Saturday, March 31, 2007


That spike of anger.
That spears up your system and wants to jump out of your throat. That right there, is what takes your tolerance away from you. That which gives you a big big writer's block.
Only a calm person can write good literature. An angry man can just "vent" his feelings. He cannot write. He cannot create. He cannot imagine. He can just vent.

Let me look into your mind
Let me walk through that maze
Let me see whats inside
and why you are in such a daze.
Let me feel your anger
Let me prick your pain
Let me love that love
that makes me go insane.
And when I am in there
Let me make new wounds
Let me wreck your peace
that you have so carefully pruned.
And on my way out
I'll tumble down some dreams
I'll break open some seals
I'll rip apart some seams
Just to let you know how it feels.

I want to vomit all over you right now.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

beats me.

Churning out thoughts helps me forget hunger. And somehow improves the quality of my writing. Though what I need right now are carbs, I will suffice with words. I imagine myself to be a hungry albeit splendid author, whose writings no one wills to read until his death. Almost all of that is true, and I leave it to guessing as to which part isn't.
At one point of time, idealism plagued my mind. And then reality hit me. Now I am just indifferent. If you just live your life the way you want to, without bothering anyone else, no one will ask you questions - atleast not in the States. I am happy that America is America and that India will always be India. I like the indifference here, but I love my sense of familiarity there.


We may not speak the same tongue
We may not be from one land
But still we sing the same song
For the same thing we both long
We fish in different waters
But fish for the same fish
We have different sorrows
But for the same laughter we both wish
Different are our colors
Different are our ways
Different as they maybe,
To the same God we will pray.

Color: Burgundy
Song: En mel vizhunda mazhai thuliyei.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Oh don't ask why, oh don't ask why!

I am on the verge of starting to write crappy blogs. That are mostly "feelings" that resemble cheesy TV sentiments. I want to write better than I did last time. But it is very hard where there are a billion "cheesy TV sentiments" that are eating your head.

I raise my thoughts, pure as milk
And the world curdles it all,
I wish all people of were one ilk
And all by one name I can call.
I strive to be someone someday
And I act the way they do,
But I can't then listen to what I say
For to myself, I'm not true.
Though of very different plume
All birds do fly,
Then why for must I assume
I am someone else and try?
My logic right it may seem
But from logic, this does wean,
Someone lives the dreams that I dream
Someone makes me be unseen.

Color: Maroon
Song: Flowers on the window, TRAVIS.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Colorless dreams fighting furiously.

I don't know if I already have a post with that title, but I like it for some reason. Not blogging for a week is like fizzing up a 2 liter bottle of ginger ale and leaving the cap slightly unscrewed. So that there is a little leak, but not enough to combat the pressure.
That sentence has so many layers in it. If I explained everything, then I would sound like someone who overanalyzes and tries to make too much of things. But it is true that I was slightly unscrewed and didn't have enough to combat the pressure :).

Tere sangh jeevan ki dor bandhi hai.
This is something that should have been written in verse, but I like it in prose better.

Blind to the obvious, can't hear the wind in my ears. My mind is shut and sealed; all the liquid thoughts bobbing in it, caulked from the caustic world. All the volatile thoughts push against the walls giving me a pain I can't quite verbalize. It makes me laugh out loud while crying louder still on the inside. It makes me want to thank God that I am not mad yet, but yet begrudge him for not making me deaf. It makes me want to throw stones fiercely in serene waters, and wish I were a stone myself. It makes me want to slap myself for being who I am, but also hug myself and say it's all okay.

Color: The color of LB
Song: Ninaithu ninaithu (KK)

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Half my sky.


It is a strange way to start a post, saying hello. But I am very intrigued by a vagary of things right now, and my blog is playing the role of my daily memoir.
It is easier to misunderstand people rather than understand them, and life has taught me this lesson from the wrong side of the desk. I used to yell and scream and ask to be understood, but now I just laugh quietly. And I have come to realize that it doesn't matter. Some close associates have demonstrated this in their own unique ways, but all within a week. Close associates. Why don't I call them friends??? I wish I had the explanation. I could use the cliched wavelength funda, but then thats what it is - cliched.
I meet people who don't care enough about who, but more about what and how. And I have met those who care about who, what and how. And then those who are all about the who. The last category is sometimes mistaken to be obsessed, in love, romantic or caring. I think its unadulterated bullshit. I think if its about the who, then you should let who have his (could be her too, but for lack of a common pronoun in English) life. What sense it makes to curb someone from doing things you don't like? Doesn't it defy the very 'unwritten law of love' (which by the way is to love someone for "who they are", which then again is debatable)?

Friendship is to share your sky.
Trust is to show your night sky.
Honesty is to claim over only your sky.
Peace is when everyone has the same sky.
And love is to give someone shelter in your heart, not taking their sky away.

I'll be the villain
If it makes you all heroes,
After all to make a million,
You do need half a dozen zeros.

