Utopia : The Land of My Soul
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Marmalade days with a pinch of salt
Sugar and salt might be the most uncongenial duo to serve the taste buds, but bittersweet moments in life are not unheard of. Have you ever felt a lump in your throat when you are filled with blissful ecstasy? Is it because our sublime moments are fraught with inexplicable pain? Or is it because happiness comes with unsolicited brother called "kill-joy" pain to take us into a ride?
Life is a queer taskmaster. It admonishes us if we outdo our quota of mirth, but it never compensates generously for the prickly thorns it offers. why am I turning a weeping philosopher I, myself, cannot deduce. But a tingling realization in the brain is prompting me certain answers, which have been elusive to me for quite some time. I guess every woman, who nears the roadway to a 'second innings' has her jittery moments tempered with welled up happiness. I would loathe a woman who has never ever had the feel of pandemonium while embracing a lifelong menace called 'marriage'.
God bless the souls of all those fortunate buds of May, who have eluded the marriage mouse-trap quite successfully.
Life is a queer taskmaster. It admonishes us if we outdo our quota of mirth, but it never compensates generously for the prickly thorns it offers. why am I turning a weeping philosopher I, myself, cannot deduce. But a tingling realization in the brain is prompting me certain answers, which have been elusive to me for quite some time. I guess every woman, who nears the roadway to a 'second innings' has her jittery moments tempered with welled up happiness. I would loathe a woman who has never ever had the feel of pandemonium while embracing a lifelong menace called 'marriage'.
God bless the souls of all those fortunate buds of May, who have eluded the marriage mouse-trap quite successfully.
Labels: Feelings - Subjective
Thursday, February 11, 2010
my thoughts now!
I am miffed by this new Google Buzz thing!!!!!!
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Some touchy words
The heart cries for want of words, the rust-worn brain yearns to articulate some significant words…….
But the hands proclaim some kind of stupor and want the ‘Lotus Eater’ subsistence….
Some of us are born sluggish, and the moment a call of action beckons us we jostle to discover some pertinent excuse to rescue ourselves from it. We love the epicurean concept and perhaps for the likes of us this particular word has shoved its way into the dictionary of human kind.
I won’t call my self a slothful Jack, but I can’t deny if anyone, who know me skin deep, call me such names. Frankly, I am a delight for my critics. For that, no love’s lost with them. This idyllic life has been a fantasy for many a sages (like me). Any Jim dandy would feel scathingly shameful to read such a prudent “confession of a dull mind”; even he would not go so profusely ‘ga ga’ over his dandyism. But some people possess ‘rhino-skin’, which nothing can penetrate through- no overdose of mawkishness or words that can slay. Well, if I may seem to go overboard trying to prove my point or win the battle for the self-professed groggies, you are a soothsayer.
Not figuring out what I am getting at? This was an explanation for being an escapist from this world. Earlier too, I had wasted words explaining my absence. So, this time I thought of chomping a few brains with zillions of words. Brevity is something my constitution could never recognize. I used to waste reams of papers in school and college scripting answers. What a faux pas for an environmentalist! I could have saved a few dozen trees by being laconic. As it is this business of wordsmith ruins its name as it has become a dominant cause of deforestation. The educated battalion of India has been the perpetual cause of the deforestation holocaust.
As I go on strumming on the keyboard logging my thoughts (very productive intellectual output generated after a long time), a brilliant idea popped into my head. Each year we go gung-ho about the impending doom because of the increasing air pollution and the receding ozone layer. Environmentalists honk to axe the heads of the poachers and deforesters. Isn’t it time we consider other deforester groups, who continue the rampage unnoticed?
Yes, I am talking about the ‘sinner’ communities like the students, the bookworms, the geeks, the newspaper feeders (and whoever using pages and papers). The government can amend the education system, which involves a lot of woods and products like cotton and linen. If the old ways are flushed out of the system like any toxins, we can go ‘Green” again and save the earth from turning into a carcass of vegetation. We can live like the illiterates. The ignorant cavemen lived without any kind of romantic or unromantic liaison with the paper and ink or slate. If they could, why couldn’t we surpass them to stop tree slaughter at the altar of education?
Labels: Miscellaneous
Friday, June 19, 2009
Reposeful dream
The sun goes down on me,
The moon apologises for its satin touch too...............
Am I frail china glass or just dreaming such ecstasy?
Because such is the fate of frailty or languor.
The wind caresses with its invisible hands,
The sky spreads out its cottony cover......
Am I unethereal mortal or a befallen shooting star?
Elemental earth bestows her best to conceal.
The scintillating stars beckon me wordlessly,
The rain drops try to twitter sweet nothings........
Am I the lady of Shallot or the forlorn Peony in an ornamental garden?
The senses yearn for want of such bliss.
A verse full of romantic thoughts, some words that sound like magic, and a pattern to cast feelings...When I wanted to key in letters to resume writing after a long time, these were the overriding thoughts clouding up my mind. But is it so? Are these the only parameters to scribble down to create what the world calls a verse? I guess not!
