I feel like writing only sometimes these days. I get this sudden urge to write but since i dont like writing on paper so i have to switch the pc on and wait for it start properly and then click the 'start' button, then go to 'programs', then go to 'microsoft office' then find "word" amongst all the others and then click it, and wait for the page to open, and then the cursor and then start writing, and by then, the urge has disappeared behind an urge to perhaps eat something or lie flat on my back and think of a million things that need to be done that afternoon or evening or night or the next day or next Thursday or maybe in years or so. It's all Laziness. I am generally a pretty lazy person, but these days its becoming a bit too much. I dont feel like doing anything at all apart from sitting with my back against something and doodling or drinking something hot or just staring at something constant.
Well, i'm in college now and i dont have anything more to ask for to the people who give you things, as in, wishes and all because i'm quite happy and that's something.

The air all around is smoke, not filled with smoke, it IS smoke.
My lungs are going to die in a year or two, but its not my fault.

So this college i go to, it's pretty awesome and i wanted to get in there since the time i first realized that i too have to go to college one day, and now i go to it.
There are alot of different kinds of people who go there as well. They're all nice, i guess.
The teachers are also pretty cool. The seniors are nice, so is the coffee.

I've been there for a week.
I' lazy.
you know what that means.
Bye.

A First Since the First

Jesu spoke for the first time in several years and it was because of that storm.

Purple-black and cold, stark and terrifying, the storm was one of those which brought the first lightning-thunder couples -the trombones, quite musical really, though the trees felt they were blatant.
But the trees were just scared..to death.

Seventy-eight times the lightning struck.
NORTH-NORTH WEST.NORTH WEST.NORTH-NORTH WEST,WEST,NORTH-NORTH WEST..
Eight stupendous trees fell.
A man was electrocuted near the tower, but it wasn't that pathetic, only because he was a lonely, old tramp without any mourners and so, there were no interviews to print in the local newspaper.

Jesu was in love with a mermaid in his fifth life.. This was his fifth life. The mermaid was beautiful, but she never really existed. Just like Santa Claus,just like the Poltergeist,just like the pathetically commercial Green Goblin, just like my Red Indian ghost and exactly like your memory.

No.
Your memory doesn't really exist.
Everything is a gimmick, just like everything else.
You don't remember anything that happened earlier from now.
What you remember is not what really happened, what you remember is what it wants you to remember.

The storm is the higher-power.
The storm controls us.
The storm is the higher-power.
The storm controls us.
We are the inhabitants of this wasteland,dry.
Fear the storm.
The trees are wise.


As soon as Jesu spoke, the Storm knew.

Complex Phraseology

I speak several different languages. I speak a different language with of the different species that I know and communicate with. There are so many of them – both languages and species- in this world…hell, in my own house!

Take my parents for example, they gave birth to me. I’m a part of them- 1) physically (I live with them and I’m a part of their family) and 2) physically (as in they produced me, yeah you know what I mean!). They’ve seen me grow in height, width and every other way possible and they still do. Then how is it that they don’t understand many of the most important things that I feel they should understand. By most important things I don’t mean clichéd teenage problems relating to boyfriends, smoking, drinking, absence of privacy blah blah blah. What I mean is, they don’t think the way I do – maybe they don’t even try. I know that I probably am, but I don’t mean to sound like an emo-child who is on awful terms with her parents because in my case, it’s nothing like that at all. I love my parents a lot- yeah they scream, shout, nag, crib, criticize, deny and make a big deal out of every minuscule thing possible- but that’s the way they are. They will never walk out on me no matter what I do, and I will never walk out on them –it’s a thought so outrageous that even thinking of thinking such a thought makes me laugh. – Then why the hell am I complaining about them not understanding me here? Well because they don’t, and just because I am!

It’s weird the way they know what I like to eat but not the colour that I would like to wear. Some of the things, or come to think of it, actually most of the things they tell me to do are just some kind of warped portrayal of meaningless and useless authority that makes sense to beings of only forty years and older. They think they understand and know everything, but they really don’t and the way they assume themselves to be correct is what really makes me angry, and when I protest, they call me a rebel, they call me out-of-control, they call me a psycho. Not that I’m saying that I’m not a psycho, but that’s beside the point here. The point is that assuming such things isn’t right and forcing your assumptions on others not right at all. They also have another problem with admitting their faults. I’m not trying to sound like a goody-two-shoe here, but hey, I admit all my faults, and I even admit that I do over-react very badly at times, but I can never get them to admit their faults, especially my mom. Man, she can kill some guy and say “yeah so what, what’re you going to do about it huh?!”………….Trust me, it’s not as cool as it sounds. It’s pretty frustrating.

