entwining ideas

This moment (march 21st)

2007-04-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

What is it that I ask of myself? I know not of the agony of words that I impose upon myself. It is not the mystery of darkness that calls me this night. It is the feeling of loss that catapults as a gain. It is not the trifling sadness in life that I talk of. It is the word life that I think of. The loss of direction is where I corner the stones of memories. The way back, the life that I have led, the situations that caught me meek, the reasons most illogical to be labeled as “mean” by this world. Half of the life seems to have been lived with the right and wrongs charted by the society.

The discretion of self will and self considered righteous rights of birth, life and death seem to be controlled not by the giver, but by the manipulator. Where have the delicate strands of my life been caught? My life resembles the tombstone that is adorned with the wreaths of moss and bugs. My past, an epitaph of my present grave.

This moment, seems to stand long and still. This very moment makes me cry and laugh as well. I can’t figure the mistakes rated high with the society as my tools of regret. Where has my instrument of reason vanish? Why do I write words dictated by my mind, the mind that is guided by the will of writing? The will of writing, a weak slave of the motion of desire.

Where can my stripped body find faith? My ideas seem washed in the carpet of love. My thoughts blur in the concept of pragmatic society. Where is my happiness locked? Where am I heading with the burden of imposed past and regrets on my shoulder? Lest this sound as a worry for future, it’s the least that a mind as lazy as mine would ever think of. It’s the present. It is this moment. It is this very life that has stood still in the present, making me ponder over the realm of nothingness.

To swim in this stillness, is to invite an end to the moving time of life. It is not cowardice that you shall label this moment with. Neither is it the work of the idle weird mind. It is the art of perceived silence, this moment beckons. It is the silence amidst the retrospection offered when standing alone at the beach, waves sloshing over my feet, my eyes lost in the width of the horizon and the mind wandering an aimless journey to a unseen known goal.

I cherish this moment. This moment that I do not wish to let loose. This moment that might put an end to the joy of life. This moment that raises its enigmatic voice, appealing to me of the sadness of death, I so name as peace. Peace in a piece of moment.

crap, crap n more crap

2007-04-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

i know not what to write. very confused in mind and sad at heart. the best thing in the world is to be blank. it answers everything best.no thinking, no thoughts--silence of blankness, that's what i call heaven.

an artist or a writer??

2005-11-14T08:48:00.000-08:00

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Extroversion		50%
Emotional Stability		70%
Orderliness		26%
Altruism		46%
Inquisitiveness		60%

You are an Architect, possible professions include - strategic planning, writer, staff development, lawyer, architect, software designer, financial analyst, college professor, photographer, logician, artist, systems analyst, neurologist, physicist, psychologist, research/development specialist, computer programmer, data base manager, chemist, biologist, investigator.

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' his love, i realised at age 65'

2005-08-04T07:29:00.000-07:00

on the lust in me, i pledge
your song was nectar to my ears
your whispers were the tunes,
i had danced to.
your voice vouched of
the existence of a superhero.
i am done to you, as i couldn't
have been to others.
your caress was all;
i could have asked for.
you dwelt in my dreams
and you coughed in my conscience.
your love had bound me;
your soul swept through my being.
my body had learnt
the contact of thy skin alone!
your breath caught me in nostalgia
you were everything,
i dreamt of....

but, now.....
lying on the same bed
that has washed you away....
i swear....
you whispered in my deaf ears
you moved the viel of blindness
you nurtured all possible pleasure
you showed me
the last gasp of death....

you have killed me
in the sweetness of your love.

eyes and tears...

2005-07-24T09:39:00.000-07:00

This is one of MY favorite poems by andrew marvell. He's an outstanding poet and i just love and adore his pieces. Here's one of his very best.....

Eyes and Tears.

How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same Eyes to weep and see!
That, having view'd the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.

And since the Self-deluding Sight,
In a false Angle takes each hight;
These Tears which better measure all,
Like wat'ry Lines and Plummets fall.

Two Tears, which Sorrow long did weigh
Within the Scales of either Eye,
And then paid out in equal Poise,
Are the true price of all my Joyes.

What in the World most fair appears,
Yea even Laughter, turns to Tears:
And all the Jewels which we prize,
Melt in these Pendants of the Eyes.

I have through every Garden been,
Amongst the Red,the White, the Green;
And yet, from all the flow'rs I saw,
No Hony, but these Tears could draw.

So the all-seeing Sun each day
Distills the World with Chymick Ray;
But finds the Essence only Showers,
Which straight in pity back he powers.

Yet happy they whom Grief doth bless,
That weep the more, and see the less:
And, to preserve their Sight more true,
Bath still their Eyes in their own Dew.

So Magdalen, in Tears more wise
Dissolv'd those captivating Eyes,
Whose liquid Chains could flowing meet
To fetter her Redeemers feet.

