Believe it or Not.

I would never have believed this, when I started writing my unread blog in 2008.

The Afghan Girl.

It is said of the Pashtuns that they are at peace only when at war.

I had seen her picture way back, in school. I knew her as The Afghan Girl. I thought she was hauntingly beautiful. And she is. Only, now I know that her beauty haunts because of searing pain that comes with being a refugee.

A shattered and devastated nation finds expression in more than numbers and statistics.

Read how she was lost and found in the debris here.

A Late Night,

and I am, uncharacteristically, awake.(3.23 a.m).

Memories are better abandoned every time they bring only pain instead of wet smiles she remembered. Last time she visited the hazy past, there were better fruits for her. Leaving forever and leaving forever are two different things. The first brought her anger and resentment, the second brings a void. And it is yet too early to decide what is preferable.

But even through the numbness, a realization seeped in. Unlike the real ones, bittersweet endings always leave hope.

Theorising.

Why does SRK wear the keffiyeh?


a. he likes wearing it.
b. he wants to experiment with table-cloths.
c. subtle advertising for his look in 'My name is Khan'
d. he's not aware that this look went out of fashion a year back.
e. his designer is not aware that this look is very last-year.
f. he wants to hide his surgery scars.
g. he wants to go back to his middle class roots with the gamcha look.
h. he secretly uses it to wipe perspiration when no-one's looking.



Ans: h

Keffiyeh.

He's ubercool. Seriously. Even if he's trying to look like a 20 year old in real life too. And even if in some, disenchanted moments, I feel that he's a pompous big-mouth.

Above, he's wearing the keffiyeh (an Arab scarf). And everywhere that Shahrukh goes, the keffiyeh is sure to go.

On A Personal Front.

Eliot knew something about my city, Eliot did. After the warmest winter I've experienced in my living memory And the cruelest April in 3 decades, I've really,truly and finally woken up to global warming. even though my neighbours are apparently unaffected. mere samne wali khidki mein They still sleep under those warm, soft fur blankets( no I'm not making this up, you can send it to Ripley's ).
So so thankfully,things have picked up from Jan and from the two exams that are over to bigger two that are coming and numerous twenty minute walks to neverland in the sweltering Kolkata midday heat to guarantee myself some bread and butter, to other stuff like espanol and reading things I had lined up for a long time and many more besides, I finally have something to do. I had experienced an absolutely horrible last half the year before, the likes of which I hadn't experienced in nearly two years preceeding that, and tis' not a fate I would wish on many. All work I had was non- stop nonconstructive activity from nine in the morning to five in the evening, often stretching to six or eight at night when I returned home, too exhausted to do any more, all building of myself gone to the dogs,and no light on the horizon. That hasn't changed by a large degree, but it has, and for now, it'll have to do.That was actually when I started this blog,sloppy as it was then, dripping with soggy, stupid posts. That too hasn't changed by a large degree but then again, it has. (:D)

One of my great, heroic ambitions in life is to stop procrastinating.Now, if you know me, you'll realise that's one tall order.But for now, I've procrastinated procrastination,and I shall take solace in that, though sadly, my experience tells me its not for long.As I see it,life is about to pick up further and id welcome that. from last April to this, it was a sea-change and not one that was particularly pleasant.But now, off I go to things that scream my (loving) attention.

On my book stand: 1. Inheritance of Loss
2. Shantaram.

Easter.

Easter time, Easter time,
flowers bloom at Easter time.
There's a little bunny...........

Today, returning home, I saw the late spring flowers bloom. Reminded me of another day forgotten. sigh.

Holy Mess.

There are people and there are people.The first category of those who feel affinity towards and hence inhabit pigsties. I admire them. Their prowess at being able to extract the one piece of paper from piles of scribbled ones, important ones, ticket stubs and pamphlets that they got at the Sealdah station amazes me. They can have every piece of clothing from their wardrobe in a heap on the balcony railing and yet be able to tell the clean ones from the dirty ones (I secretly don't believe that but if this is what they claim, who am I to cast aspersions on their level of hygiene?) I simply marvel at their ability to sleep and snore on a bed that has a bedsheet not washed in weeks. And I find it profound that the only inanimate object given some semblence of respect is the PC/Laptop. These superior beings usually land from Mars.


And then there is the second category of people . Lesser beings like me, who, out of circumstances are forced to inhabit pigsties. The circumstances in question maybe (a). Having category 1 type of people in family or (b). renovation/ painting job in the home that turns it into a pig sty.


Circumstance (a) is unfortunately permanent. You are stuck with it for life. Yet if you are as resourceful as I am, you realise that there is a way out of it. Divide your home in pigsty/non-pigsty zones. Even if your room is the only non- pigsty zone, it really helps. Encroachment can be avoided by use of vocal chords. I have extensively used it over the years and this was the only reason I did not win Indian Idol 3.
Circumstance (b) is temporary and lasts roughly only for about a week. But if circumstance (a) combines with circumstance(b) then this do ki shakti throws people like me completely out of focus.


Any kind of mess throws me out of gear. It reduces my ability to concentrate. It irritates me and agitates me. I find it difficult to get any kind of work done, let alone the studying I should be doing for my exams starting on the 16th. My surroundings are directly proportional to my productivity and I feel disturbed if I am in the midst of cacophany.I empathise very very strongly with any one in Rani's position in Chalte Chalte. That ought to explain it all.


P.S My crap writing capabilities though, I am baffled to say, remains cooly unaffected.

Untitled - 2

(......contd)


Her face was blackened with smudged kohl and coagulated blood. From this distance it seemed impossible to distinguish.Her hands bore wounds from where the broken glass bangles had cut her skin and from where the rough coconut ropes had bound her wrists, leaving them raw.Both just about distinguishable.Her foot was bare. Not at all unusual in this part of the country where all except the sahukar went barefoot. Her loose, soiled sari was soaked with blood- receding as it flew down, originating at her neck which was sliced. This clearly visible.

Swearing, Prasad brought out a spade from his toolbox at the banyan tree and started digging just next to Padma's body. She had bewitched Kara's land when she had walked through it late the previous year and now the crops wouldn't grow this year. There had been whisperings ever since she was born- an ill fated birth which saw the death of her father and within a week of that, her grandmother. "born at amavasya- what types are born on such nights you tell me?"whisperings which continued even as she grew up- "even uses maaya to learn her lessons Sita told me."
why of all places did they find only his field to dump her?

(to be contd)


P.S. I certainly did not get up at the crack of dawn to write such crap. there something wrong with my post time format and it seems that its just as stubborn as I am.And it actually had the audacity to display that changing time was illegal. Beat that.

Untitled.

During the summer afternoons in the sleepy village of Mau, life slows down. Unbearable heat rises up in waves, enveloping all. Hot humid air from which only the homes protected by dripping jute provide protection. The sun beats down merciless and unyielding on the vast, arid, flat plains. Humanity retires from work, seeking respite in the intoxication of sleep. So it has been for centuries. So it was on that dusty afternoon.

Prasad lay under the dense banyan tree, half reclining,half sitting. Beside him lay a steel tumbler and an earthen pot containing the only kind of cool water known to him. In a distance only a restless crow cawed restlessly. As Prasad was slipping away in blessed drowsiness, the hot air wafted a heavy smell towards him. Dense and rotten. He cursed at this extra hand of work, conjecturing that he would probably have to dispose of a dead rodent. Usually, the hawks found in the vicinity would have done it for him, only his field was thick with unripened grain. Walking on for a few feet, he sighted something far larger than a rodent. Reaching the corpse, he surveyed it disinterestedly.

(to be continued)