31 Dec 2011; 1.57 AM

The last few hours of the year remain. The last twenty two. I was watching a movie just now. And it made me think. No, not the movie. But the banal act of sitting down and watching one. I had bits and pieces which felt like a cinematic deja vu. Chunks of it that I had seen before. And now that it is over I feel disgusted. The movie was fine. On a better day I might have even enjoyed it. Morgan Freeman never disappoints. 

Tonight, however, I wish to write.

Never mind everything else. I just wish to write tonight. Just want to play with some words here. Just wanna stroke 'em, juggle 'em, throw them up in the air and catch them off guard. I wanna pet them, spoil them, make them mine.

As I see out of the window, I see different hues playing against the dark backdrop of the night sky. I hear they're flashing lights somewhere up the London Eye for New Year's perhaps. I see no lights but only the reflections. Making the 'welkin' gleam! The clouds seem awashed with the most interesting hues - purple and blue and pink and green..all random all brilliant. It looks good and comforting. Especially because it is right there. I don't even have to move an inch to be able to see it. It's right there. Just saw some white light dazzle in the sky, as if the moon's been waltzing by itself.

I will try and write more tomorrow. But if I don't then let it be known that the year has been spectacular. I would always remember 2011 as a wonderful, thoughtful, surprisingly charming an year. A lot changes in an year. Doesn't it?

Sigh. I don't feel very good tonight. My wish to be able to go away for a while has remained unfulfilled. I am neither in pain nor uncared-for. I just wish to know me better. Perhaps spend some more time with me would set it right. I shall do that more often now onwards. 


PS: I miss you bad, Panther..I wish you'd just come running back to me.

the courtroom of conscience

Words elude me like never before. I say I am sorry but they still don't speak with me. This is an attempt in perseverance. I write much like a child who knows she has erred and who, in an awkward nervous fashion keeps standing at the doorway. I too stand there, with my head bowed and hands tied. I am not apologetic for not writing - not here or otherwise. But for that because of which I was not able to talk to myself. Writing would have required an honest reflection and for many days I had kept averting my gaze. But then words precede me, as always. I was 'dropped' and rightly so.

The part of me that writes had ceased to talk to the part of me that wants to write. If it has happened to you, you would know the agony it can cause. It was an injury upon a wound. Words, my precious palanquin bearers, took sides with the former. I choked at times, but I did not have the strength to face me here. For in here one has to be most naked. Brutally, beautifully - naked. And utter exposure needs unfaltering conviction.

I have realised what writing is to me. It's worship, it's prayer, it's the answer. It's the one most honest act I ever do. Something that's as much mine as my own child would be. Even more perhaps. And when I couldn't face myself in words - oh I felt dismembered - as if left abandoned at the outskirts of the same cobbled streets that were (are) home to me. 

Often in the past I have thought about how it is the biggest sin - doing what one does not want to do. That there is to be dignity even in one's sins - this dignity toboggans from a 'want' - which is the expression of one's own volition. The 'will' fills the cognitive senses and lead us up to a decision, however dastardly it may be. It would be lesser an evil to skip morality, commit a wrong, if only one has/had a 'want'. But when you do something you did not even 'want' to do - you couldn't have caused a bigger ignominy and disrespect to the 'self'. If there is a bigger sin than sin, it is sinning without wanting to.

I whispered apologies to me a hundred times. But the writer wouldn't allow for unjustifiable mistakes. Not from me. 

The courtroom of conscience has room enough for reason, excuses, even tomfoolery. It has many windows too for one to take flight and escape. But there are no doors from which one could walk out with dignity, unless one has justified oneself. Yet, how to justify something I did not want to do? My standards are engraved in stone, the bars are always high. I could find no justification. And so I struggled. I couldn't and wouldn't flee from the windows. And I could not walk out the doors too.

