And you could have it all, my empire of dirt.

You know, how sometimes you have the perfect, most life-affirming day, when everything's perfect, everyone's good to you and you think it is so good to be alive.

Well, today was the exact opposite of that day. I feel like I let myself down today. And its not something I did today or yesterday or last week or last month. Its been something thats been creeping up on me for some time now. Its all the things I didnt do, the things I gave away, the things I didnt try to fix.

I let myself get complacent. I let myself walk the line between, "I dont care about what people think." and "I dont care about people."

I was a happy person two years ago and I am a happy person now. But something is definitely missing. I havent changed that much. But I feel like I shud have improved. And in not having improved, I have let myself stagnate and get worse.

I used to think all I had to do was live by the following rules :- (Numbers 6 and 8 are included from S.'s blog.)

1) Eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're sleepy enuff.

2) Be good to people who have been good to you. Be good to people unless they give you a reason to be mean to them. Be firm, but be kind.

3) Say 'No' as much as you say 'Yes'.

4) When you find something you admire in people, tell them about it. Even if it looks like flattery.

5) When you find something you detest in people, tell them about it. Only if you think it'll help them.

6) Before you say anything, ask yourself, 'is it true? is it kind? is it necessary?' if the answer to all three questions is not yes, then keep it to yourself.

7) Dont make up your mind about people the first time you meet them. Make up your mind only after the tenth time.

8) Keep looking till you find someone who will love you for what you really are. When you find that person, dont let go.

9) It is possible to be successful without being competitive. Its perfectly alright that you're not a competitive person. You will succeed.

10) Spend as much time with yourself as you do with other people.

11) Watch atleast one sunrise/sunset per week.

12) Read those books which give you pleasure. Read those books which will teach you something. Read those books which help you make that leap into the extraordinary.

13) Memorise poetry if you must. Its not a waste of time.

14) Write your thoughts down. It helps.

15) Watch movies and listen to music. Everyday do one thing which is exclusively for yourself.

16) Go for plays and art exhibitions. Especially if you have to do it all by yourself.

17) Make friends without giving a thought to their clothes, their accent, their politics.

18) Learn. Learn. Learn. Without it you will not help anyone.

19) True friends stab you in the front. Let them. Forgive them.

20) Say 'sorry', but only when you're wrong. Not becoz you think it will help things.

21) Do things that will challenge you. Stick to them till you finish them. Seek help if you flounder.

22) Ask for directions when you need them. But its also alright to get lost sometimes.

23) Ask questions even if it makes you look dumb. People like feeling smart, they'll tell you the answer and you'll gain something.

24) Take good care of your pets.

25) Dance. Sing. Even if its terrible to watch and hear. Floss once every week.

I think I kept to my rules around 90% of the time. But I'm missing something.

I must attempt to live better. To find what I've been missing.

I'm tired of juggling things and having too many pins in the air over my head. I'm tired and I want to rest.

I've decided to take this month off from blogging and use this time to try my hand at another form of writing for recreation. I've grown immensely fond of this hobby and I miss it terribly when I dont do it. I think thats why I shud stop it for a bit.

See you on the other side.

Due South

People take a lot of crappy tests about zombies, and their favourite colour and their soulmate and such on facebook for fun and general timepass. Nothing wrong with that. I do it, too.

But today, I found this really cool test that tells you something about how left-leaning or right-leaning you are in political and economic matters on a left-right economic axis and a libertarian-authoritarian political axis.

And the questions they asked were pretty sensible, too.

The test is called The Political Compass. You can take it at this address :-

http://www.politicalcompass.org

Check it out.

This graph is my test result. :)

The Man who wasnt there

A million miles away

on the other side of day

you live and breathe

and there you stay.

But I taste you in the salted roasted peanuts

you used to buy in two paper cones,

and which now I buy alone.

One cone.

I smell your smell in the fresh grass

of this garden we first held hands in.

You smelled of fresh green grass.

Did I ever tell you that?

("Grass, not weed?" You'll quip.)

I see your shadow now

Tall you stand,

always, always blocking my light

like a tree

in your shade I lie.

