The year that was

I am a tad bit confused, so I'm doing my version of this tag. Thank you

>This year I listened to more music than I ever have. I even spent whole days listening to music
>This year I fell in love, really truly in love
>This year I lost some people I never thought I would. To life.
>This year I spent a whole night, wondering if he would make it through the night. He did, after several nights of waiting outside icus in fear. I had my own brush with well death, or rather terrorism at the train blasts.
>This year at the exams, I got the kind of marks I wanted.
>This year I lost some weight..not enough.
>This year music touched my soul like I'd never known (you know the feeling?)
>So did some people.
>This year I made two short film things that I can watch and not say, I didnt do that
>This year I read two books that broke my heart. Shantaram and Lolita. One that found some faith. Still Life With Woodpecker. And so many other wonderful books.
>Early This year, I fell in love with the movies. I can't pick a favourite...most found me a new lesson. Among the hindi movies though, Omkara owns.
>This year I shopped wisely:)
>This year I lay down and watched the stars
>This year I spent as many nights up and working, as up and talking/partying.
>Which brings me to: This year, I was less anti-social than I normally am. Which is also thanks to some wonderful new people:)
>This year, I did somethings I never thought I would!
>This year, I learnt an insecurity of a different kind.
>This year I discovered a family bond, with my cousin. She is wonderful, affectionate and very special
>This year I learnt the C chord:)
>This year I worked at some interesting places. I wish had worked a little more. I also worked someplace I'd never want to again.
>This year, I sang loudly and didnt care who looked.
>This year, I had more alcohol then I ever have.
>This year I did some travelling. Not enough:( Found a hazaar places to go to
>This year, I lost some hope. And found some too.
>This year I got my driving license!
>This year, I learnt patience, and how
>This year I learnt no one can share the same faith as you. In relationships its about you and him, and eventually about you and you.
>This year, I came to know, some friends just do stay
>And well, some don't
>This year, I had my first real date. And no, I didnt even dress. It was...:)
>This year I finally really really spoke to my sister
>This year I dreamt..and dreamt..and dreamt..:)
>This year, I read more of the newspaper than I ever have
>This year I had the most awesome December
>This year, I wished I was earning...so many times
>This year, I volunteered at the blind school..something I've always wanted to do
>This year I turned a little more cynical.
>I also gave more of myself than I thought possible.
>This year, I learnt I'd be okay alone. But also, that I would want to be someone.
>This year, I learnt I ought to work with something that stimulates me. Mundane stuff wont do anything for me.
>This year I learnt its the people and the music. And the storyteller.
>I wrote much less than I wanted to.
>This year I wondered how long this would last several times. And, wondered of those days gone by, so many more.
>And finally this year for me, was about growing up, loving and letting go. And of memories, I will forever hold.
I feel good. A merry Christmas..with love! Pass on the tag, btw

Of Reunions and a much needed Christmas Break

Reunions are hard to describe; I wouldn't call them fun, splendid, boring, terrible or any such thing. Reunions seem to be just that, reunions. And strange. Except, for a thoughtful school time samosa and the ck (cooperite kameena) certificate of excellence thrown in. I can't say I was thrilled to see any body except a couple (besides the few, I see anyway), but it was just nice to see how every one's turned out five years later. And, I say this rather dismally, I see nothing extraordinary. We are as yet stars in the making. Or not?

That said, like any other place where the vodka is flowing freely, reunions leave with you a terrible aftertase the next morning as the usual grogginess.

On a completely different note, Mr Patki, in a tone characteristic to well, Mr Patki, ended his last lecture of the year with: Christmas break begins this Friday. And college begins 2nd January (We make some noise, needless to say)Then, you have back-to-back assignments all the way up to the end of Feb. Prelims are in March, and the boards, first week of April. Results end of May. And then, thats it! You're a BMM pass...get lost!

Ouch. Such love! I reckon, its mutual. But that does pretty much sum of the beginning of next year. And, yeah, get lost indeed.

the List time of the year.

