gurgaon is a nightmare.
the dust and the sepia haze perpetually suspended over this desert of clusters of ugly tiffin box buildings, the highways that are the pride and joy of speed demons like my brother, the ridiculously pseudo-anglical names of unattractive apartment complexes like 'Olive Heights' and 'Oakwood Avenue', monstrous malls with brands and advertisements splashed obnoxiously across the facade, the lack of any respectable form of public transport!!! -- a bloody nightmare!
further cementing the fact that a place is only as beautiful as the people are... and people are only as beautiful as you know them to be.
but if people are what memories are about, and memories are a manufactured fragment of one's imagination, which in turn, plays to one's desired concept of how life should be, one is in a bit of a pickle, no?
and there are times, when memories are empty of feeling. where people are props, in a landscape that you imagine comfort in. a blurred vision of what might have happened. those supposed good times. friends are people, after all.
i went looking for delhi, and i found gurgaon. true, i didn't spend enough time looking, and surely didn't look so hard. and as time goes by, one needs to strain and look harder. and find that they are not the same.
people change places.
places change people.
one can face the truth that people and places change. and that memories that one holds on to, will most certainly fade, while a wistful longing permeates and impersonates real memories..
how does any of that matter? if a random image from yesterday can make me smile, so be it! even if two minutes too much of it might reveal that it never happened yesterday, or any other day... big fucking shit! i can live with a little self-delusion!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
gulzar (after TDS)
the poetry in a tear, the sweetness of solitude...
it can't be coincidence that i found myself here tonight.
it's a moment in song that i've been thrust into.
it's a silence in darkness, a love seeking a rhyme,
a feeling of half-belonging, of half-fitting in...
the words bring no new meaning,
the music is all too familiar,
but the will to break out, and the strength to believe i can
are enough to create a new person in the song
who can be it. be me. be them.
so i step into the dream,
with the soundtrack of a sad broken heart
seeking the light of tomorrow
(while i know neither)
as sobriety wears in and the dark sky bursts into red.
and the world is so beautiful,
with nothing to fear, or dread,
because as i feel you here tonight,
i know you are with me in the morning.
and after.
it can't be coincidence that i found myself here tonight.
it's a moment in song that i've been thrust into.
it's a silence in darkness, a love seeking a rhyme,
a feeling of half-belonging, of half-fitting in...
the words bring no new meaning,
the music is all too familiar,
but the will to break out, and the strength to believe i can
are enough to create a new person in the song
who can be it. be me. be them.
so i step into the dream,
with the soundtrack of a sad broken heart
seeking the light of tomorrow
(while i know neither)
as sobriety wears in and the dark sky bursts into red.
and the world is so beautiful,
with nothing to fear, or dread,
because as i feel you here tonight,
i know you are with me in the morning.
and after.
Friday, September 14, 2007
tell me what you think...
no really, i want to know.
do you not like the clothes i wear? or the hours that i spend talking about things that are completely irrelevant to your existence? or when i inspire you with my vision of what YOU should be, as i slip out the backdoor by 8, as you slip into your 3rd continuous late night.
are my mannerisms annoying you? surely, you can put that in words. i have no physical deformities that may embarass you, so why can't we look into each other's eyes and talk?
it cannot be that you think that i haven't attained the level of 'cool' that you think you are at. you're kidding me. don't you think that's terribly shallow? and in direct contradiction with your definition of 'cool'.
and there you go, cringing at my clear rationalisations of your trivial opinions. does it trouble you that i am right? or does it kill you that you are not?
the options are few, in this multiple-choice analysis of myself.
but tell me what you think... you know me so well.
do you not like the clothes i wear? or the hours that i spend talking about things that are completely irrelevant to your existence? or when i inspire you with my vision of what YOU should be, as i slip out the backdoor by 8, as you slip into your 3rd continuous late night.
are my mannerisms annoying you? surely, you can put that in words. i have no physical deformities that may embarass you, so why can't we look into each other's eyes and talk?
it cannot be that you think that i haven't attained the level of 'cool' that you think you are at. you're kidding me. don't you think that's terribly shallow? and in direct contradiction with your definition of 'cool'.
and there you go, cringing at my clear rationalisations of your trivial opinions. does it trouble you that i am right? or does it kill you that you are not?
the options are few, in this multiple-choice analysis of myself.
but tell me what you think... you know me so well.
to those days in delhi...
i think of delhi as the city of my growing up.
where i found that i wasn't the person that i thought i was.
where i found the person that i would be for those few years, someone i was happy to be.
in hindsight atleast.
my city of discovery, to drive a cliche up the wall.
perhaps it was because of the short duration, or the unwillingness to accept (or let go), that i could never call it home.
but it's the one place i had found my space in. not the kind of space that you could run away to and lock yourself in. but the kind of space that you had to define for yourself, keeping in mind that there would come a time, when this precious space would stifle as well. so it was actually all about finding the right people who would rescue your from your space.. from yourself.
so it seems to have little to do with geographical locations, and more to do with these right people. but to carry on for argument's sake...
it was essentially the convenient kind of reality, where temporary escape is possible. atleast not unforgivable.
besides, who's to forgive or not?
honestly, it was just a life riddled with immaturities - ironic that i'd call it my growing up.