I hear your whispers

every time the winter wind blows.

Do you make it carry your jokes?

Your thoughts linger

over my head,

beckoning mine

to join them.

I want to wrap myself

in the loveliness of you.

Make you my lovely cocoon

and I'll stay hidden in the depths of you.

The touch of you dissolved

in my blood a long time ago.

The touch of me

I want to give to you.

Take it.

A million miles away

you live and breathe,

but you stay

under my skin.

Its only a million miles, you say.

Besides,

I never did like Geography.

When darkness falls, your heart will be true..

People think it's an obsession. A compulsion. As if there were an irresistible impulse to act. It's never been like that. I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either.

Batman,

Becoming Batman.

P.S. Just one of those days. Damn, if only he was real and we cud have a *conversation*. ;)

I hope you had the time of your life

I finished The Reader by Bernhard Schlink in three hours tonight and I feel a little overwhelmed.

The book was different from the movie and some things which were murky before became clearer. It doesnt leave me with a sense of tragedy that the movie did though. Which I suppose is a good thing.

I found this poem in the book. Michael writes it for Hanna as a declaration of his love but never ends up showing it to her. It is not the greatest of poetry. But there's just something about it.

When we open ourselves

you yourself to me and I myself to you,

When we submerge

you into me and I into you

When we vanish

you into I and I into you

Then am I me and you are you.

It makes me almost envious of Michael. To feel love with such intensity is not something that comes naturally to me. But then, in life, one never knows. ;)

Nothin' but the rain..

'When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me.'

Of Human Bondage,

W. Somerset Maugham.

Its been exactly six years to the day that I bought this book. I was cleaning out my cupboard and I found it today. I'd forgotten where I'd kept it. I opened it to the first page and saw the date '28th November, 2003.' Strange, that I should find it today.

I must have read this book seven or eight times, I did not keep count. But everytime I read it, there was a question in my head that needed answering. And becoz it happened the first three times, I have started to believe that reading this book, wud help me if not wholly, then atleast substantially to find the answer to that question.

And its like a charm. I've passed it around. And while a lot of other books have been stolen by wily friends (you know who you are!), this book always came back to me. A little tattered, but mine still, to be read after being put away.

I havent read a whole lot of books. I have friends who must have read hundreds. I think its becoz I tend to reread books that I really like. I dont find enuff time to read radically new ones.

But I do wonder, is it normal to have such a relationship with a book?

In the beginning of Dnyaneshwar's Dnyaneshwari (yes, I've read the English translation of that one, so I know for sure), he talks about how Lord Shiva once praised the Srimad Bhagwat Geeta and narrated it to his wife Parvati. When she is mildly irritated by his frequent expositions, he tells her that the beauty of the Geeta is much like Parvati's own beauty. It changes and gives you new things everytime you read it. Instead of growing old and constant, it grows new and appears ever-changing.

Now while this might be an awesome way to flatter his wife, Shiva says something very intriguing about the book itself. That reading it gives you different things at different times.

But then, this book is nothing like the exalted Geeta.

Its a very simple, semi-autobiographical story detailing the life of an ordinary, flawed man.

However, in all the years that I have known him, much like a real human being, I have grown closer to the protagonist, Philip Carey.

It is almost as if everytime I read about his life, a lesson he learns teaches me something about my own life.

His mother's death, his lonely childhood, the end of his artistic aspirations, his coming-of-age when he becomes a medical student, his self-taught atheism, his obsession with a vile woman who takes advantage of his kindness, his selfless love for her baby daughter, his work as a doctor who saves grimy London's dying poor, his friendship with a kind man, his affection for the pure-of-heart Sally who he marries, and his realisation that an exotic trip to far away lands wud teach him less than settling down and starting a family.

Every step of the way, I have walked with him.

And every time, the journey is worth it.

I wont read it today. I have put it away again. Right now, I dont think I need it.

But I know I shall go back to it some day.

And perhaps, one day, I shall learn all I can possibly learn from it. But it has become part of me. Philip Carey will remain with me forever.

