byeeeeeee

it bye for now will catch up later..

something stupid!

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Do I or Don't I ?

The night filled with the smell of bitter almonds, and the smoke which always reminded me of you. Could you too have thought of me now when I think and write about a love unspoken? Could you too sense my presence with every rustle the wind makes with the curtains?
Could you too remember me once with the folds on your bed sheet..?
Marichiko in a whirlwind of such thoughts travels distances that the red smoke cannot at this moment. Locked in this frame she, the smoke struggles hard to get out of this four walls of the frame, to reach to her lover...But does Smoke has what Marichiko does not...A Lover?
Perhaps both in the mists of their unforgotten pasts search for things that once belonged to them. Nights which they walked in the rain with their love....
perhaps nothing more...

Aren't they pretty?

just thought this was beautifull.
I am sick of my careless typing, I end up making so many God damn mistakes.

I am sure in this also I will end making some silly spell fuck.

Whatever!

Don't the two of them look gorgeous?

I guess It's about my dissertation!

here I am again with nothing much to write, but writing just because everytime I open somebody's blog I feel the necessity to write something o my own. Its funny the compulions an urban youth indulges in.

Life here is filled with academic tensions which will lead nowhere, cause I am ding nothing about them. In my desire to be involved in academics has led me into choosing to do a dissertation, and my apprehensions against it is making me re-think the decision. Anyways I will be doing it, in any case. My topic as I ve thought till now is going to do with the concept of the nation, as to how the media; the print the electronic and various other advertising mediums voice an assumed politics of India as a nation. How this voice is an urban, upper class/caste/ gender voice which very subtly yet stringly avoids the voices that exist in the periperies of our society. And in my process of witing it I am sure I will meanwhile create an 'Utopian space' fo myself where all my minority cmrades will have a space to themselves. ok this bit was just an influence of Sumit Sarkar I guess who has witten a completly imaginative piece on Subaltern Historiography, though nothing this is nothing on the lines of Nandy, who comes up with this wonderful imaginary theories. ok stop it girl, halt here before you enhance your prejudices for him, read a few more of his articles and then talk...
Ok I quit.

Can I use the banned word?

Let me be all hush-hush while I use it. If someone hears me using it, who knows the next thing they do is hang me,,,
finally the much debated, hated,contemplated word appears in my blog...F E M I N I S M !
Watched PAromita Vohra's documentary "unlimited girls", good I would say for the issues that it raises. Is feminism an ideology for ugly women?
Isn't being a woman reason enough to be a feminist?
Do we have to know the history and everything that went into getting it the platform where it stands today?
Agreed one needs to know, but perhaps one cannot dismiss somebody just because s/he hasn't read the literature on feminism. the urban me!
Whatever!
It's surprising how somebody in her interview said that she is afraid to have freedom, cause at the end of the day it leaves her tired of the social structure. Is it enough for women like me and anybody reading this Feminism today functions perfectly well just in our lives? do not we need to push it further so that it reaches to lives of all women? Shall we happly wrap up our mouths and mumble things that only we can hear, and be happy and 'thankful' of the situation we are in today. Is it enough to say that it is necessary that women be emancipated and let others fight for the cause? And in the end of it all say something like
"these Feminists are here to create Chaos !"
Sigh! lastly do we accept an and everything in the name of a culture that teaches us to be filth and nothing more?
do we
do we
do we!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

p.s.- the pic was found in a blog I read.

an attempt to contemplate...because have nothing else to do right now..!

Have just completed a longish assignment on Dil Chahta Hai for one of my courses here. Now having completed that, don't feel like starting the next one that is due for the 30th i.e. just day after. In betwen was just reading blogs, and its wonderful to come across so many writing style's. As someone said, its a great amazing to realize that so many millions of us are using the same thousands of words, and yet do it so differently. In this thought process chalked out a theor of my own, i.e. about how people write, precisly about stages of writing in anybody's life....
to begin with their are two
1. the beginner's stage, the one in which one has this desire to write, but the result is very rarely as desired. This is the time when one writes about oneself, ones emotions, about people around etc. And all the blogs that I read today belong to this category, including mine.

2. the more desired one, where one becomes absurd and more than what we see and encounter the stuff comes from one's imagination.

the point being when the hell will I approach the second stage......
Whatever!

