katra katra

If you ve already heard this song, am sure you wouldn't mind melting into the memories that this song brings along all over again...
I haven't watched the movie yet and it has my fav Naseeruddin Shah:(

LYRICS

Damn embarrassing!

When frustration comes out in form of tears... and you do not find a space to bloody hide your face anywhere

immortal words

unke dekhe se jo aa jaatii hai muuh par raunaq
vo samajhte hain ki bimaar kaa haal achchhaa hai

hamko maaluum hai jannat kii haqiiqat lekin
dil ke Khush rakhne ko 'Ghalib' ye Khayaal achchhaa hai

U gotto move on

I have got so used to this chair
the open cabin
Manikchand Oxyrich mineral water duly placed to the corner everyday
Post-it notes with the to-do scribbles (btw, u must read its story here--> http://www.mmm.com/us/office/postit/pastpresent/history_ws.html)
n the timely tea cups
Boss coming to supervise my 'doings' now and then
the chik-chik around
Genuine hugs when you just need them
Healthy competition
The privacy when I need it
A balcony to go and laze around when I need to clear my mind while watching ppl around enjoy their ciggi-suttas
and the enjoyable walk back home in the rains --> chai-chappa-chai..chappak..chai
...the beaches to go and chill-out after work...wish I could just sit there whole night

and **** like they say....U gotto move on!!! and so will I
Whether you believe it or not..I truely feel life is weird! Just when you start getting used to something, u gotto bid it good-bye. A feeling that's got so ingrained in my system I can speak about it almost dispassionately

Moments of truth

She sat quietly in the vast space amidst a crowd of people chattering between each other.
As she gazed at nothing (the mode she often gets into) moments rushed past her, smiling, mocking and questioning her like naughty, innocent kids on the streets pulling your kurti for a penny with that captivating twinkle in their eyes.
Gently and tenderly she shut her eyes, ready to be back home.
It’s been a long time she had been home. Her home. Her heart. Where she felt belonged and special.
She felt music hitting her veins like a razor.. sharp razor…so strong was the impact of the soulful tunes that played in her mind, ruthlessly, again and again with slight pauses in between. She choked with pain but wouldn’t let go of the moment.
The calming darkness soothed her senses, the tranquility of the moment engulfed her existence in absoluteness.
Before she realized, tears rolled down her cheeks silently, yeah those saline, watery fluid, much against her will to give into her weaknesses.
Instinctively, her hands reached the centre of her heart and placed themselves comfortably there. She felt her heart. Right there, the beats, each beat…. She felt surprised at the discovery, the tangible discovery!
She felt as if her heart was craving to open up, it pleaded for help, it needed some nourishment against all the rationality that the harsh ways of living mercilessly ask it to cope up with.
Moments floated in air.
Hit her like powerful waves.
Images of a girl curving into herself , head buried in the knees , for solace, some protection….in her balcony, under the stars in the pitch darkness.
Days when she would fall asleep weeping with only the breeze acting as a balm for the open gaping wounds.
Of the little girl wandering off to unknown lands to chase the sun, just to be the first one to feel its warmth.
Her family
Friends
Fleeting images of some forgotten souls who never ceased to care for her, and whom she successfully managed to push in to the ‘forgotten list’

It all rushed hurriedly, as if someone had hurled bundle of things at her all at once, or like passengers at a local compartment pushing, tearing each other apart to find their ways.
She felt boggled, bothered and uncomfortable. Very very uncomfortable.
Gradually….
She drifted into an entirely different zone…like a soul floating and swaying in the smokes of the ashes of its deceased body. Free. Liberated. Yeah..almost.
Was it really happening? The phenomena…?
She reveled in the absolute cluelessness.
Her heart that she held on to so dearly, felt so exhausted… it really did.
It sought no sympathy. Just empathy. It sought a home. A dwelling.
It sought the tenderness, away from the dos and donts of the world…away from the fears of losing its near and dear ones, away from the truth of futility of life…
Whirlpool of illustrations that symbolized love, life, lust, relationships, insecurities and sacred secrets screamed aloud…tearing her heart apart….pleading to ‘let go’, pleading for some care.

Deep rooted gaps in life they say.
Unfulfilled, sacred wishes that would put Freud to shame and defy all logic of psychological findings.
The music was still playing, cutting her apart, but kinder and gentler than before…
like an asthma patient finally finding his lost breath again after a fatal attack.

Her left hand lovingly covered her forehead to let the thoughts out….confront them and breath in the air to feel the cool breeze..the kind that only embraces you by a sea shore.


