~like~a~waving~flag!

I have known long how to write in pain, how to wield a pen and churn out words from the depths of sorrow! But how to write when so happy? How to write in freedom and knowing and joy and laughter?! The 'highest' I have been in happiness is perhaps India winning some important match or perhaps some movie with sports in it. The exuberance - euphoria!!!! The Mexican-wave of joy! And there I am right now! Like a waving flag! ~~~

This is for those times when I would look at this blog - sometime in distant in future - when I would be past these times - when I would have long forgiven me and erred some more and would most probably be found patting my back for all these crazy times I've lived!

muah!

muah! 

muah! 

o;-)

Here i'm throwing in the music that brought it all about! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgyJY9yndv4&feature=related

Some air!

The same place that makes one feel free, can turn around and suffocate you under the limitless sky. It is no freedom this when you are not free in will, but led by some vagrant need. Even if the feet that walked thus be yours and the acting hands be yours, until your mind is rendered incapable of thinking 'right'. That's what I mean in an earlier post where I ask ''are we what we do, or are we what we believe in''. I would like to think we are what we believe in, even though we have betrayed us. Actions are not always led by reason. Rather, as much as they are led by reason they are lead by frivolity, boredom, loneliness and such base 'states' we find ourselves in. I am conscientious enough to always be fair, and yet, while talking to my own self, while reflecting upon my own beliefs and actions, I do want to be truthful, so truthful so as to flesh out even the saving grace of my own conscience from me - unmindful of what conclusion my reflections lead me to.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

I wish all this to end, drift away. I want to go back to my world, get drowned there if I have to. But just away from this quiet, quiet need, the aftermath of which almost chills my bones.

mind order

Focus.

Work.

Study.

For once. 

Apply

Get some rejection letters

Get some acceptance letters

Intern

Work 

Learn

STUDY

You were keen to dream, let's see how keen you are to achieve. But always know that your life is not being lived on a stage. Not till you choose to debut anyway.

As I stand here

Rush of blood to the head. It sunk in just now. And I don't like it. The feeling is not that of longing, but fear. In plain words, I'm anxious. 

I stand here but my knees might give away. I stand here in mute appeal. My eyes search the web from across the world. I'm looking for a sign of life, how ever faint, but all I see is a temporary suspension, of belief and words and life itself in me. 

Mind won. It won and I'm all the poorer for it.

last night's lullaby

Enough of writing about rain pelting on my window. Enough of picking flowers in my head, colorful flowers in lavender and white and pink - lillies and jasmine and sunflowers.. enough of my love of words, enough of me, enough of reasons. Enough! Why doesn't all of this end and leave me to me? LEAVE!

 

Frustration finds no carefully chosen words when it reaches its zenith. I must sleep now. I must put myself to sleep. Good Night.

 

PS: Are we who we want to be, see ourselves as, the person we really, intrinsically know ourself to be, or are we what we do?

Of leaving and echoes and foreign lands

What is it that I am always leaving behind? And what is it that I seek? There is so much leaving to be finished; I feel like I'm collecting my belongings and packing for another set off all the time. All the time, as I see it. Even before I'm sure of my arrival, I'm certain of going away again. Why wouldn't I rest? What do I seek and why should I? The semblances I live and live to the best I can, believe me. But it comes down to nothing, nothing! Zilch! Pray, I do not complain, I am just weary at times like these.

"My heart is mute - My heart is mute" - Jane Eyre

-----

You saw the madness in me - the madness that found no shore as I beseeched the universe reveal to me where to take it. It hasn't found an answer, only an echo in return - cursed like Echo were. And cursed not once but twice! In never to have the first word and that her only love qualified unrequited. I find myself in one of those echoes that find their identity only in melancholy. But I am not pained as much. Not yet. :)

-----

Must I mention, the two pieces have as little to do with one another as two foreign lands could ever have. Except an occasional hitchhiker perhaps. :) 

a homage in waiting

That moment when you want to be honest and make a clean abreast of everything, not that you have sinned to the full but because it's time. With your givings and misgivings and everything. When you want to cease resisting and surrender.