A few years ago while in my grad days, I came across an unforgettable line. And I have had held onto it till now. It read 'Creativity is born out of white heat of imagination and frenzy, a faculty which comes onto you spontaneously.' And my personal experience stands testimony to it. I was trying to produce something for quite a couple of days, but apart from a few sparse lines nothing struck me. Today, just felt like changing my tagline for my chat. And the first three lines happened just in the blink of an eye. I did not have to clamour for words, thoughts or the matter to write on. I guess, this is the reason why creativity acquires such high pedestal for the scribes and the commoners like me.
The moon apologises for its satin touch too...............
Am I frail china glass or just dreaming such ecstasy?
Because such is the fate of frailty or languor.
The wind caresses with its invisible hands,
The sky spreads out its cottony cover......
Am I unethereal mortal or a befallen shooting star?
Elemental earth bestows her best to conceal.
The scintillating stars beckon me wordlessly,
The rain drops try to twitter sweet nothings........
Am I the lady of Shallot or the forlorn Peony in an ornamental garden?
The senses yearn for want of such bliss.
A verse full of romantic thoughts, some words that sound like magic, and a pattern to cast feelings...When I wanted to key in letters to resume writing after a long time, these were the overriding thoughts clouding up my mind. But is it so? Are these the only parameters to scribble down to create what the world calls a verse? I guess not!
A few years ago while in my grad days, I came across an unforgettable line. And I have had held onto it till now. It read 'Creativity is born out of white heat of imagination and frenzy, a faculty which comes onto you spontaneously.' And my personal experience stands testimony to it. I was trying to produce something for quite a couple of days, but apart from a few sparse lines nothing struck me. Today, just felt like changing my tagline for my chat. And the first three lines happened just in the blink of an eye. I did not have to clamour for words, thoughts or the matter to write on. I guess, this is the reason why creativity acquires such high pedestal for the scribes and the commoners like me.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Slice of Life
Rhapsody of wind slings open the window ajar,
The door is yet shut tight uncompromisingly.
The vacuum of the room is claustrophobic, not an iota of air to breathe.
Just now a gust of fresh air barged in, it can fill up your lungs,
Small mercies from the Benevolent. Life sprouts, life is felt.
She takes a mouthful of life and awakens for the moment.
The next moment awaits the mercy of time and Him.
Second by second - a minute is shaped; minute by minute- an hour is born.
She has to survive the second in toe-line, why bothered about the hour yet to come?
Expectation, anticipation, desire- gets induced in her the moments she comes alive.
She lives? Or is she indicted to live?
The door is yet shut tight uncompromisingly.
The vacuum of the room is claustrophobic, not an iota of air to breathe.
Just now a gust of fresh air barged in, it can fill up your lungs,
Small mercies from the Benevolent. Life sprouts, life is felt.
She takes a mouthful of life and awakens for the moment.
The next moment awaits the mercy of time and Him.
Second by second - a minute is shaped; minute by minute- an hour is born.
She has to survive the second in toe-line, why bothered about the hour yet to come?
Expectation, anticipation, desire- gets induced in her the moments she comes alive.
She lives? Or is she indicted to live?
Labels: Miscellaneous
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Returning to blogdom would be such a long journey, who would have thought?
Don't know when I had bid farewell to this hemisphere, but coming back to it just seemed to be the outcome of a white heat of idea. I had almost let my creative streak go famished for a long stretch of time. During this dry patch I have missed my little world where I used to let my hair down and poured out my feelings uninhibited.
I have really missed the little bird like joy of hopping from one blog to another in search of some tonic for my brains. And not to forget my friends! I deserted them as if they were just names. Though I often came to visit the relics of my past creativity, but the urge to scribble and fill the blogosphere never got the better of me. Somehow, to make an effort to break free the chains of sluggishness and empty my heart out made me cringe. But I have to get out of my cluster.
So, this small poem is for all my blogpals to tell them I’m back.
When I left, I had my heart-full
Without an adios, without rhyme or reason,
With no inch to treasure even a single word from the friends!
I was a lost soul, I was unaware of the loss I were to bear.
To be estranged, to tear away the frail thread, to distance away second by second…
Hide and seek, hide and seek, hide and seek.
Seek till you think deep, seek till you drop deep.
Hide till you can seek, and seek till I hide.
Labels: Emotions and trivia
Thursday, June 28, 2007
TOKENS OF LOVE LOST
A word that slings the heart like an arrow shot with vengeance,
A feline look cast archly as if it could incise the heart.
A frigid shoulder, like Lucifer’s when he was indicted, turned away.
The body grown starkly nonchalant, losing its jewelries – warmth and amicability.
And……… an incomplete orb
Does Heaven hear?
Even a Phoenix is bored!
One step, two, three…..a complete cycle.
Yes, you have just yourself to hear out what the “you” says.
Do you have company?
Asking or confirming?
Labels: Creativity
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Apples and Oranges, apples with oranges!!!
Nostalgia and Ecstasy,
nostalgic yet ecstatic;
Downcast thoughts and jovial mirth,
moroseness yet cheer;
Hollowness making noise and brimming with elation,
empty yet overflowing;
Passionately clinging and letting it slip off sandily,
besotted yet casual;
Flickering images and fresh stock,
recollecting yet perceiving;
Fresh blossoms and nipped buds,
start and stop...beginning from ending... exposition yet denouement?