Now moving onto my elder sister. I love her. She the most amazing person in the world. I don’t think I would’ve wanted to live in a world without her. She’s a complete goofball, a little girl, a complete freak! She doesn’t keep any secrets from me, I really love her. But like everyone, she too has her own set of problems. If she’s been accused- she doesn’t take it too well. She over-reacts pretty badly but that’s not the problem. The problem is, that she tends to become dramatically cliché and aggressively emotional when she’s angry. She says things that my mom says when she’s angry...Things like –“I’ll never forget the way you behaved with me tonight!!” and “You’ll have to suffer for this!!”- I know she doesn’t mean any of it, but why say such things if you don’t mean them and when no one is in a casual mood, there really not nice things to say to people. But I do forgive and forget and she forgets and forgives- the two are different (Think about it).

………In a way every person is good. GOOD and BAD are twisted words. I might love a person who the world finds horrid and I might hate a person who the world adores…..

If I talk about my best friends, then I would be talking about those selected few, who you know mostly everything about me. The things that they don’t know are probably the things are that I have either forgotten or the things that I don’t know myself. They are the ones who know all the different languages in which I speak to different the different species. They think like me and comprehend things the way I do. Yeah we argue and fight sometimes- but only because we’re tired of getting along and want to do something different and have fun doing it. I remember this one instance when my friend and I were discussing the ways in which we can destroy each other’s lives.

I have some good friends as well who know me well but do not know everything about me. They know most of my apparent characteristics and are aware of some of my not so apparent characteristics, but nonetheless I love them quite a lot.

Another species is called “friends”- these are the people who know be by name, who have visited my orkut, facebook and hi5 profiles and perhaps my blog. They usually know I’m that I’m from M.H.S. and the lead guitarist of the school band and they make a big deal out of this fact, not because I’m brilliant- but because I am a girl (this is irritating as I’m somewhat a feminist!). In a way I’m glad they don’t know all about me and why should they? I mean, why would they do and in-depth analysis of my character, do they have a lack in life or what?

Then there are those species who I call “unfamiliar people from around familiar places”: the people who I see on the road, the people who stare at my hair at bust-stands, the people who sit next to me in buses and autos, the people who leave math tuition at 3 pm, when I enter, and those who enter at 5pm when I leave, the people in weddings, the people who look up from the road when I am talking to loudly on the phone, sitting in the balcony, the people in automobiles who stop next to my car at traffic signals, the people in the shop where I buy my BSNL cash-card and five star crunchy from etc etc..You know…the people… all different species.

When I speak to these species, I don’t enforce myself to speak in different languages, it comes naturally and even though it comes naturally, I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth. The language I speak to my friends is not the one I speak to my Teacher... Like that—this is because every single human being is different, no two people are the same—according to the theory that I’m following, that makes every individual a different species.

A single human being has a variety of characteristics and different selves...In that way a human being has different species of selves inside him/her……

Ok this is getting too complicated. I’m going to stop now.

[TO BE DEALT WITH LATER]

PAINT

The above is the first attempt at Paint for my sister.
Second Attempt:
Third Attempt: The master piece
she was very proud of it, then she asked me to draw. i drew the one below and she just gave up.
i'm just better than her at this.
:)

A Brief Summary composed on the Last Day of the Year(2007) out of bordom and also taking advantage of the fact that my mother and sister arent in town

A lot of things have been said by people, or told by people [not the same thing]
You know like, “so and so said…”, or “as told by …” etc.
Some of these are actually true. If you blur out the fancy language, and the odd placement of words which sound like syntax errors, and concentrate on the basic implementations of the sayings, they do turn out to be pretty accurate, well in most cases or so.
These days, it’s extremely difficult or rather dangerous to be specific. If you say something, and it doesn’t happen the way it should, then you’re in trouble buddy! All they need is someone to point a finger at and say “it was his/her fault; I had nothing to do with it!” So if someone asks you even the simplest of questions, it’s safe to give approximate answers, like…
Q: Where’s the bathroom?
Ans: Straight down the hall, and then take the first left turn, I think, I’m not sure, though.
SAFE.

A lot of things have happened over the past few months. Like they say, everything’s good and everything’s bad. That’s the way it has happened for me at least.
I don’t feel like doing anything. I’ve lost interest in almost everything and I dont want to leave Calcutta.
The food is inedible elsewhere. Trust me on this one.

