The Walk Around the Childhood Town

With papers, tearing notebooks, markers, emails all scattered around me I am sitting here waiting to create something out of it. There are ideas, mediums, disagreements, and creations. Different people keep coming across my path, stirring it, tripping me, and showing me new things. Then, I want to do this, I want to do that, and I want to do everything. The end is a confused, complex, cluttered state of excitement.
Sometimes, I take a break from everything. Like today, I walked and walked and walked. Five kilometers from Anokhi Cafe to Tiruvanmiyur Bus depot. Feel free, energized and ready for more excitement.

a progress of days..

As days pass on life changes and many lotuses bloom around the beautiful snake garden. True, I am still sleeping in my snake dreams and sipping jasmine tea. However, the typical plans of life took a decent turn to understand simplicity and the plain reason of being slow. A couple of days back, I was almost defined (quite out of joblessness, as he adds) by a very a good friend of mine as "New Age". As much as this sounds, what would you say: 'cool', 'awesome' and absolutely great; you see I am very bad on updating myself about the new vocabulary. The only times I manage to find out these new words are by accident and I make it a point not to use them. I still stick to the same slang of familial creativity: summaaa, wateeebeeauootee, and rolling on the floor and laughing when needed too.

If you cannot say or do anything with a bang, why do it? It really makes no sense if you do something, because you're too lazy to actually do what you intended to. It's a complex web, with the greatest simplicity of life. My advice to all who find themselves at a tough spot in life: Get off your computer chair, jump thrice up and down, and sit down. Release this bottled up energy. The problem is that sometimes we try to speak out everything we have inside us, which is absolutely necessary, but we forget that people WILL misunderstand, comment, and criticize. That is the simple of point of relating with others. If everyone agreed with everyone, there will be no opinions, arguments, let alone discussions. It will be pure monotonous boredom. Sometimes you just have to do things that you swore you would never do. Drink. Paint. Sing. Drive. Smoke. Love. Marry. Raise pigs. Something odd and new. Or you get caught in a life like mine, where you always have to do something new. NGO internships. Painting. Drawing. Writing. Singing. Cycling. Photography. Writing. Travelling. Painting. Internships. Jobs. Stage Management. Love. Sex. Smoke. Drink. Stop drinking. Stop drinking coffee. Acidity. Every day there has to be a new obsession. A new focus, and a new hurdle to get over, otherwise I am bound to get bored with myself. I deal with a very fast life, but the institution of collegiate education in India is designed in a way that makes us feel like we're brewing in a certain mentality and idealism of placement cells, campus interviews, project vivas, and attendance sheets. That's what college ends up being. I started of this year absolutely hating college and I had enough valid reasons to do so. But, I have moved a step higher. Sometimes it also important to stick around and see what a certain routine would reward you. If it doesn't reward you what you want, it cannot be deemed useless. My life is still going on. Plans can keep cropping up. But that's the deal. That's life. Right now I have very certain plans: 1. Go to Bombay tomorrow. 2. Spend a wonderful week there. 3. Figure out my enrollment in Long Ridge Writers' Group, Connecticut 4. Start liking college 5. Study for my semester examinations 6. Spend quality time with aunt and grandmom 7. Paint out the entire Silappathikaram 8. Repair the cameras 9. Save hell of a lot of money

10. GET A JOB

The Beatles and Our Apple Scruffs

In the space of this world, music and language strive as the most Beautiful creations of humankind. Both owe responsibility to a lot of revolutionary changes and most importantly the creation of history.

This post, pretty much, aims narrowly at projecting myself as a subdued 'apple-scruff'. Probably, my life is not owed to The Beatles (my life is not owed to anything), but a large chunk of resonance in my head bellows The Beatles and their creations.

Not every single piece of creation by them stands in my eyes, and that would be too much of praise to anything I adore or exists. That would make them the absolute and sometimes even protect me from exploring a variety, which is not good. I have my specific favourites.

