Cluttered thoughts

As the first year draws to a close…random thoughts clutter my brain….

Everyone says the first year is the toughest. In my case it hasn’t been as bad as some made it sound.

There have been changes galore…where do I start? The first and final rule of the entire relationship apart from the rules we set each other remains neither family shall feel ignored or left out! So lets begin….

Its no longer just the two of us…you realize that the day you decide you want to settle down, but the enormity of it hits you when each decision you make becomes a point of conversation and discussion with everyone in the immediate family (extended excluded if you have been smart enough to put them in their respective places immediately after the ceremony!).
Now vacations mean family visits, and to top it all, exactly divided ones between both houses. No one should feel left out!
Phone calls are no longer based on your prerogative or emotional need…they are to be weekly and in both directions.
At family gatherings language has to be extremely polite if not formal…four letter words should not feature even by mistake
Gifts have to be bought keeping in mind both families
Family will drop in when least expected and there’s not much you can do about it. Which also means screwed sleep cycles and being at your best and no bickering come what may.
It means putting up with extended family the two of you have gone to lengths to avoid…simply because the “close” family believes you should never alienate anyone related to you
No finding fault with family even if they are wrong. You will end up a sore loser.
Early on decide which festivals will be spent with whom so neither gets impacted
Don’t let any “well-meaning” criticism or advice get your goat. It is always meant in good humour and for your well-being.
Never make a face coz then it is used against you at a later stage and they think you are making the other person suffer with your anger.
Try and make an ally on the other side of the fence early on, you will need someone to fight your case at some point, sooner than you know it.
Learn to memorize birthdays and any other event which might matter to one and all
Portray yourself as much more gullible and simple than you really are and earn some brownie points. Will help in the long run.
If a fight is getting out of hand and there is a possibility it might make news in family circles, immediately get someone on your side before the other person makes it public. The first comer is always more innocent in the long run.

Okie there are many more. But this is now making me think …and real hard too. So lemme stop before I get scary thoughts.


Oh and while I am on this topic….I found this really interesting list of things that you “will find in a happy couple”. And guess what I failed only on one account…Very good did I hear someone say? I am patting myself on my unreachable back!
Here is the list in case you need to refer….

They Go to Bed At the Same Time - That's right, they go to bed together. Whether they want to make love, snuggle up and talk or just feel the closeness of each other as they fall asleep, they go to bed together and one partner may get back up after the other has gone to sleep, but they give each other the comfort of being together whenever they are going to sleep
They Develop Shared Interests - Whether they shared these interests before they got married or discovered them after, happy couples enjoy spending time together so much that they work together to find things to do together
They Hold hands - Whether they are in the car, walking in a store or walking in the park - they hold hands and walk side by side, because it's important for them to be together in whatever they are doing
Accentuate the Positive - Happy couples focus more on the positive aspects of each other more than the negative - it's not about the few things they do wrong, but all the things they do right
Forgiveness and Trust are the Rule - If an argument can't be solved or resolved, the happy couple chooses trust and forgiveness over the alternatives
Hugs & Kisses are what happens when the happy couple sees each other after any absence whether it's 1 hour or 1 day
I Love You's are not perfunctory, they are vital for the happy couple to be said and to be heard every morning, every afternoon and every evening
Saying good morning and good night is important because it acknowledges a happy couples partnership and their commitment to each other because they don't let the little or the big things slide
Happy couples reach out to each other all day long whether it's a quick two minute phone call or instant messages where they can keep their fingers on the pulse of the relationship
Happy couples take pride in each other, they are proud to be seen together, they are proud of their achievements and they are proud to just be together

Dali on my walls!

One of my favourites. At one point the mere fascination with it, propelled me to get a colour printout of the same from an advertiser friend and put it up on my wall…till it tore into a million fragments. All the same I still have it preserved in some corner of my attic.

Would I Look Like Gertrude Stein In Another 20 Years?

Cinderella Man?

My friend’s call today caught me off balance…. what she told me seemed like a movie…a nightmare I have wanted to avoid at any cost…. do I want to tell It all…. In such a public forum? I guess what I need is re-assurance that these are random isolated incidents that wont happen to me…. she is hurt and confused. And honestly for once I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know how to save her from heartache. I don’t like to see her like this…in a shriveled state. But hell…wish I could help out.

I tell her story…. it rings true even as I write…and I hate that man for what he’s done to the one woman who I watched over like a hawk all through my teens…. she has been an asset, my soul mate…he hurt her…he let her down. I don’t know what I want to tell him! Do I even want to associate with him?

“Blackened hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked to my little corner, trying to shut out the cruel laughs that refused to die down.

Had my trust been betrayed? Had I been taken for a ride? Had he despite my repeated admonitions and warnings gone ahead and played truant? Had I lost my reason to live? Had I lost my only source of comfort? Or had I lost all?

Shivering legs prevented me from taking my seat…. They were talking about this new person in his surroundings…why hadn’t he mentioned her to me? Why this stoic silence? Even when I ask? And then in retort he accuses me of things I haven’t dreamt of. Why? Is there something he wants hidden under the dirt? Something he is trying hard to abstain from? Something he has done but can’t explain…nor accept. Something that makes him guilty… Something he should never have even considered even when sloshed out of his wits….

Something in me died today.... It was like... I don’t know how to explain...for one moment it seemed like the ground underneath me had moved and my balance was toppled and I was falling into an abyss.... like I had been slapped.... like someone had thrown hot water on my face...like I was not alive and I could stand and hear people talking ill of me in front of my illusion.... like I was not wanted anymore.... like there was this bitch who was trying to creep in….And you almost let her....

God it worries me no end…and now I hurt for the accusations refuse to wash off despite my best efforts…I want this to go away. I want that bitch out of our lives. I don’t want you to share even a breath with her…I don’t want you to touch the machine that might touch her as she walks past….I wish like those loony women I could stick pins into a doll and she would cry in agony and fry in the fires of hell….I pray a car hits her and mashes her to jam as she crosses the road…I wish someone would rape her….I wish she would come under a truck and her head were severed…. I want her dead…. now….”

So do I honey…I shouted into the phone…she was crying….I guess I need to call her. It’s been an hour since we spoke. I need to save her from some stupidity. Moments when I wonder if it weren’t better to be alone in this world?

He came alive!

I had been watching him from my window for the last 4 days. He sat still… watching the traffic go by…smoking…. scratching the wild patch atop his head for any alien growth…. stroking his beard, whistling, smiling to himself. And suddenly today his world seemed to have jumped right out of his head onto the street. Cats…they seemed to make him come alive.

The transformation was breath-taking. He seemed for once like another of my species. He suddenly had a family to fend for. He scrambled about looking for a piece of cloth to make the trio sleep on. Those miniature versions of the feline family seemed to have awakened something in him that not even a street beauty had.

Its amazing to watch a man struggle to keep alive something he loves. the strength he derives from that single passion makes his eyes burn like nothing else has…he will join heaven and earth if a shadow were thrown across those he would give his life for. God forbid somebody takes that away from him.....

Sanity's end?

Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy. Aristotle

I have begun to enjoy my angry, vociferous phases. It’s eerie and almost disturbing. They are gradually replacing those moments of laughter…of happiness at being one with another…of having a life to enjoy…of wanting something more than mediocrity in my life…searching for fame….of silent love…of belonging…of being the center of someone’s private universe….of madness….of debilitation sadness….of sheer warmth and mushiness…of absolute joy….of fear….

The end of sanity is catching up with me…and there seems to be nothing I can do to turn back….


To what crime do I pay this price…my mom quips that its my crimes from my past life that are playing catch and making my living life a hell…she might just be true…if this one is even a shade of what I might have been then I doomed to ignominy…

Only question remains…how fast will it devour me?

BIGG BOSS!

Seething anger and disgust…. what I feel is compounded every time I set eyes on him. The man is dumb to say the least…I was initially tolerant given his background. But now it makes me wild…and unforgiving.

There is this urge to punch his nose in…. each time he gets off his chair, I cringe in fear…please make him walk to the other end…not realize that I am free and may listen to what he has to say….

