They make weird patterns;
streamers of light, shining
in different hues.
I can make them twist and turn,
taking shapes I straighten and skew.
I change the shades
with the power of my mind.
Red, yellow and purple;
glowing, they are real.
More real than my body
floating in the clouds,
lying parallel to the ground.
Green mixed with indigo,
blue sprinkled over orange,
and pink garnished
with some yellow filings.
The combinations change
with my moods.
Passion sees deep purple,
elastic tubes of light.
They do a ballet to the music
playing at the core of my brain cells.
The music gets louder
and the strobe lights become sparkles,
elegant and supple,
and begin to sprinkle a burst
of colour across the pallet of my eye.
I’m numb
And the colours alive.
A supernova
born in the boundless confines of mind,
set free through the boundaries
of the sky.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Disco blues
We walk hand in hand
Arm in arm.
Talk about Bollywood
And celluloid charm.
And walking down
The footpath
The conversation scatters
To hip and happening places
To discos in the suburbs.
For the night’s at hand
And we need to dance
Hip to hip, cheek to cheek.
And make it at a rocking night
With friends we dig.
As the man standing
On the console
Like a hellish lord releasing
Lost bodies and soul;
Remixes, rehashes, refurbishes
Something that remotely
Sounds like sound.
Interspersed with
Scratches and screeches.
And ding-dangs and yo-yos
And noises and voices
Twisted and wound.
We yell out to each other
Across the dance floor
Revel in the ecstasy
Of the lights heavenly
And the floor paradise.
But it got to feel that way
Since we’re four pegs down.
I wake up in my bed
With a hellish hangover
And walk down the room
Like the dead.
The paradise lingering
In my distant memory
I make a new call
And seek a new arm.
And call up a fellow loser
For the night’s at hand.
Arm in arm.
Talk about Bollywood
And celluloid charm.
And walking down
The footpath
The conversation scatters
To hip and happening places
To discos in the suburbs.
For the night’s at hand
And we need to dance
Hip to hip, cheek to cheek.
And make it at a rocking night
With friends we dig.
As the man standing
On the console
Like a hellish lord releasing
Lost bodies and soul;
Remixes, rehashes, refurbishes
Something that remotely
Sounds like sound.
Interspersed with
Scratches and screeches.
And ding-dangs and yo-yos
And noises and voices
Twisted and wound.
We yell out to each other
Across the dance floor
Revel in the ecstasy
Of the lights heavenly
And the floor paradise.
But it got to feel that way
Since we’re four pegs down.
I wake up in my bed
With a hellish hangover
And walk down the room
Like the dead.
The paradise lingering
In my distant memory
I make a new call
And seek a new arm.
And call up a fellow loser
For the night’s at hand.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Horses
There are horses all around. The flat mountain top rings with the sound of their feet. They gallop, jump fences and run through the woods towards the end of land. They look like mad horses, not reducing their speed as they approach the edge.
Probably they are blind, unable to see that the land ends there. May be the fog of an after-rain evening has blurred their vision. Or have they been given a shot of insane medicine, making them go berserk? There is no time for me to stop them. Still, I yell out their names but they don’t respond. They are approaching the end with great speed. But who am I to stop them anyway?
I am a mere spectator.
And just when they are about to throw their lovely black bodies into the valley, out of nowhere, large white wings appear. Right behind their ears! And they take the flight. Caressing the cool winds with their new found wings, they glide. The sky shines with a crimson light just about to fade. I rub my eyes. Is this a dream? Is this a miracle? I continue to watch. I can’t take my eyes off these beautiful horses flying amongst the clouds. And then suddenly, with a blink of an eye, they are nowhere to be seen. As if the sky swallowed them. I try hard to find them in the clouds spread all over. But there is no sight of those miraculous creatures.
I walk to the edge of the mountain and peep down. And see them writhing in pain.
Probably they are blind, unable to see that the land ends there. May be the fog of an after-rain evening has blurred their vision. Or have they been given a shot of insane medicine, making them go berserk? There is no time for me to stop them. Still, I yell out their names but they don’t respond. They are approaching the end with great speed. But who am I to stop them anyway?
