sudden little trip.

when lonesome, eat a lot, and drown in self-pity.

choose your corner, and read your book.

remember Anne, remember fairy-dells and sigh.

yet again, pretend to ignore the world, and suffer.

it's cold in here because everything is unusually quiet and i miss you being far away . everything's a whirlwind and am tired of being everyone's sunny girl am tired of thinking and being anxious. i have crawled inside and now i refuse to budge but i need you come back to me fast it's weird because am not used to this and i need you fast fast.

All Time Dang!

1. So much to know. So much so that I lose track and wander off.

2. I sincerely want everyone to come back. Come back people, and run in circles again.

3. Though I often mention that I am "sick of prioritizing my life keeping you in mind", I end up doing only that.

4. New songs trailing behind me.

5. The trip to the peace house was fabulous( no pictures, sorry, because everyone assumed that everyone was going to carry his or her own camera, and no one did, ofcourse!)

6. The city often overwhelms me.

7. Stranger, take me to Woodstock, please?

College is so despicable, that I thank my lucky stars every morning when I peek into the drab, drab mournful office and catch a glimpse of "the" curly mop.

Heavy.

This is not a good time. All my defenses are falling apart. I am completely, obsessively letting my better senses fly out of the goddamned window. I do not feel like meeting new people. Am suspicious, paranoid, and upset. (i hate myself right now, as i am complaining) All the happiness i felt is just dissipating, all the memories I repressed, they are all coming back. Worst, i feel unwanted. (though it is not true, and please do not think that am a hardcore attention seeker, because am actually talking to myself)

I am giving everyone a hard time, and I am so so sorry.

But worst of all, I am giving myself such a hard time.

Everything will be okay again, right?

Toads, Toadesses, Colours.

Ignore the title. This is because I couldn't think of anything else.

well, so, perfect happenings, ohsonice happenings.
Magic Wallrush2, full of beautiful people, explosive concepts, ooganess, booganess, lots of weed, and happiness. I dipped my palms in paint, and wandered. People fascinate me. all kinds.

Bought new books. And now, the hot afternoons are full of words. Haruki Murakami is just brilliant. I can't have enough of him. Also, The Dharma Bums, Peter Pan, my very own copy of On The Road and of course, Roald Dahl. =D

Gravy Theory got featured in FUCKEN ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE. OOh LA LA ! xD peopleses who love rock music and them who love GT, get your own copy! Am so proud of the boys. xDD And check www.myspace.com/gravytheory , if you don't know what the sound is like.

I love Park Street, and i always will. yes, of course, I digress.

thatisall.
Till then, eat your spinach. Peace.

Miracle of sorts.

I long for last spring, and I know I can't have it. Maddeningly beautiful weather, this. I am trying to make a garland. Last monsoon, new stories cleaved to the rain. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw roads. This time, I long for the blues. It's a different season, but the songs still make me sigh. This time, I close my eyes, I see trains, I see you- slipping away, I see us- observing pointlessly. I sleep close to you- this close. .our noses touching. The leaves are a glittering green today, I would love a conversation on our usual gibberish. I long for that one corner of your mouth like last spring, and I long to stare unflinchingly at you and kiss you bravely, standing on my toes as the shocked pedestrians grumble. Last spring will always be a poem, and i'll always long for you and that special, enchanted time, like an intangible childhood vision.

Please sigh.

The point is that i have stopped writing. Am not saying that am a fantabulous writer. my poetry is inane and weird and too fairy-talish and i rant. But then, this is my blog, so am allowed to do that, i guess. Plus, I have been very busy lately. No, reellly. pliss to believe me. Not fucking around. Attending classes with grit and precision. Not abusing the administration in college. Working. Teaching this kid, who stares and yawns,and is a chatterbox, and is really bad with his prepositions.But he is cute and chubby. Am just there, as always, a little lost. A little detached. And a little mad. Holidays make me happy because i can catch up on sleep, and i can go to the joo when i want to and just be there with the boyfriend. I went through my insane, angry phase, and M was rather amused and irritated. And i did pester my favorites. heh. sorry. i love you all.
Bumble called out to me today as i was walking down the stairs. She said :" Hello Brightness!" That made my day. Ignoring the fact that i was wearing a very bright kurta(which is pretty, in its defense) how can you not be happy when you are being labelled as brightness itself? okay, am a little spoilt, but i do love it. I want to be the princess. And i don't want to grow up, in particular.

Home.

There's something so comforting about familiarity.something warm and nice and cosy.
And I have become so used to that.so used to the pink walls with the graffiti,so used to the little balcony where there is no dearth of sunshine,so used to the music,the bed,the smell of smoke,the happiness,the little stolen joys,the togetherness.
It's hard to let go.

Cuckoo Song.

This is a season of madness..of raw sunshine warming your toes..the green wind of a tangy city blowing inside you and when the thought of going away never leaves you.
you discover the unfurling of a wonderful newness.this is a season of yellow dust and insane laughter inside a yellow car,of lessons learnt from children with adorable smiles.
all you want to do is sit atop an old piece of junk,in midst of all the rubble and stare at the sun.
think of careless glances,walls.envy.
think of this mad season.
you admire the shape of a leaf,trace its contours and think of history,of stones inscribed in an unknown script and the strange loop of writing bothers you to tears.
you need faces.
you need stories.
you need that brightness back.
you need to dance in the dust.
you need to choose.
you wonder why mornings are so different from evenings.
you miss a language,so alien and beautiful.
do you need a new name?

Sail.

It reminds me suddenly of pyramids.Of unspoken events.Calendars with every day crossed out with red ink.When i look out,i find an empty teacup,marred with the imprint of a trespassing boot.As i put these things together,I am reminded of a girl who wanted to write stories,sleep in a bunker and flee from gunshots.In a twisted way it reminds me of her valour and ambition.NOW,it reminds me of a cork.in a precious way,it reminds me of adventures I longed for,as printed words overlapped with summer holidays.Some random smell reminds me of the first death in my world.The wonder with which I stared at the cold,slight body or that one,crooked tooth which popped out,amidst all the flowers.Or the bitter quarrel,as an aftermath.It reminds me of a popular aunt with whom I experienced a much-criticised film.In a vague way,I understood,with the sudden insight of an eight-year old.Intense sorrow for the different engulfed me.I wonder why it angers me to hear a shopkeeper reprimand me.For consuming my choice of meat.And why I smile a week later at his fake apology.

I fear it might break one day.I fear I shall split into two pieces from all the smiling.I wish i could paint absurd figures and let it all out.And smile wisely as people judged,and discussed and smoked a cigarette or two.