SNAPSHOTS

Snapshots of some beautiful moments and images that according to me stand out in these beautiful films.

Elizabethtown

Alone and Happy

I'm dead so I can fly now.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

the origin of love

The Making of Me

Fragrance 

Floating through air towards my flashback.

Reflection

The Bare Naked Truth Of My Real Identity

The Machinist

I am the  "_ _ _ _ _ ER"

Wrist-cutters - A Love Story

Nobody Smiles

About A Boy

Dear Mother

No man is an island

Against the Tide

Little Miss Sunshine

I hate everyone....everyone

Clarity

Saving Private Ryan

they died so long ago but they are still alive..

War

So what if we're gonna die?

In the middle of nowhere

Juno

young love

it's full of tick tacks 

is yellow uni-sex?

Feetish

Edward Scissorhands

Aha.

Helloooo!

Snow Fairy

It never stopped snowing.

Brick Lane

The endless Paddy fields

The day my mother drowned herself

Alive

Snow Angels

Pigeons on Ice

Corridor Love

Winter

More of Winter

Warmth

One:

Dear Mi,

I've been watching the Sun like you told me to. In addition to that, I've also been watching the Moon. Sometimes, i watch the Sun and the Moon together. I think the Sun and the Moon don't want to be watched, because they keep trying to hide behind all the clouds. I've been watching them for sometime now and I've noticed that when I'm in a moving car, they move with me. Sometimes i lose them when a big tree or a tall building comes in the way. Sometimes my neck hurts so i don't watch them, but i do it most of the time anyway. I've been watching them exactly as you told me to but nothing's really changed. You told me if i would do this things would change, but nothing has changed. Every freaking thing is still the same. Even my fingernails haven't grown. Okay, i bite my fingernails so they don't grow a lot, but they haven't grown at all. So i was wondering, since this isn't working could you perhaps suggest something else that i could do, not that i don't like watching the sun and the moon, i love it, but it's really not helping. So if you could suggest something else, that would be great.

                                                                                                                                     Thanks.

                                                                                                                                     Yu

ps: I think my mom hates me.

Top Ten Songs On My Playlist This Season

1. Heartbeats - Jose Gonzales

2. Daisychains - YouthGroup

3. Good Vibrations - Gym Class Heroes

4. Never Tear Us Apart - INXS

5. One Tree Hill - U2

6. This Boy- James Morrison

7. Superfreak - Rick James

8. Lightning Crashes - Live

9. Grace is Gone - Dave Matthews Band

10. Imagine - Perfect Circle.

Winter Moody-Broodiness Personified in most of the songs..

When we take photographs, we end up capturing the faces of numerous strangers in them.

Makes us wonder, how many strangers end up capturing us in their photographs..

INDEPENDENCE DAY

It’s 1:12 am, 14^th august, no, 15^th august, now.

So that makes it Independence Day.

I wasn’t allowed to go to Shunshine’s party; I am not allowed to go to Shantiniketan with a few of my college friends.

I suddenly have this ridiculously mad desire to actually run away with them tomorrow, to Shantiniketan.

I’ve never been to Shantiniketan before but that’s not why I want to go, I just want to do something reckless, show some defiance, do something before thinking about it twice, without stopping to take permission, without thinking of the consequences that would follow, before informing people that “THIS IS WHAT I’M GOING TO DO”, just doing it because I want to and for nothing else at all, no reason, nothing.

Mercuryshadow thinks it impossible when I told her about it over the phone, that’s why I hung up on her .Why isn’t it possible? I mean, it not really wrong in any way is it? I’m not going to be doing anything over there that is bad or wrong in anyway, I just want to hang out in a different place with different people and nothing is going to go wrong. I mean, there are only two clear reasons as to why I am not allowed.

a) 1) That I might do some rubbish over there, like get drunk or smoke up, but since I don’t drink or smoke up that’s not the problem, whether my parents trust me enough to believe me that I won’t do anything like that is their problem not mine and so I’m not taking that into consideration here.

b) 2) The second reason is that because I’m going to some unknown land to some unknown person’s house, it is unsafe and my parents won’t even be there to protect me. It’s weird the way they think that going for a trip is dangerous, that way stepping out of the house is dangerous as I may get run over by a car or something, and even if I’m in the goddamn house, it might be that there’s an earthquake and the goddamn roof falls on my head! They never think of it this way.

The tickets haven’t been cut yet, so there’s still hope for me, but I still haven’t made up my mind, and my mind is trying to reason with my desire and trying to bring in all that I didn’t want to think about before doing this, so the desire is getting discouraged, so I need to make up my mind really fast and I want it to say that “yes, I’m going to do this”, before it’s too late and it says “no, it’s impossible, I shouldn’t do this.”

I don’t know man.

What the hell should I do?

It’s Independence Day.

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