A white light splashed and bathed her in the rays.
There appeared a tree out of no where in the far stretched fairyland.
She saw her sitting under it lovingly and carefree. There were angels flying all around, so close, like she could extend her hands and touch them .The rays from the halo touched her and kissed her being. She giggled..
Just then an angel sat on her shoulder and whispered a message into her left ear while she carefully listened to it. Her eyes lit up….
And she continued basking in the joy of being… amidst the angels, and the vibrant air, each atom breathing life , love and care meant just for her….
Her palms opened up to receive…She felt the tranquility engulfing her again.
The unconditional surrender helped her receive far more than she had expected.
After a long time, what seems like ages, she felt at sync with things around her..not in the absolute sense.. but only she knew how much she needed this.

She didn’t want to get back to earth….but as she softly opened her eyes, the lights around didn’t pierce her vision. She felt like being okay…
She still felt the bliss in every pore of her body, she still felt her heart….that tangibly…
yes it existed and she is alive..:)

That was the most intense form of meditation that she underwent after a long long time, for all she knew she truly deserved the treat.
Life keeps happening to us , now and then…but then such moments of truth just help you get a little closer to life and reaffirm you faith in the miracles around.

quick nice read:)

IT'S NOT HOW

GOOD YOU ARE,

IT'S HOW GOOD

YOU WANT TO BE.

__________

-Paul Arden

chat

She sub-consciously performs her daily ritual.Types her Gtalk Status message first thing in the morning:
..selective memory....does it help? if atall
A message instantly pops up
a: It helps.
Who does it help is the question?
b: hmm
yeah..who does it help?
doesnt help me..cuz i can brush away memories i dun wanna rem
i mean cant *
a: which is not such a bad thing.
if you can do it , that is.
selective memory is not necessarily by design.
b: then?
a: by default too.
one's mental make up may be such so as to remember a certain set of things.
b: thts wht am sayin...
there r things i d better off put aside
a: so that can help , no?
b: but doesnt happen thtw ay..
hits me like a wave now n then
a: hmmm!
anything in particular that you wanna talk about?
b: hmm..nt reely...
just random thots
4get it..ve just lost it:p
how are you....?
a: Good!
Losing it is the best gift you can give to yourself.
b: :)
ah..now tht makes me feel good:P
__________________________________________________-
(hope 'a' doesnt mind for me having dared to extract the conversation into my quiet dark dwelling here)

destinations

My first and best boss/collegue ever quit today.
I was kinda sad... for all she taught/gave me in these few weeks is incomparable to anything else. Like a mentor and true friend.
For all the lessons on thinking big and implementation of plans and on rising above mediocrity..
For teaching me that romance between professionalism and spirituality can co-exist...
For the memories..

thankyou:)

Just brings to my notice that the last time I was sad of this kind was when my dance trainer had to leave us for better destinations waiting for her. I was in 8th then. Just that the eyes could afford to get moist then . and now. people come. they leave. All I can afford to do is smile with the 'that's life afterall' look in my eyes and a slight pang in the heart.
After she is gone,
I come to my desk and read an unusual status message on my gtalk..
probably someone else has logged in from my system..
no.wait. Its my id only.
and the status message reads 'pyasi padosan'
another prank by some wellwisher!
My eyes go wide...and I burst into a laughter few seconds after..
lol
That's life afterall..
kabhi khushi kabhi gum

phases wher even a ':P' seems forced
n ':-/' becomes a state of mind
the soul craving for rains of '>:D<' s
n a genuine ':D' from within oh! so distant

ummm...
neva mind..:P

Silent screams (blank noise)

The futility of few practices.
How beautifully we acclimatize to ‘certain ways of living’ to the extent of almost taking it for granted.
You know what I mean right?
Umm..say..like those on and off one para reports on women getting gang raped and the incidents of molestation ..candles..mob fury..blah blah blah…Wait there is more ..how could I forget the ‘talk shows’. Feminists clutching their teeth tight, blaming patriarchy, abusing the whole male fraternity..with those exclusive token of thanks to the lecherous Indian men . And why shouldn’t they? As intangible as an ‘issue-to-be-solved’ it probably is, your deepest wounds do come alive once in a while when few disturbing scenes flash right in front of your eyes, ruthlessly. The helplessness, the humiliation..the ongoing injustice that almost seem like a norm.
It is anything but ‘normal’ unless you are bold enough to accept the ruthless as a pattern of normalcy.