And for all that I have learned, I am grateful to Maugham, wherever he is.

Double Life

I know some people who obsess over the written word. Day and night. I have a friend who can recite passages and passages of Shakespeare from memory. I have another friend whose greatest dream is to make a movie out of Crime and Punishment. I have a friend who is so good at writing poems that she will write them everywhere, on tissue paper, on the back of restaurant bills, on the walls of her bedroom. She cannot put a stopper on her writing.

I read this poem by Charles Bukowski today. Its called 'So you want to be a writer?'.

This poem was emailed to me by the second of those three friends I mentioned up there. This is the poem.

So you want to be a writer?

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.

if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.

the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

It appears that Mr. Bukowski is giving some real good advice to aspiring writers. And my friend fills his email with despair that he's not a "natural talent" and he will never make it as a writer.

But you know what I think? This poem looks solid and when written as convincingly as Bukowski writes everything, it looks like the very word of God.

Dont buy it. Dont take his word for it. He is himself guilty of all those sins he's admonishing an aspiring writer against.

One might have a natural inborn talent as a writer, or, for that matter, as a plumber or a portrait painter, but thats not the only way to go. You really cant rely on raw talent. Its nice to be a genius, of course (somebody very famous once used that line) but most people have to learn the ropes of their profession.

There's a poet called Thomas Gray who spent a lifetime rewriting and polishing his poems. His "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" took him over 20 years. Wikipedia tells me, that it is held by many to be the best poem in the language, tho’ not the most popular, a dubious honour held by Kipling's "If..." Anyways, Gray's Elegy didn't just come bursting out of him. He ground it out over decades. He studied the poetry of the ancients, he wrote Horatian and Pindaric Odes (whatever those are, they do sound painfully boring), and he learned his craft.

In fact, when you look at the lives of most poets closely, most of them learned their craft by studying other writers. You cant just sit down and write, unless you're willing to judge what you've written harshly and compare your work with the work of others.

Just as science depends substantially on the findings of previous scientists, so poetry depends on the body of literature that has gone before it. You cant depart from the norm unless you understand thoroughly what the norm is. You cant be a rebel unless you know what you're rebelling against.

I'm not an expert on any of these things. But I think we'd do well to remember, there was and is only one Charles Bukowski.

And even he was hardly infallible.

I hope I did the requisite cheering up. I dont usually give advice, but in this case, I'm sure I gave really good advice, eh? :)

These people honor me with their lips..

After two good movies and a high-on-carbs pizza and coke dinner, I came home to read a rather angry email P. sent me. "You wrote such a self-centred post on your blog today. You know what date it is. Dont you care? Dont you feel upset about it?"

I am a little stunned. She's hardly ever angry with anything I do or say. And rarely, if ever disapproving. I dont believe people's opinions matter that much. But there are some people whose voices I hear and remember and whose words I take to my heart.

P. is one of them. And this is written for her. No, I am not turning this into something about me. I am merely stating the reason I am writing what I am writing.

Yes, P., I do remember what date it is. How can I not? All day long they remind me. The newspapers, the radio stations, the news channels, even Star Plus. Abhishek Bachchan has been popping up for a while now. Reminding me about today.

I remember exactly what I was doing this time last year. I was sitting, my eyes glued to the tv screen, my clammy hands clasped in my lap, uneasily calling people up, to lessen the feeling of dread. You hugged me when you came from Bangalore the next week. I walked with you, P., to Cafe Leopold in January and we ordered beer. And we looked at the bulletholes.

After that, we thought about what we shud do to make it better.

I voted, both times this year. I joined the Rotary Youth Club's Awareness Drive. I went to eighteen buildings distributing pamphlets with voting information a week before the parliamentary elections. I told people about the area's electoral office address and what time they should go there and how they shud speak with Mr. Jadhav and fill out Form Eight. I interviewed Mona Shah of the PPI, and I'll make sure her views come out uncensored in our college magazine. I swear.