I am a mere spectator.
And just when they are about to throw their lovely black bodies into the valley, out of nowhere, large white wings appear. Right behind their ears! And they take the flight. Caressing the cool winds with their new found wings, they glide. The sky shines with a crimson light just about to fade. I rub my eyes. Is this a dream? Is this a miracle? I continue to watch. I can’t take my eyes off these beautiful horses flying amongst the clouds. And then suddenly, with a blink of an eye, they are nowhere to be seen. As if the sky swallowed them. I try hard to find them in the clouds spread all over. But there is no sight of those miraculous creatures.
I walk to the edge of the mountain and peep down. And see them writhing in pain.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Goodbye
I could have slit my wrists
and let you
flow out of my system.
I could have pierced my eyes
with needles
Where you’re frozen in time.
I could have slashed every inch
of this cadaver
you scribbled your name on.
I could have burst
my brains open
and burn your memories down.
I could have ripped
my heart apart
still waiting for you
to come by.
But all I did was wipe my tears
And say goodbye.
and let you
flow out of my system.
I could have pierced my eyes
with needles
Where you’re frozen in time.
I could have slashed every inch
of this cadaver
you scribbled your name on.
I could have burst
my brains open
and burn your memories down.
I could have ripped
my heart apart
still waiting for you
to come by.
But all I did was wipe my tears
And say goodbye.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Touch
You left without a promise
Without a word of grace.
You left without an echo
Of a love lost in haze.
I held up your pictures
With a desire world apart.
With the music in my ears
I stumbled back to the start.
The music of the first kiss
And the hug of the dawn.
The miles in one hand touch
And the brace of your arm.
The harmony of our spirits,
The symphony in our fingers,
Miming words on our lips
Writing stanzas all new,
As the drops from a melody
Perch on my eyes of dew.
The drum beats of the clasp of hand,
Take me to the highest note,
Make me smell of you.
And I still smell you
Through the black holes
Of years lost in time.
I hear your voice through wires
But forget the way we rhyme.
And then in scorching summer
You grace me with your rain.
You kneel down at my doorstep
And melt away my pain.
I throw myself in your arms
I forget to remember
I’d forgotten how you feel to me.
Then the whole world comes tumbling
In my bosom, in a spree.
My finger tips,
The edge of my forehead,
And the skin under my neck
Witness the magic again.
And a moment before I glide in mirth
You wither away.
You’re gone again but this time
You leave your touch behind.
Without a word of grace.
You left without an echo
Of a love lost in haze.
I held up your pictures
With a desire world apart.
With the music in my ears
I stumbled back to the start.
The music of the first kiss
And the hug of the dawn.
The miles in one hand touch
And the brace of your arm.
The harmony of our spirits,
The symphony in our fingers,
Miming words on our lips
Writing stanzas all new,
As the drops from a melody
Perch on my eyes of dew.
The drum beats of the clasp of hand,
Take me to the highest note,
Make me smell of you.
And I still smell you
Through the black holes
Of years lost in time.
I hear your voice through wires
But forget the way we rhyme.
And then in scorching summer
You grace me with your rain.
You kneel down at my doorstep
And melt away my pain.
I throw myself in your arms
I forget to remember
I’d forgotten how you feel to me.
Then the whole world comes tumbling
In my bosom, in a spree.
My finger tips,
The edge of my forehead,
And the skin under my neck
Witness the magic again.
And a moment before I glide in mirth
You wither away.
You’re gone again but this time
You leave your touch behind.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
I die
I die,
I die to hold you,
I die to say a few meaningful words.
I live,
I live to soak you,
I live to make a meaningful sentence.
I die to hold you,
I die to say a few meaningful words.
I live,
I live to soak you,
I live to make a meaningful sentence.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
A border-village
A villager ran miles
From the shelling
In a border-village up north.
It happened for years
And then he sent off
His family, and he stayed
To look after the farm.
Then one day
There was no where to flee
He quietly lay down in dust
And look who watched him die,
A man from the army.
Others displaced
Found new shelter, made a new living.
Living to go back to the home
On which the morning sun once shone.