And so here I stand, staring at the floor in obeisance. Hoping.

crayons

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you're missed

you're missed

I woke up today.. after months of not believing it. My coming here had made it easier for me to forget what had happened. Whenever I would speak to someone at home, I would often stop myself just in time lest I should ask them how was Panther doing and whether or not he had had his meal properly.. I would often confuse myself knowingly perhaps. Last year - esp the months of November and the first day of December had never really settled in - I had fed to me a notion that I was away, and it was only because I was away that he wasn't with me.. that he was fine at home, and ma was taking care of him. My mind knew the reality yet refused to believe. My being away only helped me hold on to that string of false belief, which even though i knew was 'false' was a strange belief none the less. I think it's time I let go. I think it would still not make a difference. But it's time I loosen my grip.

you were dying this time last year

you were dying and so was i

each time you'd breathe

would be my sigh of relief

you were dying last year this time

you were dying and so was i

each time you'd try to rise

each time you'd fall trying

i'd run to be your limbs

i'd shudder at the sight

Been an year

would be many more

I might not remember each moment

But i can still recall

Each little crevice on your coat

every little thing that would amuse you

I know how you'd react at this and jump at that

What would make you go wag

I love you, if there ever can be love

I mothered you my darling

from the moment i knew i could..

Fussed over you crazy

Pampered you mad,

Was it for you i did all that i wonder

Or was it for me instead..

I know that I know and no one else will

I loved you more than you did me,

you know that my greedy little darling?

But i loved you for that..

as I love you for all..

You were dying last year this time

You were ..and so was I

I know there should be no tears. I was happy all those years wasn't I? I was because I had you to take care of. I had you to come home to and to spoil silly and to scold and to take for walks and make you eat.. those little words we had for our own..:) bisky and bukku and ghumi and the list goes on..you revelled in all that...and then there was no greater pleasure than to watch you sleep..or see you gobble your food, you having your way.. and me having mine.. fighting sometimes.. you always won, needless to say.. you're a delight Panther - in your being and so in your memories.. you're a delight.. a comfort , my heartbeat..

PS: i dont care if you think im crazy..:) i'd just smile at that.. i dont know if you know what it means to bring someone up.. to cook for, to clean after, to be responsible at age thirteen.. to give in, to be dragged for walks early morning, to be woken up in the middle of the night, to spend nights making sure he's comfortable, to try to discipline him and fail.. to find yourself helpless in front of that little one.. to go around pasting posters in the neighbourhood when he had run away, to save money so you could get him treats, to get him bathed at a doggie parlour sometimes, to lie for him, to get scolded by parents because you want him to sleep in your room, to sneak him in at nights, to pray he won't bark when you fix a mid-night meal, to show him off, to have him as a companion for always, to making him happy with nothing but a pat and a choostick, to get runover by him at times.. to love him.. unconditionally.. as like one does ones child.. and i miss him today..sitting far away from where he is right now.. buried. He has been with me, from the time he was a month old till now..for always..

I guess my first born, will always be my second.

random

I can hear the Big Ben chime as I type this. It's 2300 hrs. I am in my room, tucked in bed and warm. Time passes quickly here. So quick sometimes that I give up trying to keep pace. And then I want to halt. Jettison the mind and feel. Let the chilled air and electric frenzy permeate through, engulfing me. Perhaps getting into some kind of a grind would also be good. But I wouldn't want to for now. As someone said to me a few days ago in response to my asking what he does for a living: "I like to do as little as possible". That's what I wanna do too.

I am sleepy..

It's not that there's been any paucity of things doing rounds in my head. But for sure, there's been a dearth of desire - the working-myself-up-to-some-passion desire. I read and muse for that. Listen to music too. Go for walks. Write. But it's not happening. Perhaps something awaits round the corner.

Would you believe I long for a break? Yea, even from here, from this year long hiatus. I wish to go home but don't wish to stay there. I think I have moved on in some ways. The umbilical chord has been cut -  isn't that what I wanted? Yes..yet every drift needs a home, every cascade a flow...

I am reading The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro these nights - gifted to me by someone I wouldn't dare call a friend (for he snubs at that, he might flinch at his mention too, but when do I listen? ;)). The book is a nice read definitely, but I feel I'm missing something. Perhaps it will all come around once I'm done with it, which shouldn't take long.

