Chennai local

22Sep08

Tirusulam,Chennai

The sun at its peak , the gypsy lady gets off the train to relieve her body from the  embrace of combs, colourful bangles and stringed beads on to the steaming cement bench. Sweat glistening away on her wrinkled dark skin, she glances at me through the window without interest. As the local train sped me along with it, she  blurred into the white nebula of rays. Dimnishing to a speck that she must have matched the size of the smallest bead she had held.

Blinded by brightness, my eyes drift away into the packed chaos of the 'ladies' coach, which was an extension of the 'Ist class' coach, only physically separated by a 3feet high wall. I was travelling during the peak time. A time when office-goers checked watches hoping that it wasn't one of those days when their boss turned up earlier. A time when school kids struggled to balance themselves on their feet as their school bags, almost a huge extension on their slender backs got caught between impatient people. A time when kids who were lucky enough to find a seat pored through sheets of xeroxed chapters, mugging away calculus formulae, benzene reactions and scientific names of their favourite fruits for the papers they would have to sit for in less than an hour. A time when tiffin boxes were opened and the smell of freshly ground chutney filled the coach. My eyes hunted down the aroma. I had missed breakfast. It was 10.15 a.m.

In front of me, a lady who had been dictating reciepes in Tamil over the mobile ever since I got in, shifted her position to avoid the middle aged lady who was dozing away occasionally leaning to her sides. To my left there was a young girl studying intently. I peeked over her book and saw "haemostasis" in bold black letters. To my right, someone was shifting and I saw a girl of my age feeling her way next to me. She was hard of sight and I moved a bit for her to sit in comfortably. I wondered where she was off to unaccompanied. She wore a drab salwar and her hair was oiled into a neat plait.

Minambakkam,Chennai

The next halt. Sellers flocked into the over packed compartment. This time it was flowers and vegetables. Bannanas and bindis. Purses and salwar 'nadas'( the thread that secures salwars to your waist). Face towels and safety pins. Haggling and advertising. Raised eyebrows and approving smiles. Clatter of coins and grumbles. Pushing and swearing. Headache and interest.

I looked on in awe as the flower lady stopped beside my seat. The visually challenged girl held out her hand and the lady placed 2 'mozhams' of jasmine in it. I saw her cross checking the 'mozhams' by stretching it from the tip of her middle finger to the joint of her elbow. Twice. Satisfied, she laced it together and wore it behind her head, checking it consciously if it sat well. I could feel her body relax. I related to it. I knew she felt beautiful. I wished I could see her the way she saw herself in her mind then. Through her eyes.

Meanwhile, stations  crossed. Tracks heated up. A quick scan and I found two open Sidney Sheldons. Two woman in the far right of the coach talking in hushed whispers. It wasn't hard to guess from their expressions that they were bitching about someone . The other ladies had started comparing their little shopping purchases. Bindis and bannanas. Colourful and ripe. Just like the 'ladies'  coach, I was a part of. A couple of romeos hung out from the train that sped by my window.

Suddenly I noticed a woman in her mid-thirties. Her face yellow with turmeric. Open hair, curly and long, parted at the centre. A huge red round kumkum bindi in the middle of her forehead. But it was the angle that she held her head in and the way her mouth mumbled something that made me uneasy. I'm not proud to admit that I hoped I would not be left alone with her in the coach.

Park station, Chennai

Over ten stations had crossed me. I have been travelling for more than 30 minutes. The visually challenged girl was getting ready to leave. A few minutes earlier in response to my query to another woman as to how many stations far 'beach' was, she had replied it was next to 'Park' and the last stop. Suddenly I noticed, the coach was roomy and peaceful. I stretched my feet onto the seat across. Sunlight poured in and the fresh blue paint of the walls shone. It had escaped love proclamations and swearing scribbles that ususally ornate local train interiors. I could see till the end of the 'Ist class' coach. A gentleman, with dignified greys pored over the English daily. I got up as the next station approached. I saw the grey haired gentleman leering from his coach. In my girly head his respect fator did a stunning dive.