Now spiders dwell amongst the ruins
And land mines decorate the backyard.
Hope still leads them on;
Hope to be buried
In the place they were born.
Thousands of camps
Of people in the no man’s land,
No one to lend a hand,
No one to share the burdens
Of an abandoned home,
An abandoned village,
An abandoned life;
Retiring to destiny.
With neighbours burning down to death,
And fathers lying in a pool of blood
Still fresh in the memories
Drowned in the same sand,
Their eyes look to the sky
And wonder why we fight for land.
From the shelling
In a border-village up north.
It happened for years
And then he sent off
His family, and he stayed
To look after the farm.
Then one day
There was no where to flee
He quietly lay down in dust
And look who watched him die,
A man from the army.
Others displaced
Found new shelter, made a new living.
Living to go back to the home
On which the morning sun once shone.
Now spiders dwell amongst the ruins
And land mines decorate the backyard.
Hope still leads them on;
Hope to be buried
In the place they were born.
Thousands of camps
Of people in the no man’s land,
No one to lend a hand,
No one to share the burdens
Of an abandoned home,
An abandoned village,
An abandoned life;
Retiring to destiny.
With neighbours burning down to death,
And fathers lying in a pool of blood
Still fresh in the memories
Drowned in the same sand,
Their eyes look to the sky
And wonder why we fight for land.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
OH MY GOD!!
Words are deluding me. There is excitement, anxiety, surprise, joy and lots and lots of love all at the same time. Overwhelming is all I can sum up!
My status message on gtalk for the last one month: who knows what the tide may bring!
I felt that the phrase somehow applied to my life and it actually happened.
The tide brings in this guy from saat samandar paar to my door step at 1 am on a regular depressing 17th December morning. And suddenly all the gloom, all the insecurities and depression I had had been feeling for the last few days vanish leaving a small white trail of smiles behind.
So I saw him, felt him in my physical space after three long years. And all the wait seemed to have consumated into a feeling of relief. All of it was worth it. It felt just right.
It was the best brithday ever. Romantic, surreal and probably better than all the ways in which I fantasised meeting him. And now I'm happy and excited as usual!
Thanks all you guys for plotting this birthday surprise!
Somu and Shrav I need not thank u guys because I believe that one good turn deserves another :-)
My status message on gtalk for the last one month: who knows what the tide may bring!
I felt that the phrase somehow applied to my life and it actually happened.
The tide brings in this guy from saat samandar paar to my door step at 1 am on a regular depressing 17th December morning. And suddenly all the gloom, all the insecurities and depression I had had been feeling for the last few days vanish leaving a small white trail of smiles behind.
So I saw him, felt him in my physical space after three long years. And all the wait seemed to have consumated into a feeling of relief. All of it was worth it. It felt just right.
It was the best brithday ever. Romantic, surreal and probably better than all the ways in which I fantasised meeting him. And now I'm happy and excited as usual!
Thanks all you guys for plotting this birthday surprise!
Somu and Shrav I need not thank u guys because I believe that one good turn deserves another :-)
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Why????
Am is supposed to feel this way at the most buzzing time of the year?
My birthday, Christmas, Sabir's wedding, Aanchal & Shravan coming & New Year.
This time of the year is happening and I've always made the most of it. Cut ot this year. I'm anxious, upset, irritated, confused, frustrated and unexcited!!
How can I be like this?
I really don't understand my problem.
My birthday, Christmas, Sabir's wedding, Aanchal & Shravan coming & New Year.
This time of the year is happening and I've always made the most of it. Cut ot this year. I'm anxious, upset, irritated, confused, frustrated and unexcited!!
How can I be like this?
I really don't understand my problem.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Lives
Do you understand?
There are lives inside
The wild days
Of the wild fields,
Of the wildly growing
Weeds outside.
There are demons
Climbing the walls
Of my skin.
And serpents crawling
Down the aisles
Of my old mind.
For I was here before,
Long time ago.
Born in the body
Of an eagle king.
My palace had pillars
Of freedom and
My fields were full with silver.
I drew no envy,
Called no wrath,
My treasure was
Hidden away
In the sky.