Not full sailes hasting loaden home,
Nor the chast Ladies pregnant Womb,
Nor Cynthia Teeming show's so fair,
As two Eyes swoln with weeping are.

The sparkling Glance that shoots Desire,
Drench'd in these Waves, does lose it fire.
Yea oft the Thund'rer pitty takes
And here the hissing Lightning slakes.

The Incense was to Heaven dear,
Not as a Perfume, but a Tear.
And Stars shew lovely in the Night,
But as they seem the Tears of Light.

Ope then mine Eyes your double Sluice,
And practise so your noblest Use.
For others too can see, or sleep;
But only humane Eyes can weep.

Now like two Clouds dissolving, drop,
And at each Tear in distance stop:
Now like two Fountains trickle down:
Now like two floods o'return and drown.

Thus let your Streams o'reflow your Springs,
Till Eyes and Tears be the same things:
And each the other's difference bears;
These weeping Eyes, those seeing Tears.

Marvell simply marvels at this work. Don't you think so?

walk with me,my dearest past..

2005-07-13T23:18:00.000-07:00

It looks a little ridiculous to post something new after a hibernation period of two months. but then the vaccation has got my nerves flooded with new tales and gossips and musings that my fingers have started to itch yet again.

It’s a wild road
And I am all alone
Walking the distance of life
On a rise and down the lane
There I land
And here I go
Roving along the narrow path
Pondering over the unspoken trance
working on the balance of life.

I move
In search of light
I walk on and on
to realize the fact
that I m not all alone
Walking in the darkness along with me
With a lonely aura, accompanies my friend
And I lead this loyal mass
Into a death pit..

Strange it is
For my companion
Walks through all obstacles with me
Carrying a satchel of deep memories
Of love, of avarice
Of concern, of greed
Of the evil sins
And of the balustrade of virtues.

It’s a sincere walk
And she’s being loyal
Thriving in her own dark death
Walking along faithfully
To avenge her dark life for my sake.

I seek for the light of eternity
And as I sense its ephemeral warmth around me
My eyes have caught the first streak of parting pain
I see the diminishing soul of my past
My friend—my past, my shadow.
I see her cry for help
But I m malicious to the extent
Of snatching away her ‘light’
I can’t let her with me
For all that I fear
is her loyalty.

Turnaround........

2005-03-18T06:48:00.000-08:00

Turnaround….turnaround…

Turnaround to see me waiting for you;
I am still at the crossed forks
Still waiting in an unsung glory.
The pebbles have grown to become rocks
The leaves have fallen out….
The roots beneath have rotten…

Turnaround. ..Just..
Turnaround to notice me……
Turnaround to recollect the days of lore….
Your new path might take you places..
But can you run away from nostalgia?
Run away from your own cosmic self?
From a place so endearing...
From people who cared and
Loved you for what you are……..

Turnaround…
Turnaround to see the return of the spring…
Turnaround to sense the warmth of love….
Turnaround to just notice…
Me at the forked road…
I am still waiting in an unsung glory……..

Turnaround……….

tinkling death bells

2005-02-06T02:14:00.000-08:00

Over to the aisles of memories, smeared by the chanting of garrulous talk, past the corridors of winding crossroads evaporated with the husk of a caring voice, the mimics of childish assaults in grungy surroundings, the rampant beat of the gushing merriness…. Unobtrusive innocence is a parody for the sulkiest lot.

Early spring morning when the birds twittered and chirped their laconic tunes, the sun’s glowing bosom fed her it’s nourishing warmth and the dawdling breeze sang to her the beauty of the dawn. She was told to wake up from the grungy yet a cozy pavilion bed when the sun’s enigmatic lust swept through her tiny body narrowing down the gaps of the chilly night’s numbness with its cemented and mystic heat. She was a perfect disciplinarian, a true disciple of the nature for the past thirteen years and continued to be an assiduous pupil. Rummaging around her worn out clothes, she picked her regular satchel and hoped down the Bi-furcated lane to work. She had been working for the past seven years to feed her seven siblings who were maliciously welcomed into this world due to her father’s ever-hungry groin. Her mother had deserted them when she was six. Since then, her naked body bore rewarding caricatures of burns and itchy scars from diligent labor and her equally diligent drunkard father. She was a rag picker. The dawn saw her moving ahead like a single wave, slow in its approach but shrewd to the extent of gaining perpetual profits while dusk witnessed her being bludgeoned amidst her own flock of ugly geese.