After a long time I am writing happily oblivious of who reads. Not that it's always on my mind, but of late I was beginning to be reticent and quite cryptic, you'd agree. I wish I would go on without realising this for some more time for then I would again get cautious. I wish the fingers would continue to tap the keys..making the sound I like best in the world... the sound of typing..isn't it delicious? I wouldn't even dare go about suggesting to me the sound of typewriters..downright sexy. May be cz words are being formed.. the faster the more, the faster the better, the faster the thought. Onomatopoeia for that anyone?

...Anddddd there goes my own flow.."SNAP!" :) I could almost hear it break.

Skybound

Lost. My eternal state of being. Did I ever feel 'found' and oh, how I want to be there, where one is found. I am not dark in the mind. Not yet anyway. And it reflects. Struggle I may, but that won't make me dark either. Life will, the wrinkles will and so would the creases in the wrinkles that are the gift of time. What's happening? And why here of all places? I wish to go right now. Get myself together. And sit with me for a while. Why not just make peace? Why not strike a deal? 

The ideas in my head are in conflict with the life I have lived so far. I am skybound yet aghast.

damnation!

Don't know what it is. But the mind seeks time. Some time and lots of books. Just books and time and patience. Books and coffee. Many reads and my mind. CONSUME. The way it's your fantasy to make love on a tabletop.. sweeping random objects off the surface with a single continuous thrust of the arm, before swiftly placing your lover on the counter and then go on, go on loving..

Roll back.. rewind and revisit the sweeping part in slow motion this once. Feel the strength of a man's arm, the relentless, the careless, the reckless gesture as things 'important' tumble down one after the other, slowly charging down against the weight of time and bursting into tumultuous fractures on the tiled floor... making a deafening (defining?) clatter - the clamour of the broken pieces and the din of all that breaks loose - hell as well as your own mind. Heedless of the mess, unmindful of the broken pieces of glass on the floor, blotched sheets of paper lying about - some crumpled some not, stationery, knickknacks strewn about. And on the mind just a blurred frenzy, a stupor in a spur.. a ruffled fazed uncomfortable delicious odyssey..

Wanna do that. Just that. Right now.

Wanna sweep off the tabletop all that claims its place there... all that impedes my flow.. and obstructs my path. To renounce everything and every thought that was so far the 'subject'.  The path! As if the landscape is itself evolving. That everything else is a distraction, a disturbance, a work-to-do.

That there's only one thing you're accursed to do. And that you must do. And what peace in such damnation!

not a thing! nothing!

It is one of those nights when it is all you can think of. But not a single one of that damned species would find its way ... my fingers twitch in want, mind does a somersault now and then.. but it eludes still.. the inspiration and the appetite - yes, the 'word'. The thirst is beautiful but you want to have more.. you begin strumming the chords knowing not where it will go but you will stop not, for to stop would be to give up the chase... 

tonight the lips shall yearn to burn, the throat it may run dry.. 
the mind be swathe in thirst yet, not a single drop will comply

there's just so much

I finally find time to do it. Write to you. Write in you. Not that I have not been writing. The mind has been leaving imprints along the horizon of the conscious, but not on this land. 

I miss you.

And as I write this I am unable to put a finger at what is more important when i say it. I, miss, or you? :) Must be the 'I'.

Gulp

I met the stranger again today. He is strange. Not in a stranger sort of a way. But in a diabolic, intelligent, cunning, smiling, unpredictable sort of a manner. He kept his hand around my shoulder, I shirked it away instantly. My intuition was so strong that I half ran out on him but he convinced me into having coffee. I said to him on face that I sensed something wrong and that I should be going. That I have a weird feeling and that it was quite strong. But he convinced me somehow, patiently asking me to sit and have cup of coffee at a regular coffee shop. I somehow had to agree. We paid for our own coffee. I was so wary that I gulped down my coffee without sugar. Didn't wanna go a-lookin' for sugar sachets in the coffee house with him about. He was strange that man. His eyes were nothing but a wall. Depthless and small, they smacked of a sharp mind. A mind that knew its way around and was smiling nonetheless. Now that I think of it, a chill runs down my spine, for eyes reveal it all and what the eyes can't tell, the smile does. His was a smile that didn't really beam but assessed. A smile that implored, begged to be believed and be agreed to. A smile which was otherwise quite ordinary.