Truth,Truth and nothing but the Truth!
Two hemispheres.....which side playing apples and which oranges?
Data mismatch....page cannot be displayed!
Forget the virtual reality, it is flesh and blood. Quite possible, ain't it?
nostalgic yet ecstatic;
Downcast thoughts and jovial mirth,
moroseness yet cheer;
Hollowness making noise and brimming with elation,
empty yet overflowing;
Passionately clinging and letting it slip off sandily,
besotted yet casual;
Flickering images and fresh stock,
recollecting yet perceiving;
Fresh blossoms and nipped buds,
start and stop...beginning from ending... exposition yet denouement?
Truth,Truth and nothing but the Truth!
Two hemispheres.....which side playing apples and which oranges?
Data mismatch....page cannot be displayed!
Forget the virtual reality, it is flesh and blood. Quite possible, ain't it?
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Dear Blogpals,
A little allibi to go with this...the moment I drafted this small poem i thought i should suffice it too. 2 months, from the last day I posted something on blog, was caged in frustration, stagnancy, long tunnel riding, dangling between two over-lapping thoughts - in a nutshell I was in a complete stasis from the career's POV. Then the new year's bell donged and something in me lurched, 15 days of kick-on-the-butt search for a greener pasture, tummy twisting moments, some knock abouts and I was through with a crisp new job. Then 3 days of absconding to a sea-coast with friends and family. Tendering of resignation followed on return, 30 days of final countdown that sublimated in a jiffy as if into nowhere. Then for the last 2 months am tasting water of the new pond I chose - my new office, pals! So, almost 5 months of marooning off from blogdom is explained.
Apologies for putting up this image of a droning bee. Not wholly but more or less the account is true to my knowledge. This new office has stringent laws. No personal work is allowed. "Tresspassers shall be prosecuted" and this holds good. And believe me I'm playing safe. I had pocketed these two months to get accustomed. And now, when I have finished mapping what stands where, I have a good mind of coming back. For now chow, will return back soon. Astala vista pals!!!!
Friday, December 08, 2006
Ahh Romanticism
It is a peached afternoon seeped in molten gold.
You and I are bathed in it, smeared with the warm joy.
Our minds are smelted together, hearts fused to form one.
Our entities are gilded such, that one needs to saw through it.
We sense unparalleled ecstasy together with eyes half shut.
But the fate of it seems as transcient as bubble, now palpable now gone!
Grasp it and it vanishes leaving you yearning for another chance...
Another chance just to see it from a distance collaged as one, and this time no fiddling with it.
Ah! the bitter part slaps you to reality -- things passed never recurs!
The illusion ends, with it ends a series of unrequited hopes, games unplayed, dreams undreamt.
Blobs of redness appear in the face, a salty taste spoils your taste buds, weariness seizes you.
A few days gone, the bitter feeling weakens .
One fine morning you wake up refreshed, anticipating something rivetting again.
You strut, bag the next opportunity left for you, fret , pretend to recount the past, smile foolishly and march forward victoriously.
Then again you have a honeyed afternoon decked up in rich colours.
again you feel the unalloyed happiness of togetherness and again...
Life goes on with tides of time rolling on shore and off it,
creating ripples and then smoothening it,
creating storms and then pacifying it,
creating placidity then suddenly frothening it.
Labels: Emotions and trivia
Monday, November 06, 2006
Childhood-ed, Bowled and...
The tag tad has wolloped again towards me. And I have to give it a run as Matthew volleyed the googly. But being a fan of Sachin, the master blaster, am not afraid of it. I have hauled the ball that has pitched in and am enjoying the shot. Ah enough of my euphemism! Let's come to the point. Writing about childhood memories is like a tour to nostalgia. How chimeric it seems to seize the noddy, juvenile pleasures! The sylph-like shadowy flashback of those merry days have now become a a healing touch to the troubled mind, a psalm to the soul. I know I am carried away by the recollections. Feeling too hob-nobbed with memories to jot down anything. Oki here they go.
Fantasmoglorias of my green girlhood
1) As a tiny bopper, I remember being an obsessed collector of certain
worthless things. (Here it's worthwhile to remind that I was no Lara Croft, the bone collector, but a collector of items generally termed as 'useless' or 'grub' by the adult world) My hobby was to gather multi-coloured pebbles, specially those with satin smooth feel and slightly on the side of uncommon shades. I went to hunt them during the long vacations and spent hours hoarding them. Wherever I vacationed, site-seeing meant pebble fishing. And I made a point to bring them back home, tidy them up from the squalor and pack them and trash them into the darkest corners of my cupboard. Sundays afternoon, I used to inspect which one won the 'most-appealing' pagent-title. Gone are those days of simpleton-like child's play.
2) This one I guess is a chronic girl sport. Yes, mothering dolls.