That morning, she woke up as usual and ran to her favorite work place. Behind a cloud of architectural intricacies, her work ground was ceremoniously surrounded by fencing pillars that served as a dumping womb of garbage and ruined diapers. She usually collected diapers for her younger brother, and for the regular loaf of bread, she gathered tins, tequila bottles, newspapers, and polyethene covers. Some times, she was lucky to find discarded food cans, which contained expired food that later served as a spicy soup to her co-mates. Slowly morning drifted its charm toward the fencing pillars and cast strong shadows. The scorching heat plummeted her resistance to work and she couched under the branches of a tree. Faraway, something glittery caught her eyes. A work alcoholic, she was, summed up her strength under the shrouded blankets of curiosity and walked toward the object that caught her attention. Sleek and shiny, it was a safety pin resting on top of a small paper box. Now, it was the picture on the box that popped her eyes out more than the glitter of the pin. She saw nude pictures of a man and a woman. She knew it was something gross not meant for display at her employer’s table. At the same moment, a sudden tinge of eagerness to possess the card took over her and she carefully treasured it in her worn out satchel. After the day’s hectic schedule, she landed back at her pavilion under the green roof. The night under the roof dawned with the regular cries of her drunkard father. According to the routine, she had her share of submittal abuse followed by thick basting for not being able to feed her father with extra “daaru.” But that night, the lady luck of the house, rolled the dice in a more audacious and blatant fashion. The inebriated father suspected his daughter of hornswoggling…. And as lady luck held the delicate strings of this green roof, the man searched her satchel for money and found instead the treasured possession. A mad fit of fury rushed his intoxicated channels turning him red and rendering the poor girl cold and blue. “ Bitch! How long have you been using this thing??? How many men, have you slept with?” ---these questions echoed the tacky house and the cool spring night mimicked the magi in witnessing the death of their diligent pupil.

The sun rose again. The day dawned with its charming stupor but with an exception. The sun now fed its warmth to the next girl in succession. Now, she inherited the family responsibility and had graduated from being a prankster to a rag picker. She now, bore the weight of the walls and roof of her house. Just one week after her acquired insignia, the green roof squeaked in happiness at the snuffed out old hag. The old hag’s colleagues visited the tacky house to pay their last tributes. One of them, a burly man in his early fifties came forward and explained to the older kid that her father had died because of a deadly disease called AIDS. “ Your father died of AIDS. He died because he did not use this.” (He showed the new rag picker, the treasured possession that took their father and sister away from them.). Innocence in all its perpetual glory surfaced back on the tiny face of the rag- picker and she said: “my father died because he did not use this…. But my sister died because she used this…” and then she asked: “what do you think I should do? I do not wish to die like them. Should I use it or should I not?”. A satanic smile slipped from the visage of this burly figure, and all the other six plants planted under this green-roofed house succumbed to the whims and fancies of the devouring men.

The sun has risen again and again…the day dawned regularly and each new day brought with it the glory of basking evil…dark and gray, the peyote’s running in every body ….with death bells tinkling all over, ignorance and innocence have fled….the illumination of goodness remains hazy and ethereal…its presence being washed over by the stupor of malice and greed….evil is hitting us and cowards we are, for we drown ourselves into its gray well…….

dawn of the dusk....(masti in full swing..)

2005-02-02T07:01:00.000-08:00

The final beginning or the dawn of the dusk??..anywys, this post is a reminder to all bloggers in my blogistan world that i havent yet disappeared from the face of earth..(mother earth, needs me badly..cannot disappoint her..)and i shall continue my postings as usual..(so,i hope there wudnt be any more enquiring frantic mails..)

guess, the last post had a mesmerizing touch with the my proffs...so,finally ...no reexams..and i have passed through all papers with an overall SGPA of 7.1(not bad, i guess for all the tragic scenes and long post of lamenting..)

Had loads of fun at the NIFT-SPECTRUM-2K5, awesome events with a cool n funky fashion show...fashion, blooms everywhere..the ramp saw all kinds of styles..punk, hip-hop to trance n spiritual enigma..the culutural fest was stupendous too..And as far as literary activities were concerned, i had had sincerly imitated lord krishna by blowing the conch for the battle of words n opinions (moi, was the organizer for the debate competition)...

After spectrum -2k5, moi, looking forward to the IIIT-FEST(FELICITY)...guess, i'll have loads of fun there..looking forward to 4th night when bombay vikings would spell their magic on all music fans at IIIT...

The worst fool

2004-12-08T23:02:00.000-08:00

It’s been very long, since I haven’t posted. Long time enough, for I have become a dormant blogger in vardan’s list. (More than a month and no posts, so, very long time indeed…).