By Jove, I have never been as frightened in the mind as I was today.

The conversation over coffee was genial and calm or may be it was the caffeine. We talked of books, family, my country, his country, his childhood, psychology, philosophy, words and our own hollowed wisdom. Every now and then he would say something weird, every now and then I would steer the conversation on to other topics or put it down to my being a foreigner. He said he was a writer. Writes on travel and leisure. I am not too sure. I don't know why. I doubt if his name was really his own. He talked at length about a book that was his favorite. A book that changed his life. I checked it up just now while writing this.

There is no 'book' by that name. There are other things though.

PS: comments not welcome on this one. 

Yun Hi

Tumhein chhuna hai
Jaise tum ho koi cheez meri
Jo bhule se daraaz ke
anjaan kisi kone mein pari mili

Suraj ki roshni ki tarah
Darwaaze se aate dekhna hai tumhein
Khirki ki salankhon se taakna hai tumhein
Jab sham ki sair ko jao tum

Har raat tumhein bayaan karni hai
Har subah neend se jagaana hai tumhein
Hairaan hona hai ki tum ho sath mere!
Pareshan hona hai kabhi tumhare hone hi se!

Ek saans mein pi jana hai tumhein
Har ghoont mein milaana bhi hai.
Tumhein ittalah tak nahi karni
Par sab kuch bataana bhi hai

Tumhein chhuna hai
Jaise tum ho koi cheez meri
ajaan kisi bayabaan se kone mein
jo mujhe pari mili!

Kuch kalam se ikhtiyar karna hai
thora lafzo pe bithana hai tumhein
Gar khamoshi koi zabaan hoti
Shayad yun hi kehti main usey

I will make it difficult for you, I know

I will make it difficult for you, I know
I'll make you suffer with my teasing eyes
my impervious smile and that baiting glance
seeking the core of you in you.

I will worsen it still, with
all the questions i'll ask
and my ill-timed jabbering
won't long let the moment last

I'll snatch away those moments too
when you're all secured in ecstasy
I will come to you with mundanity
even as you're most in love with me

At your peak of pleasure I will
ask you of things routine
spoiling all for you I am sure!
I will make it difficult for you, I know

Exasperated! You will beg me to be,
to be there with you in reality
I will hover around evasively
till I melt in to you hungrily

- circa August 2011

that tribe thing

It aches. Dammit. I ache. To speak to him who's my tribe. Oh! how I ache. The time is right and the moment too. Where are you! Why not by my side?


Sigh.

Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

Every Day You Play - Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.

Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.

The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.

The wind. The wind. I can contend only against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.

You will answer me to the last cry. Cling to me as though you were frightened. Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,

and even your breasts smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,

my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. I go so far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

a thought, a walk

"Er hey hi, I see you're deep in thoughts.. what could it be that you are thinking so deeply about in this cold night?"

Startled, I almost wake up from my thoughts. I look to my right at this stranger..a white European guy, in his thirties or so it seems, with long curly hair - the length reaching near about his chest and an interesting countenance writ large on his face.

I smile instinctively and continue to walk. Clad in my black overcoat, buttoned till the neck; my boots clanking soft on the cobbled bed of the street, my hair loose and my mind lost; hands deep down in pockets to warm myself against winter chill. I continue with my pace without even as much as a mild halt. He joins me in my steps. And now we walk together. I smile and reply "Yes, I had been thinking".

"But what?"

"Why would I tell you!", I say in bewilderment.

"Oh yeah! I'm a stranger, yeah? But saw you walking and looking down on the ground as you walked. I like petite girls, you know and I thought what could have possibly happened to her", said he in his crisp-soft English accent.

"Compact discs?!", I mutter silently

We both laugh and continue walking..

"And yes, it IS weird to to be talking to a stranger like this. But, perhaps that's why we are called strangers, is it not?"

"Yeah", I like his accent now.

"Can I help in some way? Ohhh no! Is it that you just broke up with your boyfriend? Because then I wouldn't wanna talk too much! You will make me your rebound love!", he says in jest.