And since the heartbroken are mending hearts and the lonely are finding love, this one's a 'Love' list. I've left out a loathe one, the month of December makes it difficult to hate. So here goes, a random list from a happy-for-no-reason g:

Loves

>The just arrived Lovable lingerie at Westside. So hot!
>The New Levis Ad.
>The Nokia N93 Ad.
>Infact, even the Zen Ad. A surge of good ads eh. To make up for a mega disaster called e-serve - Everybody's Excited?
>Paul Simon.
>Alcohol.
>The perfect week. Very very hard weekdays, 12 hours and more. A power-packed friday night, half-way lazy Saturday, and lazier Sunday.
>Late evening, oh-so-cold swims.
>White Linen, by Estee Lauder.
>Chai, I just discovered by default at college vending machine. Gingery and sweet and meloves.
>Watching the love birds :)
>MsN conversations with cousin and rishi:)
>Inshallah, the thought of five months to moving out.
>And well, you! Muaah.

The last bits of this painfully long year are hurrying by. And,am I glad. Of all things 2006 has been the year of heartache.
Miserable, miserable heartache.
Love with heartache. Heartache with Love. Death. Heartache with Lolita. With losing. With letting go.
OH, be gone now. You broken hearted misery of a year.
And welcome, the sunshine?

P.s: There is no heartache without love, so maybe 2006 was the year of love? Ah, perspective. Perspective.

I no longer know, what I am afraid of, what I fear. I know longer understand, and its taking its time, but I know longer have the will to. Maybe, I know what i fear after all, the lack of will, of pretending not to care, that numb feeling. And life turns once more, and shrouds me in obscurity. Do I ever want to come out of here? The pain after is too much to bear.

Dear women of the world,
Those black pinstriped pants you wear, aren't particularly gorgeous...but for god's sake don't team them with that horizontal/vertically striped shirt you just picked. Stripes and stripes just don't go.
Perturbed,
g

butter and mashed bananas.~

While some might complain its amatuerish and others may find the constant interuption of 'naach gaana' not quite to their taste, 'butter and mashed bananas' a play at the ongoing prithvi fest that I managed to catch last night was super. And funny.

It dealt with some pertinent issues in democratic societies today, clearly that too; was funny and confused, cynical and mad. With a play that comes from 'Harami productions' is named after a classic train meal(I once saw one fat lady in the local train, dig out two slices of buttered bread, and then peel a banana. The banana was mashed, hand and all, and squished between two slices of bread. And then relished.) and has a boy singing in a girl's voice..." Hey Sexy.. Hello Sexy..Mujhe log bole" there's little else to expect, but a hilarious one hour.

The dinner that followed at a local pizza place with all of us mimicking the good
bits, was just as.

There is still a fading alphabet in a tiny corner of the mehendi that adorns my right hand. It reminds me of when I first got to know you, days we spent chatting endlessly on msn, while we sat only a second apart, of up-down signs and guitars, of crumpled bits of paper, of driving through the cities crowded roads, of coffee and a half-eaten italian meal, of vodka, the smell of your cigarettes, of red fords and movies. Of the fear in your hand when i first held it, of holding you, of the joy you brought, of stealing one kiss and then another on forbidden stairways. Of your shirt, and your smile, and the laughter we shared, of levis, sms, sevi puri. Of sitting together and dreaming. Of earrings, black all stars, and holding you close in lifts, coffee shops, and anywhere i could. Of tears, searching for truth, of longing, and wanting, and getting there, of rain, and guns and roses, ipods, and still life with woodpecker. Of a pack of camels, and love stories around them:). Of silent thank-you's and bright red nail marks, of every place that came to find a memory of you and me, of us. It reminds me, of our dreams and how I long for them to be. And, it reminds me that you're going, if not gone already.