Brief Updates on my friends:

1. Apurva is Apurva and I love her.
2. Anurina has turned even more hyper, if that is possible.
3. Snigdha sounds happy, though I haven’t heard from her for sometime which is because I never end up calling her.
4. Rajasee's dog Tamu(Tamalika) died. :(
5. I have no clue about Jahnavi.
6. “ “ “ “ “ Priyasha.
7. Ambalika is sad about the fact that we’re leaving school and she’ll be all alone.
8. Sidharth Ranville Pradhan is leaving for Jaipur in January for his IT and coming back after 6 months (he has distributed his territory for the time being, because he’s not going to be around and he needs people to take care of his areas- I got Park Circus. Imran is answerable to me.)
9. Tim… blah blah blah blah
10. Saheli is paranoid about her exams.
11. I don’t know who else to write about.
12. I really don’t
13. Even if I do, the thing is, I really don’t feel like anymore.
14. Arre.
15. Atleast I posted
16. Shut the fuck up
17. Bye!

Shine...

This is the song, that makes me feel everything that should be felt to make life worth living.
i wish i was this song.
yeah.
I wish i WAS this song.

Shine on You Crazy Diamond
Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
[me]
You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, blown on the steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr,
and shine!
[me]
You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner,
and shine!
[me]
Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph, and sail on the steel breeze.
Come on you boy child, you winner and loser, come on you miner for truth and delusion,
and shine!
[ me me me ]

..and that my friend is the truth.

i know everything.
i understand everything.
i know what people think.
the mistakes they make.
i know why they make those mistakes.
the way they feel unnecessary complications.
i know how people think about other people.
i know why people hate things and love things.
i know how they work.
and recently i have been speaking alot of the truth.
its not that i used to lie before, but i never spoke at all.
now i do.
it leaves me with a feeling that i cannot explain.
when you speak the complete detailed truth, its just more easier for people to understand the way you work and that everyone feels and thinks about alot of things in the same way but they never discuss these things.
like trivial things as well..
for instance,when i feel thirsty, i go to the kitchen and stand in front of the all the plastic bottles filled with water, and i choose one which is half-filled and which is of a considerably smaller size than the others, so that it would not be very heavy, so it will be easier for me to drink, because i drink straight from the bottle, i do not pour it into a glass and i'm pretty sure, most of you'll do the same..
things like that.
you know.
i talk in this manner with Apurva and vice versa.
its like we understand the need for not wanting to do certain things at times.
like when we're talking on the phone for a long time and i feel like hanging up suddenly without any reason at all, i would just say "Apurva, im hanging up. Bye" and she says "Ok."
she doesnt ask me "why?" or "what happened?" or "huh?", and the other way round as well.
so people just have to understand that other people feel the same way as they do but at different times.

like the post i just wrote, its so messy, and im not happy with it, but i really dont give a shit because its the truth and its there for everyone to read and i know you know it as well, you just have to let it out and trust me, you'll feel lighter.

RUSH

a mass of people gathered on a rooftop.

they sit or stand in groups of four or five, boys and girls of young age.
there are little white lights all around the railings of the terrace.
there are mats on the floor and in one corner there is a "khatia" woven with silver colored rope. two boys are sitting on it, they are both wearing white.

at one corner behind the entrance to the terrace there are a lot of people huddled together.
they talk, shout ,and laugh at their own jokes and talk about everything but nothing specific at all.

three boys are running after the dog.
they are driving the dog crazy.
after some time they give up on the dog and start running after each other, tripping over their long pants and untied shoe-laces, stumbling, falling to the floor one atop another and rolling around, and all the while, laughing like maniacs.

there is music playing on a stereo but it keeps getting stuck and every now and then some one hits the stereo to stop it from getting stuck and playing the same Led Zeppelin track over and over again..

People come and go.
But they do not talk of Michaelangelo.
Over here, no-one is a Prufrock (they are)
Actually, nobody cares.

One girl, stands by the table, clutching a handbag under her arm as if it was her security.
she is a little taken aback by everything that happens around her.
and nobody really pays any attention to her.

A mother, a middle-aged man appear.
There is a flurry of movements.

They look around.
They frown.
They leave.

Most of them don't care.
I care.
Im a little scared.
But I wont be blamed.
And i'm with friends who make me happy.

She's with me, and she's with me and she's there too and he's there, he's there as well and there...he's there, and him as well and her.
So all is good.




there was a bike downstairs.
Comet.
very good bike.
[grins]

A List of Cellphone -Camera Pictures with Zero MegaPixels and Unlimited Love.

I make tracings of people on the blackboard.

I take pictures of my shoe.

That day by the lake and that strange woman.

