Thursday, 17 December 2009

The Face of Seeming

Painted faces sped by in velvet carriages,
Looking back, the rack of neverbeen,
Saints and swallows racking my willow
Limbs; could not see you at the feast.

Enamelled eyes, prize open the thoughts,
And surmise what's never said.
Colder than ice, so nicely
They did speak and fade.

Chained alive, pain has wrenched your face,
I can't find you behind the stagnant mask;
Clothed in sand swept from many shores,
You are something I dread to ask.

Tuesday, 8 December 2009

Another year...

I should be studying for the Modernist Prose exam. I should be tucked inside my mosquito net, little dog-eared book in hand, warming blanket upto my chin.

Instead, I'm posting/swatting mosquitoes. To think, another year has slipped away again. Where did all those minutes go? Sublimated into a confusing swirl of half-recognized faces and thoughts of tenderness. Gone absolutely!

Everyday, I get older. I sometimes make a great sweep over my face with my hands, as if to physically wipe away the years. Let me revert to childhood simplicity, a Lucy without the boobs, when I was invincible in my fortress.

Now, everything is in ruins, my mind picked at and broken into bits for the tourists, loud and obnoxious, who scrawl trite graffiti all over my body. Very soon I shall be an incoherent mass of debris, just a bit of ash left over from the extinguished incense-stick of history, symbolic of I don't know what...

But now I shall go to my bed, and cover myself up tip-to-toe with my lovely, delicious quilt, which uses grandmama's old faded widow's sari as a cover. Then I shall have no more doubts or questions, but one: over the chin or under the chin?

Friday, 23 October 2009

Don't call him frail, although he breaks easily,
It's all he can do to keep from weeping,
When he thinks, is life worth living?

Don't call him dumb, even if he really is,
He's trying his best, giving it his all,
Just to remember to breathe.

Don't call him cold, though tears have frozen upon his face,
He needs your warmth, oh he craves your warmth
When his heart stopped beating long ago.

Pray for him, give him a gentle word,
They don't cost you much,
For him to be loved.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Foolish, mediocre, banal, abhorrent, scheming, bigoted, puritanical, opinionated, unfeeling, intolerant, jealous, unethical, stupid, boastful, impudent, uncouth, boorish, nasty, immoral, spiteful, insecure, insidious, distrustful, repulsive thing that I am, I am still better than YOU! (You know who you are...)

Tuesday, 19 May 2009

At last, my honours papers are over. It's party time!!

Monday, 4 May 2009

The Dream

Swirling in this mortal coil
Amid the circling dome,
To fret among the frothy bays,
Rudderless we roam.

Blasting winds may parch us soon,
Or dust our swelting cheeks
When blazing beam of zenith star
Through the darkness seeks.

The house of straw sat burning umber,
Wails rang in my ear,
Roiling in the accretion disc,
Blue meek to swollen cheer.

The detritus then fell away
At the feet of dawning day.

Thursday, 9 April 2009

That time of year again

There are 28 steps up to the English department.
Left-right-left, up 14 steps. Turn.
Another 14.
The heaviness of my bag weighs me down.
My hand moves instinctively to keep the cries from seeping out.
Still so many books to read, so many tests to give.
I could measure the ill-spun thread of my life with tests.
The room's suffocating.
There were 28 steps, weren't there?
I counted them myself; lonely steps for lonely people.
Sad little steps lead...where?
So many books to read, so many tests to give.
So many strangers to meet.

Wednesday, 25 February 2009

English is a crazy language!

