A birth, a death.

Tonight, memories nurture the pain
And still, black falls the rain
I fight hard, yet lose
As it was, so it still is
Strangely both better and worse
And still, regrettably,
that deep welt my heart doth stain

Words fail both you and I
A strange alchemy this,
that turns gold to stone
A conversion infernal
A strange promised land this,
where springs deemed eternal
Are doomed to run dry

May the rivers you cry
one day shatter the stone
May the cracks bleed you dry
of despair, like I have known
May the streaked cheeks shine
like your eyes at my song
On this day,
may you be reborn.

This is apt today.

It's night. Yes, definitely night.

But there’s a moon. So you can find your way around without switching on the lights. There are no lights because I have switched them all off. You’ve just drifted off to a light sleep. I look at you for a while, the way I know you look at me. And I kiss you lightly, mostly because you look so beautiful and I can’t resist. It is such a magical night, and I feel an urge to get up and take a walk around the house. I want to carry your warmth with me, so I wrap my arms around myself, and miss you while you are right there, sleeping, dreaming.

I go downstairs, padding softly down. It’s a strange feeling; I don’t want to wake you but half wish you would wake on your own. It’s not very late but it’s quiet outside. It’s a night for quiet love, the kind that can be made with the eyes. It’s a little warm and the air is heavy. The thunder rolls just as I am hit with the fragrance of wet earth. I know it will rain soon, and I can’t believe my luck. I close my eyes and take a sip of last evening. You looked so beautiful, and I thought I couldn’t take it anymore. A strange love, ours – words missing, yet inadequate.

The wine’s gone a bit flat but it doesn’t matter. I take a sip and look out through the French windows. The moonlight glances off the leaves, and just as I begin to wonder why they are called French windows, it begins to rain. It’s not a downpour, and it’s not the sheets of fine droplets that seem to reluctantly float to the ground, but it is that kind of rain where the droplets are just big enough to be able to see each individual one. The familiar pitter patter begins, and I am enchanted.

A streak of lightning runs across the sky in the distance and the thunder rolls in. I close my eyes for a moment and somehow know you’ve woken up. You look for me but don’t worry when you don’t see me, because you look at the night through the curtains and you know exactly where I am and what I am doing. I know are too lazy to dress now, so you will just wrap the expensive satin sheets around you, and drag them along the floor behind you. You know I will say nothing on a night such as this.

Now you will pad softly down the stairs, and bend down to see where I am. You will see me leaning against the wall, glass in hand, looking outside. Then you will try and gather the sheets behind you but your small hands will not be able to. You will sigh and give up. I open my eyes and smile, because I know exactly what you will do next as well. You will walk down the stairs with your effortless grace and you will glide across the smooth black tiles, the sheets making no noise. You will stop in your stride and shiver, enjoying the cold floor under your bare feet. On your way over to me, you will bend over slightly and pick up the other long-stemmed glass from the coffee table. Your hair will fall over the side of your face, and you will flick it back with a gentle toss of your head, in the way I adore. You will look over at me still facing the outside, and smile as you come closer.

And I would have already felt your touch, before you put your arm around my waist, lay your head between my shoulder blades, and press me to you.

And it will rain till dawn.

Non-Sensei says...

.
Many people simultaneously experiencing tremendous pleasure - Ourgasm.

...and she's back, back again...

'She' is the wonderful girl of my 'Conversations with Dog' post fame (May 24th, 2004).

If you haven't read that post, and its sequel, you should. Anyway, we chatted again today(on yahoo), after a fair while, and apparently the spaced out effect hasn't dimmed in the slightest. Could her incredible intelligence be coincidence? I don't think so! In fact, I've decided to name her as such.

Quincy Dense: did u see incredibles??? (she meant the movie The Incredibles)
Quincy Dense: i wanted to see it
Quincy Dense: its no more there in the theatres
Me: its gone?
Me: Ive not watched a movie for soooooo long... (sad emoticon)
Quincy Dense: yeah i think so
Quincy Dense: why did u want to see it too
Me: umm...not particularly the incredibles or something...but ANY movie, u know?
Me: (crying emoticon)
Quincy Dense: what???
Me: what what?
Quincy Dense: why r u crying??
Me: sigh...never mind...