My backpack as I stood near the exit, held dear scribbles of my journey from Chromepet to Beach.

Beach Station, Chennai.

Goodbye rails.

s no..

As the mobile beeps away desperate to grab his attention, I attempt to be patient...not to be the victim of whimsical acts. In a bit,I could either be dancing with the daffodils or sinking with the sun .But atleast one way or the other, Life would resume.

'Follow your heart'. If only it were as simple as that, when many a times, in retrospect, I have been thankful for the good sense I had to follow my mind. Attimes the heart sends such weird messages which the mind vetoes after infinite scrutinies.

I have this heart and mind that play poker all the time. And any game wagered with a clear head ,a sane mind, focussed drive and a bit of luck is a tough gamble to lose. But as rare as they are true, there are these times when all those take a back seat paving way for magic.

A chaotic silence. My mobile has been mute for long. It was a 'no'. This particular time I had wanted a 's'. But I knew from experience that Wants could be very deceptive. Wants could turn around and make a mock of you tomorrow. But my mobile had made the sound of silence. This time apparently 'no' was the sensible thing to follow. 'no' was the truth I was refusing to accept. I had my answer and it was time to be happy.Then i got one missed call...Out of nowhere, the daffodils sprung and bloomed its way to the sky. It was a 's'.

For the past few years, times when foresight failed and tiny decisions and predictions had to be done, times when I had the courage to hand over control of my life , I would frame up a question for which the answer could be only 'yes' or 'no'. Miles away, my friend , with whom i was only occasionally in touch, who had no clue as to what my question was, what answer would make me happy( 's' is not what I always want)... made a decision for me. On no basis. Crazy as it sounds, I challenged destiny to prove me wrong and destiny accepted. I knew exactly what had to be done but refused to recognise it. But I must say, looking back am happy for all the choices I made.

If this has cocked up eyebrows, I have to add that I have found that not all random choices have been great. But with him, somehow it has always been magically right.

Gowtham...This post is dedicated to that split second which you take to pick a 's or no', inspite of me leaving you in the dark about what it was all about. They may not be life turning choices, but in its own little ways, your responses have reassured my faith in my own judgement and given me the strength to do what has to be done!!

Thanks natpu;)

P.S: Don't get biased with this post. The rules of the game will never change:)

Wisecrack 1

"So which hurts more: labor or getting kicked in the nuts?guess we'll never know..coz nobody gets to experience both.."

courtesy: Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

:)hmmm..

Strings in the wind

7.14 pm..end of a groggy lazy Tuesday, I again have one of those attacks. The sort that tells you something is lurking around the corner, waiting to strike.. create magic. Magic like the final brushstroke that makes all the difference between a painting and a masterpiece…and you see the transformation happening right before your eyes...that you are glued to it..so glued you forget how it felt like waiting behind the corner,full of anticipation only moments ago.The surge of creativity…the energy prior to creation…

I wonder if God felt this before he conceived all that our senses acknowledge today…and d exhilaration once he witnessed the miracle he had done.. I guess it has got to do a lot with how you feel when you say “I felt like God”…
I wonder if God..a supernatural power had feelings. Was it even possible for power to have emotions and a mind of its own..

There I dwell comfy in my world of abstracts…random thoughts that tumble into each other..sliding back into a string....swaying in the wind....

okay..That is how I felt , a sudden need to blog.I had no clue as to what I wanted to write and I didn't even want to find out. I just wanted to let it flow.I had to write ,no matter what.

And here I am forming strings.
And there you are. .wondering.:)
Scoot before one more hits you;)

adios,
God bless you;)

Pink roots

Yesterday I peeled my first beetroot.
Today, I probably am the biggest fan of peeling them.

