Saturday, June 29, 2002

Its raining in baby puff showers.
I want to go dance.
Twirl to a salsa, jaunt to a jive, sway to a mambo.

There’s something about dancing….
One leg perched precariously on the edge of a beat, hip ready to cut through the next, now stopping, now stealing, now falling.

Let the body go, show them what you are…weave the web and add a little glitter…

Dancers speak the truth; knowingly, unknowingly, they let you in to their secret wants, their imaginary personas and their ideal worlds.
A performance, a wooing, an exhibition, an exuberance, a catharsis…

The origins of dance tell so many stories of the people that brought them into the world.
The Cossacks dance a controlled, disciplined fight; watch their faces, no emotions bertrayed.
The Dervishes twirl in a cosmic ritual, on and on and on.
The Latinas contort their bodies and faces in the physical agony of the upheavals their history has taken them through; passionate, angry and very sensual.

Dance to me has always been an outlet. Never thought I would succumb to the discipline of a dance form. So it was with some trepidation that I walked into a dance workshop.
I saw a mambo and I was hooked. OOOOMPH like wow!!!!!!
And then I went onto the cha-cha and the jive and the waltz……And it goes on.. maybe the tango next week.

Another to a never-ending list of addictions, this one should last for another month, hopefully.

I sway to cha-cha beats on railway trains and hear ‘Mambo Italiano’ in my dreams…
Another bit of tinsel in the sky:)

Thursday, June 27, 2002

The most beautiful words ever written did not stop to look into the mirror.
They flew like Pillai’s eaglet. Did I tell you the story of Pillai’s eaglet? Never mind.

My words look into the mirror and they preen and pirouette for all mankind to see. A life on a mm of paper, a lifetime on a square of ink. Lived, spent, loved, ignored.

The mirror is a wall, an obstacle, an impediment. It makes you retrofit beauty.
The concept of absolute has just been diluted. There is no absolute. Relativity is cool and purity an empty ideal.

And who is to tell me what I must believe? Why must I believe? I have to switch to keep my sanity. If movement be akin to disloyalty, so be it.

Wednesday, June 26, 2002


With undying passion and unexplained relish,
With empty pockets and three rupee Holi colours,
With paint and brush and dirty hands and lovely crayons,
I can make everything HAPPEN:)

Transparent nailpolish with those ugly stars peeping out, cheap tinsel in faded corner shops, the stars at MICA and Solang (choc-a-bloc, neck to neck)
and most of all 'GLITTER GLUE'....

Try saying it, fast...'glitter glue', tongue does a jigsaw in unabashed glee(no apologies to Nabokov)
trust me, it's fascinating.

Ring the bell, push the door open, first object d'art that hits the eye..
An Old Irish cream bottle with dried pink and purple wildflowers, painted over with swirls and swirls of green and gold glitter glue.

Turn right, cane stool, doubles as the telephone stand, triples as a quick dryer (important meeting tommorow, clothes on stool, place under fan, voila, miracle morning!).
And what's that peeping off the edges? Hey, you're getting good at this. Try purple and silver, looks awesome.

90 degrees left, two feet forward, take a right into the corridor, David Duchovny (courtesy roomate) and Aamir Khan (that's right, she strikes again) grace bathroom walls, well, maybe a line or two of black and silver here.

Absolut Mandarin in the kitchen and loadsa orange here again.
One line up and the other line down and a few criss-crosses here and there just about adds that 'designer' touch:)

We live in cities with drab walls and neon signs. I like my colours. And I love them when they shine.

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

I went to a play, looking for some meaning.
I went looking for someone who would tell me why one part of the world that had been turned upside down could be a better life the wrong side up.

Only succeeded in pushing me farther down the herd...

The play was called 'Mee Nathuram Godse Bolto', loosely translated to 'I, Nathuram Godse'...I slept three fourths through the play. The loud voices got on my nerves, the jingoism lulled me into indifference and the audience made me cringe everytime they got their hands together.

