it too. no one else can.

i want to read it. now.

it's 1 am.

we'll go to my office.

we're half an hour away.

wear your seat belt.

you're running. already. this is a record.

it must be. you're running with me.

you read. i'll lock myself in the loo. if you leave i'll take a cab.

**********

you're still here.

those two boyfriends?

ya.

who you wrote to and were uncomfortable?

ya.

who ran?

ya.

i want to thank them.

um hmm.

ya.

2008-11-18T20:48:00.000-08:00

there's this gnarling eye tracing a twisted cloud.
it's been a long wait for it's not rained in three decades.
not a drop from the sky.
not one from the eye.

2008-11-17T20:55:00.000-08:00

and what can you give me back
if i agree to forgive you?

what is the point at which one knows there is no point?

2008-11-17T20:22:00.000-08:00

is it the time you feel let down? is it the time you feel like giving it back? is it the time you want to just take all the hurt till someone asks you why? i personally think it is the time you feel nothing. when you are no longer surprised at what is happening, but left with a few bursts of raised eyebrows here and there, you know just at the way it's happening. when you don't want to get back but sit back. watch how far and how low it's gonna go. how much farther the thread will drag before you hear the spool rattle. it's the time you withdraw and surrender, glad your silence it is not heard anymore. when you don't love. when you don't hate. when you just shrug and smile. when you notice for the first time how the red sign at the door lights up when the movie is about to end. when you wonder if it was always lit and you were too distracted by the screen to notice it. that's the point to get up and go.

what can be more private than grief

2008-11-14T06:54:00.000-08:00

it quietly steals into your eyes and
grows goosebumps on the underside of your skin.
you can do nothing but
stare at nothing
while it shreds your sanity
whips it up into foamy dementia
cracks your voice chords
so even your silence will rasp
breaks your spirit into
little orphaned slices of darkness
that will grope you
inside and out.
it consumes you
and makes intimate rustles
in the tosses and turns of your bed.
and you can never talk
share or explain
because every word is
a scissor that cuts your tongue off
and leaves you alone
with only echoes of snipsnipsnip
and sharp shadows to choke on.

2008-11-14T06:52:00.000-08:00

how fine are you really
and who are you thanking
when you say
i'm fine thank you?

2008-11-14T06:35:00.000-08:00

i am still
where i was
where we were
and someday you will turn around
and see that i
am not waiting anymore

look what i found!

2008-11-02T05:07:00.001-08:00

http://anthony-bourdain-blog.travelchannel.com/

2008-10-27T18:38:00.000-07:00

if one day i find a post-it
with 'life' written on it
i'm hoping it'll be yellow
and not yellowed

2008-10-11T09:26:00.000-07:00

you can be anything you want
if you find the courage to face everything you already are

2008-10-11T05:46:00.000-07:00

the good part about waiting for nothing to happen
is that you're sure it will.

2008-10-11T05:27:00.000-07:00

i don't know about men but women sure have this obsession with the wrong guy. we're willing to forgive the bad guy a lot more than the good guy. because well the good guy is supposed to be good right? so one slip-up and he's stabbed mt. vesuvius back to life. like, he's two hours late and he's not called! but the bad guy ah. that's a different species altogether. they are usually so outrageously bad that one degree less outrageous and we're all melted chocolate sauce over a soft brownie heart. as in, he called! after two months! he! called! (me!)

if you're really lucky you'll discover that the good guy is usually much more than good. it's like digging into a layer cake, each delicious than the other.

if you're really really lucky however, you'll discover that the wrong guy is well, just that.

2008-09-23T05:40:00.000-07:00

i have completely lost the ability to watch tv without holding the remote in my hands.

2008-08-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

have you ever chased a dream? it must be such a trip. exhilarating and killing. sometimes i wonder what it would be like. something to drive me so wild that i'd give up anything for it. something that feels worth it even if it consumes my screams and bruised knees and shame and pride and bank balance in return. maybe not a purpose i can't give it such a corny name but a reason to take another step, to breathe another gulp. sometimes i get a little tired and disappointed that i don't have a passion to live for. or the fear of a failure big enough to tire me and disappoint me into not wanting to live anymore. i wonder if i'll have truly lived if i don't ever stumble upon that one reckless obsession.

2008-08-26T23:26:00.000-07:00

there is a path in the fog
and i'm yet to decide
whether i'm imagining the path
or making up the fog

2008-08-26T22:39:00.000-07:00

i've two months of immobility facing me.
as in, i've had a toe surgery on both feet and i'm going to be unable to walk for two months.
i'm 9 days down.
4 days since i'm off painkillers.
and i'm not tearing my hair out.
i'm not up the wall.
ok not even mentally i'm not up the wall.
i have a clear head and i'm introspecting.
outrospecting too.
there are books to catch up with. and i don't mean just reading.
there are movies to catch up with. screenplays to devour.
there is eddie vedder depth and there's the ting tings buoy.
and then there's myself to catch up with. as long as i was on my feet i couldn't really match the pace with which i was getting away from myself. now that i'm panting and looking her smack in the eye there are answers i didn't know i wanted. because there is now space and breath and time to carefully unwrap the questions that have wormed themselves into my head, there is the strength to stomach and study their rotten gummy smile.
there is now the peace to shut my eyes and begin to see.