Till date I have been polite and subservient given my newcomer status…but soon it will not matter anymore. I will play deaf till I can bear no more…then the anger, the disgust, the pain will all pour forth…and he wont know which way to look.

I merely hope it won’t be too soon…for both our sakes!

Killing Time!

The last few hours have been maddeningly irritating. Everyone pretending to decipher the budget all by himself or herself. I have been pushed into a corner…to observe and understand the intricacies of unraveling the budget…. gosh it makes me laugh…. the last few years working in TV stations dumbing down the budget for the lay person to understand…and now these paper guys trying to teach me a lesson or two about reading between the lines of the budget.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be more meaningful if I had undergone a lobotomy before joining the print medium. Many a time the pace and the silliness of those surrounding me has made me gasp and wonder…. if I shouldn’t be doing something completely different. There are a few diamonds…whose shine is diminished by the much surrounding them. But who the hell cares…in all walks the story is similar.

For me right now, the one nagging worry is how long I will survive this tomfoolery. I have finally found my niche…but then again not in “the” place of choice…but I am not going to complain….
I am rambling on meaninglessly to be precise…but the attempt is to look busy and occupied while my boss looks for one more soul to contribute to the already over-loaded budget coverage….so I shall sulk and pretend to be engaged completely. And fill up pages with absolute nonsense. But hey, nobody seems to be complaining.

MISUNDERSTOOD

Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding. Diane Arbus

Obsessed with finding an outlet for my feelings, I completely forgot that man, who loved me and cared for me unconditionally and for life.

He felt wronged…responsible for all my misgivings…. my pain…. my raving and ranting…. he was hurt…. upset beyond relief….

Blinded by rage and misery, I had shut myself off from the surrounding universe… which breathed with me, which sheltered me…felt the urge to care for me….

But the point being…my dialogues with myself were never meant to hurt…or accuse…. or demean…or put down…or insult…or deprive anyone…. I was talking to myself…my asides are merely that…they are meant to be taken and understood in exactly that format…any other meaning imposed on them can make them harmful and hurtful for everyone else, but me!

So read me…. don’t absorb me like a sponge and cry in pain. I talk out loud to myself…to my consciousness…to my invisible breathing twin…so don’t let me affect you or spoil your sleep…let me be!

All by choice! MY Choice!

My raving and ranting aside, my life has been purely driven by personal choice...at the crucial junctures at least....

I would not have it otherwise...except if I could undo some of those thrashings I was subject to and some of the physical and mental pain...and the monetary setbacks.....despite all that I am in some parts extremely happy and in some parts not so at all....

I don't blame a damn soul for my misgivings....

I got married by choice....I love him, but I can't deal with domestic responsibilities.....

We moved here based on mutual consent of sorts....I love the fact that I finally can do something I always wanted and even get to see my name in print...but I HATE BANGALORE...the elusive maids & cooks...the exorbitant cost of living and the lack of familiarity....and the proximity to home.....

My husband loves me unconditionally....its wonderful....but I can't deal with the weight gain as a consequences of PCOS and the ugliness it brings along with!

There is a silver lining in it all....if only I could live my life by them and intelligently avoid all the potholes of daily living....I will then be the happiest soul this side of the Atlantic!

But alas...life is a BITCH!

How Do I?

The revelations are scary. I deluded myself into domestication. Now I don’t know if I really wanted all this baggage that came along. With each passing day the muck sticks on a little harder and the more I scrub the more skin I expose to pain. I wonder if I should have listened to more enlightened souls when they yelled themselves hoarse that what I was embarking on was for the sane and the stable. I was neither and yet I figured maybe the constant exposure to these might convert me.

I am way far from conversion and from enjoying the ride. So then what shall I do?

How do I deal with these flashes of wanting to bail out? How do I replace them with fragments of sanity? How do I deal with other “weighty issues”? And convince myself that mere stress is leading me to do things that are merely screwing up my health some more? How do I replace prolonged periods of sadness with minutes of joy that last in the memory to cheer for a lifetime? How do I deal with failure?

How do I deal with the tears? How do I deal with the false laughter? How do I deal with the silly companionship promises? How do I deal with the lack of warmth? How do I deal with the brimming anger that scares even me every time it surfaces? How do I deal with the madness? How do I deal with the insomnia? How do I deal with the fatigue? How do I deal with the hunger?

How do I deal with the lack of intelligence? How do I deal with ugliness? How do I deal with constant bickering with family? How do I deal with those who let me down? How do I deal with those who understood? How do I deal with those who turned their backs on me? How do I deal with who voluntarily harmed me and then left me exposed? How do I deal with ever tempting death and freedom? Why should I deal with life?

I am Tired.

I wonder if I shouldn’t run away from this sham.

I am tired of adjustments, of sacrifices, of pretending all’s well.

I am tired of the routine that life is.

I am tired of the responsibilities.

I am tired of being me.

I need change.

Some rest.

Some solitude.

Domestic Woes!

The drudgery is getting to me. I never envisioned becoming dependent on something as insignificant as domestic help.

Today my movements and social life are dictated by her moods. My timings and needs have to suit her lifestyle…or else I’m forced to lead a life of dirt and stench!

She sits in her little hut conniving how to vex me after a long and dull day at work…and while I dream about putting my legs up and enjoying a few nibbles while watching TV, she glares at me and staunchly refuses to come and complete the daily chores because I am ten seconds late!

The foolishness of being part of the population of this town is being overly and emotionally dependent on these silly yet stylish women who dictate our lives as if their fathers had paid for our upkeep! They nag us to death over acquiring material things that will make their lives more comfortable and livable, while we slog in our respective offices trying to make ends meet in this city where everything by sheer snob value costs more than a diamond tiara!

I hate her with all my heart and with each passing day imagine the sheer pleasure throwing some hot water down her neck will cause me…even as I go and cringe at her gate, throwing all caution to the wind pleading with her to please come and scrub my floor even though big dirty black spots will glare back at me the minute she steps aside…yet my need blinds me every passing day….

I need this woman to come and do those dirty menial jobs like I need no other in this world.

And I detest myself for having sunk so low. Yet isn’t this the essence of existence?

Such ignominy we’ve been reduced to!

Consistency evades me unlike her!

Lady Lazarus by Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God,
Herr Lucifer
Beware Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Let ME Be!

Fate has a funny method of making things and consequences run around in circles. I have at most points in my life, paid my prices at very regular intervals for any crimes I have committed till date. There has never been one incident, for which punishment hasn’t been exacted from me immediately, making me want to drown myself in the fires of hell.

But as I sit through the images of my life, as I recount my flaws, my narrow escapes from perpetual ignominy and my countless blessings, I wonder if some around me have gotten away with bigger and larger than life crimes.

If yes, when is judgment day for them? Why have I been forced to paying the price in extremely traditional and painful fashion within months of the lapse of the crime? Why have I borne the pain with forced smiles and while hollering into the night? Why have I survived with scars, but those mistakes refuse to subside and die away? Why oh why do some of the ghosts still haunt me even as I have cleansed myself and attempted at a life more meaningful and worthwhile? What has been the permanent and un-fixable error in me?

Why haven’t I been let off the hook till date? I want to lay my ghosts to rest. Let sleeping dogs lie, even as I swirl in the happiness of my present.

Please.

I deserve it all!

The confusion is driving me insane. One would have thought that merely thinking would not make events occur. Apparently not in my case....some of dreams are playing themselves out...in an extremely eerie fashion....its spooking me to say the least...but the realisation happened only now.

I am caught between the desire to stop imagining silly things and wanting to see them happen, even if its only in the distant future.

Someone asked me if I had ever attempted to annihilate myself. I wanted to say a host of things...but cat got the tongue at the appropriate moment. It ain't a worthless mission at all...frankly there have been numerous moments when I wanted to fly away and be free limp and free like a piece of cotton wool being swept away by the strong gust of wind just before a downpour, when the sand and the trees smell heavenly, when the dust sits in your eyes making tears tumble down without any reason, when every breathe you take feels muddy and suffocating and as if the flu were setting on, when the coffee suddenly turns cold and you are too lazy to walk across to pour yourself another cup, when the packet of chips in that woman's hand seems so delectable you are willing to extend a hand of friendship to that otherwise loud behenji, when all you want to do is cuddle in front of the fire inside your quilt with enough to eat and drink and the TV roaring and your teddy bear tucked in beside you....