Nothing more intricate than laziness could ever spin a strong web around my idle mind, but then for the first time, in an unconscious attempt to fare well in the subjects that would later earn me, my bread, I have allowed grades and marks to lure me into the haven of exams. And what exactly would exams mean in a design school?? Nothing more than submissions and in these everyday battles of timely submissions, where deadlines are the final blowing trumpets from the professors’ generally tight lipped mouths, I have most wonderfully displayed a gallant show of dismal performance. Dismal performance in its highest ordered peak of drooping attendance, irregular submission of assignments and all the other various factors which would later be weighed in a balance of student’s name and respective work, to declare the final ultimatum of pass and fail. And the final ultimatum deciding over with the student’s future is actually a mere and accurate judgment of the professor whose hand is governed by an invisible string of psychological beads of impression, and the amount of genuine flattery a student had imposed on her/him. And considering all these factors that either lead a student to greener pastures or cascades of sorrow, I have a hunch, that I might as well be respectfully escorted to the greatest gorges of welling tears for my superficially dismal performance in my Garment Construction exam. The exam surely, is a sad story to be retold, for the affectionate scoops of impotency that I had dumped into the beautiful recipe of fabrics, but I am confident of escalating my marks and grades to a certain extent in my design collection titled “Summer Flamboyance”. And this collection happened to be the pivot point for my friends to move the fulcrum of consoles around my pessimistic thoughts about giving a re-exam and storming the cascades of tears.

With me, pinning over to the woods of banality, I hear my friends rustling and swaying the winter leaves to allow the warmth of sun and the breeze of hope to soothe my tired mind. All around me, I hear their garrulous silence, silence that cracks my noisy mind, preaching just one sentence, “hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” And here is my mind trying to delve into the gallows of the inner truth, trying to break away from the monotony of life, wishing to run along the tunnels of despair to touch and feel the joy of knowing myself when the tides lash against me and I kiss their outrageous facets and woo them, me, engulfing them rather than the tide of difficulties devouring me…and for all this, I believe in hoping for the worst to put my best foot forward. Deep inside, I badly have the urge to fail and give a re-exam, I would like to see how much can I, push myself, from the incessant mockery that would be presented to me in its sarcastic wrapping, would wish to test my inner strength, and would love to see the quick change of expressions from astounding to sympathetic to sarcasm.

“You are the worst fool”, was my friend’s remark on my thoughts. Well, I believe every person living on this planet is a fool and the wise are the greatest fools. Fools who look beyond their existence, fools who marvel in their respective fields, fools who talk crap to discover the most insensible entity in life, fools who point their insensible fingers at the mysteriousness of life, and fools who believe that there’s no life at all and that it is just the sensibly insensible mind that rules the universe. All in all, it’s a fool’s paradise, one fool laughing at the foolishness of the other. And in such a paradise, I am the worst fool! What more can I, ask for?

no clue

2004-11-04T09:26:00.000-08:00

Realistic attitudes
Rocking thoughts
Rhapsodic tunes
Revolting passions
Rubicund emotions

Reckless luck

Rough-hewn policies
Remote understanding
Restricted passages
Regressing means
Recitative images
Rainswept fancies
Raffish creations
Reckoning moments

**********Retroverted roads......

Inner resiliency barking aloud
but resigning to the circumstances

........just an another common being....

back again....

2004-10-19T01:33:00.000-07:00

The exam fever has vanished. And now it’s the holiday fever that has gripped me tightly. Firstly, let me thank you people (rik, hemanth, suhail, jhanvi ,sriram chirayu, vardan, niyati, harsha, and teju) for your best wishes. Your wishes rubbed off some charm on my exams as most of my papers went well. Hard cracking on easy nuts!!!.

There are times, when I wish to be isolated from the crowd and just sit and stare at the vast expanse of space. These are moments, when thoughts and musings never flush into my brain channel. A thick blanket of emptiness engulfs me and I enjoy being submersed in it. The emptiness running deep into my veins, the chills of calmness freezing down the last gripping pain. Solitude, sometimes, is a great pleasure. It is a crowning resort for pained hearts and a mad craving desire for this bliss of solitude took over me, last Tuesday.

The wind storming over
The rain calling me
I never sensed such euphoria
The clouds looking down at me
The sun beaming at me
Everyone around
Happy for me

But my heart’s heavy
The tears welling
The feelings wandering in unknown deserts
No breeze of joy
No sight of pleasure
Jocund faces around
But I am drowned
Amidst my inner gloominess
I am their princess
But I sense no pleasure.

I have a desire
The pangs of which
Bound me, to the shackles of frustration…..
I wish to break loose
Wish to get away from the
Showers of happiness,
I just wish to be alone.
Me, me ………………………….n only me.

That was on Tuesday, last week.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were days filled with joy and excitement. Days, marked with fun!!!!. Friends and cousins enchanted the melting walls of materialistic fun and lust. Sunday had been a purely masti maro day.

Monday…dawned with the wings of boredom. Tuesday is no better, as the goddess of laziness has taken over me…. I just don’t feel like typing anymore…. Hoping for a better Wednesday…………

busy......

