ditzyland

2006-06-24T13:52:00.000-07:00

When i hadnt learnt how to walk, I would lie on my back and air pedal furiously in the dark, panting, gurgling all the while.
i was given my tobu cycle soon enough, which used to make peculiar sounds all over the floor, a grating, rattling sound (a grattling sound.)
i went on to bigger cycles every alternate year, until i also got myself a gang of nine in the para; and most of us had cycles as well. We would cycle in one straight line, blocking the road and ringing our bells, or we'd shout 'tring tring' continuously, massive attention seekers that we all were. We outgrew each other and disbanded, as most people do, and moved on. not on cycles though.
then the next time i cycled was years later, early in the mornings, until that too, phased out.
and there is no point to this post, except that i want to be on the move again.

this has been a funphase (blogging), but now im done. im satisfied im sure.
tatagootbye.

2006-05-23T10:08:00.000-07:00

I was playing and solitaire and tiny took this.

commun(al)ism.

2006-05-13T09:06:00.000-07:00

i was sitting in the tiny balcony, atop several piled up chairs, facing the (what i call) absurd blue beach house,and the graceful curve of the grey road to my right. the rains had subsided for the day,though a few reluctant drops kept dripping from distant heights,splashing onto the rickety balcony railing. now and then a gentle breeze would pick up,and then lazily snuggle into the arms of the trees and disappear.the cold tubelight made the slippery, newly tarred road look silvery, all dressed up. like a road out to disco.
i wanted to go out for a bit. a stroll maybe, a bhar of cha maybe.but the commies were out on a victory march. all ablaze with their red flags and chanting, with the dhak rhythm punctuated by the occasional chocolate bomb.apparently not a single person voted the reds in my block.perhaps thats why the jubiliation sounded loud, as if meaning to say, "who needs your vote. we won anyway. no one can oust subhash chakraborty and haath-kata dileep..." they kept rather quiet about the victory margin though..a paltry 1700 odd votes.
but as long as the reds dont turn yellow, or worse, orange, i dont mind at all. but it seems like its already too late.
a muslim family who live in the garage in the block,went to live in a flat nearby but the other flat buyers were not muslim,and these people put their foot down, and refused to let the family shift in.and so they meekly left,and are back in their cramped garage home.from when did salt lake start becoming communal.kinda thought that was the birthright of baroda and her neighbours.
im filled with a strange,quiet dread. ill always be ok. i know that. im a) a bengali b)hindu c) an upper caste hindu d) convent educated, with enough knowledge of my rights e) fair(!) f) with enough money(i suppose). ill be more than ok.
but what'll happen to them, people who are 'none of the above.'

and im filled with a strange,quiet dread, as i sit atop several chairs in a tiny balcony, cocooned away and gazing safely at the real world below me march by.

2006-04-12T23:56:00.000-07:00

Sweet strings and a false setto on a seat.
i lean back and listen, with orange juice in hand.
getting used to the heat for once, letting it ooze into pores and suck out the sweat. there is no real air in this room. no breezy gusts blowing my knotty crossy hair. just artificial conditioners of air saving lives. well, almost.
its a new realm of the blah floating about in the room, staring on like women stuck in two dimensional colour.
this is home. this is ditzyland.
gentle ting tings of a recorded piano tease the tastebuds. pink martini. yum.
a jaundiced screen stares at my face in confusion, asking if i really wanna play solitaire.
a waiting book looks delectable,crispycrunchy. to be washed down with the aforementioned orange juice.
and i dream on about pure shores and divine times.

2006-03-12T10:21:00.000-08:00

im in a fantastic mood today. really really good.
the morning passed in a daze,as i went in blinding sunlight towards home.stayed online for a longish bit of time,reading rather entertaining catty comments.heheh. the afternoon also passed in a daze.i kept drifting in and out of sleep and wakefulness in a pleasant, darkened roon with a rather old fan for company. it kept rotating and rotating.like one's thoughts. jai hok.
beekel bela was quite a surprise.didnt know dida had called ma and moi in for a meal.i was the appointed bartender of the evening,and i must say, i make a mean screwdriver.ma was all classy and refused to get high. dida sounded a bit shrill.i was semisloshed, as i read two chapters of a rather hilarious book called 'the mating season.' and for some reason, a mr.gussyfink reminded us of mr.godfreygordongustavusgore.(it sounded funny at the time..)
all this amidst tales of war and of waste.watched debate on the moderate muslims in india.and the varanasi bombings.i liked the bit about two assams coming tgether because of a saregama followed by a pa.speaking of pa's, i think my ma should have been my pa.she behaves like one.oh.there was tremendous agitation that was brewing like the kaalboyshaki, and which finally bubbled and frothed to the surface when australia did a whopping 434.however, under the influence of mr wodehouse, ma yelped (and i mean yelped) "LordLovaduck!"
why you ask? well, the ozzies lost by a run.hahaha.she hates them.and greg chappel. jai hok. enough about her.ill now whine about me.i have been coughing for over a month now, with no signs of actual fever.however, i do feel flushed from time to time.this has been my only dampener.damn.maybe im just supposed to cough myself to death one of these days.oh well...
i went for a kailash kher show yesterday.hez this sufi singer,who does bolywood too.hes tiny, but his voice is large.hes lovely.i think i love him.heheh.his album is called kailasa.(which reminds me of the poem we once did by Kabirdas.