Those lazy afternoons on which I teamed up with my younger sibling to cook a sumptuous meal for our week-long unfed dolls. What prolific cuisines we made out of the leaves, sand and peels of vegetables that we insidiously managed from the kitchen! (Sorry folks don't remember the recipes, or else our country's poverty would have been slashed down by now)
3) Not to forget those tom-boyish antics that were a part of my
schooling. I was a total freak at school and lunch sessions were my time to champion the cause of nuisance. Right from bungy jumping from desk to desk (during lunch breaks classroom ground was always a 'not my type' place to trod on), to bantering the meek, to competing with the guys of our class in stamp-stamp(an innovative game in which the players had to scurry
after the fellow classmates to dust on the white imprint of the blackboard duster on their skirts and pants), to getting into a mock row with the guys and trailing after them...I did them all effortlessly. Why lunchtime?? Coz folks I was the monitress of the class all through and later on the School Captain. So class hours were hours to be a ringmaster of the zoo.
4) I cherish those girl-talks with my girl group, investing the grey matter to ferret out solutions to their perpetual problems
(read those of the heart) and surrepticiously eyeing our senior charming princes. Well, that was always a peer-pressure folks (disHONESTLY)
5) I miss those co-curricular activities of the school...
those competitions in which I always felt the urge to bag prizes just to boost my ego and somehow the quests were fructified. (Had to be honest this time)
6) I die to have those winter days with molten gold sun shimmering on the quilts,
unfurled on the rooftop, that would engulf my kid sis and me, both, in its smugness, and we would break into peals of chuckles when Mom failed to spot us and ended up with those infamous angry tirades.
7) The unadulterated ecstasy of being crushed. I had scuba-dived into
and out of crushes on the screen honchos. I was frenzied into buying posters, scissoring out their pics from newspapers and then walling them out from father's sight.
The Great Wall of china will vye this list if I don't trim it here.
The Flip Side
1) Drinking milk everyday with those yucky, God-forbidden health drinks. Even till date, the smell of it makes me want to puke.
2)Those injust perpetrations imposed on me in a futile effort to cow me down.
Those unwritten writs pegged my "born free" soul. Line-of-controls like - no listless lazying in the afternoons, curbed TV watching, coming back home from the playground as soon as the Sun dozes off to sleep, scanty of cash to squander, no experimentation with gadgets and no flaunting of creativity on the poor, inanimated walls of the rooms etc. dampened my spirits and gave a feeling of being claustrophobic.
3) Expulsion from the place where the adults huddled to gossip. Not that I was much of a gossip monger, but the inquisitivity would simply have had the better of me. I abhorred the idea of being expunged and packed off to other rooms only because I didn't qualify in age.
4) Those pedagogical lecturs from the relatives in droning, remorseless voices on my despicable state of being and the volley of axioms to describe what was to become of me. (It's not that they have dried up now, but reduced considerably)
5) The monotonus daily study hours. I was never a poor player in that game of academics, fared well in the exams. But somehow the idea of being a nerd irked me. On the contrary, my mom wanted me to be one- a methodical, regular, bonafide student.
6) Having to wake up in the morning even if it was a Saturday or a Sunday. This discipline thing never teethed into my system, sadly.
7) The stringent rule to stay miles away from the kitchen as I was a contant menace to the gas oven. I was keen on experimenting with the gas lighter, specially the way it sparks off to produce a flint of fire and lights the gas.
So these were excerpts of a journey through my mind-scapes, a journey that I will cherish to take over and over again. Now the biggie thing. I tag Rai, Priyankari, Deep, Ajay, Dhaval, Hazel dream, jiby(if he is not already tagged), Sandesh (when he chooses to blog again), Pradip and all those who drops by to read this and haven't been tagged. So folks muzzle up and give it a go...
Labels: Tags
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Memorabilia
‘Cool, mossy ways with entwined creepers kissing the feet of the dainty,
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Memories or the reminiscences of the once sporadic, once true slices of life run riots in our brains as if they are possessed entities. From the days when conscious mind became a known figment of our being, memories became mementoes of our past- now shadowy and smothered in thousand after-thoughts. Sometimes they recur in our dreams as pageants of such recollections from the storehouse of oblivion. It happens to me frequently. Some fragment of incidents that shaped up aeons back, visit my dreamland with blurred faces and stranger identities.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
Labels: Looking back
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Tagged and Hooked
Overboundary: lining up the weird things about me, Amrita!
Was literally running out of ideas to jot down and was at my wit's end, chewing up the cud of whatever was left. It only needed a thrust, like being tagged, to come up with something to scrabble down. Not that I'm happy about being picked and pitted to finish this task. But thanks to shakhi anyways. At least she has shown me there is light at the end of the tunnel (that I can still carry on blogging).
Ok. Now the mammoth task lies ahead. The 6 most weird things about me. As it is i have a 'bad reputation' of being a little more on the weird side. Each one of my friends feels contented to add this feather of weirdness on my cap. And given a chance to uncork their mouth, they will spill out a hundred adjectives to ascribe me with. But now, when I am trying to mull up on the "madcap-py" side of me, I am lost. Don't know how to charge the brigade of thoughts reeling into my mind. Anyways will try my best to give it a shot.
Was literally running out of ideas to jot down and was at my wit's end, chewing up the cud of whatever was left. It only needed a thrust, like being tagged, to come up with something to scrabble down. Not that I'm happy about being picked and pitted to finish this task. But thanks to shakhi anyways. At least she has shown me there is light at the end of the tunnel (that I can still carry on blogging).