2004-10-10T20:25:00.000-07:00

exams from tomorrow!!!!!. would be busy and hence, wouldn't be posting for some time...

all you guys n gals, out there.... have a nice week n wish me "good luck"!

dawning realization....

2004-10-02T09:44:00.000-07:00

Parents! Oh! How I wish to maintain a nice rapport with them. These days, nothing seems to be working my way. Every other day, I have a fight over trivial issues with my mom. She never seems to understand my point of view. She’s always stuck down with her own fragmented, invented or rather say, discovered policies and rules. Father, on the other side always appeared to bloom with greener pastures. So, whenever I found, the land on my mother’s side parched up due to my mistakes and failures, I let her seismic waves of fury transmit through me and then run towards the greener pasture for solace and comfort. Solace and comfort, is something, I often got, for my father’s heart is a land of evergreen Savannas, which never shuts the door on forlorn souls and welcomes them heartily, providing the soothing heart balm. His land is an oasis for people caught in a sandstorm, and I more often than usual, have been his land’s often visited Bedouin. And I always thought that these goodie-goodie things about my father’s vast heart land will provide me its warm shelter, whenever I smell the dust raising on my mom’s land. Oh! But how foolish I had been, in not understanding that these two lands form the ground for my existence and I cant totally depend on just one of them. And today, I learnt and realized it, the hard way.

she......

2004-09-27T03:16:00.000-07:00

Walked on the rails,
To touch the water-filmed sand;
Waves lashing against her feet,
In a moment of sloshing ecstasy
Felt she, the warmth of sunshine
Coolness of the night,
Heat of summer
And the joy of spring.

Walked, still ahead
To reach the summits
Climbed the pinnacle of monstrous slopes
Sensed the arrogance of wind
And loved the shade of the cypress.
Smiled at the swooping flight of the vulture
Pitied the strewn body of the sparrow.

Marched ahead and forward
Toward the near-by volcano
Dredged herself into its narrow vent
Drenched in the smear of lava
Knocked the doors of frustration
And moved ahead,
To rise through a splashing geyser.

Walked now, amidst the woods
Drowned by the rain,
Moved across the human skin;
Sensed the under-currents of desire
And whispered she, to her co-mates
Who, were enclosed by and under the living skin.

She walked further now,
With blooming eternity.
For she now knew
That she can never perish.
Her outer casement might vanish
But she shall not whither away.

She shall never whither.
The universe might become static.
But she shall rule despite
The extinction of the “living skin”.
For she encompasses within
Herself, the evergreen phases
Of the coined term “EMOTIONS”.

shilpa

The last week.......

2004-09-19T15:47:00.000-07:00

I had had experienced a lot of ups and downs, last week. Here’s a brief summary:

Monday – Wednesday: had loads of work at college. Had to slog from morning 9:30 to 8:30 in the evening. After packing up, 8:45 p.m. was the usual time to have a cup of “cold coffee with ice-cream” or a “soup” at the cyber towers. 9:00 p.m., - used to board the RTC bus and reach home around 10:00 p.m.

Thursday: had been a very frustrating day. Had classes till 7:00 in the evening. Reached home a little early, say around 9:15 p.m. I had been extremely tired, but my brother was in a mood of fun. He had started to play his funny tricks and pranks on me. Initially, I was soft to him, told him very patiently that I was in no mood of fun but “Lato ke bhoot batoon se kaha maante hain”. We fought like cats and dogs, he twisted my arm and I pulled his hair. I kicked him, and he kicked me back in return. We had had a gruesome fight; neither my mom nor my dad could stop us. But the war had to end and it was my bed, which waved the white flag by giving out a creaking sound. We had broken two of its old legs. (Had to sleep on the sofa, as my bed could no longer bear my weight.)

Now, it was my mom’s turn to raise her pitch and like always I became the “Bali ki bakri” again. Any fight that occurs between my brother and me it’s always me who gets the final verbal bashing. “Tu us se badi hain. Tujhe samajna chahiye …… blah… blah…” she stopped only when tears started welling out of my eyes. At that juncture, all those stupid feelings like “ my mom loves my bro more than me. She’s so partial……” spurred my emotional veins. I barged into the study room and my mind got tuned into the following lines that I had penned down (in my new diary)….

MERMAID OF LOVE – HOPE

The ladder’s high,
The ambition’s on run,
But with the naivete lost
I bear the look of
A forlorn lass.

Mirages of hope-
Dangling around me
I know not;
Of the destiny ahead of me.

Spurring desires
And passionate feelings;
Always crown my worried mind.
Oh! How much I crave
For a peaceful paradise;
The loving land of amiable hearts.

My tensed mind awaits
The arrival of the glorious brilliance,
The turquoise vastness,
Blended with the evergreen notes of
Love and peace.

