You don't bring me flowers any more.
The violets have frozen and the valley has no more flowers this season.
And you don't even write.
For the words have perished in these frantic unplanned rains and sleet like those apple blossoms you described.
The river had its floods and the banks widened,
Rivulets spread like wrinkles that I am growing around my eyes.
Not that old yet- but getting older.
And in all art and honesty, tomorrow may see some tire tracks away from the usually trodden and
Yet- the face in the mirror will be clearer than ever.
You don't talk to me these days.
But I do. There is just too much to put a finger on.
But then you should regurgitate in absolute disregard and I shall remain ever.
Steadfast.
Worldwsie and Worldly Wise.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Dilli Darshan- a little differently.
House hunting in Delhi.
I can safely assure you, that even looking for - a needle in a hay stack, a decent-rich-smart-man to marry, a fool proof dissertation topic- any of these, all of these are exponentially easier to find.
No matter what your budget- a ‘better’ house is always 5000 bucks away. JUST five thousand. And the brokers (God help this breed) assure you that this elusive 5000 is not much of an issue at all- “See…” they proceed to explain, “You just end up paying a little more.” I vehemently shake my head and say- NO.
An extra 2.5k is not a favourite coffee add on. Thank you.
You can very easily find the oddest architecture – like a staircase in the middle of a make shift second bedroom that goes down to a basement, which has a room that the land lord assures you- can be made in to a bedroom. Though it has NO windows, no doors, just a staircase that leads to it and some cupboards below the stairs. Frankly- I’d rather live in that cupboard.
And also the oddest ‘requests’- guys cannot stay, perhaps they can visit for a few hours. But they cannot stay. Of course we bring over guys by the dozen dear land lord- we like excitement every hour. And the few hours they are there- as if I cannot ‘do’ what I want in that, is it? And one land lord even went on to say- I will not allow boys in the house; for as his past experience goes- one of his tenants got knocked up. Since he is so vehement about it- am vaguely suspicious that HE had something to do with the matter.
Well then- keep your house with you- shove it in some unholy dirty crevice of your rectum and shut it.
Please talk nice to the owners. Repeat most politely for the umpteenth time- where you work, what your work hours are, where you study, where you are from, how many people at home, the name of your puppy and the colour of the new shows you bought. By all means. Ask for my DNA profile as well- please do- THAT will assure our parents that we shall be safely taken care of.
Since we are two girls living ‘alone’ – we must be needing guidance and surveillance and things like that. Of course! Why don’t you send your domestic help with me to work every day- JUST so as I am safe.
Every property- is VERY GOOD property. Even if it is a little hole in the wall. Every location is prime and vaastu approved. With 24 hour security- even if it is a guard who is too busy betting on cards and drunk.
Respect the profession- not the actions!
And perhaps, as a way to calm your self down. Tomorrow is always another day with more brokers, more houses beyond your budget, more long pointless conversations with people you will never meet again. This is for those who have accompanied me in this 'holy' quest, people who have done this earlier, will do it again and MOST IMPORTANTLY- people who have calmly heard me rant about these series of unfortunate events. Thank you.
Such is life.
Going to the moon is easier. Trust me.
I can safely assure you, that even looking for - a needle in a hay stack, a decent-rich-smart-man to marry, a fool proof dissertation topic- any of these, all of these are exponentially easier to find.
No matter what your budget- a ‘better’ house is always 5000 bucks away. JUST five thousand. And the brokers (God help this breed) assure you that this elusive 5000 is not much of an issue at all- “See…” they proceed to explain, “You just end up paying a little more.” I vehemently shake my head and say- NO.
An extra 2.5k is not a favourite coffee add on. Thank you.
You can very easily find the oddest architecture – like a staircase in the middle of a make shift second bedroom that goes down to a basement, which has a room that the land lord assures you- can be made in to a bedroom. Though it has NO windows, no doors, just a staircase that leads to it and some cupboards below the stairs. Frankly- I’d rather live in that cupboard.