"No! I did not just break up with my boyfriend!", I can't help but smile in amazement.

"You studying here? You at LSE?", he says point backwards from where I had begin to walk. 

"Yes"

"Must be good. My last girlfriend was from LSE too."

I nod along.

"So where are you from?", he asks gliding along with me..while I wondered if I was even on the right street.

"Oh, I'm from India"

"Indiaa.. sound interesting and where do ya stay in London?"

"At a hostel near Trafalgar Square", pronouncing it as Trae-fell-gar Square, much the way a tourist would.

"I love how you said that. Say it again!", he says and instead tries my way of saying it.

"Oh yeah, I know you guys call it 'Traaafaaalgar'; well, I am new to this place."

"Aaah you're new here. How long has it been?"

"About a month-"

"Just a month! Oh then you are what they call a 'London virgin'"

"I guess so"

"Enjoy this place! It has much to offer.. I hope we meet soon and catch up.."

He keeps going on about something as I interrupt him. I take out my hands from my pockets, pointing to him the street I needed to be on. We smile again and bid adieu. He offers his hand much as I would to a child.. and we do a little hi5. I turn around on the other street. Still cold and weary in the body. I can feel the icy breeze of the night brush up against my naked cheeks and my hair is pulled back by the gush of the wind.

Sliding my fingers a little deeper into the pockets of my overcoat, I continue on.

one of those nights

Miss you my sisters..dad, mom.. it's so late at night.. can't call you.. missing you so much. I don't really know how to live away from you all. Had been feeling heavy in the heart all evening, now i know the reason for it. We all don't know how to live apart and here we are .. the family scattered in almost three continents.. i know it is all for good, i know it had to happen, i know we will meet in sometime.. and i know i am crying like a little girl.. but logic as usual is of little significance when I think of you on nights like this.. Being busy perhaps is then better.. i dont want to be this girl out here alone right now.. I am so used to being the little one.. love you all.. whenever i read something any of you would like... i ache to run to you guys.. when I hear some song mom would like, I wish i could make her listen to it.. Papa - i loved how you spoke to me today evening.. all happy and cheerful! It was lovely to hear your voice..so lovely that it made me ache to be there at home with you. And though I never to say it as much as i should - I love you.. soooooo much. I know you're most concerned about me - your youngest that I am.. mat lo itni tension, papa. Your girl is good and taking care of herself. You look after yourself and ma.

Gosh! How much you guys mean to me! So close.. so close so close! Give me a hug all of youuuuuuu! :'( :')

Ma.. would give anything for a hug.. anything.. You're my sun. 

And Panther, my baby.. my baby.. my tears would never run dry.. 

purried host

Again - so much is happening there is hardly anytime to think let alone chronicle my thoughts, though i ache to do that; Charting my way through college, the streets, moodle (!), food and the lack thereof, piles of pages to read and tons of guilt about what one could not read ;

The journey is as interesting as is taxing.. there is a whole gamut of emotions I feel ... surprising myself and flowing on. As I was saying to someone - it's like all this while I was there sitting on this golden chariot which had all the givings and misgivings of youth - the idealism, the innocence, a sense of having understood things, the inevitable belief that one knows - the vanity of it all! And then one day you have to climb down. You are bound to come down and then you see things as they are as they were and not perhaps as they should be. Reality is no slave to logic. It is reality - pure and simple. You can choose to call it whatever you may, choose to see it however you want.. your seeing your choosing changes nothing. Its the logical that kowtows to reasoning, the logic-less reigns unhindered, unabashed.

I have so much to say and yet have to sleep for I have a class in a few hours. I will be back soon. Perhaps tonight. 

nytnyt!

a peace of freedom

Instead of striving to keep afloat in two seas, I should now drown myself in one. A time has come for me to choose. I intend to flourish, and wildly; but indulgence, even in the art of learning and scholarship can lead one to lose ground one way or the other. There's time for all pursuits. There is time.

