(Big grin!)
Have you noticed… the most clichéd thing to say these days is…
“Now of course I say this at the risk of sounding clichéd…”
or
“I know I’m capitalizing on the cliché but don’t you think…”
What’s wrong with clichés anyway? They’re good man… they’ve stood the test of time… (said with a deep reverberating voice and nose in the air, for the sake of the clichés of course … since they don’t have noses of their own…)
… So a lot of people agree about a lot of things and end up saying the same things in the same way and often about the same thing at the same time…(now that’s an original sentence!!)
(Grammar?… who grammar?)
As if by saying “I don’t mean to sound clichéd…” they somehow make what they are saying more unique and ORIGINAL.
Originality also I think comes highly overrated… simply because if you shut up and listen, you will realize that most people (including those who seem to vehemently disagree with each other) for a good part of their life are trying to tell you the exact same thing…
Yup! So do that… go listen to those people…
……………and stop looking at me like you expect me to start making sense.
‘hic! :D
Monday, July 25, 2005
The Dragon and the Phoenix
The Dragon.The world is so full of false prophets and mystics.
Mind-readers, spiritulists, "but-i'm-your-friends".
They’re all there to help you.
“Come and ease the pain”
Its good fun really.
They will trivialize it for you.
Make it much easier to breathe.
It’ll all end in a sigh… or a sob… or smoke…(depends on how long you take to adjust)
Mind-readers, spiritulists, "but-i'm-your-friends".
They’re all there to help you.
“Come and ease the pain”
Its good fun really.
They will trivialize it for you.
Make it much easier to breathe.
It’ll all end in a sigh… or a sob… or smoke…(depends on how long you take to adjust)
The Phoenix.
Kid yourself sometimes… it’s the only way to get by…
Hey I didn’t promise unscathed… I just guaranteed escape…
Then again when you have the balls…
Crash and burn…remember the phoenix.
You are no less.
You are no less.
Feeble
Sometimes it’s easier to talk when no one listens.
Especially yourself.
You might think it a futile exercise when you start.
You need to keep at it.
Especially yourself.
You might think it a futile exercise when you start.
You need to keep at it.
You know those voices that you constantly try to ignore?
They don’t go away.
Not unless they’ve had their say.
I should know.
But you can cheat them… the voices I mean…
Talk when no one is listening.
Ma.
My mother is by far, the funniest person I've come across... she is also one of the wisest, kindest and all sorts of other nice things...
But other stuff apart... my mum is definitely the funniest...
This is me immortalising some of the stuff she says... lest I forget... and I don't EVER want to... I want to have more 'mama stories' about my mother than my mother has 'baby stories' about me!
I.
Me: “Amma are you gonna have dinner?”
Ma: (from bathroom where she has three taps running) “What baby? I can’t hear you…”
Me: “ARE YOU GONNA HAVE DINNER?”
Ma: (happily splashing around) “What love?”
Me: “DINNER! DINNER! ARE YOU GONNA HAVE DINNER?”
Ma: (humming to herself as she soaps) “What did you say baby?”
Me: “I’m going to Spain tomorrow.” (Sarcasm influenced by tattered vocal chords)
Ma: “Yeah I’d like some dinner.”
II.
(Phone call during class hours! Daughter fully anxiety-fied! Must be urgent, crouches under desk evading wary eyed lecturer)
Daughter: “What happened Ma? Are you okay?”
Ma: (sing song voice) “Hi Baby!”
Daughter: “Why did you call ma?”
Ma: (in her Oracle voice) “I was thinking…”
Daughter: “What?”
Ma: “Sometimes I think God is great…”
Daughter: “…and at other times?”
Ma: “At other times I think God is great anyway… Chal voh bhi kya yaad karega!”
But other stuff apart... my mum is definitely the funniest...
This is me immortalising some of the stuff she says... lest I forget... and I don't EVER want to... I want to have more 'mama stories' about my mother than my mother has 'baby stories' about me!
I.
Me: “Amma are you gonna have dinner?”
Ma: (from bathroom where she has three taps running) “What baby? I can’t hear you…”
Me: “ARE YOU GONNA HAVE DINNER?”
Ma: (happily splashing around) “What love?”
Me: “DINNER! DINNER! ARE YOU GONNA HAVE DINNER?”
Ma: (humming to herself as she soaps) “What did you say baby?”
Me: “I’m going to Spain tomorrow.” (Sarcasm influenced by tattered vocal chords)
Ma: “Yeah I’d like some dinner.”