That is the spooky-tree by the lake.

That is Paromita's hand.

I made Saheli drink Pepsi[diet]
She's a major fat-free-food-eating or rather no food eating person.

That's her face after she had the drink.[!]

Cheenu loves her new fridge.

Cramer's and Martin's...Rule.!

Shunshine's plate.
[At Mercury's house that afternoon]

Some riot on the street.
[They had beautiful fire-torches even.]

That is what we did to Rahul Dada

.....Then we got a little carried away..

That is my sister!
[she is a doofus!
i loves her]

That is Saheli drinking tea.
[No sugar..]


Those are the ' chaye-bharrs'

More tea.

It was a rainy day.


That is another Apurva and Rajasee picture.

Feet.

Wwoozie....LOST!

This is the only picture that i have with Wwoozie.

Yeah so i lost him.
But i know that im gonna find him someday.
I have all my men looking out for him on the camp!
If any of you see a glimpse of him anywhere please contact me!
Thank you.

FRONT PROFILE: Wwoozie.












SIDE PROFILE[1]: Wwoozie











SIDE PROFILE[2]: Wwoozie











BACK PROFILE: Wwoozie











Wwoozie: Hoodless










Wwoozie in my palm..
[To show you how little he is]








if you have a heart then you will help me to find him.

he's very little.

i have millions of things to write about..
and i have millions of pics to post!

i just need to get out of what shunshine calls "blogger's constipation".

just hold on.
alright?
ok.

Schubert Sells Bibles

it was a bright and sunny day and the man who lived in the pretty little cottage between the two mango trees stood outside his house, watering his sunflowers.
they were large, golden sunflowers that looked up at the sun in a happy manner.
the man carried a long hosepipe in his hands which was connected to a little tap at one end of the small garden in front of the house.
there wasn't a single cloud in the sky and the birds sang happily and the bees buzzed over the flowers.

on the other side of the street was a large house.
madame bellona was the owner of the house.
she was an old woman who had married a rich old french-man in the late 70's and now that her husband had died she had inherited his fortune...every single penny of it cause the old french man didnt have any relatives.
madame bellona wore flashy gowns and high-heeled shoes that made a click-clicking sound as she came back home after her evening walk and she always had around 10 pounds of jewellery on her.

that morning madame bellona had come outside to greet the beautiful day when she saw him watering his sunflowers.
she called out to him,"Schubert!Lovely day..eh?!"
schubert slowly turned around and nodded his head.
he wasnt really the screaming types.
he didnt even speak that much.
he was a quiet man with not much hair on his head.
he was always seen in striped white half-shirts and plain gray pants and flip-flops.
a pair of round spectacles were always perched on his nose and wherever he went he always carried with him a small, hard brown diary and a ball point pen.

When Schubert was a a child he had been a very normal boy.
He had a normal family and lived a normal life.
His mother used to bake him cookies every alternate sunday and he used love eating those buttery cookies very much..
Then one day he found a large red ant trapped in his cookie.
the ant had somehow been mixed in the cookie batter and had been baked.
when schubert saw the ant embedded in the cookie he froze with the cookie in his hands and sat that way for almost 10 minutes on the dinner table.
when his mother realised that he hadnt moved for ten minutes at a stretch, she called out to him from the kitchen and said. "Schubert!Whats wrong honey?"
Schubert didnt reply.
he didnt even move.
then after another long 30 seconds.
he dropped the cookie which fell to the floor and crumbled to cookie dust.
he looked up at his mother's confused face, then looked down at the cookie again.
then suddenly he jumped up from the table...screamed... and ran out the front door and wasnt seen for the next 3 days.

it was the beach life-guard who had found him.
Harold, was returning home from a walk by the sea when he had seen Schubert hiding under a huge, old, rotten boat on the beach.
he had extracted the boy who seemed to be in a daze and brought him back home.


For the next 3 months schubert never talked to anybody.
He sat in a wheelchair in his room as if he were made of stone.
Doctors didnt have any idea as to what was wrong with the boy.
Some said that he had shocked himself into a phase of coma or paralysis.
Nobody was sure.
then after about 3 months, one wednesday morning, when Martha(schubert's mother) was washing her clothes in the backyard she suddenly saw schubert standing on the back porch looking up at the sky.
Martha ran to him immediately and hugged him tightly and tears started rolling down her cheeks as she was relieved that schubert had finally come back to his senses.

After that, things returned to normal as before, apart from the small fact that schubert would never have cookies again.
Never again...


And on that bright sunny morning this story started with, 31 years had passed since then.

so where we?
oh yes.
Schubert and Madame Bellona.