"moko kahan dhoonde bande,mein to tere paas mein,
na mein dewal,na mein masjid, na kabe-kailas mein..."

2006-03-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

In the paper today, tales of war and of waste
but you turn right over to the tv page.

2006-03-04T12:29:00.000-08:00

i want to be Ganesha-
perched on top a high mattress, looking at rats fight over a biggish laddoo.

i dont want to be part of the great rat race.

maybe im laaazy.heh.

take a chance cos you might grow
what you waiting for
you stupid whore.

look at your watch now
your still a superhot female...

2006-03-01T22:16:00.000-08:00

nostalgia knocks again.
little bottled up pictures and songs and comments and feelings.all popping up when you least expect them to.
its the goddam book i think.
making me remember things that i had packed away in neat little packages, gathering dust in the basement somewhere. its a cobwebby world, this world inside.all interconnected,sometimes dead, sometimes sizzling with electricity.storing blanked out parts of my life.like when i believed we would be fed to great big alsatians if we didnt behave in a school where i went to 'timepass.' teesta,who flowed and died.the early morning flower picking sessions for ashtami-anjali.what i felt when i had to choose the better parent right in front of the mamas and the papas.kissysister and snoggyuncle.tiny's pottysmelling. the time when we would lie flat in the verandah and try scaring people.we'd say, "ei rasta theke jawa baron. amra tomake khoon korbo.amra bhoot bolchi.."
running about the house in nothing but panties.little panty bhoots laughing.panta bhaat gulping.barbie doll nose chewing.leboo and pyara stealing.drinking from a kacher glass for the first time.bonu,tinoo and i chan-ing together and doing the liril swish of the head with the la-la-laas. eating ek taka kalo jaam every single day.cycle racing.running after imaginary taxies.taxxeeeee.playing baddi in the bedroom...
forever exploring.experimenting.

it was the best of times. and the bestest of times.

2006-02-16T05:17:00.000-08:00

i went to the park today with sriya.
her childhood depends on me and im not sure i like the pressure. but i do like hanging with her.she reads stories out to me, talks to me in her own brand of broken english, and likes racing me to the end of the street.
the park was lovely.it has never looked more beautiful. most of the leaves have left their lofty homes to bunch together in dry heaps. the wind blew my hair about and billowed sriya's knee length peach skirt.she has a habit of playing with her skirt and lifting it,quite absentmindedly.
guess she hasnt learnt the art of being lady-like.
there was a brother-sister duo at the park,accompanied by a male and a female chaperone.an erudite darwan,with the household maid.the little girl was about three and a half,and had been admitted into an elite school (i was told repeatedly by the man).hehe.the darwan told his fellow colleague(mistress?) that it was pointless getting the child into a school. she would just grow up to colour her hair red and hold hands with a boy in central park.and he looked pointedly at me.
the little girl didnt need the slides and swings. she sang to herself and ran about.occasionally she broke into a jig. she repeatedly told this man that she was booterfool. he responded by saying something in bangla that more or less meant "shes lost it." "an education will be lost on her."
grrrr.
guess she hadnt learnt the art of being lady-like.

2006-02-14T07:30:00.000-08:00

nothing has been happening of late.it never really does.but even the ordinary,the mundane and the ever so common seems to have lost all romance,and i dont have too much to say.
it is the day for giggling. conspiring. hooking up. making promises. loving even.
i had a pleasant day. no hostilities.alot of never-heard-before-in-my-life hindi music, swaying sari clad women who became jumping sari clad women. alot of hooting, screaming. banshee-like.
bits of hugging.some kissed, some cried.photograph flashes froze it all.
it was the day for giggling. conspiring. parting. making promises. loving even.