II.
(Phone call during class hours! Daughter fully anxiety-fied! Must be urgent, crouches under desk evading wary eyed lecturer)
Daughter: “What happened Ma? Are you okay?”
Ma: (sing song voice) “Hi Baby!”
Daughter: “Why did you call ma?”
Ma: (in her Oracle voice) “I was thinking…”
Daughter: “What?”
Ma: “Sometimes I think God is great…”
Daughter: “…and at other times?”
Ma: “At other times I think God is great anyway… Chal voh bhi kya yaad karega!”
All tooned in :)
This particular friend of mine who shares my obsessive fixation with comic strips and cartoons and animated films in general asked me which cartoon character I realted to the most. She also asked me to give 5 reasons I thought this way...
Well Sue, here are 6 reasons why I think I am a living breathing Broom Hilda!
(I'm putting it up here coz this is bloody brilliant... do look up Broom Hilda by Russel Meyers).
:) :) :)
Well Sue, here are 6 reasons why I think I am a living breathing Broom Hilda!
(I'm putting it up here coz this is bloody brilliant... do look up Broom Hilda by Russel Meyers).
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:) :) :)
Soul vacation
Most conversations have talkers and listeners.
Between you and me, I think the real conversations happen when both people listen, neither talk. I’ve never known this to happen with anyone, but I think it can happen. At least within oneself if not between two distinct people.
Then again there are people who can talk to things others consider inanimate. I know this person who shares a very special connection with her ceiling. She calls him ‘Frank’ (Sinatra fan she insists!). She and Frank have spent many hours contemplating the meaning of life, discussing pain, recollecting the day’s events, setting reminders… she lying on her bed and he always watching over her.
And then again there are people who can talk into space with the conviction that they are being heard… they trust someone is listening to them…someone, anyone. When I was first introduced to chat rooms on the internet that’s what I thought about… so many people talking into space… believing someone is listening…
I don’t think anyone is wrong really… in fact I think everyone is right…
But this isn’t about categorizing conversations…
…..this is about connections… and memories… which get stirred, mixed and glorified by dialogue…
So I don’t want to talk.
I just want you to listen.
I don’t know what this is about.
But maybe…
this is about sitting sleepless at 4 am staring at a pristine white screen. Where letters appear just as easily as they disappear…
this is about not knowing what I want to say and what I want said to me.
this is about uncertainty that I know shrouds the life of even those I want should console me.
this is about me wanting to be told that I am loved but still being too tired to say it back to someone.
this is about me blowing small things out of proportion and trivializing things that should matter.
That’s what I am doing…
Running around in circles… looking for misplaced dreams…
…trying to find that little part of the soul that churns out the new ones…
Forgetting halfway what it was I was looking for…
........ ..... .... ... ......... .. ........ what was I going to say?
Wake up! Get up … enough already…
Stirring the soul out of its vacation.... definitely NOT easy...
*sigh :)
Between you and me, I think the real conversations happen when both people listen, neither talk. I’ve never known this to happen with anyone, but I think it can happen. At least within oneself if not between two distinct people.
Then again there are people who can talk to things others consider inanimate. I know this person who shares a very special connection with her ceiling. She calls him ‘Frank’ (Sinatra fan she insists!). She and Frank have spent many hours contemplating the meaning of life, discussing pain, recollecting the day’s events, setting reminders… she lying on her bed and he always watching over her.
And then again there are people who can talk into space with the conviction that they are being heard… they trust someone is listening to them…someone, anyone. When I was first introduced to chat rooms on the internet that’s what I thought about… so many people talking into space… believing someone is listening…
I don’t think anyone is wrong really… in fact I think everyone is right…
But this isn’t about categorizing conversations…
…..this is about connections… and memories… which get stirred, mixed and glorified by dialogue…
So I don’t want to talk.
I just want you to listen.
I don’t know what this is about.
But maybe…
this is about sitting sleepless at 4 am staring at a pristine white screen. Where letters appear just as easily as they disappear…
this is about not knowing what I want to say and what I want said to me.
this is about uncertainty that I know shrouds the life of even those I want should console me.
this is about me wanting to be told that I am loved but still being too tired to say it back to someone.
this is about me blowing small things out of proportion and trivializing things that should matter.
That’s what I am doing…
Running around in circles… looking for misplaced dreams…
…trying to find that little part of the soul that churns out the new ones…
Forgetting halfway what it was I was looking for…
........ ..... .... ... ......... .. ........ what was I going to say?