After watering his sunflowers, schubert retired to his house.
He went into his study and took out his brown diary and a ball point pen and started scribbling..which is what he did almost all the time.
there was a tv in his house, but he rarely switched it on.
there was a radio which was broken, there was a computer which had a layer of dust over it..
the thing is...all schubert really did apart from his job was scribble in his diary and water his sunflowers and go for occasional walks around the neighbourhood.
he didnt really have any close friends.
well you couldn't count cindy as a friend.
cindy was...cindy.

schubert had met cindy at the annual town carnival where they had been forced to share the same compartment in the giant wheel because they both had gone to the carnival alone.
cindy was a short, skinny girl with auburn hair cut in a low fringe over her arched brows.
she had a freckly nose and small fair hands that rolled themselves into fists when she was excited or angry.


since neither had any acquaintances in town they often hung out together.
But one wouldn't call them friends, or a couple or brother/sister..
One wouldnt know what name to give to their relationship.
it was really a very queer thing.

cindy was 35 years old and british and aspired to become a singer.
schubert worked in an automobile-parts manufacturing firm and wore large yellow gloves while working.


that night when schubert went to bed he left the window above his bed open as the night was breezy.
when it was morning he woke up and found a large amount of dry leaves by the foot of his bed which had flown in through the open window throughout the night.
he cleaned the mess and got ready for work and then got on his bicycle and left the house.

schubert was still at work when cindy came over to his house.
she knew schubert was at work..
but she had a key to his house.
she came and went whenever she felt like and schubert never said anything.
she let herself in and went over to the fridge and took out a can of soda for herself and switched the tv on settled herself on the maroon couch and started flicking channels.
she was hungry.
but schubert was going to pick up dinner on the way back for both of them.
she would wait for him.


an hour passed.
cindy looked up at the large black and white clock above the mantlepiece.
it was 6:45.
schubert was usually back by 6:15.
but sometimes Hallepit made him work a little longer

cindy got up from the couch and went over to schuberts study and switched the light on.
a neatly decorated room came into focus.
she sat at his desk and siffled through some papers that had sketches of insects on them.
another half an hour passed.
cindy couldnt figure out why schubert was late.
she opened a drawer and saw a small brown diary in it.
she knew it was the same diary schubert carried with him almost everywhere apart from work.
yet she had never asked him what he wrote in it, it had never occured to her to ask him..
then suddenly she had a mad desire to peep into the diary...schubert would never know..
even if he did get to know there would be no problems...he had never asked her not to look into it.

so cindy took out the diary from the drawer and placed it on the desk of schuberts study.
she took a deep breath and slowly opened it...

the first page was blank.
so was the second...so was the third.
from the fifth page onwards there was writing on it.
cindy began to read.




i pricked my finger with a safety pin by mistake as i was trying to pin the babys diaper.
a drop of blood rolled down by finger and fell into the babys mouth by mistake.
i was horrified, but little Norman, smacked his lips and looked happy.
i was petrified.
that night i carried Norman to the park and drowned him in the lake.
in the icy waters of the lake.
i didnt feel anything.
because i knew Norman was the Devil.
in the morning everybody was shocked by Norman's disappearence.
I didnt tell anybody that i had killed him.
I had killed 6 month old Norman.
He was my brother.

when mama cried and cried all night i told her that norman had gone for good.
she looked up at me with eyes full of disbelief, not reacting much as she was too shocked.


Two summers after things were nearly back to normal.
then we went to chicago to spent the summer with grandpa and grandma.
Grandpa had taken me to see some monument by the park and had pointed at the statue of a horse and a rider and told me about it.
As i looked up i couldnt see the horse and the rider that grandpa talked off...
i could see the hanging gardens of babylon.
the many terraces..the gardens..i felt the soft hot breeze against my face and saw the sunflowers move in the breeze.
grandpa was a liar.
on the way back home as we were crossing the highway i pushed him towards a pick up truck and he got runover and he died.
they buried him in a wooden crate in a graveyard.
i got my first black suit.
and i think it was my first funeral as well..
i like funerals.
they're so quiet.
nobody makes too much noise.
i dont like noise.
i had told lawrence not to scream in my ear many times in junior high.
he just wouldnt listen.
i had pushed him off the jungle gym and he had cracked his cranium and died.
everybody thought he slipped.
his mother howled like a baby in the principals office..
i saw her.