Someone like her would never submit to a happy forever, however much she wishes her forever to be happy. She'd need to first have a fight to fight inside of her, would need to be made to bow down, would need to be ruled in order to make her love. And at the same time, she'd want all the world at her feet and that he should bring it to her and subtly so, without caring if she knows. All this in thought, HIS thought! She craves to stand in obeisance, in reverence of him, in submission to his will. Why? Because she believes that he is. And there she wants to stand silent, as if it were a secret she'd never tell him about. 'Idol' worship had always been so essential to her. But never did meet her a God.

----

"You told me not to lose faith. But I am. It is slipping out of my hands tonight."

the sporadic

When your mind is cluttered it gets tough to write. And when your mind is uncluttered it gets impossible to write. I think one needs the right amount of nonsense to fill our senses to make us come up with 'words'. The case with me seems the former. I have been meaning to write much and for quite a long time..... But, let alone my wailing be.

So, first the niceties. I am doing well. Happy in my hell, as I said to a friend. Sometimes so distant from home (and i'm not talking geography here) that I know I won't return even when reach back. Some flights are for ever I guess, and I have still been a late bloomer, you'd agree. And the thought of no 'return' - it even makes me happy. 

I am working on my essay these days. "In what sense or senses is poverty a violation of human rights" - goes the question. I have been doing some reading for it but I haven't really been feeling quite there yet. I will start writing today though and I would know where to go thence.

As for the clutter, I seek some method, my madness seeks a method, a route, a chart, a rudder. It would need an anchor too, but on that later. 

I have been dreaming a lot these past few weeks. And dreaming pretty. Every person, every act is symbolic, turning me into quite an impromptu Freud as I open my eyes to the day ahead.

-----

I got all wet last night while coming from a lecture given by Prof. Amartya Sen. It had begin to rain a little by the time I started from the lecture hall across the Thames. Walking along the Jubilee Bridge in slight rain, made me feel so free.. I was as usual, unprepared for the rain and so getting wet by now. As I climbed down the stair case towards Northumberland Avenue, I had to halt at Embankment Station for a while before I could make a dash for my building. But the rain only thickened. Tired with the the wait, I finally took off my overcoat and covered my head with it, wearing it over myself like a cape. Securing my bag and phone with my cold fingers, I went out into the rain again. I couldn't run for fear of slipping, my old worn-out boots are prone to skidding. But it felt so good. Especially because it was late at night and pelting and because I was on my own.

easter break and the coming of spring!

I run.

As always, I've been thrown out. As much as I would wish to get absorbed, as much as I would wish to wade through the puddles of reality - it tracks me down, thrashes me in the head and the other second I know not who I was. As if my time in the penseive was over and out I'm hurled. Once eddied though the convolutions of all that's happening, loneliness strikes and strikes hard. And such fear as I have never known of or imagined fills in around me, choking me. I know not who to go to. There is no one for miles around - just smiling faces, calling out to me. But I keep running, running for life and sanity. Losing my head to it all, I run.

जो मैं सोचे जाती हूँ

मैं पिघलने लगी हूँ शायद. ऐसा नहीं कि अब तक सख्त थी. पर यूं कि घुल जाने का मन करने लगा है. इतना की फर्क ही ना मालूम हो. कि मेरा आगाज़ और मेरा अंत दोनों बेमानी लगने लगे. पिघलना कुछ ऐसा भी कि मांग सकूं. बेधरक कभी माँगा नहीं मैंने. मांगने से हमेशा तो डरती रही हूँ, बड़े-बड़े शब्दों में खुद को उलझाती रही हूँ. अभी कुछ दिन पहले, बिन लफ्ज़ मैंने कुछ मांग लिया था. हो सकता है मुझे बिना बताए मेरी सिसकियों ने मेरे लिए पैरवी कि थी.