Kill me. Kill me now.

.
A colleague who hadn't seen me for a while said : so, you've grown a beard.
I replied : yeah, I'm in the 'Don't Care' phase.

I might shave it off soon. But that may or may not mean I care now.

My 'everyday' colleagues get a kick out of making some sort of comment on the way I look, or my clothes, or how I work, or how I'm not very social these days ("You're not mixing nowadays". Yeah, that's because not everyone feels a compulsion to be a nosy bitch like you, isn't it.) This is mostly because none of them have the balls to be who they are. Everyone is someone else.

It shouldn't matter whether you shave everyday, or come dressed just so, just to look like what you think you are expected to look like. I alomost feel sorry for you morons, living a lie day in and day out.

So they had their laughs and then The Fox said "It's a fashion statement...it's part of the whole look." I almost laughed in his face because he's the one most trapped in this image conflict, between being who he is and what he wants to project himself to be. Or maybe he's just a slimeball anyway. Not that I care. I'm too dumb for office politics and ego-fuelled mindgames. But I did think about what he said. Ha ha ha - I've never been a fashion statement before! It's practically laughable. But I think I love the shock value. I also think I'm in the wrong fucking industry. But that's a whole other loaded M-16.

When he asks, and he probably will at some point, I'm thinking I should tell the boss the long hair is a religious thing.

It's probably a good thing he doesn't know I'm agnostic.

Where the streets have no names

They did, in fact, have names.

It was just that they didn't register to him. He had never been here before, and he was reasonably sure he would never be here again. What would be the point of remembering the names of the streets, he thought. His eyes glazed over at the street corners, as he gazed perfunctorily at the neat little signboards, standing like diligent soldiers who felt mighty responsible about their duties. He looked around at the corner, wondering where he should go now. The streets all looked about the same, and none seemed to beckon him more than any other. They might as well have no names, he thought. He imagined what such a town might be like - where the streets have no names. There was a song, wasn't there? Nice song, that. And he began to hum, slightly off tune, as the song began to play in his head.

He crossed the road and kept walking straight. He wanted to find the old section of town, with the cobbled streets. Today, he wanted to walk on cobbled streets. He was bored with the straight and narrow and orderly roads. I could live in a place like this, he thought. It's more...alive, somehow.

It was late afternoon by his watch, but it was also late summer. The sun had reached that uncomfortable angle where it was shining almost straight into his eyes. But he looked around him and life seemed to have slowed down. People who would normally be rushing around seemed to want to stop for a cup of coffee, a bite to eat, a glance at the papers. It was all yellow. It was time to rest a bit, he had walked a fair distance. He walked to the small eatery on the left and smiled at the girl at the counter. She smiled back and took his order. He told her he would be sitting outside, paid for his coffee and baguette, and took the table closest to him. While he waited for his order to arrive, he smiled at the prospect of indulging in his favourite pastime. And there was no dearth of subjects here. He could go about it absolutely unnoticed, and the sun would help him. Life was wonderful. He was still smiling when the pretty girl came to his table with his order. She flashed a shy smile at him and walked back. He turned around and looked for a while, and turned back to the street. Life is wonderful, he thought.

He took a sip of his coffee, and it burned his tongue a little.

Respeck, maan.

Normally, I don’t call people ‘Sir’.

They could be managers, GMs, or VPs – when in the same room, I usually converse by making sure they know I’m talking to them, so I don’t need to address them by any name, or it’s ‘Mr. (Surname)’. Even my own bosses, the people who hired me by calling me personally, were never ‘sir’s. I only started calling them that because everyone else seems shit scared of them and calls them that, and I don’t want the bosses to feel offended. It’s not an ego thing – just professional interaction, and not selling yourself short when it comes to self-respect.