"Cindy."
Cindy whirled around, her eyes red and full of tears.
schubert was at the door of the study.
she had not heard him come back.
cindy looked up at schubert with a horrified look on her face.
schubert took out something from his pocket.
Cindy didnt see what it was.
all she saw was the look in his eyes.
a calm, unruffled expression.
and then everything faded in a moment of intense pain on the pit of her stomach.

as schubert dragged cindys lifeless body across the living room a cool breeze flew on from the open window of the study and turned over the pages of schubert's brown diary that lay on the desk.
the page read,

"This is Schubert's Bible, and from this moment of your lives you're dead"..

NOT ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL [ i didnt mean for it to sound cliche, so its ok.Right?]

Everything's fine till we're all a part of the grimmy, dull brick wall behind.
Nobody's has no problems, nobody has no complaints.
It's just that, if you're different then you turn a brighter colour and you don't fit into the wall anymore... and then... they throw you out and you fall in a heap below the ugly wall and lie there

[photo: taken on 12 september 2006, convent road.]

An Inspiration..Really

I close my eyes and this image floats beside me
The sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brains
His hands reach out and choke me
And all the time he's mumbling
Truth, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, it will never be enough
Kick it beat it, it will never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying,
it will just cover your face
as you wail and cry and scream.

~ {Todd Anderson} The Dead Poets' Society

And when i see the picture of the old man
he looks to me as if he were made of stone
of a stone that is fossilised and made into a paperweight,a stone used as an everyday object but containing a remenant of a lost soul that once existed and which now ceases to be.
He looks at me with weary eyes that say nothing yet they seem to listen intently to what i had to say to him and to the world.
I told him that he scared me, that his wild white hair looked as if it were an old lion's mane, that his forehead was ugly with wrinkles and that he had ragged cuticles even though i couldnt see his hands.
This Tableaux Vivant told no story like the picture of the silly girl and the flower nest to it but it was more alive than the souls which wandered in that old dark cave behind Wellton Woods.
The picture was alive, the old man was alive, so was the God of the old dark cave behind Wellton Woods.
It was once before a mere stand of an old lamp which never worked, but now it was the God of an old dark cave in which wandered the souls of the dead poets and the soul of one who was Puck.

In the end we yawp:
"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done"

And then.

"We took the world as given.Cigarettes
Were twenty sseveral cents a pack, and gas
As much per gallon. Sex came wrapped in rubber
And veild in supernatural scruples, - call
Them chivalry

Psychology was in the mind; abstract
Things grabbed us where we lived, the only life worth living was the private life, and last
Worst scandal in this characterization -
We did not know we were a generation."
~ John Updike
Class of 1954

Delirium[?]

There's nothing on my mind now.
Nothing.
You say "nothing" but you're just saying it.
But i seriously mean it.
Really...

Fine..

Everything's a..
Blur...Haze...Fog.
Void... and then come those FLies.
Damn.

I like to take photographs again.
I like to play the guitar again.
I like to listen to jazz.
[The concert was too good
Watching Hancock and Shorter was like a dream come true]
I like to sing again.
Recently I've been singing the third verse of the School of Rock Song over and over again.
You know the part where the black girl "Tamika" sings her solo..
I love singing that part.
I dont like singing for other people.
I like to sit in the balcony when my parents are out.
Do you feel miserable for no specific reason?
I do.
All the time.
Its a really horrible feeling.
I felt like that some time back. Still am, a bit, but it has died down a bit.
I snap at everybody around me when I'm like that.
I dont like being that way.
But its the only way people at home leave me alone.
Now that..I like.
I dont like justifications all the time.
Damn i love the Blues.
Soul Music.

I never understood "The Hermit and the Rose".
Never.
Not now.
Not ever.
The sight of the light- blue book makes me depressed.
heh.

Da dum da dum da dum.
Water-Melon Man...ta ra ra ra...
I love that song.
Thats the song they ended the concert with.
The members of the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz are as good as Hancock and Shorter.
I wanna be good too.
yeah.huh.
ok.

So
A friend of mine wrote a story about a Butcher.
It was a fabulous story.
It began with a quote.
I like the quote..It went like,

"The whole reason the Butcher existed was because he was a parody of all of us. He was a disintegrated shape of things that had happened, and things that were to come. He was a parody of the system. He butchered nobody. We butchered him"
~ Detective Sergeant, Pinkerton, refuses to give his name, Saturday, November 15, 2001.

And i said
There's nothing on my mind now.
And look what was on my mind...
Yeah i'm like everybody as well...
Nothing..Everthing...
Its all the same.
Aint it?