Long ago, days when my lunches were packed into boxes and opened under shady trees ,beetroot was the only vegetable I studied mentally for a period worth mentioning . It made my rice Pink, the magical colour ever. But, me not being a great fan of the taste , other childhood fantasies took over pushing my dear friend into a dark, forgotten tunnel of time as I sped merrily..obliviously.. into childhood..early teens..late ones and adulthood till there was a stilling lightning inside the tunnel, the same moment I had carelessly picked up the most boring looking object barely glancing at wht looked like a ball of sand...and peeled it.

It was an unbelievable brilliance under the drab brown blanket. It was royalty. The kind that is owned by the family of Pink.

Excerpts from Fireflies : Tagore

My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

Your careless gifts of a moment,
like the meteors of an autumn night,
catch fire in the depth of my being.

The faith waiting in the heart of a seed
promises a miracle of life
which it cannot prove at once.

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,
and not to reach any destination.

You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.

Your flitting love lightly brushed with its wings
my sun-flower
and never asked if it was ready to surrender its honey.

Between the shores of Me and Thee
there is the loud ocean, my own surging self,
which I long to cross.

Before the end of my journey
may I reach within myself
the one which is the all,
leaving the outer shell
to float away with the drifting multitude
upon the current of chance and change.

The Window dressing

Swinging my feet off the bed, I welcomed the biting chill of granite against my toes. I was wrong...I had managed to sleep.Rising in the morning for office wasn't as gruelling a task as every other day. I opened my eyes and I was up. I looked into the mirror. The reflection I fell in love with everyday was that of a strangers today. I stared at it for longer than I could afford to.My overflowing wardrobe that always seemed it could take in more looked just fine today. Today,I would not have the abandoned clothes strewn on my cot till evening waiting to be shelved back into my wardrobe. Today, I would not have to try on ten different suits to decide my pick for the day. I knew what I wanted to wear and I pulled it out. I heard my mobile ring to warn me that my pick up cab was approaching. Any other day, this would have been the time when the dogs and drivers in my neighbourhood witnessed me racing down the street.But today I had chosen to blow dry my hair. I had risked being hated..being misunderstood. I knew I had to take up either violin classes or guitar or art. The stove was turned off so was the geyser.The milk jar was covered. The night lamp was off. Today, I had forgotten nothing. I was ready to start the day. I was ready to glue on the smile. I was ready to play my part and to do my role. I checked myself in the mirror.She looked back at me.

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down.
-Emily Dickinson

Dedicated to a stranger who grew on me

He must have been in his early eighties I guess. Age had taken its toll on him. Interesting man. As he lurched towards the table, his face investigated the space ahead before his feet could. I marveled at the frail, fair profile arched like a '?' that seemed to have a regular habit of dining at this particular eat-out. It was hard not to recognise or notice him. He wore a starched, white, full-sleeved cotton shirt buttoned way up to the collar and way down to the waist and sleeves. From what I could see,it had been pressed out carefully. There were creases at the right places. He must have taken taken pains to fold it carefully the previous day.But his choice of white betrayed the dust that had settled on the creases. The pair of dark brown trousers had been wiser. I could see the end of a bright yellow t-shirt that had managed to sneak out from behind the shirt. He wore a white cap with adidas in blue bold type and three blue lines on its flap. Brownish Reebok sneakers. I wasn't close enough to make out the brand of the watch. But it was a metallic , round dialed one clasped tightly on top of his sleeve. Maybe he was allergic to metal or it was just too much for his shriveled skin. His eyes were almost lost behind the solid black shell frame. Leaning against the wall was his walking stick in black and silver.

I wondered if he had a family of his own. Inspite of the aura of solitude that enveloped him, he did not seem to be lonely. He came out as a self-disciplined man, opinionated without the bearing of a retired army man. I wondered how he could lie on his back with the hunch....I saw him all alone in a dim-lit house, slowly going about doing his chores . At nights, he slept on a single cot beside the window. He had an alarm clock, a bottle of warm water, his watch, walking stick and eye-glasses at a safe reach on a table next to his cot. He wore a navy blue sweater and was curled up beneath a mosquito net. I don't think he cared much for arts or literature but he sure loved cricket and wouldn't miss a game for anything. He occasionally likes company but is not great at expressing his love. Children made him shy and scared. He had a jar of peanuts and sweetmeats always stocked by..He must have a name that sounded like Parthasarathy or Ram. He loved his walks each night to the restaurant....

