Author Archives: Geetanjali

About Geetanjali

21. Bangalorean. Foodie. Bookworm. Post-It collector. Rahul Dravid admirer. Writer by day, writer by night!

Flames

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Duo

Originally uploaded by geetanjalic

Never forget that you have to keep the flames burning. Whether of anger or of love or both.

I didn’t think it was easy to pack passion (for anything) away into a little part of my heart and let it remain there. I forgot that it defines me, drives me – cornily, makes me feel like an Arien. I didn’t think it was so easy for me to slip into all these roles where passion, anger, surges of hot emotion have no place. Where I have to think, weigh, calculate without losing my cool, without melting.

Where I should talk instead of scream (which is what I really want to do), where I have to ask instead of accuse (so easy, so gratifying), where I have to stay balanced and basically remember that ”I’m a teenager, it’s my birthright to lose control” doesn’t work anymore.

Because, even if this is who I am meant to be, passionless-and-flameless, I believe John Mayer when he wisely says ”Who says I can’t take time?”

Neu

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Sitting in my new room at the new place. Still a couple of days before we move, and the smell of “new house” is giving me a headache ( or maybe its all the episodes of Castle I’ve been watching today). It’s quiet here, I can hear crickets – strange sounds for a city girl, I tell you.

Mixed feelings, but still, feelings. More later.

Out loud

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Now that I think about it, somewhere along the way I have stopped dreaming things for myself. Practicality (I think) seems to seep in far too early before anything is able to set and my subconscious empties the contents of half-formed wishes into the drain before I can even take proper notice of them.

This is not a good thing, I have aspirations, but they are real. Achievable and safe, not wild and daring as they probably should be at my age. When I was younger, at least I wanted to get into the stormy turbulent life of a “writer” but I don’t even say that anymore when I have to seriously consider where my life is going.

Glee/RCB

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Today, I sit here and tell myself I will write. About what I don’t know, but you’re here already reading this so I might as well say something.

I’ve been watching Glee lately, and I love it. It seems plastic and superficial at first, you know high-school-drama (sigh) and cool kids and not-so-cool kids and teacher crushes and same-age-boy crushes. But then all these characters sing amazingly, fantastically, mind-blowingly well AND none of them are clear cut black and white (I kind of have a weakness for those kinds).

Also this week, I re-discovered my love for a certain RCB batsman. Well not re-discovered, it had just kind of subsided into a little corner that I visited occasionally when I saw his name in the papers or on television. But then I got to watch him play live against KKR at Chinnaswamy Stadium on Saturday, and there he was in the flesh – running, smiling, hitting gorgeous 4′s and 6′s. There is beauty in the world again.

I start my advertising internship tomorrow. Let’s see how that goes.

Negative Me

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It’s been a while like I felt like this. Filled with negative energy, I might say.

Usually this is the point where I burst into an angst filled poem that never manages to be read by the intended recipient. I can’t very well go up to someone and say here, I wrote you this and proceed to watch as their face contorts into a question mark, can I? What would YOU do if some crazy girl wrote a hate poem about you huh? And no, it is NOT flattering/romantic/cute.

I remember once not-so-long-ago a freaky-yet-potentionally-harmless-boy told me that he named a character after me in his story. I didn’t wait to find out what “she” was like, or what happened to “her”. I kind of.. fled. The fact is, it’s disturbing to think about the way someone else sees you.

But it’s more disturbing to see yourself as you, right?  Who is you, anyway? Isn’t that frightening? Are you the girl who listens to a certain type of music? (I’ve got Spice Girls’ “Viva Forever” playing right now, don’t judge me!) Or are you the girl who treats herself to the glass of ice tea from the stall near the college gate everyday? But all these conceptions of “me-ness” are mine, they aren’t yours. This one little trait you actually might find adorable, but then unless I reveal it to you, you’d never know and your entire perception of “me-ness” and your subsequent judgment (I know, Spice Girls, I know) might rest on this little missing piece of “me-ness” that you haven’t encountered.

And then your way of seeing ME is totally not fair.

The office fantasy

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Somehow, the past couple of months have gotten me so “consumed” by “the system” that I’m really wondering if the whole creative-person-who-can-write thing was a really long phase, and maybe I’m really meant to be one of those people who sits behind a desk and stays there for long periods of time.