2006-02-07T08:15:00.000-08:00

the chinese had come knocking at the door, and the neighbours had all left without a goodbye.and he had gone missing in action.so she packed two slightly confused kids and a perpetually dozing baby to go looking for a train, that would take them back to a relatively safer haven then known as calcutta.on a train full of dejected troops,rationed food and no water, she had to chat politely with a cranky woman who soon started crapping blood.
she made it through the 15 days of neverendlessness.
her mother had also known war. she had been a state champion at swimming, a slightly tinpottish state, now known as bangladesh.
it came in handy when she had to swim across a river with guns.
her granddaughter was a warrior of sorts too.also a doctor trapped inside an artists body.or perhaps the other way round.she knew how to hold fort,fix knees and paint faux gauguin.she had a daughter who once looked the splitting image of herself.this cat cycling one day had called in the cops, when a hat got pulled off her head.she slapped a suspect and created a raucous fit for a scene in sholay.she then looked the splitting image of a frenzied mamatadi.
then there was this woman who was heckled by a bunch of chocolate men and a lewd boss in the land that promises one ditzying heights of success..she had a best friend who was a smiling sadist, who worked men and left them.a wise man once told her she was meant to be a man, but something went wrong.god had other plans.perhaps it wasnt the work of god at all.. and then there was the one who rose and fell. she got up, slipped and fell flat again. she grovelled in the muck a bit, and is now somewhere squatting.
there are others too. battling with herself. battling with the general.

welcome to my world of the alpha female.

2006-02-06T09:02:00.000-08:00

this is a gem of a song- underrated and perhaps ignored.
i wont say i believe every word, but i love it nonetheless.

"im not aware of too many things,
i know what i know
if you know what i mean

philosophy, is the talk on a cereal box
religion, is the smile on a dog

choke me in the shallow water,before i get too deep...

what i am, is what i am,
you what you are, or what
what i am is what i am,
you what you are, or what.

im not aware of too many things
i know what i know
if you know what i mean

philosophy, is a walk on the slippery rocks
religion, is a light in a fog

choke me in the shallow water, before i get too deep..."

hehehe. simple.sweet.
lau it.

2006-02-05T02:19:00.000-08:00

ours not to reason why
ours is not to question why
ours is but to do and die.

hehehehehhe.
we are all sheep, ladies and ladies
we are all but sheep.

2006-02-02T06:04:00.000-08:00

i was a sardine yesterday.
but we did manage to make a human chain linkage.
didi's(with the zipper bag) shoulder fitted snugly into my right,slightly moist armpit.my left hand knuckles were in unison with blue shirt uncle.a freakish looking man's nose hovered near my bum. i imagine he was sniffing for something. others formed other pretty patterns of human bondage,as they got jerked and jolted in all directions.
all of us, for a brief,ever so brief moment in our lives, were caught up in the same space- sharing the same breaths,the same body parts and the same destinations.and we'll never meet again.
amidst all these banal,flitting thoughts,calls of sollake-koroonamoyee-sollake and 'dada,ektoo bheetore dhookoon' dronings came a shout. someone had spotted a pickpocket.
it was the freakish looking man who saw the culprit unzip didi's zipper bag.
mr.pickpocket immediately headed for the exit,which was being blocked by a few overhanging sardines.
no one seemed to say anything. no one seemed to mind his existance.
didi kept saying,"oi je to lok ta,amar bag khoolte cheshta korchilo." mr.pickpocket had a nice-ish sweater on.
dadu in the distressed denim was overcome by an attack of the phlegm, but his young son(who looked the iit-kharagpur type) said very wisely when mr.pickpocket jumped off at the next bus stop,"kaandaktar tao involved." and then as an afterthought he added," didi apni oke kichoo bollen na?"
didi responded with the typical resignation of the we-didi type lot.
"dhur...ki aar kortam?"

c'est la vie,mam'zelles and mademoiselles.
its all fiction. or is it.