For me it was Calcutta. Years back….
My memory fails me to trace incidents that can hint at how old I must have been then. It was after watching a movie in the popular city theatre ‘Nandan’. I was at my best mood having got the opportunity to have a family outing, go out, eat and watch a movie. Lol. It used to be a big deal convincing parents, mamajis and bade mamajis to let us watch a movie in the theatres then. Anyway, I was with my elder sister, maashi and few others I don’t seem to recall. All I recall is the ‘weirdness’ of those moments. As we were walking in the beautiful Kolkata street filled with people from all facets after the noon show, I stopped all of a sudden. I wish I was exaggerating..but it actually was that numbing an experience!
Someone had groped me skillfully and managed to rush past like a usual street side fellow rushing to catch his bus in hurry!
Instinctively I turned back..mumbling something like that guy..that guy…
Nobody paid attention , unless an elderly man calmly declared, oh yes, that guy, he misbehaved I know, I saw. He declared the statement with that look of ‘aisa hota hai lil kid, get used to that entire bonus that comes with you being a female’ expression.
LIKE HELL he saw….
That’s when I realized that the passer-by had 'misbehaved’. I felt like…Like what?..umm, it’s funny! ..wish I could explain.

I stood still, my fingers pointed at the guy rushing/running away(am sure there must have been a slight tension but greater smirk @ the bastard’s innocent face), until that oldie confirmed something went wrong.Um..did I feel like crying. What the hell would I know at that tender age when wearing a tight top was such an excitement, when I could get out of my frocks and pick the latest trends of jeans and tshirts that came in my size as well.
My sister, the angel she is.. immediately calmed me down sensing ‘it was my first experience’. That’s when I realized all the control I have on my body! The sense of calm was soon overpowered with a deep rage to the letter e…
How dare him..how dare anyone. Okay.. so it means any damn guy on street can fiddle and tamper with my body without my permission? So, what’s this big fuss they make about sex being sacred, preaching the divinity of chastity, and all..I mean ..all those whispers and secrecy revolving around baser truths of the relationship between a man and a woman? I am as curious even today…

LIKE HELL that old man saw. Like hell his wisdom served any purpose..oh yes, it did for sure teach me the most ugly lesson of life as a woman, a teenager, a girl, a baby girl..
Could he not just try clutching him by his collar and slap him hard? Fine..am expecting too much? Could he not atleast raise his voice loud enough to gather some crowd..Kolkata of all the cities I knew brews a lot of heat if you want to make an issue out of things. All he did was patiently acknowledge the look in my confused..almost hypnotized eyes.

Leaving you humiliated, helpless and hypnotized..they all manage to strip you off your dignity with such amazing ease. The most unfortunate fact being it’s not those lecherous lot who would be going through these posts on the online project of protest against such practice, they in their circle of peers continue having the last laugh and heck, even if they read through the ocean of plight it’s not going to matter to them even a bit.

Vivid images of those few boys in their early teens--urchins should I say-- in the slum-like galis near my hostel in Calcutta are still fresh where they dared to pass filthy comments at my friend in a sleeveless top..umm..what was it like…'dekho dekho sleeveless pehen ke kaise khule sadak chal rahee hai’ once, twice and third reiteration of the nonsensical statement made me turn back and yell “bahut sleeveless ka shauk hai tujhe?ek thappad padega toh kapde pehnna bhul jayega” Startled he ran away with his peers. They seemed novice, new to the trade and hopefully would think twice before experimenting with eve teasing after that incident.

It was safe to do that because we were in a group, in the daylight and the street was full of people (remember the hot-tempered kol walahs!) ..but what about those faceless figures in the pitch dark corners of the streets..that jobless lot in lungis, chaat walas, frustrated job-seekers, or educated entertainment seekers…the ogles reflecting in the front seat mirrors of the auto you are traveling by? Those invisible hands you feel pouncing on you to grope you any minute ..rape you without a single touch..the conscious feeling so heavy even an innocent stranger belonging to the male fraternity seems like ‘the one’ looking for an opportunity to quench his lust..
The dilemma is with what frequency do you continue yelling back ”kaam dhandha nahi hai kya” and reacting? Or the sad part being how long do you keep wearing on the “I know what you are doing, but am bold enough to ignore you” expression.. I mean kitni baar?kab tak?
I would hate to stop to slap them because I would need to touch them for that.. so deep is the feeling of this endless hatred.

Don’t’ I have a life to call my own? my space..other than keeping an eye on who is lecherously eyeing me..?

Seek company every time? Not go out in the dark? Be in full clothes? Not go too far?

As if gang rapes don’t happen? Numerous daylight molestations are unheard of? Women in burkhas are spared? Abuses at homes are rare incidents?