------

Wisdom often finds its way out of people's lips most noiselessly. Something similar happened. A professor of mine carelessly spelt out something profound in his lecture today. He said (and I wonder if he realised what he said, when he uttered these words while explaining why it might not be a good idea to give all groups of people a right to self-determination.) "Freedom and Peace don't necessarily come together", he said in passing. I had only the time to type it in between my class notes. And I recalled it just now. The time honored floor is open, I guess. :)

It is often said that 'where you stand depends on where you sit'. May I add that it is from where you sit that you see the world; and where you stand that you speak forth. I think it gives enough room for all beliefs to find a room. So let me examine as I word…

At a perfunctory glance freedom and peace do seem to flow from one another. Ponder a while and fine cracks begin to appear, leading you on to wonder. Is freedom the be all? Is peace the end all? What is peace? And what is it that we call freedom? Does peace imply a people simply free from unrest or does it mean a Utopian silence regardless of its people? Is peace a tranquil state of affairs or does peace essentially entail a continuous effervescence and churning of thought processes? What if such churning leads to revolt? What if that revolt is in turn not peaceful in its true sense? Would it then be a temporary suspension of peace or a transitional phase of 'peacelessness'? Would such 'peacelessness' not be more desirable to you and I than 'peace' as we might ideally think of it?

Does peace allude to a right to strive for freedom and justice and even literary pursuits such as to dream, decide and be? When exactly is a nation 'in peace'? Never, one would say. And yet, if one sees from the precipice of war, a certain peace prevails almost always. But then even wars are fought in 'aspiration' to peace. The path to peace thus doesn't necessarily have to be peaceful. So, is it that peace is not what we aspire when we aspire peace?

Reverting to the question of aspirations: what is it that a nation state should ideally aspire? Freedom? From who? I would say from its own vices, the debauchery of its own people, from the very rust that corrodes it, which like a tidal wave is consistent, continual, real and most importantly, must be only expected. 'Solution' is not the key here I guess, acceptance is.

In order to understand what peace is in the context of a State, either we alter the definition of peace as we know it or at best tweak it a little to give meaning to what we really wish to convey by 'peace'.


Peace is where justice is given a venerated place to reside. For justice is what we seek in peace and what we search in our freedom. However, the moment gates are thrown open to justice, the threat to peace - which in my tweaked definition of peace would translate as an anathema to peace – slips in too. So, peace even at its best might not be peaceful. Again, 'peace' is not exactly what we aspire to achieve when we aspire for peace. Perhaps a leeway then for lawful 'peacelessness' is the price to pay for peace?

And so, what of freedom? If I were to put it rudimentarily, I would say freedom resides in the well-founded and working (and accepted) 'madness' of the political, social and economic machinery of a free State. Freedom resides in rights even as it includes the right not to be free. Freedom resides where tolerance is exercised by the victor as much as by the vanquished. Freedom resides even in war. Freedom resides in voice and acceptance and debate and forbearance. The test of 'freedom pure' is not in examining whether it resides in disagreement but whether it can flourish in dissent. For freedom agrees where a people disagree as a cohesive unit. It is where the powerless (or the minority) find a right to disagree that freedom meets peace.

It is now that 'justice pure' - the ultimate gospel - could be and should be conceived.

a hand to hold

A lot happened these past couple of days.. in my mind.. metamorphosis i wouldn't call it.. but something new has been ignited. I was not in the best of my moods for a few days.. no one noticed of course.. but there were so many questions i was grappling with.. struggling because I did not have any answer. Answer, I still don't have. :) But i'm at peace with the situation now. Human beings can deal with everything.. absence of knowledge too.. it's lack of belief that we are unable to cope with. Besides, I had to deal with my own insecurities.. about future, about the present..that keep hovering about this head of mine. All that has been taken care of now (for now!) All thanks to my sister.. who made me realise sooo much in one phone call. :) I would love to write about how she 'fixes' me, and how she knows not that she does.. but that would require a new post.. a detailed new post about her.

I got up early today and got ready too. It's nice and warm, I will make me some breakfast in a while. I was aching for a good meal since a few days..and anyway not feeling too well.. yesterday a friend was sweet enough to come and make me some 'daal' and we made some rice and .. I don't remember having eaten so peacefully here..and so simply.