Pray, I would love to be
Touched by an angel.
Still….. , Praying with hope,
The arrival of the,
Mesmerising mermaid who alone;
Can charm the narrow tunnel of
My melancholic mind.

Well, that was Thursday night.

Friday: college was as usual tiresome. Created a new account on g-mail and joined the orkut community. Thanks again to the kind soul who sent me both the invitations.

Saturday: had to get up early for the Ganesh puja. Had a nice day and later in the evening, went to the temple with my granny and mom.

N today, I am at my sis’s place, enjoying the day with my other cousins. As of now, we are pondering over the place to chill out in the evening. The two options being “granny’s place” and “IMAX”, the support ratio being 5: 4 respectively. I am in a nostalgic mood and my heart’s racing for “granny’s place”. Let’s see what comes of it!.

nothing much.....

2004-09-14T23:54:00.000-07:00

I have nothing much to write. Had a weeklong weaving module. Weaving is fun. I have a lot of submissions this week and am tied up with just too many assignments. I sometimes wonder as to why I am so very lazy? The deadline kick starts my drowsy spirit. Have never done anything before time, it’s always last minute job. Wonder when this trait’s gonna vanish? As for now, gotta search for some information about textiles and pattern making. I badly wish to blog -in frequently but by the time I come back home from college, I am just too tired to type my mind out. Maybe some week would be lucky enough to have all its seven days allocated to my postings. (Wishful thinking again!). Btw, have a nice week, people!!!

let me not tell you yet let me tell you this......

2004-09-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

Let me not tell you. Let me not tell you about my fever. Let me not tell you about yesterday’s episode. Let me not tell you that I had laid rotten on the hospital bed with the glucose dripping into my veins. Let me not tell you that I had fainted in my class yesterday. Let me not tell you that I had had run through the tunnels of my sub-conscious mind to enter the abode of the unconscious.Let me not tell you that I had heard frantic and desperate voices of my friends and professors crying aloud “dear, can u hear me?” Let me not tell you that I did not know if I had actually heard them or I was dreaming about them. Let me not tell you that when I was being escorted to the hostel room, I had completely slouched on my friend’s body throwing her down along with myself. Let me not tell you, that this fall knocked out my senses completely. Let me not tell you, that when I opened my eyes again, I was on the hospital bed in the casualty room. Let me not tell you that I had sensed the atrocious prick of the needle, which sucked out a little of my blood to check the cell count. Let me not tell you, that I had been put on glucose bottles to regain my drained or rather say vanished energy. Let me not tell you, that I had had suddenly felt the warm love of concern and care from my friends and parents. Let me not tell you, that I felt like a princess who attracted all required attention and care. (I hate to mention “sympathy” for I hate to be pitied and sympathized). Let me not tell you, that this lasted only for a couple of hours. Let me not tell you, that once home, I had warmly accepted the explosion of anger amalgamated with the deepest love from my granny’s usually tight-lipped mouth. (“Shilpa, kitni baar kahan hain ki khana time par khaya karo. Par, meri baat kahan sunnti hain tu? Jab dekho bahar ka khana! Aagar apne aadhe paise pizza aur burger par nahin lagati tu tujhe aaj hospital jaana nahi hota.! Par nahi, tumhe to ghar ki murgi dal barabar lagti hain na. Ab sadd apne bistar pein. Aur ye rothi shakal mat bana. Mujhe tujh par taras nahin, gussa aa raha hain.”) let me not tell you, that she came to my bed last night and lulled me into sleep.Let me not tell you that I am better now and in a good position to type this out. Let me not tell you all this.

But rather, let me tell you this.

Now, let me tell you this completely and fully,
There is this particular guy in my college whom I have always disliked the most. And I strongly felt that he reciprocated the same feeling. His train of thoughts never met my rails. He is known in the class for his well-efficient snapping skills. My friends despise him and yet he easily gets his way through people. (Wonder how? Good at snapping and better at wooing, well that’s something I could never figure out.) Never helps them but manages to get help always. He badly craves for marks and he does all the possible “chamchagiri” to the teachers. Being “chamcha” is fine as long as he polishes himself but then, he’s worst because more than refining his impression, he degrades others.
He never liked my work and I seriously never cared about it. I would have appreciated his open criticism than all the cribbing that he does behind my back. I still remember my last sem. Presentation when I was forced to pair up with him due to bad roll-number numerology that my teacher had coined. All through the making of the presentation, we were pugnacious and finally I let him have his way. It hurt my ego for I had thrashed away my work and had had fuelled his egoistic mind. After that presentation, I swore I would never work with him again. He hardly spoke to me after that, except on occasions when he wanted my help. (This is still stranger, he mocks at my work and comes shamelessly for help.)As for me, I helped him only when my mood dredged towards the virtues of altruism (it was rare though because if I forgive him completely and help selflessly, I would no longer be human but fancy myself being god.)