One day. You'll wake up to the rain clouds forming, no sunshine, still as humid. Your hair will smell of strawberries,you'll slip on your dark blue jeans on your body still sore, and you'll put on the sunglasses. There ain't no sunshine, but sunglasses still make you happy. You'd spread honey on browned toast and you'll put on your headphones and the song playing is Stereophonics, 'Maybe Tommorrow.'Same from the night before. It's always, Maybe Tommorrow. And, i never spell Tommorrow right in the first go. Or the second.

Then, you'll step on the cement, and make your way through the day, uneven and hard. In your head, you'll be floating, somewhere up above. And in the evening, you'll walk me down an empty road. Or not.You'd be so knotted up in a world of your own, you wouldn't notice anyway. And you'll be thinking today is forty. seconds for fifty metres. you'll down the crunched wheat flakes and you may or may not make it. but you keep working. that't the way life goes.

you'll come out, smelling of chlorine. you'll look for someone, not anyone. someone, who gets, what you swallow, everyday. who makes you talk, when all you do is keep shut. who gets you, when all you want to do is keep shut. your making sense or not. but hey, there's still no one. so what the hell. your thinking forty, still but now there's so much more. and also, you want to paint that swirling fan up above, shocking pink.

and then you pull up against her, all of white, like you were five. curled up, eyes drooping, almost asleep. and you're not sure. you push away your fears, with every typed word,and it'll be okay. alone.

you pull out the car. and you're doing the same circle again and again. you see faces. the girl and you, they called twins. where is she now? the girl with braided hair, and the other one, long and straight, all of those other faces, etched so clearly. you wonder for a second, and then you take the turn. and there are newer faces.

theres all the fun you have together. and there's no one. you untie your laces, one of each side. two seperate souls in two seperate worlds and you're still looking.

And down I went,
down to the riverside,
white sails, black waves,
earthly brown rocks.
And in the salt water lay,
hoops of silver,
of all the love,
that washed away,
and didn't come back,
with the broken shells,
and sun-dried prawns.

for a friend, his idea included. criticisms will be appreciated.
---

I write this, I write this, in an attempt to look back at my life of twenty four years and find something to live for. Something, anything. Riches, purple satin, threads of gold, a mansion made of brick and glass. Or more superior, non-material possessions, someone to love, care, live for. Besides, myself.

I think of lonely walks through paved streets, under the city's night sky, and glaring streetlights. As if they are shining down on me, burning and fading me out. And of journeys through pebbled pathways, circling through city roads, one studio to another, in the sweltering heat. Of high glossed pictures on once bare walls of shopping malls, shop-doors, magazine advertisements, my futile chance at fame. And my walls at home, with cracks in parts, yellowed, paint peeling, empty.

I think of my family left behind, of childhood memories, living in a hut by the sea, feat soaked in sand, running through the waves, the laughter, the giggling, the embittered goodbye. Of setting up dreams in a brand new city, albeit, with the sand and the sea. Minus the laughter. And seeking solace, in his unruffled dark hair and white tee-shirt. And then, watching him walk away.

Of tear-soaked blankets, desperate trips to dingy, dark rooms, fleeting attempts, to pick up a dying career. Somehow, struggling to stand my ground. And for every ground I traversed, there was still no one. No shadow lurking behind me, no happiness around the corner.

I pick up distant memories, and let them fall. And then, as often, the voices come. In my head, pulling at me, running through my veins, shrouding me further in obscurity. I pick up the metal on glass bottle, un screw the round cap; my fingers trace is its hard insides. I pick one, and let it fall. Another, and I hesitate. And then, I swallow them all. And run, run, between the four falls, picking up the lone wooden chair, crushing it against the wall.

Until, I fall. My eyes are blurring. Soon I will not see. And so, I write this here, as testament, to my life led in misery.

Goodbye. To all of you, who will hear, and bury my decaying body.

And not one, of you, who came to me in my life, to bury my insecurities.

Look at her now,
She's turning blue.