I wonder if he has ever noticed that just across the table there was a person who kept watching him, insanely intrigued.

Ju

Exactly three months ago, the first night of May '07, I was tossing about restlessly on my bed, nurturing no false hopes of catching a wink. I had wanted no mistakes. No regrets.

A mad week of excitement,online researches , trips to vets and kennels and eager searches had just gone by. I've never had a pet, leave alone a dog that I've always wanted to have ever since my friend back in second grade told me over lunch that her dog used to wake her up each morning. Given my craze ,not to forget the practical conveniences of small dogs,after 18 years I decided it was high time I got one.The vet advised me to go in for a male pup.Apparently easy maintenance.Ok.. sex issue resolved, the hunt began.

Next stage was the connection part (Mind you,Ive dreamt of that moment) that would help me pick out my lil one. I wondered if I'd end up picking the cute one that would give me the magical lick or the sad one sitting in the remote corner,looking lost. Those were the only two stories Ive heard from pet lovers and I didn't know any better to expect anything else.

Well the first place I went to was Maneka Gandhi's People for Animals,a shelter for lost animals.They were doing brilliant work and I would have picked one if only the lot of ten puppies,beady eyed with tails that couldn't stop wagging, hadn't come out running to welcome me.I didn't have the heart to single out one.So,I moved to a pet shop,where I found a clean cutie in a basket nibbling away to glory.I spent around half an hour playing with her,but I knew I would have to leave her behind simply because I wasn't ready to take care of a female pup and I didn't want to mess up her life.And the week went on...till I heard about this perfect pedigree brown male daschund. I was on the threshold of dizzy happiness. A brown dasch was a breed I digged for. It was well beyond sunset, but I set out in the dark to feel the connection;)

The kennel was on a dingy dark terrace. There were labs,great danes, daschunds and pugs. The floor was moist and my first whiff of unadulterated dog smell. I didn't like it. I was terribly disappointed. I tried looking at the dasch pups..hoping one of them would help me take a decision.When they showed no inclination, I decided to hold them and feel the "connection". Very wrong decision. The stink and the stickiness told me even in the darkness that the indifferent pup had never had a shower his whole life. I told the keepers that I needed to think about it and that I would get back the next day.

And so that night I was tossing. The stink had enforced a reality that I had earlier thought I could handle. Now it dawned on me that I was going to become responsible for a life. I felt like a single parent. My accessible friends didn't understand and those who tried to, decided I was bonkers.Just a dog,they said.I wouldn't blame them,I hardly understood myself. It was a roller coaster ride. After all that, I couldn't believe I was having second thoughts about it. At some point,I was mad at myself. It was not about the pup anymore. My biggest strength and my undoing were the same.I thought too much and I felt too much.

Period.

Early the next day,I was on the way back from the kennel with the sticky cool pup I had held the previous day, on my lap. The following days were pure terror for the pup and me. But again,time won out amidst us.We grew on each other and the rest is a story by itself.

When I put him to bed in the nights,I wonder how close I was to have taken the wrong decision.Today,Whiskey(who later on became bichki, buchki,buchuks,ajoo and for the moment Ju) wakes me up in the mornings.

American Beauty

"I’ve always heard that your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry, you will someday."

Keep holding on

It was a beautiful ride . A stark contrast to the the mindless auto-buzz I dive into ,without any regret,sunrise after sunrise... sunset after sunset. But then, this was a beautiful ride in every sense. I went gentle on the accelerator to take in gulps of the country side. The paddy fields smiled adieu as I moved on. The roads dutifully curved to unfold never ending feasts to my city-sore eyes.

