13th february
another valentine's day...love, hope , energy, joy,fear, anger, insecurity, jealousy ...complete emotional complexes bursting across check dams of reason .
i ended up writing pre valentine day messages even without the remotest of possibilities to send any..lol...because of course not everyone had similar ideas...and thank god for that..so, i wrote a few replies for friends.. here's a cute one
he gets a message..tell me five things that you love in me..
after coming dangerously close to becoming salman khan(hair tearing)..i reply..or rather he(?) replies..
i love the half dazed look on your face when you smile, i absolutely adore the way your hair chase each other when chased by the winds,i am completely crazy about that crinkle below your nose when you look at me as if i am completely crazy, every time your eyes look at me i forget all the uncertainties that cloud my world, and when you turn back to look at me..i feel reborn!!!
(with obvious references from harry met sally..lol...but that all i can conjure up for instant creativity)
with asking the weatherman i can confidently forecast the scene tomorrow..the town will be flooded..heart deep in love...so any attempts at marketing, movie or anything done singly can best be delayed until day after.
and yes...no lonely coffee drinkers( ah..true love..lol) restaurants and coffee shops have better things to do than waiting for an hour for your solitary cup of sugar free
just listened to "rhythm divine" and "hero"...ah cupid...drop the chase...my play station awaits me..plenty of hot pursuit to follow...lol
have a great day...without being limited by facts of your life...fantasy is fact...be what you want to be..all the love!!!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
rain away coffee
7 pm February 10
its a cold evening. i put on a grey Adidas sweater, perhaps to reflect the color of the skies. the sweater brings back memories, sweet and painful, searing my heart apart laying it bare to the machinations of the western wind.
the street is empty expect for the trademark stray dog. a series of streetlights break the darkness into columns. one has stopped working , changing sides on the eternal battle of light and dark.
puddles of water form in the depressions of the cheap PWD road. i look at one trying to find my face. the wind stops howling for a micro second. the liquid orange reasserts itself.
a bicycle passes by , disturbing the queer setting. the puddle reverberates until its a brand new shade of orange. i lose interest in all things aquatic and walk away.
i pass by a grove of trees containing tall shesham.
the wind shakes the lighter, upper branches. the lower stouter ones remain frozen in the night.
a leaf falls down, weary of its day long battle against cold winds from the Punjab plains.a moment in time eclipses.
my mind travels back a few centuries. flying on these very westerlies hordes of looting afghans lead by the able nadir shah carried fire and sword in the heart of Delhi .
i reach the coffee shop. the place wears an unusually deserted look. obviously , a rain lovers community on orkut will at best remain a drizzle.
i flash a faint smirk of recognition at the few acquaintances whose spatial - temporal frequencies clash with mine.i get matching replies. i walk up to the counter.
a cheese grilled sandwich attracts my attention. the dietitian's cute round face with the bleached golden facial hair chases the idea away in double quick time. tempted and refuted, i beat a hasty retreat and settle for a staple espresso. the grills can be better left to the security systems.
my order's ready. a couple beat me to the counter. looking at them makes me immensely jealous. they have something that i don't. a cheese grilled sandwich.
having coffee alone is an ultimate romantic experience. you are not limited by the physical reality of your own or the other person's existence. you can be having a coffee with Angelina Jolie or Aishwarya Rai depending upon the color of eyes you prefer.
plus, the need for small talk is obviated. " the coffee's good"..but of course, that's why they charge you good money.
their is a familiar roar of lightning. i get transported. to purple moors on the English midlands or an amazonian river bank or Texan flat lands. lying on my back, experiencing the caress and the fury of the nature...far from the madding crowds..in a dark....one person world.
its a cold evening. i put on a grey Adidas sweater, perhaps to reflect the color of the skies. the sweater brings back memories, sweet and painful, searing my heart apart laying it bare to the machinations of the western wind.
the street is empty expect for the trademark stray dog. a series of streetlights break the darkness into columns. one has stopped working , changing sides on the eternal battle of light and dark.
puddles of water form in the depressions of the cheap PWD road. i look at one trying to find my face. the wind stops howling for a micro second. the liquid orange reasserts itself.
a bicycle passes by , disturbing the queer setting. the puddle reverberates until its a brand new shade of orange. i lose interest in all things aquatic and walk away.
i pass by a grove of trees containing tall shesham.
the wind shakes the lighter, upper branches. the lower stouter ones remain frozen in the night.
a leaf falls down, weary of its day long battle against cold winds from the Punjab plains.a moment in time eclipses.
my mind travels back a few centuries. flying on these very westerlies hordes of looting afghans lead by the able nadir shah carried fire and sword in the heart of Delhi .
i reach the coffee shop. the place wears an unusually deserted look. obviously , a rain lovers community on orkut will at best remain a drizzle.
i flash a faint smirk of recognition at the few acquaintances whose spatial - temporal frequencies clash with mine.i get matching replies. i walk up to the counter.