[Photo: Taken on an exceptionally cold but sunny afternoon in the balcony]

***********

The Christmas/New Year Post

So thats me in my Christmas Hat, people call it The Santa Hat

but i like calling it The Christmas Hat. Another thing is that i cant say Merry Christmas, I like saying Happy Christmas. It must be due to the brititsh movies i've been watching.

Well, Happy Christmas!

Thats Rj in my Christmas Hat. She told me she really wanted one as well
but nobody bought her one, and it was only 20 bucks!
Look how happy she looks!

ok so i had a good christmas
and i had an AMAZING time on the 31st.
and i have bloggers block
and i cant help it.

Things that Happened:

1) Priyasha left school and went to Cambridge.
[as the 12s are leaving as well we dont have a vocalist anymore and now that pri's gone we have one less guitarist....oh this is so great...]

2) Apurva and I got bike rides
[oh my god, it was amazing!]

3) I discovered i have cousins who used to live in Tanzenia who live in cal now and one of them has a drumset so i can go and play it anytime i want to..yay!!

4) I did alot of crazy things that i cannot write here in case my mother checks my blog.

To end the post i would like to show you a very short and badly taken video of Apurva doing her funny dance on 31st night.
WATCH
ENJOY
COMMENT
[oh shes so going to kill me for this]
I'de suggest that you first hit the play button and minimize the window and let the video run once and then hit replay and watch it, that way it doesnt get stuck :)

THE END

This is "THE" song of the month~

The End ~ The Doors

This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end

Of everything that stands, the end

No safety or surprise, the end

Ill never look into your eyes...again

Can you picture what will be

So limitless and free

Desperately in need...of some...strangers hand

In a...desperate land

Lost in a roman...wilderness of pain

And all the children are insane

All the children are insane

Waiting for the summer rain, yeah

Theres danger on the edge of town

Ride the kings highway, baby

Weird scenes inside the gold mine

Ride the highway west, baby

Ride the snake, ride the snake

To the lake, the ancient lake, baby

The snake is long, seven miles

Ride the snake...hes old, and his skin is cold

The west is the best

The west is the best

Get here, and well do the rest

The blue bus is callin us

The blue bus is callin us

Driver, where you taken us

The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on

He took a face from the ancient gallery

And he walked on down the hall

He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he

Paid a visit to his brother, and then he

He walked on down the hall, andAnd he came to a door...and he looked inside

Father, yes son, I want to kill you

Mother...i want to...f**k you

Cmon baby, take a chance with us

Cmon baby, take a chance with us

Cmon baby, take a chance with us

And meet me at the back of the blue bus

Doin a blue rockOn a blue busDoin a blue rock

Cmon, yeah

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill

This is the end

Beautiful friend

This is the end

My only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free

But youll never follow me

The end of laughter and soft lies

The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

Tomorrow's a Monday

you know i wonder why the bugs are always attracted to the light.
there are like a thousand bugs under the little yellow lamp in my room.
there were bugs last night as well under the same lamp. when i went to sleep last night i switched the lamp off and when i woke up in the morning i saw that all the bugs were lying dead under the lamp and then the maid came and swept them away. this woman is new and she's a bit wierd, but thats ok. the previous made ran away and got married and then her husband wanted money from her folks and they couldnt give it and so he left her at her folks place.that was about two months ago.she was still there till yesterday.now she's in the ESI hospital right next to my house 'cause she swallowed poison.

jim morrison says "our days are bright..
and filled with pain..."

i wonder whether the bugs know that they'll be dead before morning...you know what i think..i think they're aware of it and thats why they want to be around the light even if it artificial 'cause they'll be dead before sunrise...they wont be able to see the lightof the day anymore,thats why.
bugs bugs and more bugs..i also wonder why Bugs Bunny is named "Bugs"...

i found out yesterday that i like honey..yeah its wierd but thats ok. i like honey..there was a huge jar of honey lying on the table and i was drawn to it like some unknown force..and i tasted it, and it wasnt like i was tasting it for the first time but i really liked it, more than i had ever liked it. well i guess thats happens, you tend to like things a little more and a little less at different times of your life.

i'm going on a trip to the sunderbans for 3 days from the 8th to the 10th of december. its a compulsory school trip for the geography students.
my dad's paranoid and he thinks the sunderbans are really dangerous and he says he's going to talk to the principal about the security on the trip.yeah...he's wierd i know..but thats ok.

morrison says ..."is everybody in?
wake up!!.."

yeah yeah i'm awake.
awake.
shake the dreams from your hair he says.
[the monotonous drum beat continues with the occasional fill-ins]
imagine it.close your eyes and do it.