जो मिला तो अच्छा लगा था. :)

पोस्ट

आज हिंदी/उर्दू में लिखने का मन है. काफी दिन हुए कुछ ढंग का लिखे हुए. आजकल यूं ही कुछ भी पोस्ट कर दिए जा रही हूँ, ताकि मन को तसल्ली रहे कुछ तो लिखा है मैंने. हो सकता है यूं लिखना लेखन का नहीं, मेरी नासमझी का प्रतीक हो, पर कभी-कभार नासमझी में ही सुकून है. और इसी बहाने मेरी रोजमर्रा की आदतें वगेहरा भी दर्ज हो जाया करती हैं.

कल शाम से ही पढ़ाई का भूत सवार है. बेशक मुझे पसंद भी है किताबों से घिरे रहना. कुछ देर में library के लिए रवाना हो जाउंगी. सामाजिक अधिकारों के मुद्दे पर एक निबंध लिखना है. आजकल इसी पर किताबें आदि पढ़ रही हूँ.

विषय मूलतः स्वास्थ और शिक्षा सम्बन्धी अधिकारों का है. क्या वाकई ये 'अधिकार' हैं, या लोगों कि 'ज़रूरतें'? और अगर ज़रूरतें हैं तो क्या आम आदमी हक़ रखता है इन अधिकारों को 'मांगने' का? कहीं पढ़ा कल कि हमारा संविधान हमें स्वास्थ का अधिकार तो देता है, हमारे स्वस्थ्य रहने का जिम्मा नहीं लेता. अंग्रेजी में कहूं तो "we have a right to health, not a right to be healthy". सही भी है शायद. और दिलचस्प भी.

अरसा हुआ हिंदी में कुछ अच्छा पढ़े हुए, शायद इसलिए ज़ेहन में अच्छे/सही शब्दों कि खासी कमी है. कोशिश रहेगी आगे कुछ बेहतर लिखू. जब लिखू.

morning!

Hi! Keeping on with the daily blogging routine, here I am. Up and about. Mamma had packed me some paranthas to last a few days which I just had with tea and chilly pickle. The plan for the day is to get ready and start working on the SA4D5 essay due 27 April. I plan on finishing it in five days, so I can study and have a bit of excursion in April. The weather here these days is so good here you'd not wanna be anywhere else. 

Will go for a walk up the Jubilee Bridge across the Thames towards London Eye and South Bank tonight. Also, I notice it's been so long that I posted any pics here. Will do it once I get done with the essay. Nice incentive. :)

As for the new blog skin - bear with me. Will make it more 'chic' in time.

So long!

London again

London it is again. Back to my bed. Feeling better. Much better than last night. The flight was awful. The customs even worse. But the Merc I was picked up by (just as I was looking for a ladies room to go puke) was good and the driver considerate. I came, I changed into something comfortable and slept. Have been up since 5 am today knowing not what to do. Think will go to Tesco and get some bread and milk. Sustenance food. I like being back here where my work is. 

I have decided I will keep you updated with stuff that I do, don't do, observe, ignore etc. Let's keep it simple for some days. Missed you my blog!

Up in the air

I type this from the plane. This is a delhi morning, bright at its

best. Had an uneventful flight except for the late night storm scare.

I awoke-slept through the flight, sleep, thoughts and the window 

accompanying me.

I don't know who will come to pick me up. Perhaps they have sent a car

or perhaps ma will come. I fear I will shed a tear or two as I would

see her. Something I don't want to do. And so I dont want to see her. I

know. Strange.

Im not feeling so fine. As if something is lost there. There in london.
They wil be waiting for me. And they are. My heart feels torn. A

selfish need to be taken care of and another to just hold myself in

possessiveness.

Be there, be here

God is dead. Marx is dead. Lenin is dead. Gandhi is dead. I am alive and not feeling too well myself. — Graffiti, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. May 1983.

I feel alive again, and how! A blog did it. I stumbled upon it just now and it sent things racing in my head. As if a glimpse of that world was what I was waiting for. The last week went by in a daze. I was down with fever and low in spirit. But today is a brand new day. Reminds me of my journey for tomorrow. Delhi, once more. I came here from Delhi quite different. I will return different still. And I am curious about how I am gonna feel. Yes it has just been six months away from home, but for someone like me who can feel a feel six times more than an average person does, I think it calls for some retropection. But more on that some other time.