a cheese grilled sandwich attracts my attention. the dietitian's cute round face with the bleached golden facial hair chases the idea away in double quick time. tempted and refuted, i beat a hasty retreat and settle for a staple espresso. the grills can be better left to the security systems.
my order's ready. a couple beat me to the counter. looking at them makes me immensely jealous. they have something that i don't. a cheese grilled sandwich.
having coffee alone is an ultimate romantic experience. you are not limited by the physical reality of your own or the other person's existence. you can be having a coffee with Angelina Jolie or Aishwarya Rai depending upon the color of eyes you prefer.
plus, the need for small talk is obviated. " the coffee's good"..but of course, that's why they charge you good money.
their is a familiar roar of lightning. i get transported. to purple moors on the English midlands or an amazonian river bank or Texan flat lands. lying on my back, experiencing the caress and the fury of the nature...far from the madding crowds..in a dark....one person world.
Friday, February 9, 2007
my days-2
there are few things in the world as beautiful as CP on a warm winter morning. its obvious Victorian architecture is modelled after the royal crescent , bath.i find the tall white columns particularly intriguing. they have been witness to a remarkable series of lives and times of this city.
built at the high noon of the most powerful empire in human social history, they withstood its decay and eventual fall.
post independence, they provided the fuel for a new nation to dream. the towering giants became a benchmark for the nation's expectations and ambitions.
post liberalization Indian is a nation of a million malls and multiplexes , each a better clone of the previous.there are new cities which have all the commerce and computers. each of them is beautiful and has its own history.yet, there's this one city which has seen more dynasties rising and falling than any other. truly, one city in a million.
i may be showing borderline jingoism, but i love the place.
travelling across Delhi you can actually see the marks that time has cast upon its sturdy frame. in a way, its a perfect stitching tape between raj nostalgia and a global Indian identity.
a rich tapestry with threads of all dimensions.
on janpath a huge demonstration is underway. the BJP mahila morcha has major grievances against the incumbent Delhi government.the protest march is against the hike in prices of essential goods. the speaker is lamenting how her entire household budget is in constant disarray.
by the time i am out of earshot i have ended up memorizing the prices of milk, potato, tomato and of course onion due to over repetition :-)
i try finding a coffee shop.
it takes me half an hour.
clearly, a career in navigation holds no glory for me.
after a lifetime spent in knowing things i can't do..i just hope i come across something to the contrary ...:-)
a sign board catches my attention, "ring road Honda"..right in the middle of CP...geography lessons seem to be a national priority...lol
my stomach resembles a colony of butterflies in all hues and colors. butterflies of anticipation , those of confusion and the permanent ones of hunger.
90 minutes later
the man at the metro counter returns ninety rupees including a very dirty twenty rupees note which seems to have served as the canvass for many a budding artists.i make a mental note of using the note on the metro only , next time i come.
every time at the ticket counter i remember everyone who has ever goaded me to take a smart card, cutting down on the need to visit the ticket counter everyday.
i haven't obliged.
here are the reasons :
1. i always have extra time so token buying helps me busy myself
2.certain counters are manned ( or maybe wommaned/girled) by pretty girls at certain times of the day.
3.bureaucratic inertia
4.a caste specific desire to get something every time one spends anything
10 minutes later
a fourth individual asks me which is the metro to the university.
next time when i take the metro i should better make sure that im not wearing any metro employee lookalike shirts.
the train stops
two Chinese ladies are forced to use the entire range of their marshal arts skills to disembark in the face of an onrush of midday commuters.
built at the high noon of the most powerful empire in human social history, they withstood its decay and eventual fall.
post independence, they provided the fuel for a new nation to dream. the towering giants became a benchmark for the nation's expectations and ambitions.
post liberalization Indian is a nation of a million malls and multiplexes , each a better clone of the previous.there are new cities which have all the commerce and computers. each of them is beautiful and has its own history.yet, there's this one city which has seen more dynasties rising and falling than any other. truly, one city in a million.
i may be showing borderline jingoism, but i love the place.
travelling across Delhi you can actually see the marks that time has cast upon its sturdy frame. in a way, its a perfect stitching tape between raj nostalgia and a global Indian identity.
a rich tapestry with threads of all dimensions.
on janpath a huge demonstration is underway. the BJP mahila morcha has major grievances against the incumbent Delhi government.the protest march is against the hike in prices of essential goods. the speaker is lamenting how her entire household budget is in constant disarray.
by the time i am out of earshot i have ended up memorizing the prices of milk, potato, tomato and of course onion due to over repetition :-)
i try finding a coffee shop.
it takes me half an hour.
clearly, a career in navigation holds no glory for me.
after a lifetime spent in knowing things i can't do..i just hope i come across something to the contrary ...:-)
a sign board catches my attention, "ring road Honda"..right in the middle of CP...geography lessons seem to be a national priority...lol
my stomach resembles a colony of butterflies in all hues and colors. butterflies of anticipation , those of confusion and the permanent ones of hunger.