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  The Fool on the Hill
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  Norwegian Wood
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  Strawberry Fields Forever
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  I'm Only Sleeping
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  Yellow Submarine
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  Eleanor Rigby
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  Blackbird
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  I am the Walrus

Wait! It goes on and on and on. Thanks to Krishna, Arun, and Jacob! Now, I have a CD of all the Beatles albums. Wonderful. John Lennon (an artist of his own accord), Paul Mc Cartney (with that immortal reverberance in his name), George Harrison and Ringo Starr make and create music, almost out of thin air, filled with life.

The beauty about Beatles is that even the obscurity is ver identifiable for a keen listener. What they talk about is new, and yet not new. One could easily call them experimental musicians who struck a lot of luck at the bottom of the sea, floated, and flew high. The history of The Beatles, when read into, feeds more to their music. But, many listeners (like myself) believe in just taking in what we can with what we find. The musician is separated from the music and thereby made immortal. The strange immortality and cloud is where The Beatles, for me, are.

They invite a world into my space. "The fool on the fill sees the sun going down. And the eyes in his head see the world spinning round" fades into a longing and a difference when they sing, "And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flownSo I lit a fire, isn't it good, norwegian wood. " The words encompass a time being for me. Creation. Yet again, they aren't the absolute, but one among them - the perfect imperfectionists, a love for music listeners.

Really felt like writing about them, because I'm listening to them over and over again. I'll be back with more music from a variety of musicians who have created, still create, and leave behind resonance, bass, and treble for the ears and the minds.

Being Special

My blue bag hung on my shoulders, as I walked to the auto stand. The yellow little bugs were standing in a row watched by men with eager eyes. Those eager eyes were more curious about me. My attire, my behaviour, I seemed to amuse them. Giving them a good laugh, and twenty bucks, I skipped a walk to the bus terminus. Just as I had wished, a bus left within five minutes of my arrival. I ran and caught it in time. I was satisfied.

I got myself a ticket and sat on cushioned seats for the normal bus rates, Rs. 6.50. The brown wallet looked old with the blue bag, and yet authentic enough to be mine. I placed all my money carefully, folding every note secretively and selfishly. I slowly placed it inside my bag's front pouch, zipped it tight. The scenes outside the window were inviting me to space out. The sky poured brightly on to the road, and I tried hard to ignore the dust cloud on my face.

'Norwegian Wood' by Haruki Murakami started my days with questions on who is normal and who isn't. It also let my mind wander into my own physical experiences and taught me to miss touches, and feelings. Sitting in the bus, I really wanted to squirm or tell someone I miss a touch. I started thinking of a perfectly shaped ear. The feel of the nimble ear traced by my fingers merged with the words in the book. Am I normal?

Naoko and I started to identify with each other. It seemed like she was talking to me, whispering to me and not to Toru Watanabe. As the book pages flapped to the momentum of the vehicle, I reminded myself constantly, I am reading fiction. The fear crept in through my ears and my fingers were shivering. I plodded through, enjoying the subtlety and directness of it. Good fun, to be precisely vague! I enjoyed confusing my mind, and waiting till it was burnt by thinking.

The calmness set in waiting for the quietest storm. I got off the bus only to find my wallet missing. I watched my eyes move fast and trying hard to comprehend. My finger tips squeezed my temples. "Check your complete bag," my voice said. I got back onto the bus and checked the possible corners, with an aching want for another corner that might have the wallet. Luck failed, and I walked out money less and without my college ID card. Tears wanted to soothe my aching eyes, tired from the dust and burning thoughts. What a chivalrous and skilled pickpocket! Roald Dahl's Hitchhiker crossed my mind.

I saw my thoughts, and convinced myself it was a man. My feelings were horizontal lines and thoughts were vertical lines. A red grid bounced up and down in front of my head. Love from people was surrounding me and the grid danced. The red ran through my eyes and I felt it fly from the back of my head. I signed my lack of an ID, matter of fact, and lead myself quietly with my regained speed to the cafe (kayf). I let tears roll down and vented a variety of things. Guilt crept up my trousers and shoved themselves in my gut. I wanted to faint. I wanted to cry out loud. I slipped into cribbing and soon a quietude fell. I slipped into a phase.

