Friday, May 13, 2016
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Why am I trying to distinguish my identity? Is my hair such an important part of my identity? What threats my identity that I need to hold on to something unique. This isn't even unique.
It can't be the fear of letting go, of a change. No. It's just hair. They have just been around for most of my life. Not much in the larger scheme of things.My irritation with them even annoys those around me.
What is this albatross I have carried around my neck for so long?
Sunday, December 27, 2015
When we are jealous, we make up stories against ourselves. We work up our own feelings, we frighten ourselves.
A child loved too much, a child become the object of such intimacy that it dare not be allowed to live. Murderous Tenderness, Tender Murdurousness. Love turned inside out like a glove to reveal its ugly stitching.
He could imagine staring into the fly's eyes while its wings were being torn off: he was sure it wouldn't blink; perhaps it would not even see him. It was as though, for the duration of the act, its soul went into the female.
I have lost my place in my soul.
How does Coetzee know Dostoevsky like this? Or the dirty corners of our souls like Dostoevsky did?
Saturday, March 28, 2015
I am walking through his plants and I find a Bonsai and a Croton sharing a little piece of potted land. He really thought everything can co-exist, didn't he? When his creepers would spill over to even his Aero Kerias he wouldn't stop them. All this knowing he had been battling parasites sharing his body's resources for years. Perhaps knowing he would finally get consumed by the appetite of another.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
How do you celebrate a man like that?
How do you mourn a loss like that?
What will I say today to a man like that?
How do I live without a man like that?
Never ceasing the celebration.
Never letting the mourning surpass the celebration.
Never let me go.
Never a day without him.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Saturday, August 23, 2014
A retirement like that.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Labneh hoped to find some peace with Brie in larger waters. Of late Brie had seemed disinterested, distracted and worse- irritable. She had started chewing off more of Labneh, larger bites, harder bites. Labneh wanted some peace, some corals to swim around, and green waters. He had always looked at the plants in the balcony from the tank and wanted to swim around them with Brie.
Brie wanted the same too, but she wanted different things everyday. On the day the kids left- she wanted to drink all the alcohol they had left behind.
Quark was being too wise for Cheddar. Quark said- we are too domesticated now. We'll be sandwiched with eggs and bread on either side of us in no time in those large waters.
Feta was mostly ignored. He always feared- the little girl would eat him with her fruit loops one breakfast. He liked Brie- she treated him like the smelly cheese he was- but she acknowledged him at least.
Circassian nodded to everything- Cheddar's pompous speeches, sweaty efforts, Labneh's consent, Quark's protests, Brie's aspirations, Feta's ignominy. When the time for the plunge out of the tank came- Circassian didn't follow suit. Circassian stayed put in the tank. He had his Victory.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
You left me with a gift I cannot thank you enough for. Also, you left me with inspiration to write and I am so thankful to you for it. I want to write to you about my Russian experiences. The most significant of them.
My Russian association began with this story book: In the land of sunbeam bunnies.
This is what the cover looks like. It taught me an important lesson very early in life- do not always believe the written word. It so happened that I made a grammatical error in my homework- and my father corrected me. And I protested- “The sunbeam bunnies say so!” It was then that my father told me- just because it is in print, it doesn't mean it is right- the Russians know Russian, not English- they are capable of making a mistake- and you should be capable of recognizing it. Slowly I learnt that lesson well. Not just grammar, the written word means nothing till you want it to.
Anzhela, I told you about how I was considering a job in St. Petersburg many years ago. This happened many years before I read Dostoevsky. Many years before Crime and Punishment moved me like the strongest reading experience ever possible. Many years before I visualized St. Petersburg like Dostoevsky describes it. And this happened many years before you taught me how to say the gentleman's name- Dostoevsky, properly. And before you told me about St. Petersburg- the way you see it and the way he saw it.
On a sudden trip- me and my boss suddenly decided to go to a city I had always wanted to visit and study TRIZ (теория решения изобретательских задач, teoriya resheniya izobretatelskikh zadatch). And there I heard of Altshuller and his incarceration of 25 years in the Gulag. And how he proposed the theory of inventive thinking through that time.