At night I curled up with my book and finally finished it. A good read.. makes you wanna go back to it but then you pull away your hand, perhaps you don't really want to read it again. I will be reading some other book now. Surprisingly enough all unread books that I have brought here are all gifted ..  :)

------

I want to be in love again. Why was I always so shy of saying it out loud?! heh .. it's funny how things you try to keep so protected, so hidden, under the wraps.. are always the things which are so obvious, so human, so much. I often wonder how it would be to be loved like I want to be loved. Been long I felt it. Not that long actually. I lie. But then it was all surreal. Perhaps it was a chapter out of a fantasy book. 

Perhaps the reason I never say it is because I don't want to 'solicit' love. Something in me won't allow it. And the way that I am, I leave a lot unsaid.

On second thoughts, I think I will write about it more. Who would be mad enough to think this blog can be a platform from where I can call out for love?! And if it happens -- I wil be more the richer for it, won't I? 

:)

Freedom

Need I say more.

gone

let alone this misery be
for it's each to his own
no girth does carry mirth
when laughter's come and gone

library liberati

I am sitting in the college library. It's a huge huge place with rows and rows and rows stacked with books and journals and volumes and volumes of books - shelved, stocked, piled up..some are even in trolleys! This place is spilling with books and with computer terminals. Pity they do not allow us to bring coffee inside. The LSE student ID card serves as the library card here, which again doubles up as a 'sQuid card' that allows one to swipe it for printing services as well as for paying at the cafes and pubs in the campus. Pretty neat, I  say.

 

I am nearly done with selecting my courses the details of which I shall post here as and when I get final offers for my courses. The course choice is huge in numbers here and most courses are 'capped' ie they only offer those courses to a select number of students (usually the number is 30). Sometimes the criteria is 'first come' and sometimes it also depends on your core course. So if i am in LLM and a course is my main course then I shall be given priority over non LLM students. Yea it is a lot of blah blah blah.. and the first few days had me researching, searching, moodling, going through the reading lists and consulting a few friends about what courses I should opt for.

 

I think I am gonna post my course choices here anyway!

 

Full Units:

1. Comparative Constitutional Law (Institutions and Rights)

2. Human Rights in the Developing World

 

Half Units:

1. Theories of Criminal Law and Criminal Justice System

2. Climate Change, Ethics, Development and International Law

3. International Law of Self Determination

4. Terrorism & the Rule of Law

 

The other courses I might just take are am most tempted to take but cannot, owing to the ceiling restrictions are:

 

Theory of Constitutional Law

Rethiking International Law

Human Rights of Women

Law and Social Theory

International Human Rights

 

(Half)
Theory of HR Law
Media Law - regulation in news gathering
Law and the Holocaust#

 

phew! going to a class now.. to see if i should take it up

 

will be back soon...

 

:)
 

 

 

 

 

So well,

hurried & sleepy

There's been no time to sit or think the past couple of weeks. Can't believe I have been here only for eleven days. Seems like it's been much longer. I do wish I would get some more time to write to my heart's content. The daily struggle for keeping up to date with schedules, deadlines - and more importantly - the daily quest for food -- keeps me busy - and going. Initially, after spending a week without almost eating anything.. I finally got me a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, cereal, butter and tomato. So that's what breakfast is, was and would be. It is impossible to spare more time of weekdays. It is interesting though.. buying, cooking/preparing, doing the dishes and keeping stock of what is and what needs to be bought. I would love to give a detailed account of my food adventures but perhaps later. <3

I am happy with tonight's dinner though! Couple of friends and I made 'matar mushroom' for dinner at their hall of residence. The dish looked and tasted heavenly. After ages (or so it seemed) we had 'roti'.. :)  I was almost high on food. The good old indian spicy 'sabzi' and 'roti'.

I should ideally be asleep by now but I want to keep going on. Missing a lot of people and missing them sore. It's all nice here.. but I feel like something is left unattended back home and more often than not, it is the fact that I have not been writing. Not here - nowhere. Sigh.

But I will. I will take out the time. Pardon me this hurried post. I so wanna write but my eyes won't allow it.

gunite!

Photowalk!