Monday, August 4, 2008

Actual chants in the name of rants

15 July, 2008
Today has been a bad and sad day. I lost my phone (again) and my wallet. I am sure my parents are going to groan in their hearts at it. Swell. I did not mean to but then I was careless enough to forget them on the steps. Trying to do all the work around and manage goodwill everywhere, I, the forgetful I, just conveniently forgot my own belongings. I am praying again today. Yes, I the stubborn sick apparent non-believer in a central divine figurine of obscurity is rambling against bells like Amitabh Bachchan and crying aloud because I have lost my phone without which I feel handicapped, cut off and guilty. Now, for a long time, my mommy will remind me that I need to take care of my stuff etc. I followed my Dharma and paid her back for him, I harbored no regrets, I was happy and doing good around. Wasn't I? Then what went wrong? I don't know. Whoosh… A lot of rain, sordid smelly tasteless pizza and sharing spaces with that ogre. I don't adjust I know. I am dying to get out of here but I don't know what tomorrow holds. I hope her dad agrees to it. Or else, maybe I will shift on my own. I will be left alone again and have no one to go to. I have spent like crazy this month and I don't even want to give an account of that. I am sure Papa doesn't ask but then he always tries to teach that I should learn control. The more I try to control, the more these people make me spend. On books, on photocopies, on paper etc. I am tired and could do with mummy's lap. I want to cry again like that rainy day, those balmy seconds where I wept away the grief of my lifetime. No more will I get calls and messages, at least not for a few days. That is terrible. I will miss you phone, the bearer of all my messages from elephant man, the pretty locks Kafka and the magic man in Bombay. All my photos, the mosquito song and lot more. All rickshaw photos drowned in an ungrateful fiddling hand. I pray and hope that you return phone. Please do.

17 July 2008,
Last night I dreamt so funny and dreary things. About black clothed men chasing me and stuff.
I am yet to start Abhaya's novella. The dream was so weird. She and I went to a lounge or a pub or a club. We saw a bunch of men in black coming in. We tried to remain incognito so that they don't harass us but they do. They come and surround us and start pushing us around. They hit her on the head and she slumps. The general "do me or I will hit you" threat scenes. I somehow put up an act and agree. She wakes up. I explain my plan. We act as low as possible. Once out of there, we suddenly run and just keep on running. I don't know where she is gone but I land in a bungalow which reads CSCS. Women are washing clothes there. I ask for help, they give me a burkha- black veiled dress. I wear it and dash across till my building. I meet her also and we run up. They try and follow us. They try and break in. Then she wakes me up…

Till 21 July 2008,
Finally, I think things are falling into place. All well. I don't wanna talk about it. On the other hand, I got creative writing competition tomorrow, not like I give a shit about it but still, I want to write something .
I had a fight. An ugly fight with him. Yuki!! Don't get affected! I told you so much. They both belong to a different world and you also belong to a completely different world. Just keep distance. I totally forgot about sun. Long lost. Tall bamboo thing I just knew he was somewhere doing hotel thing. I hope at least now he has got enough conviction to stand on his own and speak up for himself, not let others pain themselves to decide things for him. Papa, enough of writing on tissues and writing mails of "tc". I am so anxious about things. I need to overcome attachment. Now I understand, the biggest blow to this weakness of attachment will be when he dies. I articulate it here for the first time but I and all around know very well, he is beyond seventy six. I dread not being around him when he dies. And I dread being called at an ungodly hour, hearing broken voices and being shattered. It is doubtful that I should live through it. Same with insect. I saw picture with two torsos, one feminine. The rights-territory- belongingness has still to wear off.

Still July, 25th 2008,
Bomb blasts! Yes, Bangalore had seven bomb blasts and one was near my house. I have never lived in a city hounded by such blasts and terror threats. At least, not ever alone… The streets at nine o'clock in the evening were empty, rains lashing and the general whoosh of winds. No one around the buzzing busy mall that we go to everyday. What are they scared of? What possibly could now threaten their lives after all this? It is like we were entering a demented zone, as if death eaters would fly in any moment and kiss us goodbye to life. I feel terrible though nothing is wrong. It is the same as that day in the temple. People outside and inside were howling at the prospect of having terrorists in vicinity, somewhere hidden. All you could feel is a lot of goose bumps before you could even gulp them down. Layale and many others must be living in a constant terror everyday. Same with Sadiq who saw them shoot people in the stadium. How can your faith in goodness and a desire to see anything new or beautiful stand while people NEAR/NEXT to you are literally drawing red, red blood? All were so anxious. Ambulances and police vans are hooting frantically around here. You don't need those god forsaken channels to tell you stories of voices of Bangalore! All just know it around. I am also worried. Worried about how whiplashing Boss is. People in trouble don't affect me but death does. I cannot digest the fact that someone I have met or known can die. It is just too much. I hope he is alright, especially since he can't bother enough to pick up calls.

July 29th 2008,

That ogre is out of bounds! She wants me to close the door when I wash clothes in the afternoon. She is not worth my writing space. The novella tension is building up on me. I should have started writing it today but I haven't . The fact that I drink and roam around on streets at twelve in the night is none of her business. The thing is that it liberates me. This is not a justification but I have all the right and freedom, however illusory, to do anything I desire until it does not consciously override someone else's freedom. In case it does so, they have all the right to tell me about it and there could be a mutual give and take of one's ideas on freedom and responsibility and then maybe a consensus to decide further action. But acting on pure instincts and trying to overrule my voice through scales of age and muscular strength will not solve the problem. Rather, it pushes things towards the extreme while what I strive to attain is a madhyamā in any situation. What am I so scared of? Why am I getting aggravated? Thoughts fleet across the mind. Thoughts think: What if I asked Papa to come and talk to her? He always has a knack of being dignified in all his arguments with the rudest and the most boorish of the lot. I remember how mommy would sink comfortably in her familiar space as soon as he took over in any fight with an external element. I wish to stay home all time and sink in that assurance. I know he knows how to make money. Lots of it. I also know he knows what I could probably enjoy doing. Come back! He could talk to her and tell her to shut up very nicely. But what if she affronted him or started with her general " Shut up you stupid man…" dialogues? I could never stand it. A full circle of attachment and Biraha. An unaware Freud drunk reader may think of Electra complexes. Nothing like that. It amazes me how sometimes thoughts run so wild that I myself feel ashamed of owning them up. Soon, very soon, I am going to write a poem. I have not written one in a long time. That animagus who has high heights of perceived achievement says he is too lazy to post one. He laughs at my love. Shuns or maybe even pricks his eyes to call her "ugly". They all amuse me. Especially when I assume that I know all of it. I wish I could resume singing.

3rd August 2008,
He is alright. As for Abhaya, I remember her talk on ambulances. I actually thought she was exaggerating beyond bounds as she generally seem to does. But it is quite true that people do not budge even near Saint John's. In new room. Novella over. It is quite gay, called "tweak an eye, fall a tear". Pa and ma are coming here for vacations. What a wonderful thing to do. I want food!