In my times
There was no war.
My soldiers were poets,
Painters and scores
Of blessed women.
And my courtiers
Sang and laughed and soared
To perform a dance of lore.
I had a lover I took to bed,
The only one I took to death.
I loved her till I loved no more
But abandoned her
For a greater love before
Other forces took over
The kingdom of wings.
Then in one life
I was born a slave.
In the other
A soldier with arms.
I overtook the master
And killed my enemies.
So now I overthrow my shame,
Of incestuous hours,
And swindling pleasures
And new figures
Touched upon.
Of the penny I stole,
The child I killed,
Of the death I saw
In drying lawn.
Then I saw some faces
Unmasked and bare.
Took a diversion
To somewhere
And landed in a dream
With shining love,
With flowing wine
And stars above.
I awake after ages
In the next one
To walk up the stairs
Of the heaven of smoke.
And I trip
Several times over
Before I let go.
There are lives inside
The wild days
Of the wild fields,
Of the wildly growing
Weeds outside.
There are demons
Climbing the walls
Of my skin.
And serpents crawling
Down the aisles
Of my old mind.
For I was here before,
Long time ago.
Born in the body
Of an eagle king.
My palace had pillars
Of freedom and
My fields were full with silver.
I drew no envy,
Called no wrath,
My treasure was
Hidden away
In the sky.
In my times
There was no war.
My soldiers were poets,
Painters and scores
Of blessed women.
And my courtiers
Sang and laughed and soared
To perform a dance of lore.
I had a lover I took to bed,
The only one I took to death.
I loved her till I loved no more
But abandoned her
For a greater love before
Other forces took over
The kingdom of wings.
Then in one life
I was born a slave.
In the other
A soldier with arms.
I overtook the master
And killed my enemies.
So now I overthrow my shame,
Of incestuous hours,
And swindling pleasures
And new figures
Touched upon.
Of the penny I stole,
The child I killed,
Of the death I saw
In drying lawn.
Then I saw some faces
Unmasked and bare.
Took a diversion
To somewhere
And landed in a dream
With shining love,
With flowing wine
And stars above.
I awake after ages
In the next one
To walk up the stairs
Of the heaven of smoke.
And I trip
Several times over
Before I let go.
Friday, November 24, 2006
pen on paper
Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life
- Mark Twain
There are times when I don’t want what I’m chasing and times when I want to chase something that isn’t there.
I can easily have a day where all I do is have some beer, listen to my favourite music, sit by the sea side, and end the day with a classic movie. I don’t want to be sitting in office, staring at the comp and deciding how to phrase the sentences in my intro.
There are times when all I want to do is write poetry and read poetry. Not sit down and file a story.
Most often I’m given a topic to write on and I enjoy it. But there are times when I want my mind to let go of constrains and put together something that I chanced upon through my mind’s wandering.
There are so many experiences I want to write about and so many unknown things I want to discover while I write. And I’m aware that I might wake up one day and end up writing a whole book on something that I never dreamt about; or may just get lost in oblivion without writing a single significant line. Yet I spend hours thinking what I should write about.
Writing is not putting down thoughts as such. It is more about the evolution of thoughts into its own words; words that were lingering somewhere in your subconscious but never found their way out in the real world. I think I need to be intoxicated big time to be able to write like a dream and at times I feel that I should probably just open some pages inside me and show them to the world on a Sunday afternoon.
Whenever I talk I feel like I’m at loss of words. Words fall out of my head quite often, and then I end up making no sense by the time I fish them out from the sea of my consciousness. But when I write words just flow. They fall straight out of my head onto paper.
Writing is magical. It creates a figure, out of the smoke that probably came out through your ears, when you were thinking of what to do with the cramped space in your brain. And then thoughts just blow into the world, forming shapes made out of smoky clouds, and touch the senses of those who walk through it.
At the end of the day, writing makes me happy. It makes me feel alive.
- Mark Twain
There are times when I don’t want what I’m chasing and times when I want to chase something that isn’t there.
