The house is empty, like after a robbery. There’s some random, melancholy music playing on my laptop. I’m figuring out i-tunes finally.

I’m thinking about what a genius you were at 20, the same time I was 20, and not quite all there.

I guess I am a little jealous.

I am stuck here, with my borrowed wisdom and mediocre talents. And double fucking chin.

And you…you are not.

Calcutta is getting wintry. It’ll soon be time for Nivea and oranges. And more tea and cigarettes.

I am afraid of sticking to memories like cling film. And becoming fungusy and smelly. I am afraid of getting stuck. To people, to places, to a conversation, to a fantasy, to a deeply saddening thought, to the A minor chord.

What are you doing now? Do I pop up sometimes in your memories? Do I say hello? Do you remember my name?

I miss being funny. Maybe it’s the music I listen to now.

OH MY GOD, I am not filmy enough.

Halfway through the sangeet script I was thinking of character development and consistency. Furk.

But I have seen a LOT of Hindi movies in my time. And a whole lot of crappy ones as well. I mean, summer holidays duh. I should be able to do better right? Sigh.

I haven't had a cigarette since I landed in Cal (and those milds just don't count).

There's a really cheesy song I love listening to now - She's only happy in the sun. It's so pretty.

This beer bottle design is so perfect.

My god I am FAT. These clothes used to be so loose. Fuckfuckfuck. FUCK. I just don't say it enough. FUCK.

Don't Bogart that joint

Hendrix, Roger McGuinn, discovering new songs, long distance phone calls, clambering nephews, strange new light fixes, new mirrors, AC, kitchen smells, old test papers, internet for free.

I want to have a hot affair in Cal. I cannot have not loved in my own city, right?

I wish I had some company for the Film Fest.

Today I was in my brother’s room (in Cal) and I suddenly saw that the wall which had this poster of a 60s pin up babe leaning against a convertible, was bare. His computer, which seemed very state of the art three or four years ago, seemed a little lonely. Not a whole lot had changed in his room actually. Bits of him were still there. I imagined that boy in his Bermudas and faded T-shirts, watching football on TV and playing games on the comp, reading his crime thrillers and obsessing about cars. I really don’t think a whole lot has changed, but that missing poster – it bothered me for some reason. Like the time he walked in late for a World Cup match because his fiancé took too much time at a store buying grocery. I saw a side of him I never knew. He bit the bullet, he behaved extremely maturely. A part of me was happy for his new found grown upness, but for most part I was scared. I was losing my loopy, short tempered best friend to a girl who was nothing like us and my brother was losing all the things that made him, him.

He’s happy though, I think. And it’s just me, who’s somehow stuck at 16 - in awe of her older, much cooler brother - refusing to let go of an image of a person who’s just moved on, naturally. I’m losing my partner in crime, and it seems to be happening at a time, when all these little partnerships I have reveled in, are slowly, but surely crumbling or fading. Maybe they just morph into a different kind of partnership, a different kind of love. You probably never stop being close. But you also probably never get to be the same. And I miss that. I’m just sentimental I suppose.

I watched a wonderful episode of Glee today. I am a sucker for underdogs.

Khair Chhodo

So yesterday I had work and it was fine when I was working, not so fine when I wasn't. I have realized over time that I am not much of a lover of festivals. I mean, look at it - this Diwali thing - people making noise, people littering, people wasting energy - somehow, I'm not cool with it. I just don't like it. I don't like most of these celebrations, and I don't know, maybe I'm being a Scrooge or something, but if you think about it, you'll know what I mean.

Maybe it's a once in a year thing, but it's so wasteful and pointless! And I don't know. I think that attack on Ravan and the Lankans was kind of racially motivated. It's like America vs any small oil rich country.

Anyway. I was in a mood yesterday. I don't quite know why. I wish I could stay back at the studio all night instead of going back home.

My editor is a man-child-khoo-kid. Let me elaborate - and I'm sure you've seen this kind a lot:

30 something, unmarried.

Long hair, maybe a beard.

Wears quarter pants, expensive sneakers and rocker/black Tees.

Smokes a lot of pot

Listens to electronica

Collects toys

Talks a lot. About drugs, music, parties, gambling, women - all the things which make him cool.

