This is not the dust of brown and shards of life,
Reduced fragments of existence- letters, bubblegum wrappers;
Tears and bird feathers.
The dust shines- shines down from other worlds into the altheiometer of Pullman’s novels.
Dust that circles our footsteps day in and day out of so many classes and so many hours.
Fragments of existence and sand and coloured stones, sea shells and echoes of temple bells.
This dust is me. And you and us.
It settles on my shoulders on calm quiet nights and speaks of spectres and daemons-
This dust mingles in my blood and spikes my tears to salty droplets.
The red dust; of votes and elections and false ballots;
Of politics and sociology and Korean studies.
This dust is them.
And those there were and are yet to be.
A dust of dreams and passions and empty words.
This dust is everything we want to be.
Then the skies darkened over our little intellectual heads and colourful umbrellas opened up.
But the dust rose from our prayers and term papers and diary pages.
Circled the souls of new little puppies and left over colour from yesterday.
It slipped out through their fingers and through our skins.
The dust settled in thought puddles.
The dust flew with emotions to every lover in every tree shadow.
Who knew our existence was trailing away?
And the lives ran unending races and sweated dust in plenitude that soiled the paper money and fuelled our banks.
The dust rose and fell like a sleeping child’s breath and the echo of church bells.
The storm raved the rocks, raped the trees and took the dust.
The dust and the storm of a thousand hungry years of tearful revolutions and misplaced thoughts.
The storm was them and the dust everything we could be.
Have you ever wondered why you still feel
Empty?

class notes I

What am I? An orgasm 5 light years away from home.
Doing? Fulfilling existentialist duty.
Here? Perpetual deja vu.
There? We end up where we started from.
Nowhere? Everywhere is nowhere.
Who am I? A totally insignificant thought.
Talking? Sorry but you’re only lip syncing.
To? Everyone just pretends to hear.
Listening? We are all deaf.
Are my eyes? Huge hollows with glass in them.
Closed? The birth control pill shop.
As? Spelling mistake. Ass.
I? Communalism. We.
Watch the comets collapse? Was it on AXN?
Stars? Those far away diamonds.
Break? I need a break.
Tears? Boys don't cry.
Dry? Bread.
Dew? Drops.
Drops? Rain.
Like? Scarlett’s boobs.
Dreams? Night makes.
On the darkest nights? Every night.
Onto your palms? Religion sucks.
Do you? Die.
Hear? I’m deaf.
Feel? Apathy.
Know? Books.
Fingertips on my lips? Shhh...
Silence? ________
White noise? My voice.
Glass shards? Broken dreams.
Do I? You know.
Call? 9891701310
You? Always there.
Mine? Sure.
End. Did it?

Is this a shopping list
Things
Named.
Talked and tagged.
Where is the price?
How much
For
“Stars”
“Break”
“Dew”
How much.
20 pounds of dew.
Sunlight shines through
The list burns
Left
Residue.
No trace of the list.
What is this?
The shoping list?
Sorry! I left the wallet at home.
Bye bye. Have a good day.

a long walk back...

we all deserve a second chance don't we?
or then a third and a fourth and then endless possibilities of forgiving and forgetting in a puzzle of our lives.
every step i took up that hill i knew i was moving away from you. gradually. slowly. and with as much purpose as i could possibly breathe in. don't try to fix me i'm not broken.
i am your lie living for you so you can hide.
live and keep talking.
and then the peak. and the sheer exhaustion. the realisation that we must climb down again. into the nothingness of life and scorn and the shipwreck of life's esteems.
for all the endless lines i had penned on your pages with red ink...one yours and one mine and then one yours again. don't be hurt. of course we will do this tomorrow again. and then one day the section of that notebook shall race to halt and we won't know how to carry on or whether to carry on at all.
we shall look at each other lost and disoriented and hope that one of us would turn the page and start the next section. and our hands will not budge. though in our minds the next lines are already written. signed. sealed.
this is my long walk back.
days of listening to stories that are not mine and wondering how i fit into that. but i am as much a part of it as the words that narrate it. i will hear you out. because there is a reason why you turned to me. i will never fail you when it comes to that. i will hear you.
now.
tomorrow.
and forever.
as long as i may breathe in purpose to give you hope that someone is listening.
so what if that someone is just me...?