I can easily have a day where all I do is have some beer, listen to my favourite music, sit by the sea side, and end the day with a classic movie. I don’t want to be sitting in office, staring at the comp and deciding how to phrase the sentences in my intro.
There are times when all I want to do is write poetry and read poetry. Not sit down and file a story.
Most often I’m given a topic to write on and I enjoy it. But there are times when I want my mind to let go of constrains and put together something that I chanced upon through my mind’s wandering.
There are so many experiences I want to write about and so many unknown things I want to discover while I write. And I’m aware that I might wake up one day and end up writing a whole book on something that I never dreamt about; or may just get lost in oblivion without writing a single significant line. Yet I spend hours thinking what I should write about.
Writing is not putting down thoughts as such. It is more about the evolution of thoughts into its own words; words that were lingering somewhere in your subconscious but never found their way out in the real world. I think I need to be intoxicated big time to be able to write like a dream and at times I feel that I should probably just open some pages inside me and show them to the world on a Sunday afternoon.
Whenever I talk I feel like I’m at loss of words. Words fall out of my head quite often, and then I end up making no sense by the time I fish them out from the sea of my consciousness. But when I write words just flow. They fall straight out of my head onto paper.
Writing is magical. It creates a figure, out of the smoke that probably came out through your ears, when you were thinking of what to do with the cramped space in your brain. And then thoughts just blow into the world, forming shapes made out of smoky clouds, and touch the senses of those who walk through it.
At the end of the day, writing makes me happy. It makes me feel alive.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The last sip is over
The last sip is over
But the spark’s still burning.
I am living each night.
Twisting and turning
Inside.
The night is about to end
And the day is yet to come.
I’m in transit,
In the middle of some
Dark and light.
The highway is long
And the journey, a mirage.
I disappear in my own sight
Ride on a carriage
To nowhere.
There’s a wild child
Inside of me
Shaking up the stillness
Free
Of its confinement.
Go on,
Don’t stop.
There’s nothing called eternity.
Go on till you drop
Below the ground.
Love is a sweet picture
Of indulgence.
An obsession with shadows
And an emergence
Of self reflections.
Then music lends
A hand to your imagination.
Triggers
Cords of unsolicited ramification
Of a boundless mind.
And you take the last sip
But the spark’s still burning.
And you dive into the night,
Twisting and turning
Inside.
But the spark’s still burning.
I am living each night.
Twisting and turning
Inside.
The night is about to end
And the day is yet to come.
I’m in transit,
In the middle of some
Dark and light.
The highway is long
And the journey, a mirage.
I disappear in my own sight
Ride on a carriage
To nowhere.
There’s a wild child
Inside of me
Shaking up the stillness
Free
Of its confinement.
Go on,
Don’t stop.
There’s nothing called eternity.
Go on till you drop
Below the ground.
Love is a sweet picture
Of indulgence.
An obsession with shadows
And an emergence
Of self reflections.
Then music lends
A hand to your imagination.
Triggers
Cords of unsolicited ramification
Of a boundless mind.
And you take the last sip
But the spark’s still burning.
And you dive into the night,
Twisting and turning
Inside.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
In the pink skies
In the pink skies
I saw you come.
I saw you cry,
I saw you moan,
Elated but shy
Of shrouding clouds
So dark that
None can see
The longing
In my eye.
Tied up in snakes
That name
My love evil
And wrapped
In shreds
Etching out
Just one way
To find what
I’m looking for.
But I’m lost
On a path that leads
To my kind of love.
I say I’m your woman
And you’re my lady.
Your chocolate eyes,
Your dark eye brow,
The waves in your hair,
Make me crawl
Into your arms.
But who can give
My thing a name?
People just find
This love too strange.
I touch you where
Only my breath can go
In there,
On the right side
Of your body,
Your soul.
Every inch of skin
Guides my finger tips,
And I travel
To worlds in you.
And what do they
Call my kind of love?
For I make
My kind of love
Out there,
In the pink skies.
I saw you come.
I saw you cry,
I saw you moan,
Elated but shy
Of shrouding clouds
So dark that
None can see
The longing
In my eye.
Tied up in snakes
That name
My love evil
And wrapped
In shreds
Etching out
Just one way
To find what
I’m looking for.