Has an opinion on everything

Is friends with anyone who matters

Drops names

Loves the sound of his own voice

Sarcastic, talks down to his assistants

Says "fuck" and its derivatives a lot

Gives a rat ass about clients/agencies - people in positions of authority

Always has a party to go to

Probably loves comic books

Probably watches a lot of indie films

Does that Bappi Lahiri talk with friends on the phone

Was/is in a band

I can't help it. He's such a type. But he was generous with his stash, so I don't care. He's late though for his booking. Not that I have anywhere to go. Khair chhodo.

I love that phrase. "Khair chhodo". What does "khair" mean? Anyway? I am in love with it.

When P told me about Professor Lal, we both know what popped into our heads. That song. That silly little song we made up. How sadly ironic. Then I remembered this brilliant lecture on Ode to a Nightingale - which somehow stuck. I remember so little of the recent past. So it's nice. He left me with something nice to remember. Anyway, this isn't an eulogy or anything. It's just, I don't know - a mixture of regret and sadness. Rest in peace Professor.

Today it's Diwali here in Bombay, Kali Pujo back home. I lit fourteen diyas at home yesterday and did all the things Ma would have liked me to do. I bought some flowers and made a little alpona of sorts in front of the door. Then there was a terrific storm, but none of the diyas died, which was sort of miraculous. There was no-one at home, so I did all this mostly for myself. Then I smoked a j and watched Lie to Me. At 12.30 they called me in for some edit job, which I was relieved to go to, because I wanted to be alone. I like travelling through the empty streets at night. I quite like watching the night folk - homeless people, construction workers, prostitutes - I don't know why exactly though. I just enjoy the wind in my face, and thinking.

I think I'm slowly but surely morphing into a strange old city bird. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning and see some booze lying around in the kitchen, I feel like having it with my oat bites. Sometimes I do. Okay, not with the oats, but just. In the evenings I like sitting with a smoke and some Coke Studio or How I Met Your Mother (depending on my mood and internet connectivity) and just being there in the dim lights and quiet space. I don't like talking anymore. I like listening sometimes, but mostly not. I'm a selfish and happy. Or sad. Either way, it's my thing.

Contradictory to whatever I am saying, this has been a long garrulous post. Okbye.

Meanwhile...

I have decided to recreate 2005/2007. I loved 19/21.

I also love David Bowie and The Rolling Stones all over again.

I have rejoined Postcrossing. Now I need stamps.

I wish Someplace Else wasn't an yuppie filled blechfest now, because if it's 2005, I need to go.

I want to go for a film festival and a live concert.

I want to go to Goa too.

I want to jam again. Did you know I rocked a mike at a karaoke bar recently? Honest to god. I was awesome.

I have a new antivirus one day before the old one expires. Tookul.

I need new jeans.

I am going to start dressing like a sexy plus sized woman. There's no use pretending being normal and dowdy anymore.

I wish I had more gay guy friends. They are generally great to hang with. I like all the ones I have.

I went to Toto's last night with a friend and had some lovely gin and tonic (can I buy a Schweppes factory?) and did some mutual eye flirting with some cute dude. I am not as old as I think I am sometimes.

Today I walked in half an hour late to work and they didn't tell me anything, because we've mutually decided not to give a fuck anymore. Woohoo.

Okay now I am hungry. Need coffee.

WP: following is a primordial action

me: nah

WP: esp, if its for a pair of ass

me: haha

WP: oh cummon

you know you re gonna meet hi,

him

dont make it heavy by thinking you wont see him again

fucken hell you will

and cut the hell and there you go

Dude. You have to come back and get on my time again. It's just not fucken fair.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger

While journeying through this world of woe;
And there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that bright land to which I go.

Or so I think. Anyway. I've been feeling a winter, as good as you can feel a winter here in Bombay, lurking around somewhere. The leaves are browning, the dogs are dusty and the mosquitoes have declared war. It'll be weird not coming back to this office again. But honestly, it doesn't matter. It's just another goodbye in a whole list of goodbyes.

Anyway. I have a cold that has been with me since the 15th of October. It should seriously go now. Also, I haven't been doing much for the wedding. I think I should get to it now.

Does anyone even read this anymore?

You know what? I have come to realise that, I like my job very much. I like the running around, the long sweaty shoots, the long nights of putting it all together..... I like it. I like it very, very much and I'm stronger for it. It's just the waiting I don't like. The rest, I can deal with.