esc

rain clouds and the absence of sun.
tears dry on eyelashes.
the fragile petals of the parted lips whisper silence.
dry. parched. drowned.
this is me then.
the broken fragments of a dysfunctional life.
abundant love. love made and snatched away between the messed up sheets and fragrant pillows.
the bloodline of royalty from slashed wrists.
regal. pampered. deprived.
this is not me then.
esc.

the man who would not be shot

this is about one person. i do not have the liberty to name him or to put his picture up here. maybe i will- but that is left for decision once my discourse has been completed.
he is the man who would not be shot. in his raging existance he denies everyone around him an impression of himself. no one is allowed to claim him, or his shadow. he couldn't allow that. he was under tremendous social pressure to appear the way he does. confusing and so terribly stubborn. maybe marginally deranged.
but purely in appearence. purely.
he may have deined me the most basic joy of having a picture of his and saving it as a contact picture etc, etc, etc. but he has allowed me to look inside his psyche. why? i don't really know. but i am glad i looked.
he has loads of photographs with those he calls friends. and maybe in time he will allow us the priviledge of being called his friends. maybe it will be worth the wait. maybe not. maybe he will deny all claims. as always.
but without taking offence at his behaviour i proceed to write about what i have found inside. no absurdities.
a soul that survives on dark prophesies and fragments of himself being torn out to give to people. a human being who is scared to love for he fears the hatered that follows love.
to explain-
when you love someone so deeply that the beloved becomes something you are wierdly possessive about. you become so possessive that your life spins out of control and hurles itself mercilessly against stone walls of reality. and shatters to sharp shards of pure hate. so much so hate that you want to destroy a beautiful thing. so horribly fight club- strange- but true. but what our man here does is- tears graffiti -that he has himself created. perfect and so devastatingly beautiful.
he wants love. he wants friends. but he won't reach out. he fears the cycle of love, hate and torn graffitis. it's natural. we are all allowed that much fear.
there are moments that words and tears slip out. doped or not. sober or not. and unfortunately i have chronicled them in my head somewhere. and the idea that he way ever draw strength from me over whelms me to tears. not that i don't want to be his strength. i fear that my strength will not be enough.
and the day he turns to me- we shall exchange places. if he would let me be him. it is just that- i understand. i understand every displaced emotion and every hate mail. i understand the solitude and the fear of being alone. i understand the chessboard patterns.
for the rest of us- we are greys. the man who wouldn't be shot is just black and white.

reality.tv.show.

you are not your mistakes.
you are not every man and you are not me.
but you will know when the world screeches to a deathly halt and you shiver out of fear and helplessness rather than the cold.
it has happened to me not once but times over.
and it will happen again.
the tight dryness in your throat and the tears that won't come out, agony, shame and the absence of arms around the shaking shoulders.
when she spoke i felt the blood rushing to my feet. i felt drained and blank. like every last breath in my body had been battered out with a blow. just one hard blow. she cried. i hugged her tight and kept telling her that it was ok. it was ok. always. would be ok.
i would not forgive myself for lying and holding my tears back till she left. and when she left. i broke down.
i cried cupious tears of anger and shame. and the person responsible was blissful. unaware.
at that instance all my faith and all my dreams were being raped to reality. brutally. bleeding like fresh knife wounds on the skin. someone held me. someone put her hand on my head and told me that it would be ok.
of course it would be ok.
it would always be ok.
when i lifted my tear stained cheeks i swore that i would not love again but inside my psyche the need to be loved was haunting. i probably needed to be held more than ever. ever in my life.
it is hard. it always always is so hard.
but then...
your doors are always open for me.
right.

its like that

Today i have no pictures to put with this blog.
Today i have nothing to do after i switch the computer off.
Today i have no feelings to put to sleep when the lights go out.
some one told me today that the lights were a celebration that i was. and i sat in the glory of those lights for as long as my drooping eyes allowed me.i felt so lonely. i wondered why i had fought tooth and nail for people who didn't feel the same way and why was i scared of bad karma?
well...there are bad people aren't there...and nothing bad happens to them...then why me?
no...indeed nothing has happened to me yet.
the last time i had checked i was sitting on the steps of the school of languages staring up at the graffiti on the towering walls hoping that he would stop and sit with me. but he left.
isn't that obvious?
the planes flew low over head and the puppies tripped over their own clumsy feet while trying to follow the mother around.
i want to go home.
not home...but i want to go away from here. all this confusion and faltering self esteem. i want to sleep without having to worry about waking up. i want to sit down and eat with people i know. for once i don't want to feel so badly lost.
i want to cry and not alone.
crushes should not happen to people over the age of 21...its illegal and pathetic.