Death yet again...in blue this time!

A plea,
a soft murmer
and a silence.
Your fingers tap
the rythm,
of my death
on a rosary
I panic
I cry
yet finally
I die-
I meet you in snow
and smile
a dying
yet so living a smile...

the touches
of a winter morning
trickles from a black back
and this time the white watches
mesmerised
in the beauty
black holds
within
refeguring
everything about this world
in black
a realisation
as innocent
as the black women's eyes

ok about the painting it is Edward Manet's and is called"Olympia". Inspite of the fact that three-fourth of the canvas is covered in the nudity of the white body, and the black is almost lost in the back ground, yet what foregrounds the whiteness is the black in the back. I know I am just reducing the women into two colours, but I grant this much for my obsession of the two shades which in themselves say so much. Let us redo the painting foregrounding the black woman and casting the nude white female in the back...umm how would that be?

My Place and I love it!

This is a picture my brother had taken years back, I love this place it is in my Town Raigarh....I will create wonderful images of this place like Marquez has about Mocondo...

The Trouble of learning English i your post grad.

All these days when I wrote, I had this feeling that kept cming back"girl something is seriously wrong with your writings, then don't read like before."
Today I discovered what was wrong, shamefully I admit even I have managed to learn the hollow jargons of academics, words which which I listened so often inside and outside buildings of academicia(I know thats not a word, nonetheless I use it). I realized it after reading this foolishly complex blogs of one of my fellow students in this university.
I hate my writings today, they so much lack in passion and I can see only my readings reflecting through them and not my thoughts... but am I to blame?
So here goes a plea to everyone who wants to write do not learn English at your post graduate leve, itonly makes it filthy.

I want to write the way I used to please!

the sixty-three and half stairs still needs to be walked to reach her...
Wanted to post this picture with the last poem but somehow couldn't. So here it goes.

of love and other domains...

Am I to create the moon?
On the immense blackness
Of your back
And when it shines
the lust rises
to tear the blackness and gets lost
in the deep valley
between your breasts
like a Goddess
you paint my destiny
on the clouds
and finally it rains
our bodies
enveloped in the smell of love
resonates with the whisper of the rivers
and the tiny drops shine
on the back bathed in my destiny
in between your body curls up into mine…

wow!

Wow! It worked. The day had been good till now had this persistent problem not happened yet again. Anyways let me just avoid that this happened. Ok wanted to write about this funny thing that happened today, I was teasing this friend of mine who could not watch the new release of Harry Potter today and she gave me this clichéd argument about having read the book. So just to answer her I gave her this matter of fact lecture on how the cinema has this angle or the point of view of the director which is not there in a book which is open to innumerable interpretations. And a bit later our proof in literary theory gave us this lecture on Saussure’s theory, where he speaks about the Iconic and the Symbolic signs (a part of semiotics) and according to this theory the Iconic sign is restricted where as the Symbolic is free of any restrictions. Isn’t it wonderful to see in theory what you have just said?

Ok more importantly I saw the movie, its amazing to the point where Iconic and symbolic meet, this is when Harry and Lord Voldemort point there wands at each other. Ok  I won’t talk about this movie in this shared space where I began by talking something else, it wouldn’t be fair otherwise and more importantly this friend of mine would perhaps not like my dividing attention. isn’t it P?

blah

What the hell is the problem why can’t I post something? Ok this is just to check whether this works out here, because I like a fool have tried posting twice and it all just went away…huh! If it doesn’t this time I hate everything about this fucking blog.

As you said, if Death is a woman, let us assume that it is this...

and we still need to walk the sixty-three and a half stairs to reach her then...

on the balcony that awaits many other things like this Death!