But for now, I am pretty excited about going home. Doing a rediscovery thing et al. Travel. Be a little more health conscious. Listen to more electronica, which I am slowly really starting to like. Gate crash the Scorsese thing next door. Finish all the books and films I've been hoarding. Find new people to hang with in Cal. Shoot a short. Find a nice boy to make out with. Haha. And the wedding. Oh yes, the wedding.

Okay now I must enjoy my free Sunday. Bye.

Bejeche Gache Kokhon, sheh telephone

I didn’t go to work today. Partly because I was sick, partly because I didn’t give a damn. Anyway, I am alone at home in skimpy clothes listening to Bhindeshi Tara and Ferari Mon and Mon Re in loop.

This has been a bluesy Pujo. I don’t really miss anything, feel anything. Maybe I miss being a kid, but that’s about it. I know being in Calcutta wouldn’t change anything. If anything, it would make me sadder, because I’d think of how wonderful it all used to be. I also have a horrible cold which doesn’t allow me to taste anything or smoke anything. What a complete waste.
I miss the language. When I listen to Anindyo Chattapadhya’s lyrics, I remember the language and it’s comforting and also depressing.

Amar raat jaga tara

(My star, who lies awake at night)

Tomar akaash chhoya bari

(Your home touches the skies)

Aami payi na chhute tomaye

(I cannot reach up to you)

Amar akla lage bhari

(And I feel very lonely)

Okay that was a horrible translation. So much is lost. Sigh.

Doesn't sneezing give you a high?

So I am randomly sneezing now and listening to Paban Das Baul - only this one awesome song, which somehow, I get the feeling, nobody else likes.

I forgot to mention it here, but I sort of put in my papers (again!) - and it was scary but liberating. And not in a way where I wash my hands off all responsibility, but in a way where I really take a leap of faith and do wonderful things. I'm excited. But who knows these things, right?

I came home early today and watched two completely differently movies. Before that I saw HWIM, and I loved this episode because it was about New York, and to me, New York is like Bombay. But never mind all that.

The first one was 17 Again and the second one A Serious Man.

17 Again reminded me of Never Been Kissed (which for some reason is a cult favourite - okay, our cult). I always thought I'd be irritated by Zac Efron because he just seems like the sort who'd do back flips if you asked him to do his homework, but he wasn't. He was quite nice and he danced only twice I think. And I love Matthew Perry, so I thought what the heck. I really liked it. It was goofy and warm and quite watchable.

The Coen brothers are awesome. I've loved all their movies. But I'm not sure what exactly to make of A Serious Man. I couldn't help wondering if they were really being clever or pretending to be. It was engaging. It was dark. It was funny. The acting was superb. The cinematography, production design - all of it awesome. But...you know...I'm just. not. sure. Maybe that's the point. Who knows?

shob diye jar

shob kere nao

Tar to prane shoy na

Tomar dil ki doya hoy na?

Today is Mahalaya. I heard it on Youtube. Wow.

I miss being a kid during this time. Somehow, Pujo always reminds me of the best of times as a kid. Even though I know nostalgia distorts everything. Let it.

I'm listening to Hey There Delilah on loop, and I can't help thinking - I wish I had heard this when I was younger, in college. It's so full of hope.

Today I'm walking around with a fake gold medal. Today I'm happy you remember me. Today I'm thinking of pushing all boundaries. Today I am in denial like all the rest.

A thousand miles seems pretty far

But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way

Good Morning

It's nice this morning. My plant Georgina is getting a bit of sun, I've just finished the papers and coffee. I had a lovely dinner last night with Baba, B, N, S and D and that's all I want really. Nice dinner, nice company, a little bit of wine. I am not the working sort. Unless...

A told me to write a script in two days and give it to him. Which is kind of much, because a) he's already written his own script for the same film and b) my brain, despite being happy of late, still writes from a dark, dark place. So, I don't know, but I will give it a shot. This kind of work is happy.

My baby film is demanding. I love it to bits, but fuck, it's a screamer. I need it to go to sleep now. I need the fizz to settle.

It feels weird to say this, but I finally feel settled in. Like I did in Bangalore. I know it's temporary, and this feeling will be shattered with the next missed deadline or fuckup at work, but I feel calmer about being here. Maybe it has to do with the fact that quit plans are ahead. Maybe its because I finally worked on something where I felt I needed. Maybe its because D's in town and we cook together more often and have re-done up our home. For what it's worth, I'm happy. Even if it isn't all there tomorrow.