Wake up! Get up … enough already…
Stirring the soul out of its vacation.... definitely NOT easy...
*sigh :)
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Yeh hai Bambai, meri jaan...
These are everyday in Bombay
… somewhere or the other
Whether or not anyone is around to watch ... whether or not people watching notice…
This isn’t meant to be writing.
This is meant to be pictures. Real live pictures.
The accompaniment music… is the sound of a heart beat…
5:03 am: Airport Runway
(Location: Santacruz)
Black.
It is always darkest before dawn.
The runway lights shine on steadily… symmetrically…
The city wakes… watches over you…
5:30 am. The first visitor, the first 'note to self'.
(Location: Somewhere on the way to being awake)
“Didi doodh” says little boy wearing your old t-shirt, shorts and a smile.
“thank you… umm…” say you... eyes half shut… must remember to buy him slippers.
“Welcome didi.” He runs on…
… you go turn on the radio…
6:00 am. Consciousness and coffee.
(Location: kitchen floor)
White cup, with cartoon dog on it. All milk no water coffee.
Strong... Bitter... Sickeningly Sweet.
Serpentine steam...
Smell… Still more smiles…
6:01 am: The Grey-yellow sunrise.
(Location: Every where)
Alarm clocks going off in the neighbours homes.
The little man washing the car trips the car alarm again.
Someone swears… rolls over and sleeps…
Someone else laughs… morning person…
7:00 am: THE Local train.
Ear splitting hoot that you don’t react to anymore.
Hurriedly folding up newspapers.
7:45 am: Cautionary Road Signs
(Location: Haji Ali)
A bad patch of road.
Someone put an old rubber tyre around it.
Another adds the frond off a palm tree.
A few rocks. A bunch of sticks. Doggie strutting by pees.
Its good... everyone understands...
8:30 am: Construction work
(Location:Grant Road)
Three little kids in uniforms and bright umbrellas.
Building a house for a mother and her three little babies.
Clumsy effort… lots of licks… empty yellow biscuit wrapper, the bone of contempt between the three puppies…
12:00 pm. Musical Matinee.
(Location: Fort)
The service at an Udipi resteraunt.
15 workers, coffee and cream uniforms, 250 sq.ft of space.
They move… in perfect harmony.
...the little boy with the wash cloth cleans up.
… somewhere or the other
Whether or not anyone is around to watch ... whether or not people watching notice…
This isn’t meant to be writing.
This is meant to be pictures. Real live pictures.
The accompaniment music… is the sound of a heart beat…
5:03 am: Airport Runway
(Location: Santacruz)
Black.
It is always darkest before dawn.
The runway lights shine on steadily… symmetrically…
The city wakes… watches over you…
5:30 am. The first visitor, the first 'note to self'.
(Location: Somewhere on the way to being awake)
“Didi doodh” says little boy wearing your old t-shirt, shorts and a smile.
“thank you… umm…” say you... eyes half shut… must remember to buy him slippers.
“Welcome didi.” He runs on…
… you go turn on the radio…
6:00 am. Consciousness and coffee.
(Location: kitchen floor)
White cup, with cartoon dog on it. All milk no water coffee.
Strong... Bitter... Sickeningly Sweet.
Serpentine steam...
Smell… Still more smiles…
6:01 am: The Grey-yellow sunrise.
(Location: Every where)
Alarm clocks going off in the neighbours homes.
The little man washing the car trips the car alarm again.
Someone swears… rolls over and sleeps…
Someone else laughs… morning person…
7:00 am: THE Local train.
Ear splitting hoot that you don’t react to anymore.
Hurriedly folding up newspapers.
7:45 am: Cautionary Road Signs
(Location: Haji Ali)
A bad patch of road.
Someone put an old rubber tyre around it.
Another adds the frond off a palm tree.
A few rocks. A bunch of sticks. Doggie strutting by pees.
Its good... everyone understands...
8:30 am: Construction work
(Location:Grant Road)
Three little kids in uniforms and bright umbrellas.
Building a house for a mother and her three little babies.
Clumsy effort… lots of licks… empty yellow biscuit wrapper, the bone of contempt between the three puppies…
12:00 pm. Musical Matinee.
(Location: Fort)
The service at an Udipi resteraunt.
15 workers, coffee and cream uniforms, 250 sq.ft of space.
They move… in perfect harmony.
...the little boy with the wash cloth cleans up.
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