2006-01-27T08:05:00.000-08:00

so i learnt the c major today.
i have small hands, i realize.it seems hard to stretch them to do anything.pixie-ish, as the bleddy goan would say.small everything actually.we deal with small people and small ideas and small disappearing cats on a regular basis.daily basis even.
im bored and i cant make fiction. so now im stuck.
the bidhanagar mela seemed enticing from the ultadanga bound auto today.a bangla song floated in the air.gaudy people in loud happiness appeared absurdly comical. alien even.bright purple lights,martian green tube lights,along with bright yellow bulbs glowed like humongous puchkas,mocking the real ones stuck in a glass cage.all ironical n all.
reminded me of a rehash of roswell,new mexico.all it needed was the burning remians of a sorry looking saucer.
i want fiction.
i want to be in one.i want to learn one. i want one, because im bored.
no slashed wrists, no morphine addicts, or cry babies, throwing up their dinners.
and i want to grow up now. and be a child at the same time.and i want to cream everyone at badminton, and smash the windshield of a car, and hold waggo.but waggo's no more, catto's returned though.real people do.fiction doesnt.
i want some fiction.
can you bottle me some?

comedy is a rare breed that masters achieve.
i am no master.no jack either.
pardon me, my bubble gum popping,pink wearing,lane switching colleagues.
peace.

shivers down me spine.

2006-01-11T10:50:00.000-08:00

it is soooooo coooooooooold.brrrrrrrr. i HATE winter! my nose is a triangular icicle,which no amount of blowdrying melts.yes, im actually sitting and blowdrying my face.and no, im not a loon.my hair is also standing on end,waaay more than usual,just like stalagtites/stalactites/stalagmites(dont remember which is which,neither am i sure of the spelling.so pardon me.) im trying to keep myself warm in a housecoat that is designed to resemble a quilt, but like all bloody mannerists,its not doing much justice.lifes one cold bitch.(see even iv reached a stage when im using this idiotic phrase).
went out in the evening, but somehow,winter aint that bad out in the open.when its bottled up inside a house,its potency increases.yes,i swear by got,i do.Goddpromiss(with vigourous nodding of the head and enlarging of the eyes..like the ancient mariner would be doing)..my house is a living hell.(the 9th circle of hell or something..dante's one.i think iread it in the porter scene of macbeth.eeeks.that paper went so bad.huccum i dont remember these details when they most matter.heheh.in a jane eyre answer, i forgot her best friend's name.and i turned thornsfield into turnspike or thunderfield or some jazz like that). No,but seriously,coming back to my house.my room is under the water tank,thats why its always so dank the more orangy walls do provide some visual warmth,but in the end,i always have to depend on the mannerists.ki kori.
ohh.have to tell baby byron.his brother is a loon.i have been a witness to his idiotic behavior(as God is a witness to mine) and i will not stand for it.by got, i swear(in a dramatic pose,clutching some earth in hand,looking dishevelled.top angle shot.or is it a birds eye view shot?) huatebharr...
its strange what nonsense i can come up with, just to avoid studying.i have to study.someone tell me to study.tell me to stop.but i cant.my hands just wont stop typing.my hands are tryping still.but i wanna stop.fucking fiendish fucks...you.stop.stoooooooooop.aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh.(wretched scream followed by a muahhaha in the background.reminds me of santa.oh no.his is ho ho whore ho...jeez santa,naughty you...

adios amigos.
all.
no one at all.
whoever.
who cares.

(tiny i tried.please forgive me.)

2005-12-30T06:59:00.000-08:00

hello.
its my first time corresponding with all you do-gooders and no-gooders. hello all. whats been happening around the world and over the top? its about 9.30pm, and im saturated with keats.he does give the feeling of over indulgence,doesnt he. damn. i have an exam soon, and all i do is ramble on and into obscure works that no one gives a rats ass about. neither do i actually.
so how did your christmas go. did yall eat well. stuffed on the poor turkey that stared on in glassy abandon? or were its eyes gouged out by the over worked n touchy chef. so what'll yall be doing this new year's eve? its all massively over hyped u know.but go for the kill anyway.do everthing and all you can coz time is short.and people are so stupid.time is short.get it?do you?
time is short.just talk for chrissakes.talk in the time u get. u can be on separate lines,but u can catch up.be on the same page boys and girls...
im in love with the piano..more so than ever before.my fingers now move over the As,Bs and Cs of the keyboard like they would over the black n white ones.im in love with voices- plaintive ones,screeching ones, low-gutteral ones. who wants to hear a damn nightingale.ones gotta love the flaws u know. sexy sadie thinks im obsessed with 'flawed beauty.' damn right too.even flawed beauty gives joy i suppose...
ill have a looooong hot bath.theres nothing more relaxing than hot water flowing down onto a naked body wanting a bit of warmth.ahh!and the soaps and smells!
after that, ill dress up.dress up like the queen i am. or imagine that i am.and listen to music.and ill sing.havnt in such a long time... bring in the new year my way...

time's a-tickin' boys n girls...
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
happy(?) new year.