A friend talked about the Trans-Siberian railway- travelling from Moscow to Vladivostok and I thought of how nice that journey would be, perhaps nicer than any destination.
I met you in the port town of Vizag- a city where only the sea and the men of the sea made the news. India's military ties with Russia, especially the Navy's would find their way into my newspapers everyday.
And that evening when I showed you around the Indian Handicrafts bazaar in Delhi- I asked you- “I want a Matryoshka doll when you come from Russia next”: You just smiled. And just before you left- you pressed a Matryoshkya doll into my palm. How did you ever know that I always wanted one, and how did you contain the surprise gift for so long? You left me stuck in that moment, it was magical: Matryoshka Dolls have always fascinated me. A toy that never ends... I also look at Mise en abyme also like this: the idea of never-ending joy, that there is always something to look forward too.
I look forward to us like that too: there is something around the corner always. Things for us to discover together or about each other. Like how you spell your name as we bought money with money. Like us calling Russia 'Rus'.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
The plant is smelling wonderful in whiffs. These are not my fancies. In the pressing smell of toluene, there would be brief and yet long pauses of a wonderful smell. Not a natural smell, it would be very chemical, like esters put together, but it was so fresh- like a wet morning flower. And it happened through the day next to the Agitated Nutsche Filter. Every disturbance is undone. The Le Chatelier's Principle.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Friday, October 26, 2012
I'm no feminist usually, but it does disgust me. But my disgust turns into amusement soon. I am no Victorian lady, I am able bodied and wear convenient clothes, all of these enable me to- Open my own doors, Pull out my chairs, voice my statements as loud as I need them to be.
What amuses me men dithering around me thinking it's scoring them points while I'm laughing my heart out!
'Understanding and consideration' is better deserved by the needy not women who play needy when they need to. Chivalry is the 'modality' that needs to be kicked back to the Victorians and their era.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The notes are interspersed with his laughter, that strange guttural sound he makes.
I also keep hearing him say ‘Jasmine’. And weighed breaths. He lurks in the corner, never stops playing, never comes to claim the spotlight.
Sometimes I turn around to check if he is there. He plays the same tunes, interrupts with the same laughter and calls my name the same way.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
Like a cat jumps at its scratch post and slides its claws down the length of it. Disintegrating the wood. Freeing it of itself.
The debris is being broken further. Further and further. It looked like a piece of the autoclave an hour ago. It looks like a piece of something now. It could have been anything- a part of a remote, a part of a chromatographic circuit etc. They are leaving no grace for the remains.
And who are these agents of destruction? These men who work unscathed by the dust, by the sound and by the sheer magnitude of their task, they are no ordinary men. While we cringe our noses, try to filter our breath, search for places to plant our feet in, distract ourselves from the sound, these men-they lumber on. At times we stop and examine their work, it is almost moving to see the building that shelters us facing the savageness. It seems that the sheer ferocity of their task propels their beast. They pound at the Aluminum harder, cut through the meshes faster and ram the crumbling walls harder. They look into your eyes through a glaze; something in them is hard to reckon with.
In a little spot in all this destruction, there is something being constructed.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
In office, as it sat down beside me, I asked the Smell- "Where are you from?” it replied “From a girl's bedroom". "But I know you", I said. "You think I smell like your cousin and her room?" "Perhaps" "You think I am a homely feminine smell? Like a half-open girl's dressing drawer with sunlight shining into it?"I get distracted by my vacuum calculation. The size of the nozzle just doesn’t seem right. I turn around to ask my colleague. The Smell catches my attention again as I look over my shoulder. “I’ll get back to you later, let me design now”, I push the smell back into that drawer and shut some of the sunlight with it.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
It was probably the right indicator.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
I attended that Anand Karaj that June, or did I really attend one?
I know that non-Sikhs are not encouraged to participate in an Anand Karaj. How do you distinguish between a non-Sikh and a "lets party after this" Sikh? So many such questions, isn't it?