Ok. Now the mammoth task lies ahead. The 6 most weird things about me. As it is i have a 'bad reputation' of being a little more on the weird side. Each one of my friends feels contented to add this feather of weirdness on my cap. And given a chance to uncork their mouth, they will spill out a hundred adjectives to ascribe me with. But now, when I am trying to mull up on the "madcap-py" side of me, I am lost. Don't know how to charge the brigade of thoughts reeling into my mind. Anyways will try my best to give it a shot.
Numero uno: Right from my budding days, I developed this queer habit of thinking expressively with the use of appendages- from head to eyes to limbs to shoulders. Yes, swaying heads in a jittery, rolling eyes and unfixed gazes at vaccum, writing in air with fingers and a cock-like bent neck is a sure mark that my wild imagination is mowed loose. My thinking takes up external forms and renditions and the dominant mood of the thought calls up a relevant action. For example, if I'm thinking about a gaggy episode, I generally oscillate my head much like a parrot does. If I am dissecting memories, I usually use my fingers as instrument to write in air. Not to speak about the stuff I write, usually they are keywords of the thought. Sometimes though, my tongue finds a way out and I end up uttering out to myself,"hmmm .....", "YES!!!" or a strong "Exactly".
2nd: This one is a real nutty one. So all the lovers of ANTS should refrain from reading this, coz a lot of ants were harmed brutally while I carried out rampage with them. Frankly speaking, those liliputian, six-legged freaks manage to drive away my rationality. Those red creatures of some Lesser God (that's how my logic works when it comes to them), tempt me to play Pan, the God of mischievous fun, with them. If I find them marching in a queue as if they have to meet a deadline, I'm sure to splurge water in their way, or put a bar to stop them from heading forward. their confusion and bewilderment satisfies me to no end. Sometimes I catch hold of a couple of them and make them swim in my self-made small puddles of water. The more they swim, the more water I add on. (Its not that, I have got away with it. Mom has twitched my ears severly for flooding the floors. Good that didn't ever notice the floating carcasses of the ants!). Wait! I still have to doll up the tip on ice-berg. Some years back, when I would have had spells of boredom playing so innocently with them, I used to mutilate their lower abdomen with nails and left them on the mercy of God!!!
3rd: Each day, even till date, I have to dream about a dream that I would wish to dream before sleep overtakes me. The idea of falling asleep with an empty mind, gliding like a straight line of a graph without crests and troughs, doesn't really fascinate me much. Not that every day I ferret out new topics to invest my mind in. But sometimes I choose past events that can be fabricated and simulate them into a nice scoop to act as a sleeping pill. And this is necessitated with certain hard and fast rules - no noise, no light and no interruption. By chance if there is any obstacle, I make it a point to re-boot the dream process right from the scratch.
4th: I'm not spiteful, neigther vindictive. None of my die hard enemies can ever frame such allegations. So I never scheme or screw up. But if I am seriously cross with somebody, I feel the urge to lock them inside a stingy toilet. The idea is, the worst palce to be in will size them properly beacuse to stay in the such a forsaken place for long will be a punishment in itself. The desire possesses my mind for a bit of time and then slowly, the feeling that I have tormented and prosecuted the wrong-doer evenly takes over. And this pacifies me. Eventually the picture of the face, badly bashed by the murky place, forces up ripples of laughter from me. I simper and I forgive, all in good jest.
5th: This one would really testify that I'm mad north north-east. Like every other girl (or should I say women?) of my age, I, too, want to hog attention and care. It won't be mean to say that I secrectly enjoy the flash of thought that I am kept in a protective cocoon . Every woman does that (swear by the honesty). But its always a trouble in Paradise if I get it. Attention, care, screening -sounds utopic to me as long as they are miles away from me. But the moment they make an entry in my life, i feel suffocated; I feel I am being scrutinised and all my actions, every expression is captured and I feel like freezing to statue. I really don't know how it acts like a Midus' touch of wand and converts me into a person who is aware of the fact that he is a midget tied to a string, and the end of the string is in the hands of the watcher. so i always end up being lost in the maze- want to have something that I can't bear to have. A prudish confession!
6th: In the morning, after I wake up I'm a complete deaf and dumb person. I will not utter a word , no matter what. Only after brushing, I feel I have the power to speak up. If I have a call in the morning I curse the caller under breath. I have this notion that the stale breath would make me vomit. I have tried all means to wipe away such thoughts. I have brushed every night before dozing off to sleep, I have tried not to let that thought creep into my mind and cripple my desire to talk. But all means failed. So now, under strict instruction at home, no calls are handed over to me until I'm done with brushing. Forget outsiders, even Mom is an alien to me as long as i'm not brushed. Since, there is no need to interact, so spontaneously my ears don't function. I hear nothing as I say nothing. I call that temporary 'Coma', but i know people will term that insanity.
So here I have succesfully piloted my job. Its time for me to pass off the baton to others. So I tag Hazel dream, Velu and whoever drops in for the first time to my blog and leaves a comment! Ha that will be fun!