As for right now, I don't really know if I am looking forward to going. I certainly am looking forward to meeting people. Only if I didn't have to travel to meet them now and then. Be distant yet be reachable. Be there, be here.

These days reading Amartya Sen's Development as Freedom along with Michael Sandel's Justice..the themes are different and so is the landscape, but there is a common thread. The thread that one has to look at issues keeping a 'human' perspective..that no matter what, even if it is one person's freedom pitted against the will of majority, that one lone voice should be paid heed, even if you have to ultimately override it. And not because it would be right to do so - the paying heed. But because there is no other way. Of course, this simplistic stuff is not what these books talk about, but the more you read, the more clear things become, the easier the distinctions, the less daunting the dilemmas.

Also, received Palace of Illusions today. All set for the flight.

no pasó nada

Everything will be fine. I will write and I'll be fine. I will read some and it shall restore what I seek so intensely right now. Nothing has 'happened'. Nothing really happens here, does it? It all falls through dark chasms, or creaks, if you like. For long I have waited for things to 'happen'. That's all what it is all about. A few more minutes and it will pass I know, for I'm keeping time. And then - a world would be saved! Perhaps this is what happens when the dust settles. Sometimes you grow so accustomed to the dust that clarity becomes a stranger in your bed. The impenetrable clarity. And takes a moment getting used to. The speck in the eye then becomes a succour, the incessant rubbing - a daily ritual - a false absolution.

रास्ते का एक काँटा, पाँव का दिल चीर देता
रक्त कि दो बूँद गिरती, एक दुनिया डूब जाती!

a fear

Today, tomorrow or one of these days, there will be more of life in me. But right now, as I trudge my way through the cobbled streets of my mind, my boots tapping at the stones, there is a fear, an apprehension and a lone voice. That perhaps I might not recover from these notions that have found home in me. That perhaps all else that I cared for might have to give up on me. Obstinacy then might become my motto and I be it's slave for life.

I have been unable to write for long, you must have noticed. How I used to go on and on on these pages. How there used to be more to say and less to fear. Now there sits a fear unafraid, or should I call it an uneasy possibility. That my words might snap at me one day. Pierce their fangs into the fingers that tend to them and be right in doing so. They might stand upright in front of me and ask, "whither belongeth thou?" What will I ever tell them?  To whom will the cowardly me go?

In that it is bliss to have the fearlessness of a child. The blatant ignorance or waving off of reality, responsibility and consequence, even if punishment awaits at the other end. The lack of intent or purpose. The task at hand is then their world, the task in itself the incentive. But one cannot have a realisation and still be a child. It just doesn't happen that way.

Listen!

I do want to talk to you. Only you would understand. I say thus in a fervent hope that you do, because if even you don't, It would confirm I am living in a vacuum, nay, a sceptic vacuum. Not even a single sound returning to my ears. I want the echo, I want it to come hit me again and again and again, even if it is hard to bear. I want some air to fill my lungs every now and then. Sometimes I tire of giving answers. I may tire, but I am relentless. Is that good or bad?

It's foolish what people take from this School or any school for that matter or brandish as if they have learned anything. It's foolish its people, it's also foolish what all these people here have learned. They need no learning. It's unlearning that signifies. Wash the sins of their bigoted thinking and then perhaps learn to read and write. Perhaps then learn how to take up the pen again and begin afresh with the alphabet.


Pardon me my misdemeanor and lack of propriety or even calm. But I must write or I just won't, yet again.

I will come back. Perhaps explain what's going on.

nada!

life shows you much when you are single and have been for some time now - out of choice you may say, or lack of options. 

be the girl. be the 'other' girl. be the ex. be the probable. be the most probable. be the new younger one. be the new elder one. be the muse. be the derelict. be the envious. be the envied. be the recluse. you on top. the other on top. wanted. wanting. a hundred no's and a single yes.

nada!

the two of me

There's two of me

and I can see both

so distinctly

entwined yet estranged

they are from one another.