But then I would be one of those people with a desk filled with stacks of post-it’s. The pen stands (yes, for there will be many) will be full of highlighters of every conceivable colour, correction pens that actually DO WORK (as opposed to the ones that give up half through when you’re trying to obliterate the word ‘orgasm’ when you really meant to write ‘organism’), and gel pens (gel, not ball point or fountain although I’d love to use a fountain pen except I write super fast and you know, that’s not conducive. A fountain pen must never be abused like that) in red, green and black. Not blue, I hate blue pens for some strange reason. Black seems more classy, don’t you think? And oh, my desk would probably be wooden since I don’t see myself sitting behind a cold, character-less metal one.

That wouldn’t do at all.

I love that I do not take things lightly

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An excerpt from Eve Ensler’s book “I Am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World”. Thank you Gaurav for making me listen to this!

I love being a girl.
I can feel what you’re feeling
as you’re feeling it inside
the feeling
before.
I am an emotional creature.
Things do not come to me
as intellectual theories or hard-shaped ideas.
They pulse through my organs and legs
and burn up my ears.
I know when your girlfriend’s really pissed off
even though she appears to give you what
you want.
I know when a storm is coming.
I can feel the invisible stirrings in the air.
I can tell you he won’t call back.
It’s a vibe I share.

I am an emotional creature.
I love that I do not take things lightly.
Everything is intense to me.
The way I walk in the street.
The way my mother wakes me up.
The way I hear bad news.
The way it’s unbearable when I lose.

I am an emotional creature.
I am connected to everything and everyone.
I was born like that.
Don’t you dare say all negative that it’s a
teenage thing
or it’s only only because I’m a girl.
These feelings make me better.
They make me ready.
They make me present.
They make me strong.

I am an emotional creature.
There is a particular way of knowing.
It’s like the older women somehow forgot.
I rejoice that it’s still in my body.

I know when the coconut’s about to fall.
I know that we’ve pushed the earth too far.
I know my father isn’t coming back.
That no one’s prepared for the fire.
I know that lipstick means
more than show.
I know that boys feel super-insecure
and so-called terrorists are made, not born.
I know that one kiss can take
away all my decision-making ability
and sometimes, you know, it should.

This is not extreme.
It’s a girl thing.
What we would all be
if the big door inside us flew open.
Don’t tell me not to cry.
To calm it down
Not to be so extreme
To be reasonable.
I am an emotional creature.
It’s how the earth got made.
How the wind continues to pollinate.
You don’t tell the Atlantic ocean
to behave.

I am an emotional creature.
Why would you want to shut me down
or turn me off?
I am your remaining memory.
I am connecting you to your source.
Nothing’s been diluted.
Nothing’s leaked out.
I can take you back.

I love that I can feel the inside
of the feelings in you,
even if it stops my life
even if it hurts too much
or takes me off track
even if it breaks my heart.
It makes me responsible.
I am an emotional
I am an emotional, devotional,
incandotional, creature.
And I love, hear me,
love love love
being a girl.

Hello World

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Dear Blog,

I haven’t missed you, although I’d love to say that I thought about you everyday.

The start to 2010 was totally kick ass, if I may say so. I went to Mangalore, attended the most romantic + fun wedding EVER, and generally had the time of my life. Also, I got to wear a pretty purple dress, which of course is a highlight!

Then, I came home to a brand new shiny silver 8 GB iPod 5G Nano which I have christened Zora. She now finds a permanent place in my pocket. I have discovered that life is so much more fun when it’s got its own soundtrack. Plus, I get to NOT hear all the sooperdooper kannada hits some men seem to think is ”flattering” to sing when a girl walks past them on the road.

All this has managed to distract me from the fact that I turn *shudder* thatdreadedage this year.

I also know that this is a bit random, but some teachers just KILL my love for poetry with their ‘listen-to-me-I-am-going-to-tell-you-the-meaning-of-this-poem’ attitude. Poetry needs to be discovered, woman. It’s not fair that you get to THRUST your ‘understanding’ of it on anybody just because you want to feel like you deserve that pay cheque at the end of the month.