The ride must have stretched across 25 kms. I was going to meet some kids at a blind school that fringed the city..So that was on my mind too. I remember being vaguely apprehensive about how they would take to me and had to remind myself not to ask the wrong questions. I normally have a ball with kids and I assured myself that this was no different. Bikes screeched behind me. I retraced back into the blind school.It meant stepping into their world and looking out only to see they were very much a part of my world.

A deserted merry-go-round greeted me. The day that had begun cold and windy was warming up,proving my jacket a bad choice. I ventured inside anyway, eager and impatient.

There were around 10-15 kids . From the 3 year old, fully blind, homesick Priya who could go on non-stop without prompting about her family, village, water pots, food and what not with a shy smile to the 8 year old distant Shanti who barely uttered a word, gave me the rude shoulder trying to get rid of me,which made me sure she needed me the most to the 9 year old boy who danced to glory heedless of the ripe wounds on his limbs to the 5 year old cute,timid Rajesh who was silently enjoying with a smile,that made him seem wiser to the 5 year old uma with a huge appetite and glasses that just made you wonder how the tiny nose underneath survived to the 7 year old girl who braided my hair when I was done with hers to the boy who sang so well to the one that won the arm wrestling competition to the smart bunch that grasped operating my mobile phone .....I kept witnessing subtle words, actions and gestures...amongst themselves,every bit suggesting love.

They were a family by themselves, watching out for each other displaying a maturity that possibly we were denied that tender age, by the sense they lacked. I felt strangely alive in their world, basking in their love. Goodbye was tearful. I had to tear myself apart from the arms of a crying kid. Feeling gloomy myself, I was about to leave when after sharing 4 hours of cold silence with me in return to all my efforts at warming up to her, Shanti whispered " I enjoyed myself".

As I pressed on the accelerator, I saw them going back into the school,some happy with what time they had, some crying at what they missed , yet everyone holding hands with each other.

The mirage in nomanz land

somehow even as it has waned in frequency...it still is unforgotten ...prominent and loud ..blended into the folds.

A part of me in noman's land.

Merrily flipping roles between the beautiful rainbow and the teasing mirage,it hallucinates me with the prismatic effect of refracted nuances that erupt after having allowed the taunting mirage to just finally pass through it.

sometimes a heavily laden cloud fiercely unwilling to relieve itself of the beads, for each precious one stood a sole witness to the bliss that once had been,a story by itself...
Sometimes the sumptuous sea,with its seamless, unconditional, powerful ,presence making sure it cut across boundaries just to fill in gloriously...
Sometimes like the surging waves,shockingly emerging out of nowhere,at places where it has no right to be just to prove a point...
Sometimes like the lifelike smell of earth at the touch of monsoon,a reminder of sunshine that just had its turn to make way for the nostalgic chills, lovely rains and the tutoring gloom...
Sometimes like the immobile rocks, solid and domineering and suffocating until it slowly buckles under and withers away...
Sometimes like the rewarding bridge that connects to regions that I may never have dared or considered venturing into...to things I may never have been able to render or relate to..
Sometimes like the best lesson in tackling reality, for the good always undergoes memtamorphosis, never lasting the way we would like it to be, yet manifesting itself as a reminder of the truth, equipping me with an ability to nip at the bud d yearning that spurs at the constant buzz of all the lovely things revolving around me, positioned at a distance that doesn't rightfully belong to me...and spot new things that beckon and open up .

Somehow there is always a mirage that all of us want to touch and embrace..a mirage that speaks a lot about us.

Someday, I dream to be able to see your mirage.

the budding artist

A picture can say a thousand words..give u a zillion insights.
...now who can deny that.

I like:

: the "blub" that indicates "safe to remove hard ware" on windows xp...

: On my trips 2 get peaberry,the smell of coffee beans as its ground on the mean machine...

: target the confined air in bubble wraps,one bubble at a time,mission at a constant pace, setting them free...

: voices infected with those salubrious attacks of cold.Like phoebe from F.R.I.E.N.D.S ,i agree its sexy,inspite of eyes that roll at my idea...

