Category Archives: Life

UGH.

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Hate and disgust are feelings that seems to be invading everything, including myself. I look at the images on my television, and I literally want to throw up. What on earth is going on?

That poor city is still burning, is still sore. Step up and take responsibility, you cowards. We sit here and discuss the political situation in the US, cheer with the rest of the world when we see a change being elected in another country. Why can’t I feel the same way about my government, about my leaders? Why is that when I think of the Indian Government, I think of uncouth, selfish, corrupt old men?

The world is waiting for answers. The country is waiting for answers. We are waiting for answers.

The boy with the gun.

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He’s eighteen. That boy with the gun. He has a name, I know, but that would just make him human and I can’t call him human.

You know, I’ve tried to think like him these past few days. Imagined myself as the boy in the black t-shirt with the blue bag, a gun in my hand, a heroic swagger in my walk, and intense burning hatred in my eyes. He’s all over the place, in every newspaper, in every tv grab, inside everybody’s mind. One article I read even called him “handsome”. I imagine him walking around, laughing, yelling out jovially to his “comrades” as they spray bullets into flesh. I imagine the feeling of strength and power that overcomes him as he watches people run, and then fall to the ground. But that is all I can do. I can only imagine.

I will never be him. I am eighteen too, I have the same youth and intensity, but I will never be him.

It frightens me, yet is fascinates me at the same time how much hatred one would have to have to walk in and kill everyone you see. Everything you see. What is it, this force that drives you to do that? I want to ask him. What does he hate so much, and why?

Don’t think about it, I’ve been told. Don’t think about him.

But I can’t. And I won’t be able to forget him for a long time.

BooksBeatlesBlah

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I’m listening to “If I Fell” by The Beatles on repeat. This song is fast replacing “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” as my all-time favorite Beatles song. And you know interestingly, I heard somewhere that “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” was written for Patti Boyd, Harrison’s first wife. Another great who I share my birthday with played lead guitar on the album version of the song, and also wrote “Layla” for the same woman! And the acoustic version of “Layla” is currently my ringtone.

Yes, I love complicated connections :)

I’m reading lots of chic lit, as usual. Ranging from Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre ( for college – and ok so it’s not exactly chic lit heh) to Advaitha Kala’s Almost Single (hated it), and right now Sophie Kinsella’s “Shopaholic Takes Manhattan”. I’m desperately looking for this book called “Marrying Anita”  by Anita Jain that I’ve been hearing good reviews about, but I’ve looked everywhere and simply can’t find it.

Nothing seems to live up to Zoya :(

I need to invest in a decent bookshelf.

Oh and did quite ok in my first semester examination, and earned a bit of cash so I’m pretty proud of myself.

The ink

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I found an inkpen, so I went out and bought  bottle of ink for twelve rupees. I came home and spent an hour trying to fill the thing, as it’s “suction mechanism” refused to function. Finally, I succeeded. The floor has battle scars, though. And so did my hands.

And so I write, with my ink pen. It’s not pretty, but still oddly satisfying. I write in a pretty blue book I bought, about nothing and everything. I scribble and doodle and shudder to read what I have written, but still I write.

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And now the loops are reminiscing
Recurring dreams of minor chords
Metered time
Muted chimes find the beat
-Maria Taylor “Song Beneath the Song”

It feels like I can breathe again.

It might be the rain, or the fact that I’m lying on my bed listening to it. Or just that I have nowhere to be except here right now. I have nobody to be with right at this moment but myself.

There are times when I long for moments like these. When the light, and the pace of everything is right, is blended into now. When the words flow easily. When I have time to think what I am thinking, and to think about thinking about something else, just because I can.

I can fall asleep now, if I want to. Or lie wide awake, just the same.

It’s the middle of the week, I’m in love, and it’s raining.

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The air is heavy.
Hoarse, and grating,
You flinch at my every breath.
But still you bear the wheezing.

Rancid, and yellow.
You’re waiting for the bitter aftertaste
You are the damsel’s saving grace,
While I will remain the one the shoe will never fit.

Pick me up and twirl me
Did you, will you, can you?
Dust settles on the dolls
The tea in their cups went cold
While we waited for you.

Flashes, a tree, a pink kitchen
Lights blinking, and I smile
The golden fruit, but I am
The rotten, brown spot
That sours, day by day.

One of my (revealable) deepest, darkest fears

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I miss how easily words seemed to come to me. Lately, I keep thinking about my “first poems”, which used to be about Puppies, Kittens, Dogs and Cats. Through ages 6.5 -10 I think I was very cleverly hinting at what I wanted for Christmas! My parents were a bit slow on the uptake though, I only got my pets in 2001 :)

Creativity is so hard to sustain. Writing on demand is virtually impossible.

I fear my future.

Although there are various possibilities that have been very expertly outlined and debated ( where words such as “rich” and “husband” were thrown up – get the gist?) there are slight reservations. Slight.

So basically right now I fear that I am going to end up a struggling writer with no access to Facebook and no money to go to KFC, living in a poky one-bedroom flat with several cats who are my only source of company.

Bah.

Otherwise life is good ya.

Maybe another time?

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“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.” – Douglas Adams

So am I happy where I am ?

I think I always will be. It irritates me to no end when I hear about people who got into one college, paid for the seat and even attended a few classes and then decide “I don’t like it” and then leave. Are you even thinking about the numerous people who were in line for the same seat, and the chance you denied them?

College has taken me away from so many things. People, places, routines. Sometimes my phone rings, and I know it’s another “hiii how are you? how’s college? hows the boyfriend? ok so we’re all meeting at x at 9pm so be there ok? byeee” call and I think to myself – do I really want to meet these people? I remember all the times I begged and cried for permission to go to one of these “social” events where everybody dressed far older than their actual age, and then everybody was starving but nobody said a word because it was soo cool to eat at like 11 30 pm after getting “drunk” on a Breezer. And then, after to going to a few of these, I would pretend like I had a great time when actually I was still starving( because of course, I had to leave before dinner was served since I had a curfew) , and my feet hurt like crazy.

I know it’s changed by now. Dinner probably isn’t served at all, and the alcohol has gotten stronger. And don’t get me wrong – I love to listen to all the after party stories of how x got so drunk she puked all over y, and how z caught her boyfriend a making out with b, and dear god what WAS d wearing!? I have the post-party Facebook pictures for that :)

There might come a time when I enjoy the party scene, who knows. But right now, it’s kind of a regressive situation! Right now, my idea of a good time involves GOOD FOOD, people actually eating the good food, and actually genuinely having a conversation with a friend that doesn’t involve the furious scrutinizing of what the other person is wearing while trying to plaster an obviously fake smile on your face while you say – “ooh my god I’ve missed you soooooooooooooo much!”