2nd: This one is a real nutty one. So all the lovers of ANTS should refrain from reading this, coz a lot of ants were harmed brutally while I carried out rampage with them. Frankly speaking, those liliputian, six-legged freaks manage to drive away my rationality. Those red creatures of some Lesser God (that's how my logic works when it comes to them), tempt me to play Pan, the God of mischievous fun, with them. If I find them marching in a queue as if they have to meet a deadline, I'm sure to splurge water in their way, or put a bar to stop them from heading forward. their confusion and bewilderment satisfies me to no end. Sometimes I catch hold of a couple of them and make them swim in my self-made small puddles of water. The more they swim, the more water I add on. (Its not that, I have got away with it. Mom has twitched my ears severly for flooding the floors. Good that didn't ever notice the floating carcasses of the ants!). Wait! I still have to doll up the tip on ice-berg. Some years back, when I would have had spells of boredom playing so innocently with them, I used to mutilate their lower abdomen with nails and left them on the mercy of God!!!
3rd: Each day, even till date, I have to dream about a dream that I would wish to dream before sleep overtakes me. The idea of falling asleep with an empty mind, gliding like a straight line of a graph without crests and troughs, doesn't really fascinate me much. Not that every day I ferret out new topics to invest my mind in. But sometimes I choose past events that can be fabricated and simulate them into a nice scoop to act as a sleeping pill. And this is necessitated with certain hard and fast rules - no noise, no light and no interruption. By chance if there is any obstacle, I make it a point to re-boot the dream process right from the scratch.
4th: I'm not spiteful, neigther vindictive. None of my die hard enemies can ever frame such allegations. So I never scheme or screw up. But if I am seriously cross with somebody, I feel the urge to lock them inside a stingy toilet. The idea is, the worst palce to be in will size them properly beacuse to stay in the such a forsaken place for long will be a punishment in itself. The desire possesses my mind for a bit of time and then slowly, the feeling that I have tormented and prosecuted the wrong-doer evenly takes over. And this pacifies me. Eventually the picture of the face, badly bashed by the murky place, forces up ripples of laughter from me. I simper and I forgive, all in good jest.
5th: This one would really testify that I'm mad north north-east. Like every other girl (or should I say women?) of my age, I, too, want to hog attention and care. It won't be mean to say that I secrectly enjoy the flash of thought that I am kept in a protective cocoon . Every woman does that (swear by the honesty). But its always a trouble in Paradise if I get it. Attention, care, screening -sounds utopic to me as long as they are miles away from me. But the moment they make an entry in my life, i feel suffocated; I feel I am being scrutinised and all my actions, every expression is captured and I feel like freezing to statue. I really don't know how it acts like a Midus' touch of wand and converts me into a person who is aware of the fact that he is a midget tied to a string, and the end of the string is in the hands of the watcher. so i always end up being lost in the maze- want to have something that I can't bear to have. A prudish confession!
6th: In the morning, after I wake up I'm a complete deaf and dumb person. I will not utter a word , no matter what. Only after brushing, I feel I have the power to speak up. If I have a call in the morning I curse the caller under breath. I have this notion that the stale breath would make me vomit. I have tried all means to wipe away such thoughts. I have brushed every night before dozing off to sleep, I have tried not to let that thought creep into my mind and cripple my desire to talk. But all means failed. So now, under strict instruction at home, no calls are handed over to me until I'm done with brushing. Forget outsiders, even Mom is an alien to me as long as i'm not brushed. Since, there is no need to interact, so spontaneously my ears don't function. I hear nothing as I say nothing. I call that temporary 'Coma', but i know people will term that insanity.
So here I have succesfully piloted my job. Its time for me to pass off the baton to others. So I tag Hazel dream, Velu and whoever drops in for the first time to my blog and leaves a comment! Ha that will be fun!
Labels: Tags
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Just crap
I'm not feeling like scribbling down anything. I'm feeling like the fountainhead of my thoughts has been choked, there is no influx of ideas, no words streaming out of the mind even if I rack my brain to the farthest...It just seems empty, barren, infertile, numbed.
I don't sense that I can ever possibly manage to come up with any more fresh ideas to format and key-board. While I'm just trying to kill time strumming my fingers on the letters, I don't know what to type in the next line.I'm literally fishing for sentences, words and most importantly the pith to write about.
Today is Panchami. Just a few hours to go for our biggest festival to pilot off. I'm rite now sitting in my work station in the office, with nothing to keep me seriously engaged [when i said that I meant UI've practically no work at hand :)]. And so, in desperation to keep my lazy brains from dozing off to where they are used to go in such God-only-knows-what-to-do situations. So, I'm doing what I'm best at i.e talking gibberish, all crap. Actually, I'm not getting anybody's head to chew up, anyone who can lend me a patient ear to listen up the utter non-sense stuff that I'm so willing to throw up. And then Voila the flames of unlit brain lit !! I thought what better way to make my voice heard than through this dumb, nerd box?
I don't sense that I can ever possibly manage to come up with any more fresh ideas to format and key-board. While I'm just trying to kill time strumming my fingers on the letters, I don't know what to type in the next line.I'm literally fishing for sentences, words and most importantly the pith to write about.