I want so many things from life...but all my fantasies seem to play truant the minute I sit down to conjure up a moment of pleasure....

Its funny how, when you are down in the dumps and a stranger smiles at you, you say a silent prayer expecting hell to come down on him with all its fury, for the simple reason that he has what you assume has passed you by....it happened to me, yet again while I was walking past the canteen....and what was her crime...she was thin!

I am being eaten from inside...how much more time do I have to make things fall into place? I don't know. It worries me no end...

I want so many truths to be laid bare...to make amends with my past...to relive those golden moments guiltless...I want to be loved so hard and so deep.....I want so much more...from everybody, all things alive....

But all they do is stare back blankly.

Stop.

I deserve to be happy.

I deserve joy.

I deserve love.

I deserve a life.

I deserve everything.

I write for you, My Love...

The light ebbed away
I shuddered in the nook of his arm
The chirping outside was eerily calming
We were not alone

Lost amongst wild cats in the jungle
We sat covered by green
Sipping on silence and intoxicants
Holding hands, shivering in the breeze

The log hut swayed to the wild tones
The samba’s head against our legs
We watched as the monkey played truant
Giggling like school children in a zoo

He kissed another year goodbye, smiling
Readied for responsibility
Striding with comfort, wife alongside
Building dreams of home, family

Courtship suddenly seems a fading past
As silly nothings make way for serious thought
We smile knowingly at the mushy yesterdays
While the night comes by kissing us goodnight

We had made our promises, our plans
No longer could we smile and waste nights
There were more years, people coming along
We will never be alone!

Written on Feb 12, 2007

Yours, Forever.....

“How can you wear something so heavy all the time? Don’t you ever take it off? I thought you didn’t bother about all these things…” squealed this silly nobody I met for the first time about my bulky mangalsutra.

Now one can argue that by merely wearing it nobody can save their marriage…then why am I hell bent on sporting this chunky piece of yellow metal against all my convictions? For one, I have always been a tad old fashioned when it comes to matters of the heart…or atleast I believe that I don’t have to necessarily rebel against something unless it caused me actual discomfort or some other negative feeling. I do that enough in all other matters of living anyways.

So when I got married instead of opting for the diminutive Mallu leaf-like thali, I asked for a cumbersome and big Brahmin thali. Then I went ahead and decided to wear it…. not because anyone asked me to…because I chose to…to the utter surprise of others including the immediate families of my hubby and me…and to top it all I even decided to wear sindoor…. Well considering I have always had a tikka on my forehead, this didn’t change things too much, but here I was adhering to all the rules of wife-dom with utmost sincerity to the chagrin of all around me…

The point is, I have made a lifelong commitment…on all planes…. and I simply believe that these external oddities will not add or subtract from it…but hell why not try it out…. what if the formula that has worked for so many others before me rubs off some good luck on my relationship…and propels it into forever-dom if there were something of the sort?

Back to Educating Maself!

CUBISM:

Cubism was a 20th century avant-garde art movement that revolutionized EuropeEuropean painting and sculpture, and inspired related movements in music and literature. In cubist artworks, objects are broken up, analyzed, and re-assembled in an abstracted form — instead of depicting objects from one viewpoint, the artist depicts the subject from a multitude of viewpoints to represent the subject in a greater context. Often the surfaces intersect at seemingly random angles presenting no coherent sense of depth. The background and object planes interpenetrate one another to create the ambiguous shallow space characteristic of cubism.


While mostly associated with art and literature, cubism also found its way into the automobile industry, reflected in the engine designs of at least one famous automaker. Ettore Bugatti, founder of the Bugatti marque of automobiles was regarded as a cubist, having himself attended cubist gatherings. Cubism can clearly be seen in the form of Bugatti engines. The American architect Paul Rudolph gained widespread notoriety for his three-dimensional cubist building designs with highly fractured floor plans.

I AM RIGHT!

Attended a wedding last night, in a place shut off in the back of beyond. Anyhow…met my hubby’s colleagues. Was kinda fascinating…and then again only went on to reaffirm my beliefs about people in a certain profession.

Firstly, we walked in when the wedding rituals came to a conclusion; though that was the intention in the first place…so cant really complain. Second of all, we managed to get on the dance floor after so very very long. It was extremely rejuvenating and wonderful. Thirdly, the crowd was what I call uppity Mallus plus some other confused self proclaimed Westerners…. with a dash of genuine souls…. anyhow the ambience, the booze, the food and the music was good. So well I don’t really care. Only issue…I forgot my smokes at home! But all that apart I had fun to some extent.

Now coming back to my initial line of thought…the kind of people I believe work in certain professions…judgmental you say? Hell I sure am. And why shouldn’t I be? There is no crime against having a vivid imagination, which leads to frivolous yet deep thoughts and thereafter judgments. So there you are…. My husband’s lady colleagues were to say the least…. extremely frivolous and irritatingly dumb. Some were dignified and silent, and for once I was really appreciating the awkward silences…but the others who wouldn’t for a minute shut up were…So what irked me? The fact that they were apparently very fond of my husband, or that they were falling over him and couldn’t emit a sound without laying a finger on him? Or that they seemed bent on laying bare their apparent proximity to him in an attempt to make me flare up and end up “not giving him anything tonight” as they bleated? Hell, wish I had my good old instrument box. The moments when I sniggered in pride as I saw my opponent descend with his pink defenseless bottom onto a compass or a divider back in school made me realize that some pleasures of childhood were priceless.

I am not going to recount each and every creature. But bottom line, I have always maintained that women who can shake their booty, sit pretty and not have any significant and dying passion can take up this job, holds very true. Very few, like those silent self-contained ones, seem capable of having anything remotely similar to a conversation one can enjoy! The others, even as they plan more and more dos so that they can dress up and revel in the company of strange or maybe otherwise attached men, make me want to puke. What is it that they desire from this world in general? I mean, neither do they have the brains to make them want to pursue academics, nor do they have the looks to enter some glam-sham contest…. what then is their purpose in life? I am yet to decipher that one truth that might make me look at them with a little more tolerance.

For now, I shall revel in the realization that yet again, I have proven that I am RIGHT!

Little Wanton!

A 19th century depiction of Pocahontas or Matoaka or Amonute or Rebecca Rolfe!

Educating Myself!

Neoclassicism:

In the visual arts the European movement called "neoclassicism" began after ca 1765, as a reaction against both the surviving Baroque and Rococo styles, and as a desire to return to the perceived "purity" of the arts of Rome, the more vague perception ("ideal") of Ancient Greek arts (where almost no western artist had actually been) and, to a lesser extent, 16th century Renaissance Classicism.Contrasting with the Baroque and the Rococo, Neo-classical paintings are devoid of pastel colors and haziness; instead, they have sharp colors with Chiaroscuro. In the case of Neo-classicism in France, a prime example is Jacques Louis David whose paintings often use Greek elements to extol the French Revolution's virtues (state before family).

Neoclassicism first gained influence in England and France, through a generation of French art students trained in Rome and influenced by the writings of Johann Joachim Winckelmann, and it was quickly adopted by progressive circles in Sweden. At first, classicizing decor was grafted onto familiar European forms, as in the interiors for Catherine II's lover Count Orlov, designed by an Italian architect with a team of Italian stuccadori: only the isolated oval medallions like cameos and the bas-relief overdoors hint of neoclassicism; the furnishings are fully Italian Rococo G.B. Piranesi's design for a vase on stand, Rome ca 1780, appealed more to his English and French patrons. Similar gilt-bronze vases were made in London and Paris, from ca. 1768 onwards.But a second neoclassic wave, more severe, more studied (through the medium of engravings) and more consciously archaeological, is associated with the height of the Napoleonic Empire.

In France, the first phase of neoclassicism is expressed in the "Louis XVI style", the second phase in the styles we call "Directoire" or Empire. Italy clung to Rococo until the Napoleonic regimes brought the new archaeological classicism, which was embraced as a political statement by young, progressive, urban Italians with republican leanings.