At times

my eyes falter

and mist befalls

but there, right there

before me - this once

there's no mistaking me

stand

the two of me

One lives by the

rush of day

and the other enlivens

at the hush of night

a cloak worn

and a cloak worn off

concomitantly

in the knowledge of all

and in ignorance too

there, right there

before me

breathe

the two of me

extracts

"The journey is my own but you give it momentum, you give me a push and I take off. Soaring high, breathing in life till I hunger like a child and quietly land by your side. As if to be with you is all I have known. With you I learn and surmise, I sit, drink, eat and play with my words and make love, yes."

"You wanted it once, you want it no more, you might or might never feel it again. Your calling is something else and the rest must be a distraction for you. As life unfolds I might be standing nowhere for miles around. I like you for all that as much as I would like you to come to me. Because I like you taking decisions. And I realise that nothing is for ever. I'd like to witness your journey - back and forth - in ideas and forms, if it is meant to be."

"My love finds peace when you actualise your self. Each moment that you live for your self I feel you're freeing me. If you are an extension of me then how can I begrudge you your freedom? How can I ever resent your decision?"

truth and the shadow of it

It makes me smile. The fine lines that demarcate and alienate truth from the shadow of truth. Most of us, most of the time weave our lives with utmost care and precision around what is but the shadow of truth. We take the shadow to be real, beautiful even in the pain it can cause, somewhat liberating too. And in that knowledge we feel the glory of being truthful, righteous even. But more often than not it is an imitation that we so love and hold close to our chest. Not that the shadow is untruth. But the truth lies elsewhere even as we love the shadow most profoundly. And the truth - we'll be surprised - is even more beautiful if only we have the nerve for it.

It's not often that you meet someone with whom you can see the fine lines magnifying, enhancing in contours. Unmindful of any fear or reproach. Bereft of all censure. It's freedom you feel then, because you can see. The world is always trying to make the lines blurred for you, to fool you further - and to fool you as a matter of its wont. No motive is of import. If you cannot see the lines, you are not to blame - you're absolved ab initio. Those who choose to see must to go through a stricter scrutiny at every step. It is an imprecation for their possessing the faculty of sight. A curse for which they must pay. If you can see Thestrals, you would have witnessed death.

The truth is fantastically simple, so simple that it takes ages for our shadow-fed mind to identify. The shadow of truth is pleasing to the heart, more pleasing than the truth. The shadow makes you feel free, makes you feel good even as you embrace your pain bravely, believing (?) that you've been truthful. It makes you feel you have matured in that you now embrace such pain. Tired with your unending fantasy, smiling at your misplaced enchantment for it, Truth stands there. Looking helplessly at you two dilapidated lovers.

why religion is a good thing

Funny thing happened. Subah se had had nothing to eat. So, first I went from library to eat Hare Krishna meal, hoping there would still be some food left. There is a guy who peddles in with a cart full of hot food for us every day at 1. In no time a queue is formed and students from all over the world join in and thank the Lord for such hot free food in such cold and costly London. They serve world's most bland but hot (I emphasize) and holistic platter. Today it was plain white rice and lentil soup in a disposable white paper plate with a disposable little spoon. I felt nice that I was from the land of Hare Krishna, boiled white rice and lentils. Basking thus in what was a reminder of my Hindu origins, I walked on towards Houghton Street to get me some coffee.

As I was counting change (60pence) while also keenly admiring my image in the glass-door of a building, I saw a stall which read "Christian Union". My gaze soon fell on to their banner on which was wrote in big bold letters "FREE coffee/ tea!". Though reluctant at first (as I usually get when I see free stuff), I realised I needed that coffee bad. Not to mention I had not brought me any cash today except the 60p. And so there I went towards the stall, suddenly feeling as Christian as it could get. Got me a cuppa Christian coffee with a Christian cookie to boot, while discussing with the girl at the stall my experience of attending mid-night mass on Christmas eve at St Pauls and suppressing my giggle on their event titled "Which sort of people go to heaven". 

Moral of the Story: God does come to the rescue of His hungry children. No, really. Thank the Lord for today.

Moral of the Story II: The more the God, the more the religions, the more the free food and coffee, the more the people survive, the better it gets.