Those kids with their stint at eve-tease I mentioned..they were the age of my younger brother. Sometimes I feel pity for them as well…when they should be constructively struggling to make a living or get some education ..they indulge in such momentary pleasures and go on setting an example of their power over helplessness of women in general, kyuki koi unke muh nahi lagna chahta and they continue... Ah! The never ending cycle…
Probably it runs deep down into the Indian psyche ..the patriarchy..the very form of year after year women’s day celebrations. Indian households where a man entering the kitchen is a sweet gesture against women in kitchen all day long ‘who can always do better’.

Of course when my mother objects at me getting under those so called provocative outfits (mind you provocative is anything that the people around are not used to..even if it’s just a pretty long wrap-around), she isn’t at fault..because the rage doest help when you actually step out of the four secure walls. With no choice left, you are forced to put on the sheets of adherence ..play it safe you see..
I understand protection..
I understand the importance of carrying an umbrella when it’s cloudy
I understand the funda of playing it safe in bed
But which brand of pepper spray do you use to protect yourself against the unwanted glares and ogles in every nook and corner?
How do you pepper-spray-off someone against the piercing verbal flood of filthy remarks..or those non-verbal signs of attempts at communicating with the sexy but weaker sex. Technology! Right!

Like the whole street turning into floating images of pornographic realm..like a nightmare lived everyday on your way to work, nearby grocery, a café , an emergency…the ugliest part is we have to live with it every single moment even when it’s non-existent ..like polluted air..all pervasive and shattering to the core. A trepidation despite all the expertise you might have on martial arts..like the world was already any less of a hell.

The spurts of anger are sudden. At my diner table once, I spontaneously told my mother “If that uncle ever comes home am probably going to slap him hard..or that guy in the neighbourhood or this cousin who is married with a kid now”
She went.."What… why?”
Because they tried molesting a girl I know.
And then I drifted into the thoughts…those flashbacks..those snippets..
Did it really happen..
Her stubbornness to go to her mama’s place with this uncle ..the tantrums..and the one night train journey…no extra seats available…8 years old her with this fleshy grey haired uncle…and the uncomfortableness. She was sleeping..may be she was dreaming? No concrete proof. Just the instinct..like my sister says..always always trust your instinct!!!

Or

This cousin who would get up to drink water midnight in jam-packed homes during weddings…her eyes would intuitively open.. wide and awake..and ..his attempts..

Or

This neighbour who would try calling her on his terrace to display his affection..

Nothing happened because she would usually smartly escape..and yet the pangs..

Mumma at dinner table made that helpless face(trying to be indifferent but deeply hurt) and went “Oh! Don’t be silly. Its history I guess..stop acting silly”
Right!silly!just because its history just like every second guy on street manages to turn the seemingly insignificant act into a trivial incident not worth being taken up after the act is done with.

Something wrong with no solution, still is wrong at the end of the day, because somewhere in your subconscious the marks are etched..even today..like the fear / inability to walk straight on streets (back upright, shoulders pulled back)..the ‘conscious self’ trying to handle the hunch even on a chair..
Often the truth of the hindi essay, “Nakhoon kyu badhte hai”(y do nails grow?) rings in my ear. Say when am sitting by a beach..the overwhelming vastness bringing all those buried anger with the undulating waves. The author points out at the marks of uncivilization still existent within the society in the forms of our growing nails..which grow as soon as we cut them off..and keep growing…reminding us of the futility of our trials at faking a civilized society with sane individuals.

Source of inspiration for this post: One evening the crush of bodies was worse than usual, and I felt a clammy hand first on my arm, next on my waist (two bare inches of it, where the sari and blouse don’t meet), next the hand had moved further south. I whirled around and saw this most disgusting expression in the man’s eyes, my hands flew to his face as I delivered a stinging slap, before swinging my heavy hand bag across his chest. He looked startle…but only momentarily. Then …he laughed! Yes – he laughed! At what? My powerlessness to stop him from doing it again and again? I saw that mocking leer and lashed out at him once more(the crowd pushed past us in a couldn’t care-less way, two steps back and was gone within seconds leaving me standing there feeling utterly violated and very foolish. I had tears of rage stinging my cheeks as I walked home. Should I tell mother. What was the point.? My mother had never ever walked by any street by herself in her entire life. Come to think of it, she had never left her home unescorted. Ever. What would she know of the brutality right outside her home and hearth? What purpose would it serve to tell her? – Shobha De (Superstar INDIA)