The high tide of neoclassicism in painting is exemplified in early paintings by Jacques-Louis David (illustration, left) and Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres' entire career. David's Oath of the Horatii was painted in Rome and made a splash at the Paris Salon of 1784. Its central perspective is perpendicular to the picture plane, made more emphatic by the dim arcade behind, against which the heroic figures are disposed as in a frieze, with a hint of the artificial lighting and staging of opera, and the classical coloring of Nicholas Poussin.

In sculpture, the most familiar representatives are the Italian Antonio Canova, the Englishman John Flaxman and the Dane Bertel Thorvaldsen. The European neoclassical manner also took hold in the United States, where its prominence peaked somewhat later and is exemplified in the sculptures of William Henry Rinehart (1825-1874).

Flaming June!

Flaming June is a painting by Frederic Leighton produced in 1895. The painting was honored in song by Paul Weller on his "Stanley Road" album.

I envy her carelessness!

Sylvia was right.

I know exactly what she felt.

It’s happened to me oh so many times. This confusion as to what I should be doing. Do I want to shriek and cry or remain in the throes of some anguish I cannot explain? Do I want to be joyous and break into a smile? Or do I want to be morose and throw things at the window in the hope that some shard will spring back and hurt me letting the blood flow copiously?

Is there a solution to this torture? How do I see beyond this? I want to be happy. Everything around me at present is the way I wanted them to be, then what is it that irks me in the setting? Am I missing somebody? Do I want someone to say something…but there is nothing I am longing to hear. Is there some song I want to listen to at this very instant? Will it soothe my nerves so that I can get back to my chores? I don’t know what I really want. I want to run away from the root of this disturbance.

Why does it afflict me so, that even when I want to be happy, it plunges me into the throes of depression? Why do I feel torn between these two worlds that I shudder to inhabit? What is it that will make it better for me? Or make this moment pass with minimal pain?

Have I wanted to take my life? Have I attempted to make this end? Yes. I am not ashamed. All I wanted was to be free from this torment that made me dither. That made me wonder if I had it in me to survive, to make it to another day, to see the hope in the eyes that watch me through the night, to see the pain in those faces that wait anxiously to take the pain unto themselves, to be able to write once again, to be loved despite my flaws, to be born pure again, to be pristine and simple…

Those moments are not my best. They were shards of illusion when I felt that one single swipe with that knife could make it all go away. When I felt that these un-deserving mortals would be punished for having spoken or thought ill of me. When I assumed that it would finally bring me into a world of peace, where only my intentions and wills mattered.

They are times when I felt; that my sole aim was to walk into another disaster from the one I was surviving. That I lacked the capability of making one sane choice that would let me be myself in all moments of waking.

What did I want from this universe? I have no answers. And that makes me scared. Of lapsing into one of those unforeseen moments of irrationality and senselessness…of worry and suffocation….of fear and the lack of freedom…of wanting to break free…..

I need help!

I rise with my red hair, And I eat men like air....she said!

Sylvia Plath - In Her Own Words
Author: John McManamy
Published on: May 23, 2000

"Make no mistake, The Bell Jar is THE depression memoir."

It was a bitter cold winter in 1963, and an American mother of two was doing her best to cope on her own in London, not long after being jilted by her husband for another woman. Poet Sylvia Plath, 30, left out bread and milk for her two toddlers sleeping in an upstairs bedroom.
Then she turned on the gas.

Following the posthumous publication of her Ariel poems, Sylvia Plath became a feminist cause celebre, with ex-husband poet Ted Hughes vilified as an accomplice to her death. Completely overlooked by these feminist critics, however, was Exhibit A, the writer's very own words, her semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar.

Check out this description of her shock treatment:
" ... with each flash a great jolt drubbed me till I thought my bones would break and the sap fly out of me like a split plant."

The book also recounted her attempted suicide at age 20, not to mention her morbid preoccupation with death. The Bell Jar was a metaphor for the feelings of hopelessness and despair and self-contempt she carried with her everywhere:

"How did I know that someday - at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere - the bell jar, with it's stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?"

Make no mistake, this book is THE depression memoir, but in an age when the disorder was misunderstood as a neurosis, if acknowledged at all, Sylvia Plath became the silent party in all the finger-pointing and mudslinging that passed for commentary in the decades following her death.

Now that is changing. Publisher Faber and Faber has just released her Journals, never before published in full. Finally, we hear Sylvia's side of her story, in her own words. According to an article in the Guardian:

"It is here in her diaries that Plath reveals what she really thinks - about her depression, about her sexuality and about Hughes."

In an early entry, she reveals her manic as well as depressive side: "God, is this all it is, the ricocheting down the corridor of laughter and tears? Of self-worship and self-loathing? Of glory and disgust?"

And again: "It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous and positive and despairing negative; whichever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it. I am now flooded with despair, almost hysteria, as if I were smothering."

On the day after she met Ted Hughes, she wrote a poem "about the dark forces of lust.." Entitled "Pursuit," it begins: "There is a panther stalks me down:/One day I'll have my death of him."

But first came the grim foretelling of her suicide attempt at age 20. In November 1952, she wrote:

"God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain and the damn little men across the street pounding on the roof with picks and axes and chisels, and the acrid hellish stench of tar ... My world falls apart, crumbles, 'The centre does not hold.' There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation."

With a wisdom way beyond her years, she notes:
"I am afraid, I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralysed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness, I never thought, I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. I long for a noble escape from freedom - I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. There is nowhere to go - not home, where I would blubber and cry, a grotesque fool, into my mother's skirts - not to men where I want more than the stern, final, paternal directive - not to church which is liberal, free - no, I turn wearily to the totalitarian dictatorship where I am absolved of all personal responsibility and can sacrifice myself in a "splurge of altruism" on the altar of the Cause with a capital 'C'."

But the Journals also reveal a very much alive side to the poet, whose run-on writing shimmers with a bebop sense of fifties hip we normally associate with the likes of Kerouac and company:
"Falcons Yard, and the syncopated strut of a piano upstairs, and oh it was very Bohemian, with boys in turtle-neck sweaters and girls being blue-eye-lidded or elegant in black. Derrek was there, with guitar, and Bert was looking shining and proud as if he had just delivered five babies, said something obvious about having drunk a lot ... By this time I had spilled one drink, partly into my mouth, partly over my hands and the floor, and the jazz was beginning to get under my skin, and I started dancing with Luke and knew I was very bad, having crossed the river and banged into the trees, yelling about the poems, and he only smiling with the far-off look of a cretin satan. He wrote those things, and he was slobbing around. Well, I was slobbing around, blub, maundering and I didn't even have the excuse of having written those things; I suppose if you can write sestinas which bam crash through lines and rules after having raped them to the purpose, then you can be satanic and smile like a cretin beelzebub."

You can almost imagine Charlie Parker's magical saxophone transformed into Sylvia Plath's voice, a plethora of notes cascading at an impossible frenetic pace, each one improbably perfect and precise, sweeping reader and listener off their feet and hurtling right behind the poet into the arms of fellow poet Ted Hughes.

Hours later, she wrote her "Pursuit" poem, dedicated to Ted, and later "Lady Lazarus," where she boasted:
"I rise with my red hairAnd I eat men like air"

In a sense, Sylvia Plath has been restored to life, by the power of her own pen, by the power of her own words. That such a vital force was struck down by depression perhaps makes her short life all the more tragic. But her own words also portray triumph, of a woman who overcame tremendous odds just to find some joy in her life, a joy she was able to manifest in full measure.

This is the side to Sylvia Plath we have tended to overlook. Her Journals will hopefully, if belatedly, rectify that oversight.

Dreams Untold...

Again someone else wrote...

What is it that yearns
in an artist's soul?
To see beauty
on canvas unfold,
To capture dreams
that were untold,
And share with the world
treasures of gold.

Whose Dream Was it Anyways?

The irony of life...your dreams at so many odd moments are lived by a third party....and you live on to hear the commentary and sighs of sheer joy!

I wanted to be a TV star.....someone else in the family stepped into the shoes....made waves and basks in the limelight till date! Then my better half managed to do what I wanted for myself....be a reporter on live TV. I don't hold it against him.....but I wish it had happened to me too!