today.
rick's grandfather expired.
he was eighty-something.
went there in the morning and then the doctor came and wrote a "death certificate" for him.
for christ sake, what the fuck is this world coming to...the guy's dead for crying out loud...you need a bloody certificate to prove that he's dead!
sometimes somethings really really piss me off...sometimes somethings pisses everybody off.
then they decorated him with white flowers and then everybody sat and talked about how he died in his sleep and how he was normal yesterday and then the relatives started arriving..
two of them...no actually three cried..others didnt.
after an hour people had started to talk about other things..it was wierd...though this time it wasnt ok.
a man had died...but you know..he was old...it was his time...hell yeah.it was his time...huh..
then the people came with the car and they brought the stretcher thingy.
and then...
this woman was standing there and they were bringing dadu in the stretcher thingy and she was in their way and the stretcher was about to touch her and she saw that and she literally ran out of the way because she didnt want the stretcher with the dead old man on it to touch her.
i felt sick.
yeah i felt sick...no comments on this ..you do the commenting.

so anyway
people are born and people die...
though..
i never wanna die under a caption that says..
"17 were killed"...

so jim morrison said "something something taxi/cab to some place something and then something"

alright.
i need sleep.

A SEQUEL TO LIFE

When i died it was just another thing.
I was kind of looking up to it from the moment i knew i was going to die.
You know we always talked of the inevitable end being death and shit like that and we make a big deal out of it but seriously, it was nothing like that.
it was just another thing. like um...like brushing you teeth, or maybe.. chewing some kind of food which is in your mouth.yeah.just like that.

actually i would never have known that i'm dead, if it wasnt for Ming.
I had this funny sensation in my stomach, you know the ones you get when your on the giant wheel and when its descending from the topmost point..one of those and thats it.

i was like what the..? and then i saw Ming.

i had first met Ming when i was 7 years old.
She used to live in the same complex i used to. so we often played games together. she was my first friend...as in friend...you know what i'm saying?..yeah. ok.
so we used to hang out together.i never knew she had asthma. when she died my mother told me what exactly asthma was and etc.
i was 9 when she died..and so was she.
and
i was 24 when i died..she was still 9.


so when i saw Ming in her red dress, white panty-hoes and black ballerina shoes i thought it was just another dream like the ones i used to have after her death but she told me and made me realise that i had actually died.
so i was like.."so thats it..i'm dead?"...and she nodded, her dark hair falling over her eyes and covering them completely.

You know the wierd thing about dying is the fact that you never know where exactly you are.I mean the place. i can never tell where exactly i am. which state, which country. heaven? hell?
Theres nothing called "Heaven" or "Hell"...
Theres no God or Satan...nothing.....trust me....hello! i'm dead!

its like your walking through a fog so thick that everyhthing seems like a a freshly painted empty room of a house where nobody's moved in yet or somebody has moved out. everything looks and feels clean, it smells clean as well. there is no air to breathe, no dust particles in the air, no shadows..but a constant whisper, like you can hear someone talking in a different room and your trying to find out the source of the sound so your always looking for something..atleast thats what i feel.

i dont know if i'm a ghost or not. i dont think i am...so i asked Ming if i was.. we were ghosts...
she didnt think we were.
i asked her what were we supposed to do.. now that we were dead..
she said that she didnt know.
nobody knew. she told me i'de get used to it...she had.

so i thought... this was it.
death...the other side of life.
i wonder why i didnt meet other dead people as well.
like i wanted to meet many peopl actually...starting off with kurt cobain and leonardo da vinci..and many others but that never happened.
it was just Ming and I.
I never feel tired, i never feel lonely, i never feel frustrated...nothing..its wierd.
actually you wont understand now...just wait alright? just...wait.

Arriving Somewhere But Not Here

put one foot in front of the other in one straight line, if one foot falls crooked
then turn around, retrace your steps back and you would reach the starting line.
start from there again, as the man with the loud voice tells you to do that.
when i was in your place, things were different because the man was never there.
i remember i held my own hand and started to stroll from the finishing line and reached the end which was the beginning, but i didnt care and so and still, i was placed on the topmost stand and given a bouquet of tulips...simply because i liked tulips.
they didnt dry up for a week..... i was waiting.

you told me you have a blank page now
you think should you fill it up with words somehow?




so i tell you that
once i trapped a white flame in my hands, long ago
and it helped me to think so i never let it go.

until now, as i dont need it anymore

there is a tune in my head which keeps going louder and softer and changing with every step i take,
i'm addicted to it and i cannot continue going without it, neither can i stop
because it compells me to believe that i can arrive somwhere/anywhere..
but not here. .