Spinning an honest yarn

"The more despicable she found her life, the more romantic her poetry became. Perhaps it was a way to soothe her wretched nerves. Perhaps a need to express even in the absence of a muse.

In obscure words she asked him if she would forget him. This was even before she had really embraced him. And fool that he was he said, "yes", not knowing what he said. But she loved fools. Always had. Fools to her were those who thought not of saving themselves when listening to their hearts, fools were those who plunged into the unknown and the known alike and more often than not broke their limbs. But then there is a swagger in their limp. Like crazy men they went about with 'ideas' on their minds and therefore fools to her were rare and fools to her were courageous. He was not a fool - this she had known since long. But this act of his was that of a fool and she smiled at his foolness. No, not foolishness. She had no patience with the foolish, the dumb and the slow."

---

Perhaps you can only like music and love words or love music and only like words. You cannot love both. If one has to be a lover of these two ideas at all - one is either born to be an ardent lover of music or an ardent lover of words. But not both. You'd know the risk in both. You'd know how both can mislead. But you'd have made that choice, subconsciously perhaps, or it may be that your choice would have already chosen you.

---

"These days my mind closes itself at my will. This never happened before. But the more people I meet with who I cannot Talk, the more closure I get. I come down a ladder or two from who I am and then simply 'deceive'"

---

What if you meet your extra-marital lover even before you've met the one you'd marry? 

---

There are times when I can observe the orbit of my own growth (or degeneration, as it were). At times I am removed from the scene. I hate to use the word, but yes,  futuristically. I haven't yet reached there, but I know which binds will be broken and which I would stop caring about. Already a lot seems unfastened. I sit on the edge of my seat and watch.

Unfinished..

The window to my life

It was open so long

the passion that you fanned 

burned cinders for long. 

Winds gushed in 

and storms moved out

But nothing changed

And nothing will

At least Someone's having a laugh!

It's funny what's happening. It really is. It really really is funny. I'm sure God is up there somewhere rolling on the floor laughing looking at me.

More to come. A lot to come.

Later.

Es muss sein!

"Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein!"

I know now. Either I am crazy or there is something to the ideas that float in my mind. There is something concerete albeit hidden beneath a thousand apprehensions. There is that world. A world of convictions, ideas, metaphor, belief. More often than not I have questioned myself. I have been someone who hasn't seen much and was thus afraid of being the only one out there, looking for approval, seeking a fellowship of thought. I don't feel it today. And I'm silently elated. As elated as I felt lonesome last night. I might relapse. But when I do, I will think of this place.

tonight i shall write

tonight I shall write
and even though there is nothing no more

I shall write and believe you hear it

tonight I shall word

the letters I had wrote, and

the poems for you

that I forced rhyme!

and when I do that

I shall relive your touch

on my slender shoulder

bare, ever since you caressed it

tonight I shall write of those long lost evenings,

of your fingers running though the strands in my hair

and of my nights spent by your chest,

even as you were to be years away

there are, there were, and there will be morrows

more and more till I ache no more

but tonight I shall not restrain

tonight I shall go weak

and not be afraid

not be afraid

(i recall now that there is an uncanny similarity with neruda in the first line.. but i must mention that the same came as a surprise to me. the reason why i am still posting.)

aise hi, mann hai

Aaj mann hai thora aaram se jeene ka

khud ko samjhaye bina.

Idhar udhar ke shagufton mein uljhaye bina.

ulti-pulti baaton ki patti paraye bina.

Aaj mann hai

bebaak ho jaane ka

kagaz par bekhauf syahi ki tarah

surkh neele rang mein mil jane ka

likhte mitaate - likhte mitaate 

aur kagaz muchore bina.

Thori garam chai, thori dhoop

thori thand, aur thand mein kohra

ek neend ki jhapki, ek chatai!

aur ek balcony ka bhi mann hai.

Aaj mann hai 

thora pyar kia jaye

nahi, dher saara kiya jaye

beparvah! beinthaan! ishq mein para jaye

Aur mann hai thora

pare rehne ka rajai ke andar

ghum fir ke vapas aane ka

ulti-pulti baaton ki 

fir koi patti parane ka!