Save Tonight

Slap yourself silly

And a hut somewhere

Far away

Fell down

But you’re still

Sitting on the bed.

Albeit a bit red.

Things I wish for today:

to hear a song that has every tune and beat and tempo in the world and that makes you swoon and lilt and cry and bop in frenzy. 


to say "i'm popeyed with awe" and then laugh away the awe with the word popeyed.


to sleep in a room that's all blue and changes colour to a lemon yellow from my breath the longer I sleep. and then i wake up bright like a slow smile.


to live another life and remember it - russian spy, that girl with the fierce eyes and pugnacious lips, a sleek animal with silky pelt that doesn't care about anyone but itself and has no conscience, extinct human.


to feel like my heart's pulsing silver again and is shaped like a hotrod.


to have a easier system in place for travel. What's the world coming to when desire isn't enough to take you places?

Musica

There's a reason to keep FTV playing. The music is fab!
Some songs I heard on the channel that I love:


1. Harvest Moon - Neil Young
2. Going back to 505 - Arctic Monkeys
3. Stitched Up - Herbie Hancock featuring John Meyers
4. Hometown Glory - Adele

The Thing With Dreams

From the time we are children we have innuemrable dreams that we remember indulgently.

Like running a boarding school.

Like being Ms. Universe (ok.. some dreams you remember with a cringe)

Like dancing in a broadway show as the main lead.

Like being Head girl.

Like running a huge conglomerate with all your friends.

Getting a tattoo.

And some you fulfilled and some you gladly forgot you had and some slip away while leaving you happy that you had them. You enjoyed the process of building a dream, detailing it, agonizing over it so much, that you don't really mind when it vanishes to nothing. It was special even as a castle in the air. Hell.. it was special because it was a castle in the air.

So Nemesis, the day you called to share your good news, you must know that about 83% of my childhood dreams died.

Food the Leveler

All my friendships have begun with food. A deep shared love for some kind of food. (Freud would comment on this.)

Paris, Alanis and I are different. We would never have hung out at the same clubs (if I ever went to a club at all). I would look on perplexed as Alanis hugged the same people every single day for straight 20 seconds as if she hadn’t just met them the day before. Paris would piss me off with her la-di-lah “I can’t go for a picnic coz I get carsick” ways. But we all loved our dal-chawal-bhindi. We didn’t just love it… it filled our soul. It bound us together in a way that only something that means home can. This shared meal at Mrs. H’s table was what made us sisters.

Another friend from my college days, Shade, was made over college vada pav. We marvelled daily at the sheer perfection of college anna’s vada pav. The chutney was so right… so suited to the vada pav that even I, who like my vada pav unadulterated, loved it. Every day we would wander over to the canteen without thought. Order our vada pavs like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally… “Anna, ek Vada pav, sambar nahin, chutney side mein or ek mirchi bhi.” Etc. We went on to share books, obsessions and a disregard for others.

Shade is now in NZ and I haven’t been back to that Vada Pav. Maybe I will one day.

In Bombay I met Harry. Or she met me. And in our apartment we bonded over oil slicked, takeout Indian Chinese. We were poor. We were struggling and we were stingy. Jimmies Kitchen was cheap and his servings were more than generous. So we patronized Jimmy. Or Jimmies. Grammar not being his strong point obviously. Harry and I also are like criminals who become friends because of a job done together. It started one day when Gaia was really in a temper and cooking. She was banging pans and vegetables around and we decided to cut our losses and get out before we were forced to eat food definitely not made with love. So both of us faked work calls and left 15 minutes apart. We then went to this shady joint on Carter road called Mezbaan and gorged on Alu parathas. It became our escape spot. Our place of flight in case of fight.

I’ve a friend at work. We have a quid pro quo relationship. I take her home cooked food and she ferries me around in her car as and when she can and I need.

Some of closest friends are also family. There are a lot of jumbled memories of growing up with them so I guess it’s not just about food… but certainly katha dal with talna, negia, labsi, kadi, badi, bhindi, mirchi, kat, teen belan dal, ghee is in our blood. It is the aroma that brings us home from wherever we may be. It is a flavour we are passing on to our kids and it is a spread that means togetherness. It's strange but friends who are as blood as blood love this meal too! hmm.

All relationships are about something basic I guess. So my friendships began with food – one of the base things on Maslow’s pyramid. And since then we’ve just been climbing right to the top of it.

Dear Diary

One day:

There is joy in me. A helpless kind. The kind that makes you dig up Bryan Adams and bop in front of the mirror. Then kind that makes you buy lipstick and then pout to see the effect. The kind that I want to rein in because I’m scared to feel something that has no meaning.

There is joy in silliness that all the sense in the world cannot erase. It just comes and laughs inside you like a jester juggling in the midst of the King’s court.

One day and then some:

And then there’s sadness. Just like that. Just that helpless.

Baarish is different from Barsaat

There’s something very peculiar about rain. It’s always got its own agenda. The rain that makes you want to snuggle in bed and read a book is distinct from the rain that wants you to snuggle in bed and watch a movie. Then there’s the rain that makes you go into you iTunes and dig out Janet Jackson or some other lost song from the past.

There are days when rain just wants to meet mud and play. The red smell of it draws you to the window and makes you look at a football with lust.

Dull throb rain means to make you as sad as it is. No matter how young or old you are it wants you to remember and pine.

There’s verandah rain and chai rain and sometimes the two go together. Rain that calls for lovemaking plays a softer tune than the one that makes you dance.

Some might think that it’s not the rain but the mind that has feeling. But that’s just silly. It’s a well known fact that Rain is a person and has moods and MPD like the rest of us.

Today Rain is just rain. She’s playing her cards close to the chest and won’t let me in on her plans. So I’m in office. Tomorrow maybe we’ll play hooky.