What do u Mean when you say you Can’t take it anymore?
Like you wanna die or something? end it all?
Or just change…go numb…
Or carry on with the deceptive expressions, shielding the real you beneath the ocean of suicidal thots
Carry on like the rest of the world, the feeling killing you deep within tht u gotta carry on like this for the rest of your life..?
Revel in few moments of ecstasy not knowing if it’s even meant to be?
Let the piercing razor cut your heart every time you let a movie or book bring out the deepest fears and emotions in u? Make you vulnerable to the big bad world out there?
Or go take sanyas in the Himalayas…wht do they call it.. Seek peace?!!
no really… WHOT?
I wonder What do I mean when I say tht I Can’t take it anymore.
Funny to the core!

happy? sad?

who cares.
Just feel like staring blankly like that for hours.

In silence.

Happy Holi

its a lonely err..lovely weather here today.

I whiled away the whole day...sleeping...getting up...sleeping again...

Heavy. very heavy..what? My mood, my heart... Afterall poor little thing wants to feel free.

Finally a refreshing shower and moments at my balcony...and the cold soothing evening breeze relieved me a bit...

I welcomed summer..

Sometimes when nothing else works you look for solace in the harshest of things.

Its holi tommorow...Colours...lots of them. Extreme joy of togetherness when everyone drenches in the hues equally...

I'd be running away from them, cuz I dun wanna pretend...get drenched when I don't want to.

These days I enjoy celebrations only when they are subtle and true....



Wish you all a Holi thats filled with colours of fondest thoughts..its a beautiful festival..may it be truely beautiful for you:)

oos ki boondein

Category-Personal and hardly articulated!

There are songs that touch your soul, n there are songs that stir your soul-Main Kabhi Batlata Nahin,Par Andhere Se Darta Hoon Main Maa-Taare Zameen Par

How much ever I try running away from them, in some way or other it all comes back,
Like an unexpected flood drowning the whole village, like stars and moons pouring down on you trying to wipe the pearly tears..

Nostalgia.
Pain.
Memories.
Flash Back.
Mirror.
Dream.
Happiness.
Tears.
Fire.
Innocence

The movie defined all these and so much more for me.
I don’t even feel like discussing it, because its become so much a part of me.
Some movies are a journey, and this one was surely one such experience.
Ishaan is probably present in each one of us, a part of us am sure can relate to him somewhere deep within..

I was just jobless, introspecting, and I realized I was so different in my childhood.

For instance, those evenings where I would take my cycle out, clean it, get its tyres checked, and then venture out contented..
Eat pakodas in the chai ki tapri all alone. I wouldn’t need a company ,all I cared about was tasting those crisp snacks with freshly prepared coriander chutney while people around kept gazing.I didn’t know why. I truly didn’t bother.
I can still smell the pakodas.
I can still smell my childhood like a waft of air passing by..nostalgic smell, sweet salty smell, and sometimes nauseating.

A child.Yes just a child . All he asks for at a tender age is some genuine love and care.
And it’s a shame if they don’t even find a healthy upbringing.

There was something mentioned in this post-Friday, September 29, 2006(http://titzbitz.rediffblogs.com/)
This movie just gave shape to my thoughts, Oh So beautifully.
Sparing a thought so beautifully for an issue like this is simply commendable.
Kids..arent they the one who sprinkle colours of faith and hope in this huge big world…where sometimes one tends to get lost in the rat race..disillusioned..facaded..

Actually its not just about kids…its about the kid in all of us..its about innocence..
Its about finding your true self… not bothering about how the world would perceive you
as.

By the end of the movie I truely wanted to thank my parents for all they have given me so unconditionally.. I remember my father having rejected numerous offers where in he could grow his business, because he valued his family the most.. before anything..anyone else. Maa and Baba having always comforted me whenever I felt left out..whenever the world would turn upside down. Glowing with pride with each of my achievement.. letting me have a taste of the bigger world outside my small town… not always giving in to my whims..
Lol..its stupid actually..impossible to remember all those moments that has nurtured my life so far.

I took classes, painting, dancing, kept myself busy creatively, chalking out ways to overcome my shortcomings. Probably, I was an introvert then, but I was leading a quality life. I would search for places where I could go, study, read at peace, write my diary…

And now.. a part of me has turned into a curious kid looking around helplessly, evaluating my existence day in day out.. my self esteem having gone for a toss..








And you don’t remember a thing about this post the moment you close down this page :P

thots in a caravan

Rush of thoughts..some silly, some life-changing; running visually stimulating sights.. some thrilling and some blurry n nostalgic enough to throw u back to your cocoon..
Cuddled in my blanket, and lying down cozily in my own seat..I see a man who looks rather Buddhist, up at 4 in morning.. he goes freshens up and here ..he is back again adoring the sights pensively out of the misty window pane. The darkness, quietness n the smooth swings like a mother gently putting its baby off to slumber with a cradle-lullaby, is so comforting.. .