Some time ago, I went to a different location of the company and was to meet two people. Mr. SS I’d met earlier and called him Mr.S (surname). I later learnt he was GM, and was told about his career graph. He had a natural presence and he was in absolute control in his department. He was shrewd and sharp, and though I knew he was squeezing information out of me, I respected his intelligence. This time, I called him ‘Sir’ – not because I had to or ‘shouldshow respect and subservience’, but because I respected his intelligence (at his age) and his sheer capability.

I’d never met Mr.GB before, though I’d heard his name. N told me he was one of the nicest people in the organization, but of course, I reserved my judgement. He was GM too. And I started calling him ‘sir’ almost the minute I met him. His humility shone through like a beacon. His willingness to listen, understand and co-operate was something I’d seen very rarely. He knew N, but held out his hand to me again later and asked me very softly for my name – ‘sorry, I didn’t get your name’. Then he smiled and said ‘My name is G.’ I said yes, I know. He never for one moment assumed that I should know his name because of his position.

At lunch, when I sat down and others were concentrating on their plates, Mr.GB moved stuff around to make place for me. He took out a glass for me, and even almost poured out my water for me – before I stopped him. I recovered in time from my admiration for this person, who was quite high up yet lacked any pretence or affectations regarding his designation. When I send mails, they are usually to Mr. Surname, but I was just going to mail Mr.GB, and I realized I would start with ‘Dear Sir’.

That’s what inspired this post. I just realized how humility automatically commands my respect. It’s not everyday you learn something about yourself.

Funny how both marriages and sacrifices take place at ‘altars’.

Just how many levels does that have, eh?

The Qatsi Trilogy

.
Nagoyqatsi : Life as War

I've fought my battles. These scars are real. I've earned my bruised Purple Heart.
But victorious or vanquished, what does a warrior do when the battle's done? What is left?

Koyaanisqatsi : Life out of balance

I have floundered. What is anything without balance, without opposing forces? I kept adding pounds of flesh to both sides, while fate played the mongoose in between - a little too much here, now a little too much there. Picked me clean. Nothing left to balance.
Sometimes, the balance must be burned, melted, and forged again.

Powaqqatsi : Life in transformation

I have risen. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, but I have risen.
Life is in transformation. Stronger, wiser.

A few strides from the boy, a couple of steps yet from the man.

Kanthri roads.

Kanthri (Telugu, slang) : cheap, bad, of poor quality

It's time for a road trip, dammit.

Rider Mania '05 - here I come!!

This weekend is the annual Royal Enfield bikers' meet at Mumbai. People coming in from all over the country, apparently. Yeah, I don't have wunnadem bikes - I have been invited to join a friend of mine. This clarification is for all the brilliant ones who remember my baby Michelle and are wondering if I've already dumped her. Not a chance, baybay.

Ive been wanting to do this for ages. And it was really nice of my friend to invite me, considering I'd known him for, oh about one week. A long ride means long hours in close quarters and constant company. You gotta assess how comfortable you are going to be with the other person being with you all the time. Conversation will inevitably dry up, and you've got to be confident the silences won't get awkward. In any case, this should be one heck of an experience.

Itinerary:

Friday, 7th Jan.
5.30 a.m : drive
6 p.m.: reach. drink.

Saturday, 8th Jan.
Morning: drink.
Afternoon: Lectures (katthe)
Evening: Drink.

Sunday, 9th Jan.
Morning: drink.
Afternoon: Biker competitions - all sorts
Evening: Drink.

Monday, 10th Jan.
morning morning: drive back.
evening: reach.
in 15 minutes: pass out.

Tuesday, 11th Jan.
Afternoon: wake up. Call in sick.


I just hope the roads aren't too bad. Last I heard, they were really kanthri.
Now, excuse me while I go put on mah leather jacket, mah glurves, mah boots, mah Ray-Bans, and ride away on a 350cc - powered mass of mahasexy metal.

Oh yeah!