Godse was a man with a mission.
But I know that.
Don't push his strident tones into my ears, don't give him dialogues that make you marvel at how language can become an unwitting tool for propoganda.
Let me touch him, for God's sake. Let me feel his angst and his fervour and his anger. Make me live in his times, make me make those choices, make me jump over the fence.
Don't push me, for I'll go off to sleep.

I miss my 8 hours and I miss Karnad and Kundera. Give me a real play before I switch to the movies.

Monday, June 24, 2002

I have a theory, actually I have loadsa theories.
Anne Elk had one too, but this one is slightly more comprehensive.

A platitude is what has been repeated so many times that it ceases to appear truthful.
The East is a platitude. On second thoughts, the appearance of untruthfulness is not necessarily a lie.

My grandfather has been my storyteller for as long as I can remember. But I guess it runs in the family and the civilization.
The most fascinating story he ever told me was the one about Nachiketa, the boy who asked questions at Death’s door. And I repeated the story and added my own bit.
And my father tells me the differences between Hata Yoga and Karma Yoga. And I add my own bit again.
The East is the storyteller of the West. The West is bored. And here we are telling the stories they have long forgotten, adding just the right bit of ‘stirred not shaken’.
My family once told a Mexican we knew, the story of the three main Gods of the Hindu pantheon; Brahma, the Creator, Vishnu, the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer.
He was aghast that the God of Death is worshipped. In his words, you should keep away from such a God.
That is what the East is to the West, a region of fire-eaters, Death-worshippers and storytellers.

But they cannot keep away from us. It is like a balcony view of the Great Eastern Circus. It not only gives you entertainment but a ticket to heaven.
And the East laughs backstage. The East earns what the West taught it to revere and the West goes home happy.
I rest my case.

Sunday, June 23, 2002

What a day and what a ride!

NH-4 will always permanently remain the one loooooong journey I'll never tire of making...
Brought back so many memories...of school and the rains and gentle roads, waterfalls and brooks and broken bridges.
The Expressway is kind of neat, but I'm stuck on traffic jams...what to do, we're like this only:)

It was raining cats and dogs on the way back, the Sahyadris shone through with a quiet fervour, very very surreal, scary, eerie, but very unreal; just felt like we were passing through.Don't get to see the road too often, maybe once in four months.There was a time I knew it like the back of my hand, but never stopped to look...

There's something about riding that you can never find driving. A oneness with the bike, an extended being,
motion that the human body can only borrow, the closest you can get to floating out of water. Reminds me, haven''t been to the Enfield meet since last month, those guys must have left for the Ladakh trail by now.

I saw a puppy with its ears cocked near an electric pole. Wonder if it found its answer.I have to go get some sleep.

Saturday, June 22, 2002

Innocence aborted..
Leaves corpses in its wake...

And draws blood at the edge of a blunted sword.

Ouch, I'm bleeding...
And it's a fantastic feeling..

I'm sorry
a) I did what I did
b) I said what I said
c) I am what I am
d) Screw it all

Under anasthaesia, watching the watcher...

Friday, June 21, 2002

Finally gave in the resignation,so that's one step closer to eternity...
Now I have a month and a lifetime to go..

Also the open offer to return, so that's kind of another arrow in the morale armoury:)
GOK what will come of Don Quixote and his band of buccaneers.

Paisa pheko, tamaasha dekho....

Just created a furore on mah mailgroup, kinda liked all the attention:)
But end result, I'm thinking too much about the funda of quitting rather than the BIG PICTURE...

I can only think of lazy mornings and dance classes and gym and books and movies, something missing eh?
I'll miss the routine, the purposefulness of having somewhere to go to.
Inventing destinations can be taxing, I'd rather discover a few brooks, stare at some skies and sleep by the road.


Thanks a million and may your children rot in putrid hell,don't think of returning the compliment and for God's sake,get original..

And I love the up and down of it all; in times forgotten I had once written, 'Cities, jobs, routine, decisions, bills, logistics, sometimes they are not as powerless as we want them to be. And the will is an instrument to be used judiciously, every act of will needs a hiatus to rejuvenate.' Mine will soon go on vacation...:)
The office if EMPTY.
All gone for the England Brazil jamboree:)

I'm here and likely to be here all day, loadsa space and a ton of silence.I've spent all morning peeking into other blogs. Such a lovely world view. My eye hurts from the information overaload. Like being introduced to everybody at a society do, and wanting to know a select few, but too curious to stop the frenzied search.