But I’m lost
On a path that leads
To my kind of love.
I say I’m your woman
And you’re my lady.
Your chocolate eyes,
Your dark eye brow,
The waves in your hair,
Make me crawl
Into your arms.
But who can give
My thing a name?
People just find
This love too strange.
I touch you where
Only my breath can go
In there,
On the right side
Of your body,
Your soul.
Every inch of skin
Guides my finger tips,
And I travel
To worlds in you.
And what do they
Call my kind of love?
For I make
My kind of love
Out there,
In the pink skies.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Follow me when it ends
There is no respite
In bringing you back to life.
It’s over, the fairy tale
Without an end.
There’s always a path
You leave behind
But there’s none coming up ahead.
As all the ways you walk must die
And you follow me when it ends.
There is speed,
And there is sound.
But there is no ground
To come around.
I’ll call you when I kill
My shadows,
And crash into blinding lights.
In bringing you back to life.
It’s over, the fairy tale
Without an end.
There’s always a path
You leave behind
But there’s none coming up ahead.
As all the ways you walk must die
And you follow me when it ends.
There is speed,
And there is sound.
But there is no ground
To come around.
I’ll call you when I kill
My shadows,
And crash into blinding lights.
Monday, September 11, 2006
I undress again
I undress again
But don’t bare myself
To the stranger.
In the yellow cab
Then the silver car,
From the staircase of the old house
To the curtained corner.
Deception is born
From liberty taken
To cage weak freedom.
But the distance is too long
And time passes so slowly,
Tiring virtues that hide away
Under the weight of mistakes
Too often made,
Impossible to erase.
I’ve gone too far too soon.
So I take my shoes off now
And put my feet up on the table.
Now my body longs
For a touch of truth
Worthy of satiating the restless
Needs of my mortal being.
My desires long forsaken,
I stand at the threshold
Of complete surrender.
A devil waiting to lose out
To a sage in disguise.
But don’t bare myself
To the stranger.
In the yellow cab
Then the silver car,
From the staircase of the old house
To the curtained corner.
Deception is born
From liberty taken
To cage weak freedom.
But the distance is too long
And time passes so slowly,
Tiring virtues that hide away
Under the weight of mistakes
Too often made,
Impossible to erase.
I’ve gone too far too soon.
So I take my shoes off now
And put my feet up on the table.
Now my body longs
For a touch of truth
Worthy of satiating the restless
Needs of my mortal being.
My desires long forsaken,
I stand at the threshold
Of complete surrender.
A devil waiting to lose out
To a sage in disguise.
They are all over me
They are all over me.
Biting into every inch of my skin.
Creeping up my eyes and nose.
Giving me no space to breathe.
I lie in their blanket,
Safe.
There are places to go
And dreams to live.
But for now I want to just be
Hiding away in oblivion.
Not running for cover,
Letting the bugs take over.
Biting into every inch of my skin.
Creeping up my eyes and nose.
Giving me no space to breathe.
I lie in their blanket,
Safe.
There are places to go
And dreams to live.
But for now I want to just be
Hiding away in oblivion.
Not running for cover,
Letting the bugs take over.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Hysteria and love…
A dreaded combination! Hysteria and love combine at this one place my friends. Totos! I’m sure all those who were present for ‘The return of Totos’ this Tuesday know exactly what I mean. Even as I write this I’m constantly aware that I’m going to walk into Totos tonight to have yet another frenzied five hours of awesome music and fun. And then again tomorrow, and then several more nights will follow.
(so writing about Totos at this point in time is inevitable)
I hope my pals (I need not name you guys) who have waited desperately in the past few months to let the music sink into them, as they take their seats in the home-like comforts of their regular haunt day after day, are finally feeling fulfilled. But I know you guys will agree to what I’m going to say next. This joy and fulfilment seems to have taken on a new vigour. I feel renewed energy when I step into Totos now. I jump, sing, scream and interact with several people around like crazy. I seem to have lost control.
I value the place more than ever before, have fallen in love with it all over again and have realised that no other pub in the world can take the place of Totos.