I wanted to be a copywriter....instead I helped create a monster....who lived off me, became what I hoped to be.....the silver lining was that someone else in the family decided to get into the same field, albeit in a different role...but well....

I wanted to sing...I can sing....though I hated my music lessons back then, now I look at some of those kids who turn up to cut a deal with some recording company and then wonder...at the sheer waste of talent and hell thats another dream almost gone by....again to my credit my family stepped up and a couple of people are trying to make up for it....but what the hell...its not me at the end of the day!

I want to be a writer...I always wanted to write...I write to please myself....am I any good? Don't know and frankly I don't care....the willingness and the craving to write exists...I don't want to let anybody else step in here. I am clinging on to my dream. I hope this one doesn't pass me by....

Frankly I am scared to dream now...they never materialise to my satisfaction....everyone else steals my little moments and highs....its irritatingly benumbing...

Maybe for now I should merely be content with silly black and white dreams about my little home or my already bought car, or my careening weight issues or my evading monthly visitor or my silly temparament, or my crazed tantrums....or my dwindling intellect....or my forgotten yesterdays....or my streak of individuality....

The losses seem one too many....I need to stop....Or the mere count will kill me!

Part 6

Mama's right here sweetheart!

Part 5

Everything will be alright!

Part 4

Adventures are not my cuppa!

Part 3

Wanna Dance with Me?

Part 2

I'm burning some fat!

One Helluva FWD 1

Time for a Nap folks!

My Handiwork!

You are MAD!

I am interested in madness. I believe it is the biggest thing in the human race, and the most constant. How do you take away from a man his madness without also taking away his identity?" William Saroyan

Hell, so I am! And the best part is that not a soul on earth can do a shit about it. I rule.

I am so deliriously mad!

At my wit's end!

The lies are getting to me. All my plans for a surprise seem to be dithering, with my search throwing up no meaningful answers. It worries me....I don't want despair to make me retreat from my seemingly intelligent and useful idea! But it seems the world is bent on making me bite my nails till the very last hour....by when I would have given up all hope and even the end result may seem unpleasant.

Out of the Shadows

"If there is anything in the world more annoying than having people talk about you, it is certainly having no one talk about you."
Oscar Wilde

He was an absolute stranger, a tad obnoxious too I thought. And then it all changed. "I've seen your byline in the papers...." He had said the magic words. And suddenly I smiled and made my peace.....

Silly to the point of insignificance one might say...but to me it was proof that finally in whatever minimal form someone somewhere had noticed me. And knew me in some fashion. I was beaming and I knew it was showing too. Not that I bloody cared.

The point is finally the stint with anonymity has come to a pleasing conclusion. I had cribbed, hollered and even sobbed in pure anguish. At being reduced to something that had no value in this wide world. Then this break happened and here I am being noticed for the one thing I have always wanted to showcase to the world. My way with words.

Yes, there is no modesty left in me. My ebbing confidence in the dark phase ate away into the remaining bit of it. Now I feel hiding behind unfelt and uncalled for characteristics is merely taking away from me my own future. So I shall holler into the night....People stand up and see me. I am no longer hiding within the dark shadows. I am here for all you men and women to see.
Look up and make me feel loved, hated, wanted, despised or anything else...

Know me in your own way. I will know I am alive.

Absurdity that's life

This life so worn out,
a mirage
not of consequence
to end up as ashes.
Why an overconcerted effort?
These unwanted concerns
of human existence
a trivial pastime
to merely satiate a stranger's curiosity.
Why take on the excess burden?
One that could be avoided.
Yet these nonsensical forays
that rule our senses
add meaning to the very absurdity
called life...

Mangled Choices!

A lot of running around and grumbling later the summit is over and I'm heaving a sigh of relief. Sitting through endless sessions of gibberish and sleepily masked yawns later, I have realised what it takes to be on the road, wiping off the grime and legging it some more in the garb of a reporter. I always cribbed when they asked me about my role as a producer. To me that was silly, to sit behind a comp, with all the controls in my hand, trying to dole out news bulletins under the nicely chilled AC sipping on coffee.

Life's weird. The choices we have and make are weirder. I always thought my life has been about surviving the impossible and then coming out into the open with another folly. Then I got married and thought it was the smartest thing I ever did, to settle down with somebody who embodied pretty much all that I wanted on certain levels. (after all perfect matches look only good on television!) I was in love and we were determined that we would make it work.

But reverting to square one, there have been times I have wandered into the studio and felt so at home...when the controls were buzzing, when my ear-piece is in place, and I am yelling at the director to cut from here to there even as I mumble into the anchor's ears little tit bits about what I am showing on TV. When reams of tapes and shots have gone amiss and I have to run a 6 hour special, I have felt so at ease, not a thought astray. But somehow all the glory I wanted and still seek from television seem to be the only ones denied me. I wanted to stand amidst a burning mob passing on information to my studio, to be atop a tree doing my link even as the camera about me whirred in pics of the minister talking to the PM before he hopped onto a flight...I wanted more than my 5 minutes of fame, and they didn't want me to have exactly that!

So what was that one big irreversible flaw in me that prevented them from allowing me to follow my dream? I haven't yet understood the reason behind the conspiracy, but there it is in public domain, tormenting me, forcing me to question my choices, my academic pursuits and a lot more...

Fast forward....lost in this unbecoming city....searching for another chance to push my foot within those eluding walls....to chase my dream...and see it translated into tangible shots of fame....no yet again the forces are at work...now I have to question my belief, my confidence and a whole lot else.

So I look for short change...and now I am basking in the glory of something that lends me a different yet extremely visible and slightly lasting high. I write to be known. Some read, some set aside, but my name shall glare back vehemently at one and all and expect and chide to be read.

In some unfathomable way shall I console myself that I have but arrived though in a planet known only to those unknown bennys?

Hmmm till I decipher this one for my self I shall take leave...

If Looks Could Kill!

Clad in purple, she stares across partitions. Her look indicating that I might have wronged her beyond pardon. I stare back with the innocence of a stranger.

Rewind.

She and my hubby were mates. Went to class together, whispered sweet nothings together, passed silly comments together and watched out for each other. Then I walked in head held high. Stood aloof on the empty terrace smoking with not a care in the world. He watched me stealthily. Fell madly in love. Tied the knot and forgot her with good cause.

Now as I enter the same workplace...eager to make my mark in the powerful and gigantic world, her ugly looks spread ill will...make other sweet strangers run for cover...leaving me friendless and a loner in this new planet I had hoped to conquer.

Who is to blame? My love, my confidence or her insignificance for letting her dwell in anonymity.

I like rubbishing inconsequential lesser mortals. I have succeeded in doing so yet again. Now she wants me dead.

But I shall survive!

Second Time Lucky!

Another one from me folks....

and extremely visible yet again!

Here's the link....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMyNBcjAxODAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom



Comment:For AOL users: http://www.blogger.com/">http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMyNBcjAxODAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

Good morning Mumbai!

Not in the disgusting intonation that Vidya Balan used in Lage Raho Munnabhai. But with my little piece titled Passage to India....Guys I am here!

Ready for flight

"To fly as fast as thought, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived." Richard Bach

Now I can soar up and fly....for now my dreams seem to be within reach. And not clouded over by the greying mist and the towering hills. I am now in sight of my future. And I can smile.

I Have Arrived!

My first byline in print. Bangalore edition TOI. Am so kicked. And the size of the article made it all worth it.

Here's the link....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMCNBcjAyMjAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom


For AOL users: http://www.blogger.com/">http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMCNBcjAyMjAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

Well people I have ARRIVED!

Don't be afraid Girl!

“If my mind can conceive it, and my heart can believe it, I know I can achieve it.” Jesse Jackson

This is what I have wanted for oh so long. And now I will not let anything keep me from letting myself fly. I have to make my mark no matter how small and I will. So all I need are good wishes sent my way through every medium possible. After all my ill luck I want to smile.

On the road to fame!

Well fame of sorts I would say.....but then if lakhs of people reading your name and recognizing it the second time round does not account for fame, I don't know what does.