All my life I've been waiting
For you to bring a fairytale my way
Been living in a fantasy without meaning
It's not okay, I don't feel safe
I don't feel safe...

Left broken empty in despair
Want to breathe, can't find air
Thought you were sent from up above
But you and me never had love
So much more I have to say
Help me find a way

And I wonder if you know
How it really feels
To be left outside alone
When it's cold out here
Well maybe you should know
Just how it feels
To be left outside alone
To be left outside alone...

"Golden October gliding by
A misty veil she casts around...
The leaves against the hazy sky
Are flittering to the ground..."

I can't figure out the very reason why i lugged two huge pieces of luggage all across the bloody city to get onto a train with BAD co-passengers, 27 odd hours in boring circumstances to come all the way here to rot in splendor.
I really cannot figure out.
I have not studied a word...or worked on my assignment...at this rate i want to do well in my courses.
Irony.
All I have really done is been very very angry at people...of all sizes and relations. And shouted at everyone and been very very very moody.
The joys of it all I tell you.
This cannot be pujo can it?
All the unbelievable noise and the traffic and the crowds?
The sweat and the long lines.
This year I don't even have new clothes. At i don't even feel like going shopping. That is new!!
I didn't go out with my friends for they are all so busy with their own lives that I can't seem to be fitting in anywhere. And I can't really complain because it is work for some and compulsion for others.
when you find no solace in the prayers of the priests or the flowers at the goddesses' feet where do you go?

Glass Shards

Some things lay broken in a desolate heap near the bin. They reflected the light off a smile or a more frequent frown and then slipped into silence and darkness. And no one cleared the mess away. After all its always easier to shout and scream than really do anything about it..right?
So what if the whole house burnt down?
No. Obviously it doesn't matter.
And so they told me that this was not my place any longer and the heap of broken things grew dangerously higher. Piles and piles of long battered thoughts and hopes and esteems.
I am so happy that i have an option. But why revel in that?
Why not revel in the talks of friends and the happiness of being pampered silly?
What am I talking about? The language of the escapist? And of dark clouds that are limited only to their own heads?
Going...going...gone.
And the pile of things i was ranting about...that was just glass. What relationships today are made of.

some roads lead nowhere...and you do walk on those.

Some days ago I had left my house, the place that is home with all its familiarity. The laughter and the fights. The dog and the neighbour upstairs who hates her. The siblings and the mother. The granny and the cakes.
But this is not about the left over dregs of homesickness, for me and my friends have cried ourselves to silence over the last few months. We are no longer home sick but will jump to the proposal of going home, not thinking that for years we had plot our get aways.
So is the irony of our age.
And now its all gone. The roads graze dense undergrowth and run past historical monuments. The city seems to have enclosed us in mile high red brick walls and placed our semester texts in front of us. You no longer can leave. Well not at least right now. Day in and day out we trudge uneven paths to the desks and pitch our intellect against the walls of tradition and the rocks. They shatter and fall into pieces that become our alter egos. The guy who is too arrogant to make any friends and the girl who gets all the men. There is a bit of us in every other face of that hand picked 35 from across the country and the world. Yet we know that we all are skilled politicians and veteran liars. So what if we are this young?
There are the bad habits which is considered to be escape routes and relationships that are built and broken over night. And who knows one day we might get dragged into this and become cosmopolitan. But mind you, we swear that we won't. Never, Never, Never!
And then they tell you that everything you ever learnt is just a farce and now they will teach you about Life, Universe and Everything. And all you need is a towel and a hostel room.
These are the roads that lead to nowhere. Ans these are the roads on which i am leaving reluctant footprints.