Sudden pangs of laughter started, and I felt I would have gladly given the pickpocket my phone, had he asked for it. Selfish! I would have at least got a new phone. Disasters skew my mind. A secret thought in my head when I watched the tsunami was that I wanted to ski. Sometimes, I scare myself with such "insensitive" thoughts. However, I am human and normal in my own standards.

As the tension eased slowly, after some exhaustive and repetitive note-taking on philosophy, we left college. Sitting on the floor of the vendor's compartment we had entrained and were on our way to Chetpet. A good mellow ride, though leather wallets seemed to crawl on the floor and climb up to my head, subdued the pressure. I was going to watch a movie: Taare Zameen Par (Stars on Earth). With 50 bucks tickets we got some broken seats in Anu Ega. I was not sure if I'd watched a movie there before. (Bluh blah blooh). Let your hair down, once in a while, at least. After the trailer of Superstar and talking about Kunal, the movie started. The titles and the animation is really well done. The blend of Iranian cinema, made it a good attempt at 'good' cinema. Darsheel Safary will really grow to become a good actor and performer, and a sensitive human being. Just hope, he gets such scope of acting and guidance to grow. As I watched the story of Ishaan, he reminded me of myself. The number nine looks like an elephant. I love seeing things, I always do. Spiders are my favourite and I see them crawling everywhere.

When the world is make-believe, the action is real. Move on!

Spaced out....the space ends!

blue bulbs

Severed they hang, on a night branch, hanging low - claws stuck. Silhouttes dancing, drums beating base - gut level resonance. Feet walk towards walls cracking memories, creepers running out. Rapid and random, street lights sleep, yawns and lethargy gifted to the moon, she smiles. Kerosene lamps, blue bulbs, silence fills, behind translucent hues.

Dusty Sun

Gaze. Cellphones beep constantly, Buses rush endlessly. A dust storm rises on my face, Blurred to day dreams and motor thoughts. Paronomasia of crows added to wheels, and an old radio beating waves and notes, algid air takes count. The jitney rolls, caressing bumps and ditches, damp rain water, splashing with the slush, greased. No one punes to my ear, caught in the routine radio, melancholy of times unvisited, reluctant eyes unpurposefully gaze. Looking at juments, An ox pulling a cart, Outdoors incessantly filled with indoor fugginess - dream of a jeremiad and a happy song. Gaze - a recondite, sleeping and snoring; when gossip rises, unrevealed lives, strangers hear, mundane entertainment. Bathos playing on laps, evening glances in memory, stealing time for coffee and talk or clapperclaw, better than bruxism. Gaze.

Expectations!!!

One of my friends was talking about a book on Positive Thinking. She stated that one should not expect anything, and then she contradicted herself (or rather the book contradicted itself) by saying expect the best. This threw quite a few questions and thoughts into my head.

I remember about a year and half ago, in my school interview, I expressed my difficulty of dealing with disappointment after expecting something. I don't really expect the best of me, but the supreme of unnatural abilities. No wonder, I am disappointed half the time.

Actually, nowadays, I don't really expect anything from everything. I even told my friend that some of us just need to accept the pure fact that we can't do certain things. It may seem a very pessimistic opinion, compared to the optimistic motto - afraid of nothing, everything is possible.

That is what Man's development has been based on. But did he understand maybe humans can cope with these advancements but the net of nature can't. When we say we can do everything, we need to also look further and say can everyone hold onto my hand when I do so. This does not happen in any form.

I am not saying eliminate adventure from your life. I have enough and more adventure in my life. Some has brought wonders, many have brought dangers I might have to live with all my life. Think further, think before, think after...Think, don't spoil the fun, but make sure it's not only momentary.

Oh! I might contradict every word I put down here, it could just be words clouded by grief as usual. I cannot call my state that of grief and sadness. I never had any, will never have. I am just used to standing out of the situation and thinking around, even after I make a mistake, I have a logical explanation as to why I took the wrong route. This has helped in many ways. It has helped me honestly correct myself so many times. It has helped me be the person who is just her. This has helped me love myself.