Point is I am a print journalist after so many years of running away from broadsheet writing. I wanted spontaneity and zero time lag in news. And then I shun it for this...ironical and silly to an extent is all I can say. But then fate intervened and I conveniently will allocate all blame to that one factor that cannot hit back.

So here I am waiting for my first byline to appear.....

psst...should be latest by Wednesday.

I Miss Me!

I miss Delhi. every waking moment I miss it so heart wrenchingly it makes me want to run away. and to hide in the bylanes watching my house which now has strangers inhabiting my favourite corners.

I want to stand on my wide terrace and watch the fog recede and the trees and buildings come alive after a smoky illusion.

I want to shiver in my pajamas while my fingers clutch at my coffee mug so tightly trying to wring out some warmth through its thick impermeable walls.

I want to cuddle in my "rajai" and look through the little slit near my eyes at the weakened sun as it wrestles with the winter breeze trying to spread some cheer and heat.

I want to feel the wind in my hair as I shiver and snuggle while the auto driver dances through the lazy traffic.

god I miss Delhi. I miss me in Delhi. I miss being me in Delhi. I miss me.

I want to be KNOWN!

Passion is the element in which we live;without it, we hardly even vegetate. Byron

As I stepped into the train, the darkening clouds and the fading skyline of Delhi made me weep like never before. I was leaving my home and the job I was really good at and anyone who cared for me to enter an alien land, to make new acquaintances and to hunt for a job, that might never give me the high I had always wanted from life.

Though the rewind seems scary, the fact that news might go away from my life for good has made me sit back and evaluate what is that one thing that I want from life? And Irealizee that while I shudder between the sheets, turning page after page of often read novels, trying to seek meaning and inspiration, what I am doing is burying my dream of being a hot shot reporter on the move!

I want to be on the move, to be in the news, to live in the moment, to be able to come back dead tired and flop down on the bed with my shoes on, to wake up and see my name/face all over making a point. I want to be known for what I know.

That dream seems like an illusion I am chasing sitting within yellowed walls. Why don't these bricks fade to let me out into the open land where I can try to holler and make a difference?

Almost Famous!

A completely new high I must admit. Though the actual high would be seeing my name in black and white....there for all to see. But I assume now that this first step has happened that aint too far away. Anyhow here's the reason for my celebration....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNi8xMi8wNCNBcjAxODAw&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

She Stares Alone

You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning....a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be.
Joseph Campbell


Seems like ages since I was confined to this little house overlooking the traffic. I watch cars and scooters pass by with bustling passengers….trying to get a sneak peek into their lives….trying to understand why they alone have been chosen to be the ‘busy lot’.

I married for love and now am confined by my love. They told me marriage is all about sacrifice, adjustment, termination of individual egos and what not. I dutifully obeyed them and here I am…..a pathetic shadow of myself.

I watch from above and see this lady, cribbing, watching TV, perfunctorily cooking dinner, lying on the bed gazing at the roof hoping or maybe praying that someone or something come crashing down to bring her life. She cleans and hums, makes love and fights, socializes and sleeps all in rhythm. And in the stillness of the four walls she sobs out loud. Wanting all to hear and save her from this anonymity and dependence. I put out my hands….but her blinding tears keep her from clutching my fingers….

Suddenly she hates the world and everyone inhabiting hers. She wants to break free, yet the choices she made strangle her and tie her down like a block of iron. She is talking to me and asking me to intervene. To play with fate, and to erase these moments that are making her seem like an outsider to herself. She doesn’t understand the shackles she has built for herself. And still amidst the drowning waves she loves and calls out for him. Wondering if her love might not shake him awake from his self possessed dream…. hoping if he might not put out a hand to prevent her from drowning in her pool of tears.

Alas not even her Gods seem to be listening in on this aside. All at once she feels betrayed by her loved ones…for not stepping in, for not pretending to care, for not being there….. For leaving her all alone to stare.

Crippling Fear

I have always patted myself for being fearless and unshaken. But I am scared. Of the unknown, of something that I cannot define. It follows me with a knowing and evil eye. It has made me fear every whisper in the breeze, every shadow that crosses my window, every added breath that comes along with the wind, every creak emitted by the doors, every frightened glance I make over my shoulder half expecting the figure that will in short answer and sum up that fear.

What is it that maketh fear? They say the only thing you need to fear is fear itself. But then what about all those things you cannot name or define, you cannot control or overcome; you cannot abolish or live with? What other emotion do you extend to those unnamed things? What do you call the emotion that they evoke? Awe? Or simple, plain undefined fear?

I am crippled by this unknown force…that I believe is watching me and studying me without my permission. Making decisions for me and marking me out as its prey. Transforming me into a puppet that is enacting the verses put down by “it”. I have become an actor, a slave to the thoughts and provocations of someone, something unknown. And I have no hope or means of redeeming myself.

Why choose me? The solitary reaper? With not a sense of drama furthering her existence? Why not pick on a much celebrated or revered being, whose eye lashes keep furtively blinking so as not to mar the perfect snap? Why poor mundane me?

I have been forced into hibernation by this unknown and unwanted fear. I don’t like being held hostage by things I cannot even hate or blame in entirety. Why not have adversaries that you can holler at? Instead of echoes that merely surround the empty walls!

I have always been claustrophobic and this new form of containment will not leave me human for long.

My new found love

E E CUMMINGS

i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go,my dear;and whatever is doneby only me is your doing,my darling) i fearno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Irritating Tongues….

Her nasal overtone is killing. The lady is pretending to be oh so prim and proper….the epitome of class and sophistication. Christ, I would infact buy it if only she would stop alternating between tongues….why is she so confused about the origins of her accent….someone told me she is from Coorg.

So why does she alternate between every continent she has traveled through? Why not retain a Kannada twang native to her part of the world? Is it that every week spent in one continent has rubbed off on certain parts of her much limited and affected vocabulary, that it tends to never undo itself….making her look like a mixture of cultures the minute she opens her mouth?

Ah the travails of a star…one who has not an ounce of acting in her mangled anatomy….but has oodles of attitude to make up for all her misgivings….

Someone should tell that woman that merely flitting in and out of other worldly productions will not in any way prove her capabilities as an actor. Instead she is merely trumpeting to the entire world how dispensable she is in a world of talent. One cannot spend hours staring at her plastic countenance when someone beside her is enacting a well scripted role even as she uses her multi-accented tongue to make innumerous grunts and pouts.

The “Mistress of Spices” is stirring violent spasms of dislike in me. Someone switch off that TV!

You Lied to Me!

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you” Friedrich Nietzsche

Despite repeated reminders in that one split second he had changed our entire lives. He said a "white lie" to save face and avoid confrontation. Was it worth all the pain and the accusations that followed. All the trauma and the nonsense. The depletion in trust and in unshakeable belief? The living hell that both have to endure till memory fades and time selectively relegates this aberration into the back chamber? Was it really worth anything?

Too Much of Nothing is Too Bad

So Sang Bob Dylan...............................

Now, too much of nothing
Can make a man feel ill at ease.
One man's temper might rise
While another man's temper might freeze.
In the day of confessionWe cannot mock a soul.
Oh, when there's too much of nothing,
No one has control.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Too much of nothing
Can make a man abuse a king.
He can walk the streets and boast like most
But he wouldn't know a thing.
Now, it's all been done before,
It's all been written in the book,
But when there's too much of nothing,
Nobody should look.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Too much of nothing
Can turn a man into a liar,
It can cause one man to sleep on nails
And another man to eat fire.
Ev'rybody's doin' somethin',
I heard it in a dream,
But when there's too much of nothing,
It just makes a fella mean.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Bored of Myself

When people are bored, it is primarily with their own selves that they are bored. Eric Hoffer

It driving me nuts....this feeling of being worthless and silly. Of existing as a non-thinking being who merely dissipates the conundrums of other thoughts as her own in an attempt to disguise the lack of activity in her upper floors.

What is it that holds me back from freeing myself from this exile? Why have I chosen this over the many more ridiculous methods of existence? Do I crave life and joy no more? Do I not want to enjoy the pleasures up for grabs in nature? What is it that ails me? And makes me want to hide beneath the sheets all day long? To pretend exhaustion when all I really want is to go out there and let the sun shine down on me, holding me aloft in the public eye.