And also the oddest ‘requests’- guys cannot stay, perhaps they can visit for a few hours. But they cannot stay. Of course we bring over guys by the dozen dear land lord- we like excitement every hour. And the few hours they are there- as if I cannot ‘do’ what I want in that, is it? And one land lord even went on to say- I will not allow boys in the house; for as his past experience goes- one of his tenants got knocked up. Since he is so vehement about it- am vaguely suspicious that HE had something to do with the matter.
Well then- keep your house with you- shove it in some unholy dirty crevice of your rectum and shut it.
Please talk nice to the owners. Repeat most politely for the umpteenth time- where you work, what your work hours are, where you study, where you are from, how many people at home, the name of your puppy and the colour of the new shows you bought. By all means. Ask for my DNA profile as well- please do- THAT will assure our parents that we shall be safely taken care of.
Since we are two girls living ‘alone’ – we must be needing guidance and surveillance and things like that. Of course! Why don’t you send your domestic help with me to work every day- JUST so as I am safe.
Every property- is VERY GOOD property. Even if it is a little hole in the wall. Every location is prime and vaastu approved. With 24 hour security- even if it is a guard who is too busy betting on cards and drunk.
Respect the profession- not the actions!
And perhaps, as a way to calm your self down. Tomorrow is always another day with more brokers, more houses beyond your budget, more long pointless conversations with people you will never meet again. This is for those who have accompanied me in this 'holy' quest, people who have done this earlier, will do it again and MOST IMPORTANTLY- people who have calmly heard me rant about these series of unfortunate events. Thank you.
Such is life.
Going to the moon is easier. Trust me.
And did you?
And did you ever love me?
That halfmoon kind of love?
Lazy in a longing that curls around your fingers like my hair that you never could touch?
A fragment of grey like a lip stain on your palm.
A shivering act of anger and resentment and I begged you to stop him.
And did you ever love me?
Call me after days to tell me that you can and cannot do without those few lines of poetry.
And deliberate miles that seperate.
And did you ever love me?
Even in half serrated words of a thesaurus full of passion and longing for a girl you never fully knew?
In measured steps of un-hurry, dry summer nights and the branches of yellow. Of accusations and lies of a million years.
I never stood there calling out to you for a chance or hope.
I never stood there, waiting. Wishing, longing that halfmoon of an existance in your eyes.
And did you ever love me?
This kind of love is ever easy. Ever so easily melted over pen drawn lines on pressed dry memory leaves.
The one desire to wipe the moisture off my lips.
A single, orphan desire of some resurrection of a text book perfect love.
In making peace with the chaos that I am, the darkest of clouds obscured a vision.
The rains unclogged some more love that I rushed towards the snow instead.
And did you?
That halfmoon kind of love?
Lazy in a longing that curls around your fingers like my hair that you never could touch?
A fragment of grey like a lip stain on your palm.
A shivering act of anger and resentment and I begged you to stop him.
And did you ever love me?
Call me after days to tell me that you can and cannot do without those few lines of poetry.
And deliberate miles that seperate.
And did you ever love me?
Even in half serrated words of a thesaurus full of passion and longing for a girl you never fully knew?
In measured steps of un-hurry, dry summer nights and the branches of yellow. Of accusations and lies of a million years.
I never stood there calling out to you for a chance or hope.
I never stood there, waiting. Wishing, longing that halfmoon of an existance in your eyes.
And did you ever love me?
This kind of love is ever easy. Ever so easily melted over pen drawn lines on pressed dry memory leaves.
The one desire to wipe the moisture off my lips.
A single, orphan desire of some resurrection of a text book perfect love.
In making peace with the chaos that I am, the darkest of clouds obscured a vision.
The rains unclogged some more love that I rushed towards the snow instead.
And did you?
I hate love- Neil Gaiman
Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up these defenses, you build this whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They do something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own any more. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. not just in the mind. It's a soul hurt, a body hurt, a real gets inside you and rips you apart pain. I hate love. - Neil Gaiman
(Was too big for a status message. But I had to put it up :))
And no - this is just an awesome quote - I do not think like this 'always'.