And yesterday, he came over to the casualty wing along with my classmates and when the nurse ushered my friends out, he somehow managed to peep in. He came towards me, gave a red rose and with all sincerity in his voice and face said, “I love you dearly and want you to get well soon. I know you love me too. I have seen it in your eyes”. (Reminds me of a filmi dialogue) I knew he was serious about it because he does not fall into those funny and flamboyant category of guys who would take the first step of proposing and then wait for the reply and irrespective of the reply being a yes/no would laugh out loud saying, “oh, my god! You believed it. I was just joking.” He waited for my reply but all he received was a mocking glance. It was difficult for me to even provide him that glance. I felt like laughing my heart out. He sounded so filmi, so stupid. I bore a tough visage and I gave him the rose back and said, “u will have to give this rose to someone else. I am not interested.” He began to protest but I was firm on my stand and fortunately, the nurse had come back to drive the pain away.

I seriously do not know if I am being bitchy about this whole incident but I sense a strange pleasure. I fuelled his ego by allowing him to believe he is more professional than I am and he fuelled my ego by accepting that I am more mature than him. Well, atleast that is what I wish to believe.

fever rules!!!!

2004-08-30T10:20:00.000-07:00

Me, down with fever!!!!. I guess, all the basic ingredients needed to posses fever are rightly stocked and locked up in my body. (Cold, cough, sore throat, head ache………). I’ve been having bad temperature from past 3 days and the pills in taken seem less efficient in chasing away the mobsters out of my body.

Strangely, this rakhi wasn’t much fun. The day came and passed away, holding no strings of sweet memories. Tomorrow is my mom’s b’day. Maybe, even tomorrow’s not gonna be rocking as both my brother and me are sick and my father’s away on some official work. Well, can't afford to strain my eyes any longer, gotta see if my brother’s online and then rest my weary eyes. Have a nice week people.!!!!!

A mother's plight...

2004-08-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

In the afternoon, I was helping my mom in stacking and piling away the old newspapers to sell them, when I suddenly came across the headlines which ranted about hanging Sanjay Dhananjoy, the prime accused in the Hetal Parekh rape incident. The newspaper also talked about the debate over capital punishment. The talk made me look at the episode from a mother’s point of view.

Here is a mother’s plight:

During the twilight hours,
I sensed the growth of a new soul.
A new soul,
Amidst the nests of my womb.

A new life,
I gave birth to.
Her newness and royalty
Had spurred my maternal desires.

I milked her.
Nourished her, cared for her,
Loved her – for she was mine
She was an off-shoot of my
Very own existing self.

Her enchanting smile
Enthralled the old.
Her gabble and whisperings
Soothed my ears.
Her garrulous talk
Chased away my grieves and agony.
She became the reason for
My existence.
She was my little angel,
My sweet little daughter.

With the flow of the cascades
And passage of time
She ventured into
The drenching woods of adolescence
I saw her giggling
And conspiring
For now I realized,
She no longer was ignorant.
But yet, she carried
The charm of innocence.
Her charm so very mesmerizing
That I forgave her follies.
After all,
She was still my
Little angel.

My little orchard
Seemed to bloom
For the heavens had opened
Their doors, to shower
Joys and happiness.

When god unfolds
His arms to
Embrace, how could the Satan
Just sit and watch!

He entered my
Peaceful paradise.
And uprooted
my world with his malice veiled eyes.
The venomous snake
Sucked my flower’s virginity!
Robbed her from me,
Robbed her companionship from
Her friends!
Robbed her from the face of earth!

The passion for my vengeance
Knew no bounds.
For I let it thrive
To see the
Agonizing and miserable
Death of the snake.

Finally, the day had come,
The sinister was hanged.
I saw his blood drain,
Heard his last gasp,
Sensed the numbness in his body,
For it was not
The law which had punished him.
It was his conscience which
Had stabbed him. And
I saw him,
Nailing down his own ribs,
Drowning in his very own blood.

I heard voices in the night.
The hymns being recited
For my vengeance was completed.
In the middle of the recitals,
I caught a glimpse of
My daughter.
“Glimpse” was what I thought,
But she came towards me,
Knelt beside me,
and said,
“Mother, u have taken your revenge.
But I still wander in the marshy nights watching all different kinds of sin. The mellowness of innocence and virtue have left this soil. The gravel and humus is now a cobweb of misery and sin, ruled by the god –damned Satan. Look mom, yonder there, I still see a little girl being raped. What would you do now? Save the girl or hang the rapist?”

Shilpa.

saga of the troubles confronted......