The truth though is that this garage pub is what its regular’s make it. People who come here know their music, love their music and sing along like us J How can we live without the regulars. The older lot of MM, Ramu, Faresh (as annoying as he is loves Totos) and the new ones like Shankar Mahadevan and company, Auri’s stalker, Chris Martin, brooding faresh, blue faresh etc etc. What would we do without them? Tell me, tell me.
Totos is a whole world in itself. It is a community of people who love their music and the dimly-lit small stingy smoky garage pub at Pali Naka. Cheers to Totos! Cheers to us! We love Totos and we love us!
(so writing about Totos at this point in time is inevitable)
I hope my pals (I need not name you guys) who have waited desperately in the past few months to let the music sink into them, as they take their seats in the home-like comforts of their regular haunt day after day, are finally feeling fulfilled. But I know you guys will agree to what I’m going to say next. This joy and fulfilment seems to have taken on a new vigour. I feel renewed energy when I step into Totos now. I jump, sing, scream and interact with several people around like crazy. I seem to have lost control.
I value the place more than ever before, have fallen in love with it all over again and have realised that no other pub in the world can take the place of Totos.
The truth though is that this garage pub is what its regular’s make it. People who come here know their music, love their music and sing along like us J How can we live without the regulars. The older lot of MM, Ramu, Faresh (as annoying as he is loves Totos) and the new ones like Shankar Mahadevan and company, Auri’s stalker, Chris Martin, brooding faresh, blue faresh etc etc. What would we do without them? Tell me, tell me.
Totos is a whole world in itself. It is a community of people who love their music and the dimly-lit small stingy smoky garage pub at Pali Naka. Cheers to Totos! Cheers to us! We love Totos and we love us!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Sleeping woes
Sleeping has become a task in the past few weeks. While sometimes I fall asleep with a smile on my face, most times fear plays games with me from the dark of my room. I lie down on the same old bed spread on the floor, night after night after night, wondering about things that make no sense. It's not a disorder, it's just a reflection of overwhelming emotions.
Most of the times I feel good about the way my day has gone but I feel sort of empty when I stare at the ceiling and watch the fan spin around itself. I see dreams that disturb me, others that I feel ashamed of and still others that stir the peace of my mind. There are skeletons in my closet. There are demons in my thoughts. My happy mind is clouded by my own flaws and discomfiture. I miss people whose touch makes a whole world of a difference to my state of mind. I miss you and I know I can never see you again. I miss you too and I’m waiting to see you. And I also miss you even though I see you all the time. But I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m missing the faith and the joy of self comforting more than anything else.
I laugh and I cry to let go of the emotional barrenness. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to be right or wrong. I just want to be. Life is just crawling and I’m just allowing it to. I hope to bring some meaning to the act of sleeping and the act of waking up next morning with reasons to spread smiles.
Most of the times I feel good about the way my day has gone but I feel sort of empty when I stare at the ceiling and watch the fan spin around itself. I see dreams that disturb me, others that I feel ashamed of and still others that stir the peace of my mind. There are skeletons in my closet. There are demons in my thoughts. My happy mind is clouded by my own flaws and discomfiture. I miss people whose touch makes a whole world of a difference to my state of mind. I miss you and I know I can never see you again. I miss you too and I’m waiting to see you. And I also miss you even though I see you all the time. But I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m missing the faith and the joy of self comforting more than anything else.
I laugh and I cry to let go of the emotional barrenness. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to be right or wrong. I just want to be. Life is just crawling and I’m just allowing it to. I hope to bring some meaning to the act of sleeping and the act of waking up next morning with reasons to spread smiles.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
A...
bike trip to Kerela.
A journey to East India.
A walk through the old lanes of Kolkota.
Sit in Shillong’s café’s with someone playing country music in the background.
Camel rides in the deserts of Rajasthan.
A book to read in the winter of Dalhousie.
Staring at the vast expanse in Ladakh.
Trekking up to Kasubai peak with a group of friends.
Paragliding, skiing, surfing.
Driving through the roads leading to some faraway village.
Looking for animals in the forests of Madhya Pradesh.
Taking a flight.