Sitting in the train amidst a crowd of different people mostly young n ‘couples’;), I finally comfort myself on getting a reward of few hours of peace …all by myself…n wid thots of my people..smsing endlessly...people-watching.. staring outside blankly while sipping my favorite beverage (oh I miss the hot piping chaa in earthern pots avaible in sonar bangla.. n those soft hot roshogolaas)…

Hectic exam schedule has made me realize I can get up pretty early in the morning.. (my poor alarm tone –big big world- usually fades to the turn off mode after ceaselessly trying to wake me out of my fantasy world..lol..).
Train journeys have always been special in some way or the other for me, usually when its all by myself.
It’s helped me take decisions after long reflective mindboggling shifts of thoughts, it’s helped me forgive, not be jealous of certain things thereby feeling miserable, help me love a little more, grow some more..and be a little more of who I am.

Home…hmm.. what about it..something that I have noticed is tht my family’s attitude has changed so much in these few months..umm I don’t know.. That they miss me..has become so much more evident in their voices now.. that- when I would be able to be with them is all they care about (even if they know I would have to come back early) that I wont be attending a cousin’s wedding is okay with them (something I remember I used to have huge arguments about during my grads days in Kolkata, because I would want to utilize that time for something else)

Why do we have to evaluate what we are doing every single moment…specially by comparing it with what others are doing! Should not that either be “none of my business” or simply be a source to derive some inspiration and give the best of my efforts! Damn..i mean its succha short time.. things change drastically…
living in the moment is so true..so damn true!

The other day I spoke to an old friend, she told me how few friends still hold the grudge that others haven’t kept in touch with them , they behaved rudely with her when she went to meet them up :-/ I found it so childish.. cant they just come out of their hostel bitchy political issues..be matured enough to accept each other unconditionally .. now! that everyone is actually separated! I just asked her not to rack her brains with things she cant help n by continuously bothering bout people who cant see through the tough time she is facing ..


Here in train, I wonder why am I not initializing a conversation with anyone around..I can..but lol.. don’t want anyone to disturb my thoughts when I need ‘that’ time wrapped in silky dreamy titbits of life..
Isnt socializing the rule of surviving.. but I hate to socialize, just to impress, when I want to be quiet.. specially when its amongst people you know.. I mean, chicy talks alone don’t make you chic, acting cool is nt enough to make you actually cool.. it takes time to know someone..n if you don’t care to take that extra effort n see thru who I actually am… u rather be spending your time somewhere else n leave me on my own n form whatever opinion u want to with your perpetual judgmental attitude. I know am being kind of cynical.. but its important to set ur priorities sometimes..n hence plz let me do tht :P….!!!Blogging has been therapeutic when it comes to venting out n feeling light n amazingly healed! and I don’t know why I havent ever tried n organized my thoughts while writing something rather personal, yeah coherent thoughts do make for a good read but more that that…even professionally I would like to believe that the message that raw unaltered views convey is pretty satisfactory in its own way, of course its gotto be REGULAR (oki I confess my mistakes too) :P!!

N before the battery of the laptop exhausts, wish me a good journey back home. Its going to hectic even now:-/ will publish this piece after I reach.-15th oct,07

update frm the hoemtown:Here.let me share few pics i clicked today in the morning...Deja vu!...last yr..i did somethings similar..woke up early in the morning to shoot things around my home..

these r the recent ones on flickr -http://www.flickr.com/photos/51928396@N00/
till the title "balcony moments"
the ones that follow had been taken last yr :)

ummm....
just not feeling good...

bits on Shobha De- Frank Capra...(no relation there:P)

I feel like being indulgent today..
Indulging myself in writing incessantly-unbothered and just khamakha. (Okay..i like the feel of the post after having published it, otherwise it looks like succha tedious task penning down thoughts these days,lol):P)
All thanks to this new book I started reading by Shobha De-her autobiography- Selective Memory. This is the first book am reading written by her and strange enough I have a feeling that she is going to be one of my favourite authors in the times to come. Bought this book to gift my senior date( I gotta girl as my date :-/) Its just a tradition in our college to allot a junior a senior date who has to be gifted something he/she loves. Fortunately or unfortunately she wanted to read another book and I ended up reading this one:D
Just the other day I was discussing with a friend how I cant seem to be able to write anymore .How much ever I try writing on serious and more imp topics –end up scribbling about random thoughts and thts what can do with sincere dedication.
Coming back to her autobiography- its disturbing, its all nostalgia..and bitterly sweet(am only on the 32nd page)