2008-08-05T11:57:00.000-07:00

i'm trying to filter the words glued together
and looking for a sieve to collect
bits of the sieve
that tried to filter the words glued together

2008-08-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

perspective is such a fascinating concept. the original matrix camera angle in the head. one second i'm thinking of something in my shoes, the next i'm in someone else's and wham, the story twists an ankle. most of the time, mine.

2008-08-05T10:57:00.000-07:00

he is the toddy-tapper boy
tapping the shell of a joy

she's the baresoul girl
sniffing a long white curl

they have a hungover child
a lost memory of the wild

i'm famous!

2008-08-04T09:13:00.000-07:00

Fly You Fools - An Indian Webcomic about Life.

"i was no longer the youngest or the prettiest in the room"

2008-08-01T04:31:00.000-07:00

another line from six feet under. sarah's reason for becoming a slave to drugs as she grew older.

it's amazing how so much of our life is dictated by fear.

fear of what others think. fear of not being what we were anymore. fear of not being anything anymore. fear of becoming like someone. fear of never being someone. fear of having to do everything alone. fear of having to stop doing everything alone. fear of too much work. fear of no work. fear of sitting at the computer and not being able to stop. fear of sitting at the computer and not being able to start. fear of losing what we have. fear of finding what we thew away. fear of being the first to call. fear of the phone never ringing again. fear of letting go. fear of holding on. fear of waiting. fear of being left behind. fear of crowds. fear of being alone. fear of sickness. fear of death. fear of ridicule. fear of expectations. fear of being overheard. fear of never being heard. fear of being transparent. fear of being invisible. fear of fucking up. fear of being caught. fear of pain. fear of hurt. fear of the dark. fear of the spotlight. fear of the known. fear of the unknown. fear of heartbreak. fear of action. fear of consequences. fear of parents. fear of bosses. fear of having children. fear of never having them. fear of walking in. fear of walking out. fear of the emi. fear of yesterday. fear of tomorrow. fear of now.

after all this body copy i think my biggest fear is the fear of the mirror.

what i feel when i look into that piece of glass is what my life has come down to. if i can look into its eyes and say i'm not just alive but i'm living. i'm doing my thing. i've regretted yes, but on my terms. i got laughed at but i got my shot. i've lost but not because i didn't fight. i've failed and i'm not afraid to start all over again. i hurt a lot of people but i ached for them. i'm crushed but i'm the bigger person. i've taken the roundabout rather than elbow someone out of my way. i've stabbed but not in the back. i've bitched but to the face. not everyone smiles at me but those who do mean it. i'm not in everyone's good books but there's at least one person who can kill for me, one person i can kill for. i'm not rich but i'm loan-free. i'm old but i'm not ashamed. i've let the cracks show. i've faced the shadows. i've chosen silence over fake laughter. i've chosen working over buttering. i've said i don't have a headache but not tonight honey. i've walked away instead of sharing a pretense. i've slumped over rather than stand erect in a dog collar. i've bowed out rather than bow down.

if i can say this i can say i am truly fearless.

2008-07-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

he wiped her eyes
each tear a fire drop on his skin
she kept crying
afraid to tell him it was just
glycerine

2008-07-24T10:43:00.002-07:00

he'd have noticed
hadn't he been busy
zipping up
that she'd taken off her clothes and
was slowly unbuttoning
herself

the most difficult four-lettered word

2008-07-22T19:31:00.001-07:00

mine.

it's my idea. i thought of it first. i'm the one who made it happen. i should be getting this. i must be given that.

whenever i've had to say something like this, it's come out like an apology. i find it much easier to say i had nothing to do with it, it's all someone else's hard work, please pat his back not mine, congratulate her not me, they did it i was just there. these are so much easier to handle. why is it so hard to say that four-lettered word?

2008-07-22T19:01:00.000-07:00

what if you woke up one day and discovered that your only child does not want to be like you. i don't mean the profession you're in. i mean the person you are. what if you find out that he's in fact, trying very hard not to be like you. that he's learning from you what not to learn. that he says a prayer for you not because you're so good but because you're so doomed. that he no longer wonders how you do it but why you do it. that he smiles at you not because he's happy but because it might be the last time he's seeing you. that he doesn't even regret that it could be the last time he's seeing you.

2008-07-16T22:47:00.000-07:00

it's eerie that everytime i think of him intensely enough to write it down, it's this time of the year. because it's about this time of the year, three years back i think, that he was lost to us. i still haven't visited him. i've stopped asking about him. but i've thought of him. i've prayed for him. if i'm not mistaken, it's his birthday around this time. he's going to turn 33 i think. but we're waiting for him to turn turn 3 in his head. here's to you S. here's to the empty treadmill next to mine. here's to the mirror in which i sometimes see you running sweating and sighing. here's to the magic in your fingers lost in the reality of today. here's to so many hearts you'd have stolen by now. here's to so many hearts still bleeding for you. here's to my inability to come see you. here's to my inability to stop seeing you.