Today is Panchami. Just a few hours to go for our biggest festival to pilot off. I'm rite now sitting in my work station in the office, with nothing to keep me seriously engaged [when i said that I meant UI've practically no work at hand :)]. And so, in desperation to keep my lazy brains from dozing off to where they are used to go in such God-only-knows-what-to-do situations. So, I'm doing what I'm best at i.e talking gibberish, all crap. Actually, I'm not getting anybody's head to chew up, anyone who can lend me a patient ear to listen up the utter non-sense stuff that I'm so willing to throw up. And then Voila the flames of unlit brain lit !! I thought what better way to make my voice heard than through this dumb, nerd box?
Labels: Miscellaneous
Monday, September 18, 2006
A Letter from a Mother to a Son
-----------------------------------------
(Courtesy to a Journalist of The Statesman who had a story on the
similar lines years ago, my writing is on his lines. The thought
of this is only inspired from that story, the rest is my input.)
-----------------------------------------
(Courtesy to a Journalist of The Statesman who had a story on the
similar lines years ago, my writing is on his lines. The thought
of this is only inspired from that story, the rest is my input.)
Dear Son,
I'm glancing through the sills of window at the space around me. It's star-decked here. Visibility is translucent, all that I can decipher is a realm of vacuity mingled with the beams of Nimbus like umbra. Time is frost here and millions of slings cannot thaw it. My existence is but a serene, tranquil consciousness. I have nothing to spare a thought about save You and your well-being. That is the single most overriding memory that I haven't been able to part with, over these harrowing years. Yes my sweet, I'm talking about those 19 years of bereavement.
O! If only I had a heart to cry out the sedimented aches of the almost bygone score, if only i had a pair of eyes to cry out my imperceptible heart that throbs for you! When I left, you were just a bundle of joy - a pygmy size darling with a booming, buzzing sense of understanding, a cry-baby who could just be hushed up if I fed you and lullabied you to doze off peacefully. An irrefutable, invincible force mightier than the bond of filial love snatched me away from you. I had to move zillions of miles away where your despondent yearn for me would'nt reach. My corporeal frame was burnt to ashes and my soul transcended the earthly bounds of human emotions, but nothing could snap off the ties of blood. Your satin touch, your fragrance, your honey-suckled face, your angelic giggles and your guileless ogling at the world as if it were your new playground - I borne them all in the inner recesses of my soul as if they were embossed forever. Even today those puny details make me feel starved. The pain of half-requited motherhood wrenches every nook of my being, a being that is caught between the snare of existence and oblivious non-existence.
Today you are turning 20 after trodding a quarter part of your life without my loving coocon around you, without the tender shade of my caresses. I can see you as a handsome boy, pretty much resembling your father, tawny faced with a bluish tinge left after you have shaved your marshy stubble and a square built with a dint of muscular frame. I know you you will soon have a swooning fan following. (But my child remember to make your poor mum proud, don't get swayed by the sweep of the mob. the world's countless fancies can lead you astray, stranding to a rueful state.) I am watching you from here. You have just set out of the house towards your destination -your college. The arrogance of youth with its indomitable spirit is evident from every stride that you are taking. There you are, gazing at the sky above you just to invoke my blessings. Son, you are already blessed. Each earth day, as you wake up my blessings stream on you with the sunrays that smear the hues of gold on you.
Don't pout child, don't feel that you are ill-fated. I am with you as a part of your being as you were a part of my flesh and blood for full 270 days. Look within you. The heart that pounds, the
lungs that give you the fuel to live, the sense organs that aid you to perceive the world - all were a part of me and they took shape as each day they were suppled with cells. Today, as you are about to lunge forward to turn over a new chapter of life, let me escort you son. I have implored the orbs to gift you with the integrity to walk straight without having to stoop in shame. I have beseeched the ministers of adversity to silken up your way. I have prayed to the Lord that all life through you can pull up your sleeves to face odd clogs. Time is not as rapacious as it has had appeared to you. It had brazened you at an early age by chopping me off the parent tree to which you could have entwined to creep up. But, now its pay back time. Your fairy-Godmother has brewed up a concoction to touch upon magic on your life. She has murmured into my ears that your sunny days of hay-making are at the threshold. The inviting vistas will beckon you with arms widespread. So equip yourself dear, lest the opportunities should fly by. Cough up whatever is ailing you and arise like a Phoenix to conquer the world! May the three sisters of fate who spin the wheel of fortune canonize your heart and soul. God bless you sweets.
Your Mom in Heaven.
I'm glancing through the sills of window at the space around me. It's star-decked here. Visibility is translucent, all that I can decipher is a realm of vacuity mingled with the beams of Nimbus like umbra. Time is frost here and millions of slings cannot thaw it. My existence is but a serene, tranquil consciousness. I have nothing to spare a thought about save You and your well-being. That is the single most overriding memory that I haven't been able to part with, over these harrowing years. Yes my sweet, I'm talking about those 19 years of bereavement.