: d way sugar candy sizzles n exhausts on my tongue...

: staring away into oblivion...

: a mental struggle that drains me...

: THAT happy smiley...

: waking up to petting ...

: my 5 year old shorts and 20 year old teddy ...

: Fresh lime ...

: gadgets n gizmos ...

: wet grass ...
damn....life is beautiful :)

Vishu at Gmomz!

Crisply starched and white mundu, a divine smile that reaches the twinkling eyes that sparkle below a dab of sandal paste...fingers that keep moving to silent mantras ... even as she is smiling upon ,conversing and listening to you,somewhere deep within her the chants kept running.

At 80+, my Muthashi(maternal grandmom) who lives alone at our family house, leads a very pious and disciplined life. She has been through a lot in her lifetime....testing shocking times, yet never have I seen her more than mildly disturbed,leave alone shattered. She carries with her this silent aura of peace which seems to give her a strength that I have admired so many a times.

Being a Keralite brought up in Tamil Nadu, after 24 years I celebrated my first Vishu at my native place. I had heard so much about the way the malayalam new year was celebrated traditionally and I couldn't wait to see it for myself.

It was beautiful. All my senses are a witness to it. At 3.30 in the dawn, my mom nudged me awake from my deep sleep.She was covering my eyes.I got up and groped around in the darkness holding on to my mom,then the walls and finally the rail of the tricky steep wooden planked strairs and found my way downstairs. I could hear my mom close behind me watchful of every step I took. I took the right turns and brought myself to the door of the Puja room.
The fragrance of the incense sticks and flowers grabbed me.I knew my Grandmom was inside the puja room. I realised someone was washing my feet so that I could enter.My muthashi took charge now....gently turning me to face God's photos and asking me to think of the Lord and finally the moment came ...and I was asked to open my eyes.

I was excited at what I would be seeing and also nervous about where I would end up looking.I wanted to gaze into Krishnan Imbatti's photo,the one that has been a favorite from my childhood vacations in Kerala.Even as my eyes were closed I could feel the warm glow of deepams lit and when I did open... it was a sight that I know will stay with me for good.I remember thinking that I should do this for my kids.There were the lovely "konna poo" without which Vishu kani simply wouldn't exist.Also placed on a bronze plate were some coconuts,white folded cloth and sandal. I prayed for a few seconds.I felt the chill of sandal on my forehead. The next in list was the "kai neetam" where elders in the family bless the younger ones and give them money...something that kids look forward to for their pocket money.I earned a precious twenty rupees that day.Ten from muthashi and 10 from mom.Falling at momz feet and her blessing me,we both found funny considering the fact that I normally play with her like I do with my peer.SoI kissed her feet and called her "Loosy bommae"..something I am sure my muthashi wouldn't have been shocked to hear!

Anyway,it was only around four in the morning.So without a second thought ,having this great feeling within, I crashed into wonderland wondering what the year was going to bring me.

Yesterday!

"Aw!!! Sorry..I dint mean to splash ink...d back of you shirt...I'm so sorry.."..I wave my fountain pen in despair...Sometimes I heard..."It is awrite" many a times..."my momz gna yell at me"...No matter what,I'd be jigging up and down with "april fooool!!"...

Well that was around 18 years ago ....a time when Children's day still belonged to me.

Now ...each year,they are all just days that passed by yesterday.

I muse

Am in a pensive mood....a couple of things that Ive somehow known throughout surfaced...yet it was a realisation I was having now...and many of my past experiences made sense.

It is so ironical how the vital art of "letting go" can be a lesson well- learnt,only when it is delivered by someone we really care for or something we hold dear.

And yet again,a relationship that glides along amidst crazy storms and blissful sunshine suddenly just fails simply because the winds just grew out of hand and created so much damage that eventually not only simmered down the dominant glow of sunshine but also made you wonder at the purpose of its mere existence.

Everything happens for a reason. There are lessons learnt.

Valuable painful ones.