Addiction for the month, after Kundera and switching cell covers.

Am going home over the weekend, biking down, the ghats at Lonavala should be lovely.We could take a detour and drop in at the guest house. Really beautiful bungalow, with old Parsi furniture..High beds, and huge armchairs.

'Aks' playing in the background, Anu Malik in rare glory...

nzjobs just tells me i've matched some awesome jobs, WHATS THE BLEDDY POINT? I can't work there unless i have a work permit and I can't get a work permit till i get a job offer..Utter MORONS!

Ton of mail from people wondering why I want to quit a perfectly good job. Veryyy Verrry a teensy-weensy irritant called BOREDOM! Methinx I'll have to get back to the good old hunt once the funds dry up, but I'm calculating Feb 2003, so right now it's all covered and they all lived happily ever after.

Thursday, June 20, 2002

Damn appointment with the doctor again, was begining to miss my maladies.Otherwise, nothing much to classify this as a day of note.

The roads were lovely on the way to work,all flame and sun and smell and warmth...everybody seemed to be headed somewhere..I was just so tempted to let the road take its way and flow the end of the world and never Monet come to life,without any of the myopic blurs that kind of mar reality (oxymoron eh?)

But the buzzer rang and the deadlines came to life...bunch of faxes and mails and projects...and the trees outside my window look a little less green..India apprently thrives on its extremes, now where did I read that? The rain brings out that obscene green that I love, crepe streamers in the wind...and the heat washes it out...

I love radio, doesn't tax my senses and seep into my already numb head...I can type and talk and see and think...and still listen...

Glass hits glass,(sheesh, cannot catch the flavour of 'sheesha')
Nectar flows, (madira, jaam, and the romance grows unabated.....try and beat hindi and urdu for sheer imagery)
The ignorant watches as the alcohol flows.....

Still searching, pepper the day with that bit of exotic spice, the unfelt, the unknown, the seen and the never caught...

Wednesday, June 19, 2002


End of day,evening sets in..and I'm not so sure I'm as thrilled as I thought I would be..

There's only SO much I can read, have to get out of this self-imposed ennui RIGHT NOW...

Oh BTW, got around to actually typing in a resignation letter, feels good to see it concretised, gives a little meaning to the RISK!

Let's go home and stand on my head....
This is just a random entry to see if another of those thingamajigs works.

I just completely mucked up my template...

Currently under R&D........
Started out the day on a reeeeeeeally nice a few leads on the MFA!!

This definitely better well happen..or I'll have no option but to traipse off to Hrishikesh in search of hippiedom..Is it my imagination or are they a dying breed? I just saw a wannabe from koregaon buying Issey Miyake the other day...

Read an old diary entry in the morn...says 'Arrogance comes free with fear'..where in the world did I get that? Could force feed into my next PMS diary entry i guess:)

Later, later, quotations, presentations, concepts, all await my imminent doom!!!!

Tuesday, June 18, 2002

Okies, I just made a whole load of template changes

So hopefully, I shall keep my hands off vague fiddling around and just keeep WRITING!!!

Hate presentations I don't believe in...

Gotta run, gotta fly, gotta live before I die
(Im beginning to sound like Bomeeeeeee!)
I dont know how to do this!!!

But I will..

Story of my life..

The power of mass media, Fortune made me take a look at this site, and right now I'm the guinea pig..

So let's see how long this experiment lasts....

Thought for the day:
I took a walk yesterday evening, looking for my present. Walked straight, walked bent, walked on and on till I could walk no more….nothing…nowhere close….

Ether is what it is…and I saw other things as the road went on….a kid climbing up the stone wall effortlessly like a monkey, instinctively knowing where to hold and when to let go…does knowledge diminish as we grow older? Or does reason take over instinct?
Noise pollution my love

Then goes the kid in search of the seer, wild-eyed walk, springy limbs, dying to fall apart, living to defy gravity.