Brought up in a typical Bengali family ambience. Surrounded by people who are affectionate, restricted, and of so-called conservative mindset, she fondly recalls many moments from her humble modest beginnings. From the long summer and acrid aftertaste of ripe ,juicy ,glossy jamuns-to her memories of stretching her body over her mother who was relaxing and simultaneously looking for (as the author recalls -)“obstinate remnants of grime that hadn’t been scrubbed away during bathtime” from the little girl’s nostrils and ears, to the day of her glory when she won accolades as an athlete in her school days. I could sense a deep bonding with her baba whose dos n donts shaped her life in different shades and marked turning points in her life.

Her simple narrative n descriptive style of jotting down fragments of her childhood is just so honest, sincere and straight from the heart.
Bits from the book- (while writing this I tried to recreate those heady years when I’d hear one section of the stadium chanting Sho-bha, Sho-bha, as I laced my spikes, crouched at the starting blocks and waited to take off at the sharp sound of the starters pistol shot.I can visualize it all with complete detachment like an old movie starring someone familiar.Its hard to think of that person as a young me. I am unable to get under her skin or identify with her glory. Ironically enough, my entire collection (an impressive one) of silver cups was stolen sometimes in the seventies. Nobody knows what happned to the steel trunk in which they had been stored…”) well.seems would make for a godo reading overallJ



Okay…There also is a screwball comedy movie I watched recently. “It Happened One Night”(1934)
The orginal version of bolly Dil Hai ki manta nahi.(I have’t watched the latter yet)

Elements of romance, adolescent rebelliousness, adventure, comedy… in one word the movie was absolutely charming.
Made in the black and white movie making era, it starred the pretty “Claudette Colbert” and some Jameson Thomas (man with the soothing onscreen presence). Must mention that the movie directed by Frank Capra won the top five Academy Awards.

The girl who was the daughter of the millionaire trying to break away from the shackles of a royal pampered upbringing.. elopes to meet her husband from Miami( marriage just for the heck of I as we understand) to New York and eventually on her way falls in love with this reporter whom she meets in a bus journey, who followed her to write a story on the interesting aspect of her life at the moment.
She unknowlingly..reluctantly falls in love with this charming, slightly bossy, caring young man (a script repeated so often these days) The romance unfolds as they spend days together, the girl cherishing her new found freedom , staying alone under a roof for the first time with a man- “stranger but trustworthy”, the boy taking care of her like she was a child to him, reprimanding her for her spoilt –bratish attitude, covering her with his jacket as she went off to sleep under the open night sky on a bed of straws , giving her his clothes, preparing breakfast for her…small little things that urged the simple girl in her to be with him for a lifetime, be with him on the imaginative dream Island he had built..

The story ends after a series of misunderstandings and realizations that eventually bring the two of them together, teasing me wanting to see them together on screen after they both realize their love for the other one- instead the movie ends by showing a curtain
falling on ground (that had all this while marked a separation between the two in one single hotel room where they had to put up) with sound of the trumpet in the background hailing the triumph of the crazy mad love!

Something...

The breeze feels rather dull.. clouds motionless, and those chirping of the birds lifeless..
When its an emptiness you find in you most of the times..
Probably that’s bound to happen with time….days wont be rosy each day u wake up from your bed, things around to haunt you and illusions to clutter your world…. At a point like this..its great to fall back upon those simple joys of life that keep you preoccupied, keep the haunting feeling aside … like.. a quality time with family, unwinding with a longtalk with a friend, or embarking upon a new journey..like closing a chapter of life and opening another. You don’t know if its good or bad..but its different, its new and fresh and that’s the charm of it all I guess…
It happens with me everytime…. a fear, a trepidation, an uncertainity …with the change of time. But this time its greater somehow..probably growing up and few harsh reality checks in the past have resulted in this clueless growing uncomfort.
For all I know, I ll be a little aloof for a while, a little lost.. angry and cribbing may be…
I miss the times I spent for my undergraduate studies in hostel…and now when its time to enter the postgraduate phase of my life, I fondly reminisce those … late night chais, banging each others doors at any point of time,friends coaxing you to try one sutta of cigarette, sharing the innocent fears of the future to be, PNPCs (poro ninda poro chorcha aka bitching), waiting for our Mr rights and often discarding the very idea of falling for any relationship atall…
Always having rushed to look forward to something little more worthwhile ahead, it’s a little late I realized the joy was in those simple pleasures…

I Welcome myself to the real world anyways..!!!

