September 29, 2009

Grumbling Gerbil Eggspressing


I feel real crappy, you know, that time of the month kind of crappiness, and then the so very annoying visiting relatives having taken up your room so that’s like TWO WHOLE WEEKS OF COGENT CRAPPINESS, or when you totally ruined your new crepe dress spilling over kala khatta (yeah still that gore thing they are making with mineral water these days) crappiness and having that bad feeling that your plan for the big holiday is actually going to stay just a plan….that sort of STINKPOT CRAPPINESS. Now that’s exactly what’s happening to me right now. I think ill just go eat worms, fat ones juicy ones…how did the rest of it go? AAARGHHHHH And whining about this isn’t actually helping me much, its only making me realize that I am feeling THIS pathetic , so PATHETIC that I am actually even writing about it here and there might be people who will come visiting me and probably even leave pep-talk, sweet hugs, look how the sun shines brightly kind of good cheer comments for me. Or maybe they will just find this SO BORDERING ON NOXIOUS NEGATIVITY KIND OF POST that they will just never want to come back again. NEVER. Sigh. Guys, I love your comments/feedback, especially when its from these certain people who actually do seem to like my blog. Well, I like them too, actually I like them a lot and not just for their visits here but more for what they are doing, I mean there are these bloggers who have compelled me to smile even laugh when I really wasn’t even in the mood to. OK, now I must put this down, I so HATE those who leave comments without even actually reading the stuff( and I can always make out, mind you! SNIGGER SNIGGER), then you may sometime, later, while leaving a comment at someone else’s post come across this feedback left by the same other blogger saying exactly what he/she said for your scrap some fifty days ago!!! HOW BLOODY LAME. Now that makes me angry, actually that makes me MAD ANGRY. Hmmmmm now I’m thinking what’s with this ACTUALLY word that I am using in almost every fucking sentence. No, but really why do they bother at all? For me to get curious about them which would obviously take me to their posts pouring mellifluousness in the comment box? Gee I'm so twisted. Am I? No, I'm not. OK, never mind, so as I was saying how I hate the………
OK, I think this is not at all going how I want it to. Maybe I should just shut up. OK.

September 22, 2009

The Ninth Letter of The English Alphabet

I have an idea
Its called Love

I have a story
Its called Life

I learnt a new spelling
Called Subterfuge

But couldn't master the trick
Called Mind

I avert a curse
Called Religion

I am on a high
Called Spirituality

I have two names
One’s called Mistakes

I ride on the carousel
Called Intimacy

I dog-eared the ghost pages
In the Book of Yore

I slip into this cardboard box
Called Memory

Concealed in the circus tent
Where murdering The Clown
Is a felony

September 15, 2009

Warm Glow
I have fallen in love with these old fashioned wrought iron lanterns. If anyone’s got anything similar and antique, I’m buying it.

These nail paints can have such amusing names, Scandalous, Vampire, Sugarplum, Bohemian Blue, Jealous Green and so on. This one is called Always Flaunting. Go figure!

Sharing a Secret
Bruno and Brutus

Cola wallah at your door-step
Super cool! I mean I was like what the……!!! Happens only in India?

Early morning this she sparrow was perched on the bamboo vase in the balcony, tweeting away. Groggily I dragged myself out of bed and snapped her.

I shooed these boys who were climbing up the almost naked tree to pick the last remnants of spring. It was hilarious that they actually believed I was clicking them to pass their photo to the Environment Police.

500 pieces of this Dutch picture-painting puzzle. The pieces are not as big as they may seem in this close-up. I think I will frame it once done. Next challenge is a 1001 pieces.

To Bee or not to Bee
This bumble bee was most likely struck by the ceiling fan . I found it lying there on the table, head twisted, its antennae still alive when I stroked them with my pinky.

My ``Happy Birthday!'' cookie with a mini chocolate topping and a candle.

September 10, 2009


Since her children left home she has been cooking much less. Her recipe book which has pasted scraps and cut outs from weekend supplement magazines or newspaper is resting on the headboard next to the picture frame of her kids when they were nine and eleven.
Some good years ago there was a time when she would simply not hear of those exotic smelling soaps for the skin. She insisted malai, besan and coconut oil were the essentials to a healthy-glowing complexion. Of course I fancied the shampoos and those beauty bars the emigrant aunt would get from abroad but she never relented.
These days she calls often, sometimes even up to four to five times in a day. I sometimes feign a patient ear (being not at all a phone person). She asks me,
``Do you remember if I used to put tomatoes in UP waali saunf-aloo sabzee?''
``Certainly not. You were never a fan of tomatoes, anyways.''
She agrees and is plainly irritated at her frequent forgetfulness. Then the other day she sounded troubled over her thinning hair (result of taking prescription medication to treat diabetes), wondering hopefully if I could suggest a remedy or a shampoo. I tell her about Fab India stuff that I swear by. And as always she readily believes I know the best.
Before hanging up she asks again if I will be able to make it home for Diwali. ``The ticket is booked,'' I assure her.

September 2, 2009

Hello, Reader, just talking

I like my ice cream halfway melted
always avoid coleslaw in my burger
and blush at the drop of the hat.
I hug trees and trust me it doesn't look ridiculous
I think Vega's songs have the soporific cadency of poetry
I find prolific out-of-kilter cliches and phrases in Cohen's lyric poems
I know Jimmy Page was not a charlatan
and Clapton, uh nevermind
I find this fact amusing that Steely Dan is named after a giant steam powered dildo featured in some novel
and that 10 cc claimed its superiority over the average 9 cc sperm count
I think Swift is entitled to more than a passing consideration
and Coleridge was the ultimate dreamer
I turn to Gulzar and Kabir for comfort when I want to unburden.
Perhaps a lesser known nazm but very distinctly Gulzar I am putting down here. For the not so familiar with Urdu reader I have translated a few phrases at the bottom.

Mod pe dekha hai wo boodha-sa ek ped kabhi ?

Mera waqif hai, bahut salon se mein use jaanata hoon

Jab mein chhota tha to ik aam udaane ke liye

Parli deewar se kandhon pe chadha tha uske

Jaane dukhti huee kis shaakh se jaa paanv lagaa

Dhaad se phenk diya tha muje neeche usne

Meine khunnas main bahut phenke the pathar us par

Meri shaadi pe mujhe yaad hai shaakhein dekar

Meri vedi ka hawan garm kiya tha usne

Aur jab haamla thi 'Biba' to dopahar main har din

Meri biwi ki taraf kairiyan phenki thi isi ne

Waqt ke saath sabhi phool, sabhi patti gaye

Tab bhi jal jaata tha jab Munne se kehti 'Biba'

'Haan,usi ped se aaya hai tu, Ped ka phal hai'

Ab bhi jal jaata hoon. jab mod se gujarte mein kabhi

Khaanskar kehta hai, 'Kyo, Sar ke sabhi baal gaye?'

Subah se kaat rahe hain woh Kameti wale

Mod tak jaane ki himmat nahin hoti mujhko

parli (on the far side)
haamla (pregnant)
Biba (the wife)
kairiyan (the raw green mangoes)