Rhyming.

The page quivers in silence,
Angry scratches pour in
Astounding is the way I rape defile the purity
Of the fine white planes.

These words are maudlin
Written on my body and
Angst pouring in the finer tip
Of the revolting pen.

Strangely enough
It feels like the purgatory is
Waiting for the emotions and memories
To connect midnight with desires stirred once

Yes, now, yes, now, now
The page is torn in half
And the ink congeals
On the superficial words
The ink glares back at me
Unwilling to admit the perpetration it has committed.

I stare at the paper.
Fool! Fool! Fool! Betrayer!

Yapping Along...

Dear Readers,

This is a post on disclaimers incidents. It is indeed well in the second decade of the new millennium and my blog remains happily overwhelmed by random acts of violence, passionate proclamations and insulting usage of Americanized English which Firefox seems to allow solo (Actually, the technically challenged part of me is too lazy to switch from Eng US to Eng UK because I want to keep my spellings correct and American... and because I hate seeing the red alert underlining my summarised when I write it that way). I don't know why, but the red seem to censure my act, and so I stand chastened by a browser. I wish I'd switched to Google Chrome (YES SAPTARSHI, I DID, BUT I LIKE MY OLD FAITHFUL BECAUSE I CAN DOWNLOAD VIDEOS BETTER HERE).

A few days or a lifetime ago, I was walking down JUDE with a jar of chocolate paste and hapless victims who were willing to be my guinea pigs. It had interesting results.

And then another day I decided to go for a walk with Saptarshi and Arka and talked our heads off about food. I love it when I can talk heads off about something I really like and can talk to someone about it.

I realize that I do not speak/talk inside my house, except for giving instructions or screaming insults.

I decided to cook up the perfect batch of Chocolate paste the other day. It finally gor right after three tries. All volunteers are hereby thanked.

The new year woke me up with a bang, literally. At ten in the morning some idiots were setting up a "milan mancha" (Honestly, as if they've never seen each other or hurled abuse and garbage on them!!) and started playing "Aye mere vatan ke Logo" and such. I, deluded for a second, said, "Happy Independence Day??" Sayani apparently replied: "Gandu!" and promptly turned over and snored some more.

Catering is fun. Pablo, I am thankful to you for making me realize there is YET another job I can easily take up (of course I am doing it on the sly, but still... a full time job!! )

I gave Dhruva a surprise. He was. Very much.

Despite knowing everything and doing so much, I have realized something this year. This blog is about me. Me. Me. I. I. And its going to be this way. As long as I feel like.

And here are a few trivial piece of nothing that you learnt about me today.

By the by, American English does not recognize LEARNT (which they spell LEARNED) and recognises FUCK. Just an observation.

Happy New Year

And I adore love you Adam Lambert.

A Thing of Beauty

They say, you can never be too rich or too skinny.

Or, can you?

I remember a friend of mine telling me that she wanted to be slimmer because someone she knew thought that slimmer people looked smart.

I ask... what is the quotient of smartness in comparison to body weight? One of the most incredible women I have ever met in my life weighs way over average but still manages to make people's head turn when she walks in... not because of her body, but because of a pair of eyes and a face that can literally impose and command... like in the battles lost and won once upon a time.

Most men I have met have agreed that so-called "HOT" is actually very temporary a phase which soon phases out. Like the moment, it wears off once the person in question opens her respective mouth.

Beauty... is a mere myth, quickly lost in the haze of the person.

I consistently see women growing overweight in a vicious circle of self-denial. The whole I-AM-FAT-BUT-I-SHALL-DIET-BUT-TOMORROW is not something that is healthy. You see, after nearly ten years of failed attempts at DIETING, I realized that thats bull. There is no such thing. All I had to do was eat right.

But what was right? What was right for me might not be so for someone else. For example, eating a lot in the morning, and consistently slow down as the day progresses works wonders on me, but might not on someone else.

So what to do??

I have a vague feeling that we women are never satisfied with the way we look. I do not know even ONE woman who is *perfectly* happy with the way she looks, and that is scary. The condition of women to be "a thing of beauty" has led us to objectify and imitate what we *supposedly* do not possess. Yet the myth of being PRETTY leads us on a rat race of being on the *lookers* list.

What list? Who Determines them? How do we determine what is the best look for a woman?

I do not think that there are any *correct* answer here. All I want to think is that as long as we are not physically harming ourselves, we can be, like the proverbial Bacardi, what we want to be, and with my blessings, too.

Mandakini

Of course, this might sound like a post on the 80s. It is not, though my formative years were shaded with the voluptuous heroine, famed for her beautiful white face, with pink smudges all over. She was supposed to be the image of distinct prettiness, and kaka thought she was the prettiest girl in the world.

No wonder I did not like her much.

So I was coming back from work the other day and suddenly found my driver on his knees beside my car. Curious, I went in to see exactly why was he prostrate, and realized that this little, tiny black critter was under the damn car. The lights made it impossible for me to understand the species of my intended, but I brought it down to a cat or a puppy.

However, long moments of coaxing followed, followed by cajoling, and ultimately insults and poking. To no avail. The "dear, sweet thing" as my driver claimed, refused to exit.

Frustrated to no end, I exclaimed: "Dhur Nyaka Mondakini, Bero!!" ("Just get out, you pretentious Mondakini!" Yes, I know. Translation does not work here, does it??)

Wonder of wonder, miracle, miracle.

She came out.

So after that, I generally found her at my doorstep, which is quite a distance from her litter. She's the runt of the group, detested by her mum. So of course, I sometimes feed her.

Okay, I feed her quite often...

And I realized she likes my shoes. I am now the owner of three pairs of torn strappy slippers, thanks to a mouthful of busy teeth which loves nipping at me, going underfoot, and generally following me like the proverbial lamb of Mary (Which, if Mary was wise, she should have used to make a mean profit at the slaughterhouse). She also has become the light of my students' lives, who love having her with them, and brings her biscuits. Once the runt, she's become quite an expert manipulator. Even my personal mum falls for her. Dyammit.

Which is a problem. Of course, she is after my life. I am gracefully bearing it.

A song with no name for lack of imagination

janish janish janish. I love you.

just toldyou because I feel so confused and tired and I dont know maybe if my life wasn't going down the drains like it is now

I would not be sniffing and crying in front of the comp right now trying to picture your face in my mind's eye, and just feeling helpless. s****ms****m isn't it just a drearypainful thing to be helpless, knowing there's no one just no one who's out there to save you?

and yes, rescue syndrome is on.

but I can't help stop the visions of paradise. why why whyandwhy am i feeling like this i dont know. just tell me that i am not alone i am not alone feeling lonely and pained because the man i love is showing me pictures of another woman in throes of an orgasm.

I cant i canticant take this. dont ask me where the pain is going.

I dont know but i will probably go mad if i haven't already. tell me just tell me that i am not alone. i cant get no happiness re. no happiness. keno jani na keno jani na.


In the years to come, this shall be a memory too.