Current Song humming- Jaane kitne dino kebaad gali mein aaj chaand nikla...

The movie am craving to watch- Cheeni Kum..

Thing am craving to do- Shoppingggg

spot blog blog spot post

Some passions need conscious efforts॥for them to continue and live..like writing...
Considering the fact that blogger.com as a webblog is much more user (read "blogger") friendly, here I am, with a new blog URL..shifted from http://titzbitz.rediffblogs.com/ (do i hear change is the rule of nature:P)
Random thoughts, cribbings...it will be the same ofcourse added with instances of my life I would love to share whenever time and mood allows... Collection from online image resources gave way to the the header picture in this blog processed in Adobe..thanks to Pranshu too who helped the tech challenged me in giving the final touches ;)..just wanted this to be a normal interface enough for posting n checkin comments actually.

Writer's block...a stupid term..wish i had never learnt that phrase in the first place and continued blogging...and preserving memories and snapshots from my life..Thanks to each and everyone of you who never failed to view my blog no matter updated or not , that was the sweetest gesture i received from my people:)Sorry for the long delay:)
In the next post am just updating few lines I had jotted down around a month ago..and yeah its in devnagri script..guess i would never again update anything in devnagri script considering the fact that i wasnt happy editing it...it was a tedious task soemhow n consumed a lot of time:-S but k..if am pretty vella..wil think about it;)
There r a lot of spelling errors ,some i was lazy enough not to edit..kindly excuse :) Also I couldn't think of a title, what would you name it..?

The poem am talkin about is right below...plz do scroll downn..

किताबो में सिमटी हुई थी
जब अचानक हलके से कंधो को थपथपाया किसीने
पीछे मुड़ के देखा तो
देखा वक़्त मुस्कुरा रहा था
दस्तक सा देकर ज़रा कुछ देर के लिए पीछे बुला रहा था


उंगलिया पकड़ के थमा दी माँ की उगलियों में मेरी
छुडा के जिसे दौड़ रही थी घर के आंगन में हमारी
माँ के एक हाथ मे लंबी छड़ी थी,
दुसरे मे खाने का निवाला जिसे छोड़
निडर बावरी जैसी भागे जा रही थी

वक़्त ने फिर खीच लिया
उस कमरे मे मुझे
जहां हाथों मे अखबार लिए पापा चाय की sip ले रहे थे
जब लिपट कर चहरे से उनके, खिलखिला रही थी महसूस कर रूखे रूखे दाढ़ी को उनकी

नन्ही सी जान के साथ अपनी वे भी मुस्कुरा रहे थे

समेट ही रही थी उन लम्हों को

कि वक़्त ने ले गिराया रेतों मे मुझे
जहां सहेलियों के साथ पुरे बदन में मिटटी सनाये रेतों के घर बना रही थी

घुप अंधेरो में टिमटिमाते तारों को निहार रही थी उन्ही रेतों मे लेटे ठुड्डी को हाथों मे दबाये

वक़्त ने फिर ले बिठाया तेज़ सूरज के किरणों के नीचे
जब सर पर किसी कि मार से
अचानक लगा बालों को कस के पकड़े हुए था कोई
जाड़ों कि धुप मे दीदी
तेल कि बोतल लिए हुए हाथों में
शायद डांट सी रही थी
चोटी बनाते हुए दिल्लागियों पे मेरे ताने सुना रही थी






दोनो चोटियों को उड़ाते हुए हवाओं में
गुनगुनाते हुए साइकिल को खूब तेज़ चला रही थी
मुहल्ले में जाने कहा कहा रूक कर कर जंगली फूलों के रस चूस रही थी


फिर जाने क्या हुआ

नज़र धुंधला सी गयी मेरी
धुल समझ के जिसे आखों से निकाल रही थी
तो पाया गालों में ओस कि बूंदों कि तरह भीगे
लम्हे डबडबाती आखों से छलक रहे थे

खोजती आंखों ने खबर लेनी चाहि जब वक़्त कि
जो अब तक यु मुझे भगा रह था
तो देखा कि वक़्त बीत चूका था ...
आधे अधूरे सपनो के बीच छुपे दूर खड़े अब भी मुस्कुरा रहा था



दीवार पर सर टिकाए हुए
पलकों को झुकाया ज्यो ही
माँ कि छड़ी ,पापा कि दाढ़ी , डांट दीदी की
सर को मेरे अब भी तो सहला ही रही थी