90 minutes later
the man at the metro counter returns ninety rupees including a very dirty twenty rupees note which seems to have served as the canvass for many a budding artists.i make a mental note of using the note on the metro only , next time i come.
every time at the ticket counter i remember everyone who has ever goaded me to take a smart card, cutting down on the need to visit the ticket counter everyday.
i haven't obliged.
here are the reasons :
1. i always have extra time so token buying helps me busy myself
2.certain counters are manned ( or maybe wommaned/girled) by pretty girls at certain times of the day.
3.bureaucratic inertia
4.a caste specific desire to get something every time one spends anything
10 minutes later
a fourth individual asks me which is the metro to the university.
next time when i take the metro i should better make sure that im not wearing any metro employee lookalike shirts.
the train stops
two Chinese ladies are forced to use the entire range of their marshal arts skills to disembark in the face of an onrush of midday commuters.
my days-1
8Th February
a bright Delhi morning
i rummage through the piles of clothing that i mistakenly believe to be my wardrobe.
search results- nothing to wear.
salman khan would have been happy with the result and the consequences that would have followed.unfortunately, (or rather fortunately) i am 15 kg heavier and out of shape.my emotional repertoire displays the hallmark frown.
in exasperation i wring my hands and close my room door to come up with viable alternatives.
magic!!
my trance is broken even before it's entered.
right before my uncharacteristically focused eyes is a bright purple shirt.
all it needs is a little ironing.
i bribe my flatmate with a "parantha" to have him accompany me to the "iron man"( my apologies to Sardar Patel but i couldn't find a suitable word to describe the character. calling him "press wallah" will only infuriate journo types who can file a lawsuit for defamation,or an inbox full of hate mail, things that the late honorable deputy prime minister would not)...:-)
without further ado i approach this by now controversial figure. without bothering to let go of his one rupee flavoured Pan Masala he asks me to tender exact change "two rupees", or there will be no change in the crumpled destiny of my shirt...as if i were about to use a card or a 1000 rupee note.
15 minutes hence.
i go downstairs and try hauling a rickshaw to reach the metro.
he asks for 15 bucks instead of the usual 10.
i am provoked to explain to him the disastrous consequences this 50% inflation in factor services can have on the economy in general and my balanced budgets in particular.
by a stroke of luck i am prevented .
a car honks loudly to assert its right of way on the single lane.
the rickshaw scurries away.
the next rickshaw wallah is happy with the prescribed 10 rupees.
in the metro...
another lucky day. i get a seat in the university terminal despite managing to get in by seconds only.i notice a girl sitting next to me reading the constitution ( p.m.bakshi, tricolor cover)
i am tempted to ask her something, like article 262 (inter state water disputes) more to strut my knowledge than to test hers.
i look at the floor in preparation.
i notice her strangely pointed shoes.
i change my mind.
:-)
i am no round shoes chauvinist, but there was something extraordinarily in congruent about those shoes in their chosen surroundings.
i reach Rajiv Chowk. the crowd carries me out to the brightness of connaught place. i retreat into Edwin Lutyens dream.
a bright Delhi morning
i rummage through the piles of clothing that i mistakenly believe to be my wardrobe.
search results- nothing to wear.
salman khan would have been happy with the result and the consequences that would have followed.unfortunately, (or rather fortunately) i am 15 kg heavier and out of shape.my emotional repertoire displays the hallmark frown.
in exasperation i wring my hands and close my room door to come up with viable alternatives.
magic!!
my trance is broken even before it's entered.
right before my uncharacteristically focused eyes is a bright purple shirt.
all it needs is a little ironing.
i bribe my flatmate with a "parantha" to have him accompany me to the "iron man"( my apologies to Sardar Patel but i couldn't find a suitable word to describe the character. calling him "press wallah" will only infuriate journo types who can file a lawsuit for defamation,or an inbox full of hate mail, things that the late honorable deputy prime minister would not)...:-)
without further ado i approach this by now controversial figure. without bothering to let go of his one rupee flavoured Pan Masala he asks me to tender exact change "two rupees", or there will be no change in the crumpled destiny of my shirt...as if i were about to use a card or a 1000 rupee note.
15 minutes hence.
i go downstairs and try hauling a rickshaw to reach the metro.
he asks for 15 bucks instead of the usual 10.
i am provoked to explain to him the disastrous consequences this 50% inflation in factor services can have on the economy in general and my balanced budgets in particular.
by a stroke of luck i am prevented .
a car honks loudly to assert its right of way on the single lane.
the rickshaw scurries away.
the next rickshaw wallah is happy with the prescribed 10 rupees.
in the metro...
another lucky day. i get a seat in the university terminal despite managing to get in by seconds only.i notice a girl sitting next to me reading the constitution ( p.m.bakshi, tricolor cover)
i am tempted to ask her something, like article 262 (inter state water disputes) more to strut my knowledge than to test hers.
i look at the floor in preparation.
i notice her strangely pointed shoes.
i change my mind.
:-)
i am no round shoes chauvinist, but there was something extraordinarily in congruent about those shoes in their chosen surroundings.
i reach Rajiv Chowk. the crowd carries me out to the brightness of connaught place. i retreat into Edwin Lutyens dream.
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