Why do I fear company? Why do I shun contact with the world? And the chance to engage in meaningful conversation? Have I lost the capability of holding my own? Or is it that I no longer enjoy the nuances of argument which have always taught me insightful lessons and the truths of life?

Maybe I am a bit bored of the routine. I am bored of the same faces that greet me day after day as I wake up and smile. I am bored of the same things they say in varied tones and accents. I am bored of the silly mails that remind me that those beings that I have been running away from still exist and care. I am bored of the noises that creep in through the pores on the walls making me shrink into my blanket. I am bored of the way the maid walks in punctually at 1300 wanting to do the clothes and vessels. I am bored of the weekends that mean nothing but a movie and a dinner. I am bored of weekdays that mean nothing but cooking, waiting for hubby, soaps on TV and a quiet dinner together. I am bored of everything around me. I am bored of life, of predictability, of togetherness, of this town, these people, of myself.

The Leaky Cauldron

The torment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force, and 'mangled mind' leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.
Elizabeth Drew

I sit at home day after day...waiting for the phone to ring or the mail box to beep....with some good cheer. That someone has found something that will keep me occupied for the upcoming months....while they throw in a little something to keep the debtors away....

Alas I wait in patience...Wonder at every little loud whisper that crosses my window...whether it aint someone wanting to have a conversation....to share my misery....to tell me the light at the end of the tunnel is so bright it will burn to ashes these moments in the dark....

For the first time the prospect of what many a woman goes through or willingly accepts stares me in the face....I shudder thinking how one can voluntarily surrender to a life which has no meaning, no consequence, no use, no art, no beauty, no music, no laughter....when everything in your life is borrowed?

The two rooms and their little furnishings don't keep me occupied enough ....even if were to re-arrange the house and its things ten different times, showered five times, ate another five, and watched mindless soaps for 4 hours, I still would be left wanting. So how can I plaster a smile when someone walks in tired after the trials and tribulations at work, wanting to crib....how can I lend him my ear when I am sobbing inside as my little upper floor leaks out through those thin black strands each day as I stand under the shower pretending that the water flowing down my cheeks is but the one from the tap......

I live a lie...A forced lie....

I no longer feel like I am me....I am an apparition of my self....somewhere lost in transit between the two abodes....my home and this temporary settlement....

Why is everything eluding me alone? Am I suddenly so untouchable? Should I have then left the comforts of my home, my friends and everything I consider dear to come to this alien town that treats me like I am a leper?

Something inside sobs. I dare not let the walls hear....They stare at me in smug satisfaction. They are slowly succeeding in ruining one more thinking being. Save me from this torturous world of mirages. Throw me the life-line. My eyes are so used to the darkness I will not miss the little clink.

Jobless!

The bustling maid
The shrill milk whistle
Towel clad husband
Bread burning wife

Perfunctory goodbye kiss
A slammed front door
Still yellow walls
Empty windswept bedrooms

Lunch-break call from friend
Abrupt end
The call of duty
Alas a jobless wife!

Boiling tea, hot cakes
Clean beds, steaming hot dinner
Ironed shirts, washed floors
Smiling wife, dog tired husband

"Goodnight wife", lights out
Reverberating silence
A deafening road!

July 14th 2006

Shifting Home

Stained coffee mugs
Soiled, sweaty clothes
Unopened suitcases
Space occupying cartons

Small paw marks on the dust
Little feet running by
Screaming mother on the top floor

Arguments with the agent
No more green bucks passing hands
Vociferous land lord on the landing

Tenant absorbed by woodwork
Memories wiped out by strangers
Little boy sobs in his bunk bed

Sweeping strokes of the broom
Lives, histories swept away
New stories being crafted
The traffic goes by.

July 14th 2006

Back in Action!

Finally after the deafening silence, sound waves have crept into my life. I am alive and there is some validation for my existence on this lonely planet. Someone somewhere wants me to magnify my presence for all those sundry mortals to see and envy while I bask in the glory of inertia…..

This truth negates the vacuum that had engulfed my upper faculties in the last few hundred hours….


I am alive and the universe is crying for me to make felt my little being in this vast expanse….


It’s good to be back!

The Inevitable Change!

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. ~Anatole France


Seven years of anonymity, freedom, independence...of fun, frolic, danger, adventure....of fear, fearlessness, never say die....of lovers, admirers and mentors....of song, dance and death....of weightloss, weightgain and obesity....of spinsterhood, of coupling and marriage.....

Many phases that made me....the places, the scents, the people, the skies that made me....I have to let them go....I am married!

From my small nest, I have to flap my wings and spread out into the next world....full of dangers and unknown abysses....for I am married!

I have to change me, my spaces, my dreams and my life....I am married!

I have an extension, a partner...to share and care....to hold and push.....to smile and love, to cry and loath....I am married!

My smoking persona, my dangling smile, my killer instincts, my on the move intellect, my tapping toes, my painted hands, my battered clothes, my wet shoes....all in some dusty box...I am married!

My stupid friends, my dopey partners, my genius admirers, my faceless lovers...at the bottom of the ocean...I am married!

This white world...full of magic and serenity....I am married!

The moments of puritanical insight when adjustment and higher love ring true with every thump of the heart....when every little jerk of the eyelid....translates into poems of understanding...when every cough means a zillion complaints...when every smile means absolute acceptance and approval....when every wisecrack means an invitation....I am married!

Purity and loyalty...the key ingredients of this coupling.....talk and song....walk and dance.....fight and slap.....kiss and make up....all about love....

I am married!

Unnecessary Musings?

"It's Not Every Day A Fat Cat Brings You Flowers...." wrote A M Homes....

I wondered as I perused her writings on the net...the consequence of a freak search on Brad Pitt...Why hadn't I heard of her...me who prides myself for knowing every single writer who had strayed into literature...and I had not read her...leave alone know her...I had sinned...and now I had to undergo penance....

The dreams were scary....cats filled every little clean spot on my floor, on my curtains and furniture...I was petrified to say the least...and I didn't in any sense want to imitate Halle Berry....but I was beginning to crouch like I shouldn't...and my feline senses were buzzing....was that a plate of fish fry....passing me by on the floor below? mmmmm..........YIKES!!!!!!!! I was awake...Me, this puritanical brahmin iyer, dreaming of fresh fried fish? my grandmom would churn in her grave and order a bath with cow dung!

I could not afford to get fishy here...and that meant I could not sleep...for Halle Berry was now the woman of my dreams....and I liked jumping off rooftops in search for a nice stance.....hell Homes had corrupted me...

but I like tigers....majestic, unafraid, royal.....no I did not want to spend a night in the wilderness frightened that I might wake up and find myself staring into those shining slits of gold....or be worried sick that I might be grabbed by my leg and dragged along as my hair gathered leaves and sand and I screamed myself hoarse into the dark skies with nothing but an owl to respond...

but what is the purpose of what I am writing...I am lost here....

ah I wanted to do penance...but homes was away and couldn't care a damn whether I knew her or not, or I read her or not, while the rest of the world was anyways celebrating her success and her writing....

so then why am I bothering? to make up enough dough to fill this space...or pretend that I was clued into the major movements of the literary world? ah the question I am trying to answer even as I am typing this nonsense...

to be precise...Its just me trying to understand if with every passing month I am losing my touch with the language and the art of stringing together some meaningful words.....

can I continue with writing even if I woke up from a coma that lasted five years....maybe not...my fingers would be dead and sore....but I could complete a sentence in my head and make myself heard if not read....

so then should I waste time and energy....should I write?

Confounded Confucius!

The chill is piercing...an aberration of sorts....here in the middle of May, at 43 degree celsius, I am shivering inside my sleeves....

The drab office colours are blinding me as I wander through the corridor holding aloft a bottle of "chilled" water in order to cool down my senses! And there on that hideous woman's table I see the lines....Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life....so said Confucius if I'm any bit wiser...and he has made me ruminate yet again....

I am stuck in this abyss....rolling out news bulletins day after day....dumbing down all the bits of information for that jobless viewer who has tuned into my channel....freezing inside the PCR and cursing all the powers that be for mesmerising me into this medium that excels in lying and hoodwinking! What am I doing here? Changing the world? Bringing them the truth that is out there? Making the layman's voice echo in the chambers of power?