(Was too big for a status message. But I had to put it up :))
And no - this is just an awesome quote - I do not think like this 'always'.
Moving
It was rather simple. A little messed up but mostly systematic.
Rip off this poster, pull down that curtain.
Throw away this pile and along with it some memories.
Pick and choose what I may not survive without. The mangy toy as well.
The decorative lights, the coloured bits of glass.
The hand scribbled notes, wrapping paper and thoughts that got stained on the mirror.
Lost a love. Found one. Packed the rest up in dilapidated cartons of vice and hope.
The last dreg of coffee, the empty bottle of wine. Your voice in the stairs and tear stained nights.
Too much to roll up with blankets and tie in a bundle.
Throw it on the floor and it is clean.
Smash it against the sink and keep the shards.
The disturbed sleep, of things that never worked. Spaces I never touched. Dust that always settled,
The breathe of an excuse of a home.
Things we will never miss and those that are like scars.
Losing ground in a blur of tasks. Bills to settle, the laundry, the shirt you left behind.
In a mad scurry to find a home and make one- I never said my goodbyes to you.
Rip off this poster, pull down that curtain.
Throw away this pile and along with it some memories.
Pick and choose what I may not survive without. The mangy toy as well.
The decorative lights, the coloured bits of glass.
The hand scribbled notes, wrapping paper and thoughts that got stained on the mirror.
Lost a love. Found one. Packed the rest up in dilapidated cartons of vice and hope.
The last dreg of coffee, the empty bottle of wine. Your voice in the stairs and tear stained nights.
Too much to roll up with blankets and tie in a bundle.
Throw it on the floor and it is clean.
Smash it against the sink and keep the shards.
The disturbed sleep, of things that never worked. Spaces I never touched. Dust that always settled,
The breathe of an excuse of a home.
Things we will never miss and those that are like scars.
Losing ground in a blur of tasks. Bills to settle, the laundry, the shirt you left behind.
In a mad scurry to find a home and make one- I never said my goodbyes to you.
Red and White classmates
When so many years turned their course- did you listen?
The bruise on the scraped knee peeking below the school uniform?
While they screamed at us of failure- don't judge us.
A 2 on a 10 in an essay on life- and now doodling out the rhetorics and questions on the back of a copy from last class.
About familiar faces, the oldest jokes and the newest lives that have turned and altered and faded like class photos- white socks, red cardigans.
To tell you- years have passed and thank you for not being the empty desk next to mine.
And when more will pass- the joy of being still able to talk to you. All of you. Any of you.
The bruise on the scraped knee peeking below the school uniform?
While they screamed at us of failure- don't judge us.
A 2 on a 10 in an essay on life- and now doodling out the rhetorics and questions on the back of a copy from last class.
About familiar faces, the oldest jokes and the newest lives that have turned and altered and faded like class photos- white socks, red cardigans.
To tell you- years have passed and thank you for not being the empty desk next to mine.
And when more will pass- the joy of being still able to talk to you. All of you. Any of you.
Hope and Swings
Hold my hands when I swing too high,
Your careless laugh and stupid jokes house me when my feet touch the ground.
You have been breaking me down systematically to abandoned carelessness
In coloured heaps of thoughts and lies.
A place I have not been in for long- but a haunting familiarity threatens to cut me off.
If it won’t last forever- the swings will still remain.
And every morning I hope that it is you and me and some more open sky to keep flying.
Perhaps the quintessential delusion of people like us.
Your careless laugh and stupid jokes house me when my feet touch the ground.
You have been breaking me down systematically to abandoned carelessness
In coloured heaps of thoughts and lies.
A place I have not been in for long- but a haunting familiarity threatens to cut me off.
If it won’t last forever- the swings will still remain.
And every morning I hope that it is you and me and some more open sky to keep flying.
Perhaps the quintessential delusion of people like us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)