Still Intrigued,

Saturday, March 10, 2007

As you reap, so you sow.

It all comes out so effortlessly. So smoothly like it knows where to go. And it slides in there and stays. From there it spews noxious thoughts. Thoughts that diffuse to more places than my mind and make new nodes and spread like malign cancer. I am an extremely upset biologist now.
The seven deadly sins need some rewriting in the new world.
#1: Lust - Love/Desire of a sexual nature.
#2: Gluttony - Love and hence overindulgence of food.
#3: Greed - Desire/Love of too much.
#4: Sloth- Love of doing nothing.
#5: Wrath - Love of anger.
#6: Envy - Love of another's possessions.
#7: Pride - Love of self.

It doesn't require a super alignment program to figure out that each sin arises from the love of something or the other. So indeed there is just one deadly generic sin - LOVE.

Is it me? Is it you?
Why have things morphed?
why do I see black
where white was before.
No matter how hard I look
I can't see the colors.
I squint, I stare
I play truth or dare
but it refuses to show
I tease, I beg
I stoop down so low
I woo, I plead
But the colors don't pay heed.
They say the sun has risen
and its day time now
But i still see darkness
for as you reap, so you sow.

Color: a sad purple. Mauve, if you must.
Song: Tanha Tanha, Rangeela.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

The ulterior design.

There is monotony in the graph until certain limits, then some thing comes to life. And it changes everything. Life revolves around it. Life is synonymous with it. Everything is arranged so that it syncs with it. Its amazing the coordination that we orchestrate when we want to. Like a whirlpool with a center of its own, hurling away things that don't fit in, drawing in things that can revolve around its center. I suck at making similes.

This one time, since my imagination has run out of ink, I will plagiarize, but give credit of course.

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene
the dark unfathomed caves of ocear bear.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
to waste its sweetness over the desert air.

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Rit and Hun.

A lot of thoughts, some planted, some unwarranted, some trash from my neighbor and a couple of my own. They all play hide and seek in my untended mind. Each trying to find someone else to latch on to. Someone to tag to so that they sound louder. I need an organizer inside my skull now. That alphabetizes, prioritizes and categorizes those rascals and gives me some peace.

Such perfectly timed stones are pelted
Into the puddle of my naive mind
Some naive and some perversion
some honesty and some diversion.
And the evening sun
Leaves behind a murkiness
It dawns upon the stone-thrower
that no one watches anymore
And he dumps them all in one swift motion
A muffled scream shoots out and he frowns
And the blackness plays ally to him
Thats how the puddle of thoughts drowned.

Monday, March 5, 2007


When you force something into your life for a while, pretty soon it becomes a habit. Its amazing how that works. And sometimes even when you were initially averse to it. The mind is an amazing feat.
Plagiarism. Plucking lines from someone who thinks just like you, but emotes much better. It is justified if the thoughts are the same. My water, your tap.
Double entendres. They're a class of hilarious albeit slightly vulgar English usages. Though some obvious ones show up in regular conversations, it takes a clever person to make a REAL one. They're more difficult than puns to frame, more subtle when it comes to their interpretation and definitely require a better command of the language. I lack all three.

Shards of glass screaming by
spear their way through.
A bubble swells, rises
Bursts, spatters blood on the walls.
Quenches the parched land
And stains the thoughts.
Blind rabbits playing under jaundiced skies,
Happiness saved as drafts for later
love sent into exile.
No artist wills to paint this frame
no God wills to give this a name
Only my starved imagination feasts
To feed you reading beasts.

Sunday, March 4, 2007


Kanda naal muthalai kaadal perugudadi.

I don't know how much love a human heart can hold, give and receive in all. I am not sure if it is even quantifiable. I am sure there are a lot of people who are loved like crazy and appreciate it. And then there are those who are unaware of it. And then those who wait in the hope that such crazy love will be bestowed upon them someday. Finally those, who fool themselves that they are indeed bestowed with it, if not for anything else, just to keep face. I don't think they are ridiculous, for who doesn't want to be important to someone??

Tickled with a thought, I brace myself for a sneeze.
Pricked with hate, I shrivel into my shell.
Much easier it is, to pretend than to ask,
For love I mean.
You can't blame Punxsutawney for seeing his shadow
Who doesn't want spring after a long winter?
Who doesn't want to smell the fresh breeze?
Who wont for love, their pride sell?
Who can, true love, truly mask?
For the air so clean
For the seeds of time that you sow
All the hate will simmer and sinter
And then one day you will know,
That I loved you with my heart and soul
With all the love in the world and more.

Thursday, March 1, 2007


You know how sometimes, there is so much happening around you. And you can't control it. So you just let it all be, and stand back and watch? This is one of those.

A piece of the moon lies on the floor,
Unnoticed, wanted no more.
Outlined in speckles of stray light,
But with the sun, it can't fight.

I don't think I have it in me to complete those lines. Its all inside my head. I wish it would just go. I wish it would.