Thats all I did. I dont know what else I cud have done really. You're the filmmaker. You made a short film and they selected it for the student section of the MAMI festival and I am so proud of you. It touched my heart. Becoz you're so honest and good-hearted, when you make something that quality of yours shows, P.

My own words are inadequate useless things. The only way I'll really help is when I finish my degree and become a real doctor. Right now, I feel pretty useless myself.

You asked me what I feel. Well, I feel the same thing I felt last year and the year before that and the year before that. I feel impotent rage.

What I feel is a desperate longing to fix the world so that when we have children, they dont think we were fools who let it all burn and go to hell. But I dont know how to do that. I can only do some small, limited things.

Thats why I write about things that I think are significant for me.

Coz when it comes to the real world, and the things that really matter,

you see, I'm as insignificant as they come.

And P., I'm not indifferent. I didnt go to that candlelight vigil last year becoz mum was worried and I needed to be home with her. I just wanted you to know that.

I'm not stubborn. I am trying to be resilient.

Bob Dylan once said, songs cannot change the world. They can only distract people from noticing how rotten the world really is. They're like blinders.

I disagree. I think songs and films and books can change the way people think.

And thats the first step to changing the world, right? :) So go change the world, P. and I'll be right here cheering you on.

P.S. but their hearts are far from me.

Excuse me while I kiss the Sky..

Fifteen days of mindless studying. Seventeen hours of sleep spread out over seven days. Four days of exams that panned out unexpectedly well. An intense feeling of exhaustion. Emptiness. Running out of the soul substance and the mind matter. Thirteen hours of sleep on Sunday.

Phone conversations. Forgetting T.'s birthday. Making it up to him on the phone. The one with S.P. was soul-stirring. The one with I. stung becoz of all the truth in it. The one with P. was wistful. The one with B. was only skimming the surface of things. Two friends broke up with their boyfriends in the last month. And two others found their new loves. Conservation of energy? More phone conversations. Swinging crazily from love to despair.

K.'s exhilarating laughter and her first flush of love. D.'s dry sobs. Me bleeding more soul substance.

I dont know what to say. To any of them. I cant say anything that will mean something, be real, be kind, be lasting, something that will keep them safe and happy.

I dont know about the shouting, the banging of doors, the taunts. I also dont know how to react to the comparing of the fourth boyfriend with the first.

Running out of conversation. Pauses. Endless pauses and awkwardly hanging up.

Four days of absolutely nothing. Four nights of complete debauchery.

Churchill. Meringue's. Theobroma. Soul Fry Casa. Salt and Pepper. Red Box. Mumbai Times Cafe. McDonald's. Churchill yet again. Theobroma again. Marine Drive. Celebrate Bandra. Kavita Seth. Hard Rock Cafe, almost. Mahalaxmi. Haji Ali. Noorani. Eros.

Chilli ice cream. My first pink T-shirt. Blueberry pie. Apple pie. Grilled fish. Stuffed tomatoes. Pasta. Lasagna. Chicken Biryani. Green eye-liner. PJ Harvey. Dum Ali Ali Dum. Iktara. Vodka. Maharaja Mac. Rum balls. Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi.

Christmas Carol. The feeling of not feeling uplifted. The feeling of wanting to hibernate the winter away.

Regret at buying the pink t-shirt. Contemplating painting it over.

Crashing on B.'s sofa and lying immobile as he attempts to cheer me up with a Christian Bale movie marathon. :D

The Dark Knight. Harsh Times. Velvet Goldmine. Rescue Dawn. American Psycho. The New World.

Rush of affection towards B. Relief and elation. Divine exhaustion. Gratitude. Laughing as he ribs me about falling in love with crazy men. Knowing he's not too far from the truth.

Wanting, yearning to blog again. Not knowing what to say. Fingers suspended over the keyboard for three minutes and eleven seconds.

Too tired to form sentences.

Incoherent. Purple Haze filling my mind.

The Window on the West

The abbreviated version.

Faramir* > Aragorn

(and it'll stay that way for me, altho' Viggo very nearly swung the balance!)



*Faramir from the books. :)



I solemnly swear to reread LOTR after exams. I cant wait! :D