I am doing nothing remotely close...I am merely giving silly old farts time to make their voices heard, rich obnoxious politicians more time to spread their muddled up ever changing ideology, and converting into a joke anyone who tried to make a difference by questioning every pure thought of mankind....

I am ensuring that every story that pleases my boss goes on air, every time he wishes to enlighten the lesser mortals I eat into the precious ad breaks to allow him to let his creative juices flow in an uninterrupted fashion....I am doing nothing worthwhile and feeling even more worthless with every passing bulletin I roll out in an attempt to lay bare the happenings in the corridors of power!

My job sucks...and I want a change...but what should that change be? Something in me cries out against doing something that is unlike what I currently pursue...after all this post here had its share of obstacles and sacrifices....then again having to put up with this monotony for the rest of my life send shivers up my brain stem....I will end up being a vegetable.....Do I risk that? If not should I go back to academics...add a few more degrees and churn out names and quotes in the time you bat an eyelid? Or should I sit at home, take a sabbatical...work on my love for writing and ensnare the world into reading what might make for some good bedtime scary story? Options and then again lack of options...or rather the fear of being financially unstable and forced to live within the four walls of the house I run from every morning for the silence is killing?

I am confused....and lets hope Confucius might be able to bail me out this time round!

Silence Is Killing!

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction, said Virginia Woolf....

And here I am hoping my new found hubby will replenish me with resources to sit back, chew on my pencil and scribble while the rain patters down on the window-sills across which I have drawn curtains for fear that a fly might disturb my delicate balance....

For death, pain and the macabre fascinated me and the world shunned me for being wonky upstairs...my love stood by me...watched me mumble in silence at the blue screen with little words staring back in complete meaning, hoping I would hit backspace and make the silence grow in size...

he stood by patiently as I scribbled, mumbled, swore and cried....I was a lunatic....I needed restraint...yet he let me out...to smell the wet grass and the white daisies...while the wet sand caught on to my sandals and made impressions on my his favourite carpet...yet he watched in silence...why this sheer love? I ask again...do I return it? I don't know...my words are failing me...I don't want to be silent....I'd rather die!

Wholly Matrimony!

For years my wedding ring has done its job. It has led me not into temptation. It has reminded my husband numerous times at parties that it's time to go home. It has been a source of relief to a dinner companion. It has been a status symbol in the maternity ward.

So spoke the bible...

And now on the threshold of marriage I wonder like Churchill, "how many torments lie in the small circle of a wedding ring"....

Eerie....those little adjustments which will always be mine to make voluntarily...those little pains that I shall cry for in the pantry, sobbing lightly so that no one might hear...those little smiles, I will pass on at strangers at my dinner table while I serve them the choicest wine and meats...those numerous fights, I shall want to win, yet have to lose...those innumerous times I would look at him while he slept peacefully as I ironed the pile on the ground...those numerous times while I cooked and cooked and waited for someone to come, smack her fingers and say this is not my poor boy is used to....those many times when the other "daughter" cooked better meats, and baked softer cakes....those many times I broke into a tune and was told it was interrupting with the cricket match commentary...those many times, I wished life had been full of roses and he came back reeking of liquor....

I shudder....mine may or may not be the one that makes fairytales....yet something in me hopes and prays it s something I cherish and never cringe at...something I will want 40 years from now....something that will put a smile on my face even when memory has failed me....something that will make me go pink even when my wrinkles are larger than I can make out the difference....something that I will love....

Let the heavens shower their choicest blessings on me.....

Amen!

Monster of Ingratitude

Ingratus est, qui beneficium accepisse senegat, quod accepit: ingratus est, qui dissimulat; ingratus, qui non reddit; ingratissimus omnium, qui oblitus est.....Lucius Annaeus Seneca

He denies me the basic courtesies.....out of sheer love.....it was to be expected he claims...I am a couple....

Undoing My Anonymity

Poetic justice...You are tied to a pole....a man has your legs dangling over a little fire....and someone else is tickling your ears....the confusion makes your eyes sob and your mouth laugh....you are not you anymore...while the audience hoots, and throws a paper plane with BITCH screaming from it....another whispers, she deserves it....the witch...she made me chop off my fingers in disgust...i was but a budding writer....

Life's a fair game of troughs and hillocks...i learnt wave motion when my lanky professor danced across the classroom floor, enacting the up and down movement...and now i realise that the sea merely mirrors our existence...and the calm is just another prelude...while the pages are being filled up by that man up there, hidden between those bluish blobs....sniggering at the futility of all those rubies and diamonds that decorate those hapless human fingers...

what was going to hit me? would i become another gollum? live on for another 589 years...trying to capture the essence of my life? as i became even more wretched in my upper floor?

would i merely shrivel and die unloved, unknown rather despised and disgusting?

i fear anonymity........

I dont want to be just another woman....who is unconventional, complete, anonymous.....

THE UBSB!!!!

Behold....there she comes...she is UBSB or the Universal Byte Supplying Bitch....

for a lay man that simply means that SHE likes to help any one from the MALE SPECIES...minus a genuine cause or request....and offers to accumulate bytes from all and sundry so that in future if he is in need of them, he will not have to roam about in the sun....

an absolutely pontific thing to do....

and the repayment mode smacks of sheer lust....

ah the travails of someone who is trying desperately to ensure that there is something hard between their legs and it stays there week long too.....

tch tch.....

but surprise surprise....she is not just about bytes....

she exhibits traits that need to be chronicled for future reference by behaviour analysts and their kinds....

her very curious aberrations manifest themselves only when the opposite sex steers anywhere close to her...or is ready to catch on to her perky comments or her hormone induced stench/mating scent....

curiosity killed the crow...

but here I am wondering what it is that goes on in that brain...a vacuum filled zone....

and those scary wrinkles and silly grin and badly wicked hair and horrendous dress sense...God save those mortals who cross her path and look even remotely helpless...

hmmm do you need a byte my man????

Resounding Silences

Its deafening...and I wonder if its just me.....he sits there perfectly at ease watching things happen and pass us by without blinking and I wonder if his heart is emitting those little rhythmic beats....


I am on the balcony, watching the multitudes in different shapes with wheels passing me by in a heady rush....to get somewhere, to be with someone, to prove a point, to make a presentation, to buy something, to catch a train/flight.....everyone has a definitive purpose...one that defines their existence, makes them what they are.....knowingly or unknowingly we are all slaves to this "purpose" probably forced down our throats...in most cases by family, fortune or society....very few happen to flap their wings and see the world the way they want it...

No, I am not one of them....here I am trying hard to come to terms with a career that is strangling...where I see nothing but darkness at the end of the tunnel...where I have hopped around like a kangaroo nursing the hope that the further I went I was getting closer to success and fame....yet I am so many floors farther from anything that even resembles my choice of life or career or success....I am on the verge of denying my entire existence in this planet....


it is suffocating....to be in a position where some envy you, some look up to you, some want to be you, some don't understand you, some think you are doing wonderfully well, some others cant understand what it the problem in the first place....but all you want to do is show all of them your finger, scream till your lungs feel alive and then run....to reclaim sanity, freedom, creativity and yourself before you fade into a delusion that was not created by you in the very first place.....


am I a failure? it keeps occurring to me over and over again in the dark nights, when I sweat despite the cold and tell myself that with each passing day my alien attributes seem to creep out making me scaringly inhuman....is it just me? I do keep hearing these stories of how everyone gets into a rut the minute they have been in the same job for too long...but I am hardly 27, have been in more than 5 jobs and pretty much hate all of them with equanimity....am I crazy? will I never be satisfied? Christ the neverending questions make me swoon...and yet I like to go back to them and keep pondering, it makes me kill time....makes me look at life with a difference, like an intellectual would and then you can sermonize as to how you realise the inadequacies of the world surrounding you and yet you have succeeded in remaining not only sane but even maintaining your environment the way you want it....


ah here I am going over this rigmarole all over again and wondering if it is just me....one who has so many unanswered questions...with so many glaring blanks, blips and dots in her life.....


I wish that silence would answer me but once.....