Feeling snow on the skin.
I yearn to travel because it makes me free.
A journey to East India.
A walk through the old lanes of Kolkota.
Sit in Shillong’s café’s with someone playing country music in the background.
Camel rides in the deserts of Rajasthan.
A book to read in the winter of Dalhousie.
Staring at the vast expanse in Ladakh.
Trekking up to Kasubai peak with a group of friends.
Paragliding, skiing, surfing.
Driving through the roads leading to some faraway village.
Looking for animals in the forests of Madhya Pradesh.
Taking a flight.
Feeling snow on the skin.
I yearn to travel because it makes me free.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Mowing
They were mowing the lawns. Cutting blades of grass and getting them into shape.
This is how they condition us. Trim us to the ways of the society. Make us look the way the world would find us good and presentable. Why don’t they let us grow wild? Just shape up the way we want to. Why do we care about how we are supposed to be and be responsible for what the men think of us? Being held accountable for someone else’s morality is unfair. Harassment in form of touching, passing remarks or abusing by someone whose mind is perverted is not my responsibility. Then why are conditioned to be shameful of being objectified by men? Don’t men feel ashamed when they harass someone?
Or they feel proud because it’s such a man thing to do? I went through Pukar’s gender and space study last week and it spread out a number of questions in front of me. Space that you live in makes a whole difference to the feeling of security in ones mind. We feel more comfortable in a well-lit room than in a dark area. We feel comfortable when there are more women around us. We feel more comfortable when we are on familiar stations. Women feel safer when the infrastructure and the make of the city are designed to suit them.
When the streets and stations are well lit, the shops are open and there is movement on the road we tend to feel safer. This is something that Mumbai does offer its women. It is always alive making movement more comfortable for the girls. So is this the reason why women tend to feel safer in Mumbai? Not the only reason. Like Sociologist Shilap Phadke says, “It’s all in the mind.” Women with the right attitude, can force changes in spaces around them. We need to ask for security measures, better lighting and should be prepared to stand up for ourselves.
A city that shuts down at 11.30 in the night is a sign of failure to maintain law and order by the administration. Bangalore cannot boast of being a safe city because it does not allow freedom and does not take the responsibility of offering security to its citizens after a stipulated time in the night.
I believe that the Mumbai infrastructure makes women feel safer and I also believe that women in Mumbai have impacted the safety levels of the city with their work culture, traveling late nights and moving about freely.
This is how they condition us. Trim us to the ways of the society. Make us look the way the world would find us good and presentable. Why don’t they let us grow wild? Just shape up the way we want to. Why do we care about how we are supposed to be and be responsible for what the men think of us? Being held accountable for someone else’s morality is unfair. Harassment in form of touching, passing remarks or abusing by someone whose mind is perverted is not my responsibility. Then why are conditioned to be shameful of being objectified by men? Don’t men feel ashamed when they harass someone?
Or they feel proud because it’s such a man thing to do? I went through Pukar’s gender and space study last week and it spread out a number of questions in front of me. Space that you live in makes a whole difference to the feeling of security in ones mind. We feel more comfortable in a well-lit room than in a dark area. We feel comfortable when there are more women around us. We feel more comfortable when we are on familiar stations. Women feel safer when the infrastructure and the make of the city are designed to suit them.
When the streets and stations are well lit, the shops are open and there is movement on the road we tend to feel safer. This is something that Mumbai does offer its women. It is always alive making movement more comfortable for the girls. So is this the reason why women tend to feel safer in Mumbai? Not the only reason. Like Sociologist Shilap Phadke says, “It’s all in the mind.” Women with the right attitude, can force changes in spaces around them. We need to ask for security measures, better lighting and should be prepared to stand up for ourselves.
A city that shuts down at 11.30 in the night is a sign of failure to maintain law and order by the administration. Bangalore cannot boast of being a safe city because it does not allow freedom and does not take the responsibility of offering security to its citizens after a stipulated time in the night.
I believe that the Mumbai infrastructure makes women feel safer and I also believe that women in Mumbai have impacted the safety levels of the city with their work culture, traveling late nights and moving about freely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)