O! If only I had a heart to cry out the sedimented aches of the almost bygone score, if only i had a pair of eyes to cry out my imperceptible heart that throbs for you! When I left, you were just a bundle of joy - a pygmy size darling with a booming, buzzing sense of understanding, a cry-baby who could just be hushed up if I fed you and lullabied you to doze off peacefully. An irrefutable, invincible force mightier than the bond of filial love snatched me away from you. I had to move zillions of miles away where your despondent yearn for me would'nt reach. My corporeal frame was burnt to ashes and my soul transcended the earthly bounds of human emotions, but nothing could snap off the ties of blood. Your satin touch, your fragrance, your honey-suckled face, your angelic giggles and your guileless ogling at the world as if it were your new playground - I borne them all in the inner recesses of my soul as if they were embossed forever. Even today those puny details make me feel starved. The pain of half-requited motherhood wrenches every nook of my being, a being that is caught between the snare of existence and oblivious non-existence.
Today you are turning 20 after trodding a quarter part of your life without my loving coocon around you, without the tender shade of my caresses. I can see you as a handsome boy, pretty much resembling your father, tawny faced with a bluish tinge left after you have shaved your marshy stubble and a square built with a dint of muscular frame. I know you you will soon have a swooning fan following. (But my child remember to make your poor mum proud, don't get swayed by the sweep of the mob. the world's countless fancies can lead you astray, stranding to a rueful state.) I am watching you from here. You have just set out of the house towards your destination -your college. The arrogance of youth with its indomitable spirit is evident from every stride that you are taking. There you are, gazing at the sky above you just to invoke my blessings. Son, you are already blessed. Each earth day, as you wake up my blessings stream on you with the sunrays that smear the hues of gold on you.
Don't pout child, don't feel that you are ill-fated. I am with you as a part of your being as you were a part of my flesh and blood for full 270 days. Look within you. The heart that pounds, the
lungs that give you the fuel to live, the sense organs that aid you to perceive the world - all were a part of me and they took shape as each day they were suppled with cells. Today, as you are about to lunge forward to turn over a new chapter of life, let me escort you son. I have implored the orbs to gift you with the integrity to walk straight without having to stoop in shame. I have beseeched the ministers of adversity to silken up your way. I have prayed to the Lord that all life through you can pull up your sleeves to face odd clogs. Time is not as rapacious as it has had appeared to you. It had brazened you at an early age by chopping me off the parent tree to which you could have entwined to creep up. But, now its pay back time. Your fairy-Godmother has brewed up a concoction to touch upon magic on your life. She has murmured into my ears that your sunny days of hay-making are at the threshold. The inviting vistas will beckon you with arms widespread. So equip yourself dear, lest the opportunities should fly by. Cough up whatever is ailing you and arise like a Phoenix to conquer the world! May the three sisters of fate who spin the wheel of fortune canonize your heart and soul. God bless you sweets.
Your Mom in Heaven.
Labels: Creativity
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Gone with the RAIN!
This might not be everybody's favourite cuppa, talking about rain at length, when the culprit itself has taken a break from its downpour job. Many of the poor victims of Rain God would like to cull him if they just get the better of him(especially the ones who owe him the lives of their dear ones or their belongings). For the life of them, rain would be the last one to coochie coo about.
Not even mine! Though my city has been spared from the outrageousness of Nature this year( minus a few glaring signs of a washout), on certain days of mad drizzle, I wished the clouds passed out with the languish of over-pour. But it was just a powerless, unsolicitated wish which lacks the might to over-power the unchallangeable force of Nature.
But now when those incessant drops have started to dry up and signalling to withdraw troops within a month, i'm already missing the earthy smell, the moist air full of succour for the lungs, the drop in temperature and the newly sprout leaves washed in large drops, making them droop.
Even the rain tormented souls will agree that the bathed world looks more luscious and green than the wilted look in the heat or the ashened look in the cold!
Not even mine! Though my city has been spared from the outrageousness of Nature this year( minus a few glaring signs of a washout), on certain days of mad drizzle, I wished the clouds passed out with the languish of over-pour. But it was just a powerless, unsolicitated wish which lacks the might to over-power the unchallangeable force of Nature.
But now when those incessant drops have started to dry up and signalling to withdraw troops within a month, i'm already missing the earthy smell, the moist air full of succour for the lungs, the drop in temperature and the newly sprout leaves washed in large drops, making them droop.
Even the rain tormented souls will agree that the bathed world looks more luscious and green than the wilted look in the heat or the ashened look in the cold!
Labels: Miscellaneous
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Kaleidoscope
some vignettes of images, some half remembered smiles, some bits of will-o-wisp talks...
A busy day rounds off with murmurs,chuckles and little eye-to-eye exchange of words,
A walk on the old roads and a wise laugh at the dug up follies,
A post-mortem with a finicky mind opening up new-found angles to the stories,
Sewn with small details making the eyes misty.
One tongue-in-cheek remark in a cackling voice,
The burst of volcano dormant for so long,
Some spiteful terms hurled at the ones absent,
Grey faces darkened with the colour of pain,
Choked voices giving vent to untold remorse,
Silent lips exchanging apology for the long done mistakes.
Two old hearts, having nothing more to offer the world,
are joined together , thus,with the string of fruitless trifles.
Labels: Creativity