i suppose i'd call it a journey of learning, where mistakes were inexpensive, and frequent. confidence in attitude was all that it took to survive, and even declare oneself victorious. where victory itself was often brittle, and always meaningless.
i didn't soak in the history and culture of the city. i didn't enjoy the distance and the grime. i didn't learn about the people and the cosmopolitan ways. the capital of the country didn't inspire patriotism.
the city itself had little to do with my growing up.
maybe it was the cosmic alignment, where the planets and the soul sisters came together in the exact location, at the exact time in our lives, and in history itself... a karmic favour granted by the universe.
or just a truly random event.
in any case, there we were all together, and in our togetherness, i found delhi.
or that seemingly fictitious place where i found myself. or that self that i miss so much.
going back to delhi tomorrow, i don't expect to have memories jump out of the ruins and dust, and slap me into nostalgia. maybe a little. but i expect to have a screaming frenzy of breaking free, and doing my thing, my way.
if that was my youth, and the feeling just described here is of the rush of young blood through my veins, then lord! i feel old!
where i found that i wasn't the person that i thought i was.
where i found the person that i would be for those few years, someone i was happy to be.
in hindsight atleast.
my city of discovery, to drive a cliche up the wall.
perhaps it was because of the short duration, or the unwillingness to accept (or let go), that i could never call it home.
but it's the one place i had found my space in. not the kind of space that you could run away to and lock yourself in. but the kind of space that you had to define for yourself, keeping in mind that there would come a time, when this precious space would stifle as well. so it was actually all about finding the right people who would rescue your from your space.. from yourself.
so it seems to have little to do with geographical locations, and more to do with these right people. but to carry on for argument's sake...
it was essentially the convenient kind of reality, where temporary escape is possible. atleast not unforgivable.
besides, who's to forgive or not?
honestly, it was just a life riddled with immaturities - ironic that i'd call it my growing up.
i suppose i'd call it a journey of learning, where mistakes were inexpensive, and frequent. confidence in attitude was all that it took to survive, and even declare oneself victorious. where victory itself was often brittle, and always meaningless.
i didn't soak in the history and culture of the city. i didn't enjoy the distance and the grime. i didn't learn about the people and the cosmopolitan ways. the capital of the country didn't inspire patriotism.
the city itself had little to do with my growing up.
maybe it was the cosmic alignment, where the planets and the soul sisters came together in the exact location, at the exact time in our lives, and in history itself... a karmic favour granted by the universe.
or just a truly random event.
in any case, there we were all together, and in our togetherness, i found delhi.
or that seemingly fictitious place where i found myself. or that self that i miss so much.
going back to delhi tomorrow, i don't expect to have memories jump out of the ruins and dust, and slap me into nostalgia. maybe a little. but i expect to have a screaming frenzy of breaking free, and doing my thing, my way.
if that was my youth, and the feeling just described here is of the rush of young blood through my veins, then lord! i feel old!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
masks
it's a face without colour.
the reds and blues have disguised it well. the shimmer from last night's party is still on.
but you can see the real colour is a shade of nothing. a transluscent paleness . not even white.
this paleness is not from fear, and it's not numbness. it's not the tired wearing away of the day.
it's the in-between time. it's the precious moments of nothingness.
nothing to say. nothing to convince. nothing to represent.
no one to prove right or wrong.
minutes before the dance begins again.
a twitch of restlessness, of the excitement, of what lies ahead.
the first notes trickle in, of the seranades and the obituaries.
the act begins soon, and the disguises often slip away.
but the paleness must never show.
never.
the reds and blues have disguised it well. the shimmer from last night's party is still on.
but you can see the real colour is a shade of nothing. a transluscent paleness . not even white.
this paleness is not from fear, and it's not numbness. it's not the tired wearing away of the day.
it's the in-between time. it's the precious moments of nothingness.
nothing to say. nothing to convince. nothing to represent.
no one to prove right or wrong.
minutes before the dance begins again.
a twitch of restlessness, of the excitement, of what lies ahead.
the first notes trickle in, of the seranades and the obituaries.
the act begins soon, and the disguises often slip away.
but the paleness must never show.
never.
Friday, September 7, 2007
closer i am to fine..
this is about self-indulgence. of course it is.
why else would i take the trouble, if it didn't do something major for my ego?
it's exhibitionism, playing to your voyeurism.
it's my need to sound out, and yours to judge.
these words won't change either.
this isn't honesty, because it's soaked in vanity. but the little shreds of me are real.
otherwise hidden little shreds.
i could go back into the painting i came from,
where the colours have melted into each other
and appear as infinite tiny grains on the canvas
i could be a grain. again.
but the more i see the end of my sanity,
the closer i am to fine?
why else would i take the trouble, if it didn't do something major for my ego?
it's exhibitionism, playing to your voyeurism.
it's my need to sound out, and yours to judge.
these words won't change either.
this isn't honesty, because it's soaked in vanity. but the little shreds of me are real.
otherwise hidden little shreds.
i could go back into the painting i came from,
where the colours have melted into each other
and appear as infinite tiny grains on the canvas
i could be a grain. again.
but the more i see the end of my sanity,
the closer i am to fine?
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