It's beautifull the way this picture tells so much to us.
Wish even i could click such wonderfull pictures...

i am nostalgic

the shadows of my past saunter on my backyard, visit me silently at my lonely hours and i allow them into my bed. They humn(sorry if the spelling is wrong) me the song of togetherness, i live my life in those songs.

the hours pass and i am left with the rememberances of a winter noon, where I draw patterns of love in the white bed-sheet, the room is filled with the smell of death. I fancy how the hour of death will be... painfull t leave all the memories behind, then i wonder if Death devoids the dead of memories too. Marichiko had dreamt aimlessly after her death will i atleast not be allowed to take my memories with me. This universe where i was will then be a void...
empty of me and my memories...
I wonder how the day will be.

don't know what to call it!

it's a wonderfull sense of belonging I get, when I write something and my brother reads it. I think i should'nt address him as my brother any more, its been long and I guess I have matured enough to stop trying to deny the fact that he is not just that but much much more. ok let me actually dare to say something more accurate. I guess he will be the person whom from whom i learn't what everything in this big world is about.
ok switch to something i want to write...

so ...yah! I wanted to like deceide as to what my blog would be like. It's sure it will be a place for me to write something creative and just kind of a 'diary'. Simple because in this place I hardly get any creative output. And more simply because this character I have mentioned above wants me to write good, and any time i write i have this shadow of his lurking, as if correcting me, asking me to put a comma here, a better word there. So i here by proclaim that all my writings are just destinied for this one reader...

hey Big B don't you think thats true?

something really silly in between, i have this really short hair-cut, makes me look like a guy, more importantly makes me look the way I looked as a kid, with all that Half-pant and my very silly cute shirts.

isnt it nice? this is my paradise!

just a beautiful picture. aren't beutiful things aloowed in the blog...

another short one

A few lines about growing old. Its nothing important but still it is…

in my palmsi seemyself witheringnot like a beautiful flowerbut like an old riverslowly drying upexposing the innumerable wrinkleson my bodyeach one of them for a loverlost back in time...

I shut my eyes

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;I lift my lids and all is born again.(I think I made you up inside my head.)The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,And arbitrary blackness gallops in:I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I read this in a recent post ( one from my friend), though the rest of the poem didn’t much appeal to my perhaps because of its not such good usage of words, or whatever, still the beginning haunts. Its such a romantic vision, I close my eyes and the whole world drops dead, and when I open it is re-born again. I wish I could do it.  In a minute you are out of it, and another you are back. It would have been such a make shift and wonderfull arrangement, especially for people like me, who are still confused about whether to be a part of this world(society) or not. Perhaps I wanna continue this poem, anyways let me try…

I feel the numbness of being alone
Alone in a paradise, I make up in my head
I feel I am everything
I should not be
I am the lover
I am the loved
I am the woman
And the man
I feel
I love myself and the my world
I open my eyes
Everything drops dead…

I know it isnt great, but then it sounds good. It good and wonderfull to be alone.




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its nothing.

the sky
is not what i think of
its the froth
that boils inside
like the frizz from a glass of beer
and then the stench of burnt skin
filling up the room
a whisper,
churned
with the dislike within
and final goodbye
to all that was good within...

a mistake! perhaps.

i hate my being such an emotional crap. why the hell do i have to get involved into other people's affairs. what do i get ultimatly 'insult'. i really do not understand why people cant see things for themselves. why do they have to come crying after they have messed up everything. and then what m i supposed to do, just look at them?
in between, i had this class today"post colonial lit" where the teacher cancelld the class because some of us hd not read the readings.hahaha! how very sweet and dumb of her.
that was a fill up because i wanted not to go on on about the same stupid thing. stop whining u fool!

Tonight !!!

In the nights like this one,you held me in your arms
And kissed me again and again under the blue sky
You love me and I love you too…

Tonight I can write the happiest lines…

leisurehours

what the hell. my cousin also has the same name for his blog. its interesting.anyways its almost going to be an year of my relationship with this guy i am in love with, and a friend of mine asked me if i ever get bore of him. surprisingly, knowingmyself as the character i am i was quite shocked at the answer myself. i am not, isnt that great. today had gone to a place, where i was so nostalgic.
anyways life seems to be beautiful now. i know i love him, and its all the more beautiful to know he loves me the same...

a capitalist fun

what the hell, its always a problem using this fucking thing.anyways ummm what did i want to write, ok yah got the link backits so much fun to go to these shopping malls, look all the beutiful things (is there are any), buy some, pay a lot and be happy, and at the same time a CAPITALIST, a buyer of the ideology, which at the same time u can critically talk about...thats how life is at this point of time...may be need some more time to think about all these comlicated things.anyways bought a lovely lavendar t-shirt for myself, and in this great feeling of wearing it, i somehow manage to forget about all the shit marx has spoken...