The glow in my eyes

Every morning of each "working"day, I need to dive into a mad traffic that made sense to only those in it. It made me realise that when it comes to riding, I prefer a maze of unbelievable swerves n mindless people. Straight roads and peaceful traffic is not boring but then I would not riding there...It gets me into a hypnotic spell where I just follow instructions coming from that sense which we all talk about and get to wherever I want without knowing how it happened. Either ways ,I am safe!

There is a fly over that I need to take en route from office.The best part of the whole ride.Getting to the flyover is no cake walk. I need to get past a path that might actually pass for a road that stretches over a 100 feet. At the terminus the flyover branches out into a huge circular slope.At the point where the altitude is at its best, my favorite spot ,I look ahead and right in front of me...at par with me... is the teasing orangish peach sun bleeding love.Not glaring.Not powerful.Just beautiful.Just hypnotic.Feels like heaven amidst earth. The one little aspect that brings about all the difference to a mundane day.

The moment that comes just in time.

A number by firehouse...

I am at work. A3s and charcoal sticks dancing to my impulsive sketching...as I vaguely notice a pull towards distant notes and an earnest voice...firehouse on my earphones.words reached out to me between lines and as they became dominant,I drifted away lost in thought...Soon I was scribbling...

"...everything is beautiful as long as u r livin in ur perfect world....
.... Baby..a part of u is dying...
...seems no matter wht i do..i cnt get thru 2 u...
in ur perfect world...u dont feel no pain...
nothing can go wrong...nobody gets hurt...
as long as ur livin in ur perfect world...."

and what happens to u?

Simplicity is imperfect. Imperfection reveals beauty...the kind of beauty that is sewn into the folds of naked truth.The kind of beauty that doesn't fit into our perfect world...of pretences.

I see it around me........in me..

Manifested in silent,pathetic,alarming and earnest ways.

I remember a hearty laugh after an intentional crude remark/act. I hear "Ok....that was a joke...now plz back off and dont target me.I was only trying to be cool!"

I remember a dirty look,unaccountable rage and string of expletives. I hear " Can't you retort back and shell out the same crap that I just did so that I can somehow respect myself better?"

I remember a happy person who lives by handed down rules.I hear" Pleasures that don't last for good hardly matters in life...but I still wish..."

I know someone who is strong and confident.I wonder if I heard " I can't afford to getting used to luxuries that are just not there when you need them the most.So ruf it up!"

We have all been handed down a world...and we have built on our perfect worlds as the years ,incidents, emotions sped by...

....and we are forever trying to get in or get out of it.

Morning chimes

I squinted at my boring, unforgiving and austere alarm clock sitting right above my head.It was 7. The first touch of happiness. 30 mins more for my day to begin and I get back to the comfort of my blanket.

I hear the fone ring.A long ring and a short ring and then a stifled silence before someone could reach it. And that just was a humble eleven episode show....rudely interrupted by a vegetable seller who seemed to have just drafted a five year plan for his life ahead and had set about wasting no time, in full vigour... yelling out ,bent on making sure his voice reached the remotest corner of each house in the neighbourhood. Well, I must say he would go a long way.I could hear the whrrommm...of a lorry.It must have been reversing ...I made out from the zillion bilingual guiding instructions the driver got to swerve into a peaceful lane. Apparently my mom had got smarter meanwhile and had beat the fone to it. I could hear her complaining about how difficult it was to wake up her 24 year old daughter and how she needed all her energy saved for that one deed. I smiled under my blanket. This was getting interesting...I strained for other sounds/noises. I could hear a bird singing.I couldnt be really sure how distant it was.But it was very sweet. Some wave in the spectrum interfered with my mobile's blissful state because I could hear her buzz a complaint.I awaited a call or a sms.None came and so I remained under the blanket. Then finally it came..d beeep... beeep...beeep.. beep..BEEP..BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.BEEP...

Damn. 7.30. My mom is by my side trying her best threatening,petting and cajoling.

Why is the whole world against me...aww..I kick of my blanket.