1. Your house burnt up and then it burnt down. So your fire alarm went off by turning on. So you had to fill in your insurance form by filling it out.
2. If teachers taught, why haven't preachers praught???
3. If the plural of tooth is teeth, then why isn't the plural of booth beeth??
4. You can make amends but you can't make one amend.
5. If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Obviously humanitarians eat humanitables, not humans. Otherwise, vegetarians would eat vegans.
6. Noses that run and feet that smell?
7. How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? For that matter, how can awful be something bad when awesome is really good?
8. When the stars are out, they are visible. BUT when the lights are out, they are invisible.
9. You can be gormless, but what IS gorm? Apparently something that is good to have? And does someone have some "ruth" to give?
10. If "glasses" is a pair of lenses worn on the head, then why isn't a monocle called a "glass"?
11. Why is the fear of long words 'hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia'?
12. If one who does stupid things is "reckless", why can't someone who thinks things through be "reckful"?
13. One of the mice is called a mouse, but one of the dice isn’t a douse, nor one grain of rice called a rouse, nor a cube of ice called an ouse? And why isn’t a house one of the hice or a blouse one of the blice? (And for that matter, why isn't a spouse one of the spice?)
14. If ice makes icicles, what does a test make?
15. If teachers are teaching and painters are painting, why aren't lawyers lawying?
16. If the prefix "de" means none or the opposite of, how does de-void still mean "nothing"?

Terry Pratchett says it all when he was talking about elves:
“Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.
Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.
Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.
Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.
Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.
Elves are terrific. They beget terror.
The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning.”

Friday, 20 February 2009

Why do you think...

all bus conductors all carry the same little brown leather pouch? Where do they get them from? Is there some black-market cartel operating here?? Why don't we ever see them on sale at, say, Gariahat market? Must investigate further...

Thursday, 19 February 2009


Am listening to this brill J-Pop song by Suara right this moment. Its called "Kimi ga Tame"... beautiful, beautiful lyrics. The first line says it all: Kimi no hitomi ni utsuru watashi wa nani iro desuka? (roughly translated: When your eyes catch my reflection, what hue am I?) Isn't it romantic? You can download it from Gendou (link in the sidebar).

Sanskriti '09

Loved the JUDE performance at the Eastern Group Dance! Unfortunately, the judge thought otherwise!

Wednesday, 21 January 2009


They hang aloft, stretching from treetop to treetop,
Serene and lovely and red,
Each carrying an unchanging prayer, waving in the wind.
They shall not be born aloft upon angelic wings:
They are for you.
Do not be surprised, you have seen them before.
Alone, they are nothing.
But strung together, they form a potent prayer.
You are anxious to read them all meticulously,
Reading the same message again and again,
Anxious to show your concern,
Not to offend either the message or the messenger.

Our culture, our creed.

The sinuous symbol, like a red blossom,
Less fragrant, less frail,
Is hypnotic, you can’t escape its stern gaze,
Anxiously frank as it is to show you the way.
And then, it loses meaning, loses definition,
Until you aren’t sure
Of what it is you were looking for.

Our culture, our creed.

The fluttering flags, each a fervent prayer,
Seem brittle in their diaphanous form:
Bits and pieces have already been stolen by the incessant wind,
And have scattered their seeds into other lands.
Barren, alas!
Quietly conscious of their might,
They seem to whisper:

Our culture, our creed.

You shiver, as the breeze grows stronger,
And the shuffle of the prayer-flags becomes a din.
The red flags flutter in accompaniment.
Foolish, they can never be budged.
Look! The trees have shrugged off the last yellowed leaves of fall,
And as they floated past those leaflets,
You could hear them ask,
“What are you waiting for?”
And they replied,

Our culture, our creed.

The papers are but sentinels,
Witnesses to the spectacle that shall unfold
Under the barren trees, strung about with prayer flags.
When shall we see that vision?
A great mass shall gather in this magical space,
And shall declare their loyalty with grave voices,
As if by a miracle united in their firm conviction in

Our culture, our creed.

And we shall see the high priests come and go,
With patronizing smiles, and well-rehearsed frowns,
Looking each man in the eye, and saying
The thing each man had come to hear.
The flags shall bear witness then to the colossal cry
The huddling mass shall fling in defiance to the heavens,
And the priests shall sigh in every ear,

Our culture our creed.

And when you can walk no more,
And your knees are mangled and broken,
Your dignity bruised and aching,
You shall look once more at those flags,
Watch as they flap so high above your bent brow,
Serene, elegant, and lethal,
And read again the universal wish,
The four ideal words,
And you will marvel at the perfection of this endless mantra:

Ei chinhe vote din.

Forgotten chords. Broken dreams.