2004-08-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

“There is a veil through which I could not see
There is a door to which I found no key.”

Omar Khayam

Perfect lines to describe the situation that prevailed from Monday-Friday. 5 long days and I couldn’t post anything. It wasn’t that there weren’t any thoughts hovering and bustling around my medulla, but rather, it was because I had no key to enter the door (my blog)

It was on Monday night, that I realized my beautiful hair locks were turning Grey. My memory had successfully deceived me for I was unable to remember my username to log into my blog! (Ever heard of that before- forgetting “usernames” not to mention “pass words”.)

After a series of frantic cries and desperate e-mails to the blogger.com, I retrieved my username from the blogger support team. The retrieval of the username brought a big smile on my visage. All my 30 teeth were on an effective display. (My wisdom teeth haven’t popped up yet – that shows why I forgot my username!). (Roz naya “close-up” karti hoon, isliye danth dikhati hoon.) But little did I know then, that all was not yet over. Another cornucopias of log-in troubles were waiting to pounce on me. Thursday happened to be on their stride and they preyed on me menacingly, relishing every moment of my anguish and frustration. (The very thought of this frustrating message “INTERNAL SERVER ERROR- CONTACT THE BLOGGER SUPPORT TEAM IMMEDIATELY”, shatters my spirits even now!).

But how long could god give the “chumming way” to the devils, the angels have finally come to my rescue today. No blunders at all and the irritating messages haven’t cropped up their ugly heads this time. Good for me, atleast now I can sooth my itchy fingers by writing down, how my days have been spent.

MONDAY: Had loads of fun and masti with college mates. We successfully executed the plan of mass bunking for the afternoon session and went to Prasad’s multiplex to watch “Kyon ho gaya na!” but couldn’t get hold of the tickets. Nevertheless, we still had fun as we spent around 5hrs at the multiplex playing all odd and funny games, running down the stairs, window shopping, and finally spent a few hours at the “Ohri’s” food court. We had a gala time talking all about boy friends, girl friends, and teachers and mimicking them. It was a masti maro day! But the night stung me, its venom being “invalid username”.

TUESDAY: Was a very hectic day. Still had problems in logging.
WEDNESDAY: Followed Tuesday’s footsteps. Busy and hectic.
THURSDAY: This day drained my energy and spirits- the day the frustrating message wheeled through the channels of my mind.
FRIDAY: Was an awesome day! My super-seniors had their internship presentations and design collections. And what a collection it was! Simply excellent!

Kim, Nishith and Kamal did their internships under a Delhi-based designer. And man, what can I say about their collection! It was simply mind-boggling! They designed sarees which now cost around Rs. 65,000- Rs.90, 000! (What a whooping sum for just one saree!). The sarees displayed the majestic aura and strength of Zardozi and Kalamkari. (Me definitely gonna work with these arts one day!).

Srikanth’s collection on men’s wear for (Fall – Winter 04-05) was a ripsnorter. His shirts reflected a dignitary’s evening wardrobe.

Ishita was excellent in her cuts and styles. Her collection for girls was very trendy and hep. Her color palette showed that she had taken all the pains in following the Fashion Forecast rightly. The bright and “Jhatak” colors portrayed the flamboyant nature.

Mansi and Ritu were far beyond excellent in their ethnic wear collections.

Those were just a few of the works, which I liked the most. These guys are simply outstanding. This was just an internship presentation, wonder what these guys would be displaying for their graduation show?

That’s it for now as my fingers have stopped itching.

fresh start.........

2004-08-14T23:59:00.000-07:00

This is my first blog n i have absolutely no clue as to how it would appear on the IE. ........

i have always penned down my thoughts n feelings in my diary. But now, since i've lost it, I m banking on my newly created blog. n i m happy 2 create it.

n now, where do i begin from..........

well, right now, i'll just pen down my thoughts........

The enchanting symphonic notes,
the merry gurgling,
the spark of heaven;
the slush of love.

The epitome of;
fragrant richness,
the maze of;
the wildest beauty
the tunes of virtue
the aisles of time.

The glory of pleasure;
the throne of melancholy,
the breeze of freshness
the storm of death.

The open vessel of gay;
the seculded cove of grief;
the loquaciousness of;
the little angel,
the trumpeting wild cries
of the mourner.

The color of hue
the vastness in you,
the blend of emotions,
the cassock of philosophy.

Entwining ideas are;
unlocked by you,
the shimmering green
is brought by you.
so, is the dust of despair.

For you;
swing there
dancing to the melody
of human emotions.
You unravel the mysterious;
the locked cells
of human psychology.

For you;
are the usherer of
feelings and emotions.
You bring in the;
tranquility of charm.
You are the embodiment
of the divine.

For you;
are none else
than-- my passion
and
strength.

- shilpa