I'm looking forward to travel. Loads of it. Soonly.

Are you worried about the verdict today?

So today was a generally awesome day. In fact, the past few days have been just that.

I had a wonderful shoot after ages, and I think a lot of that had to do with hormones. This was such an eye candy shoot. Then post has been surprisingly lenient. I've hardly had to go, and that's cool. D and I have been re-doing up our house, listening to a lot of music all day, and spending money we cannot afford to spend. Chinese bulbs, funky book shelves, a plant and a trunk which we just spray painted red - our house is an art project. I love our house. I do. I do. It's our child.

Now it's 2, I am drinking some old rum, I'm not exactly sure why and am still happy. Oh and I also have Return of the Dark Knight to read. Sigh. Please don't be a shitty day tomorrow.

I don't feel like blogging anymore, because I have a notebook. It allows me to be as sentimental, as stupid as I want to be. Besides, I lose my train of thought these days. I think when I'm sitting in an auto or climbing stairs. But apart from that, I don't think much.

Today, I was standing in the stairwell thinking, how all this seems like a part of some lazy story I once wrote. The Chinese bulbs were going crazy outside, fuchsia, yellow, blue and green. Drums. Chants. Noise. I wasn't celebrating anything. I didn't have a single story to tell, to sell, to chew upon. I felt so terribly boring and unattractive for five really long seconds. And then I climbed the rest of the floors and let the yellow warmth of my house take care of me.

I'll talk to you later. When I have a story to tell.

Oh fuck, I have so many bills to pay. I wish I didn't have to worry about bills. Anyway.

I just saw the Rihanna-Eminem video - the one with Meghan Fox. It's a little bit of a turn on, I am very disappointed to say. What is it about abusive relationships that get you so, I don't know, charged? What is it? Not enough drama in our regular lives? Make up sex? Raw, honest brutality? What? Why is Street Car so hot? Why is Stanley, who in all honesty, is an absolute prick, so fucking attractive? I hate that we have turned out be such weak, insecure, women characters with such low self esteem, low self worth.

I wish when I looked into the mirror, I didn't feel so disgusted by what I saw every time. I wish I could embrace myself with all my flaws, with all my physical anomalies and be content. Why don't you join a gym, do yoga, eat right - they ask. I don't know - maybe like all lazy human beings, I'm waiting for a miracle to happen. Maybe one morning I just wake up, free of cellulite and unwanted body hair and a feeling of complete fuckallness. Laziness, I read somewhere, is a disease. Do we get drugs for it? Miracle drugs?

Sigh. Anyway. I need a miracle worker right now to sort out my bills. This kind of responsibility fucking sucks.

Oh you are so hot. And I am so not scandalized. But yes, I have a gigantic arse and can be very shy. Heehee.

So strange, this fevered meeting. This little wine sipping and talking about this relentless city. Thank you, that was nice. Let’s do it again some other time.
Now if only I wasn’t constantly thinking, 'I need to do my upper lips'. Fuck.
Haha.

Ah, how brilliant. I am sitting in a dark, empty office, popping bubble wrap, waiting for some tapes to come in and Elliot Smith is warbling on. At first it felt a little sad, but now I am slowly getting used to the idea.

It's only ten, but why does it feel so late?

I love my coping mechanism. After a wave of craving (food, drugs, alcohol), I calm down, listen to music, read a magazine, browse through a website and begin to dream all over again. What’s the worst that can happen? Everyone I love will be hacked to death. Yeah, that’s pretty rough. Or how about I become a paraplegic? Yeah, pretty goddamned awful too. I lose my job. Meh. I’ll find another.
In case I do, I think I’ll be absolutely fine.
For now, I am listening to Lou Reed on a very bad set of ear phones (my brand new cool ones I suspect, have been stolen). I feel pretty darned good for a Tuesday morning and I am looking forward to the movie I am going to watch on my laptop when I go home. I’m a little drunk with freedom.
Is it weird that I don’t care?

Just so that you know

Directions, Driving and Math

I have realised something over time: If you don't understand directions, can't drive very well and do not know math, you career is probably going to suck big time, especially if you have one similar to mine. It starts with math of course. You know (or in all likelihood you don't) how in class everyone would have figured out that problem on the board, but you were still trying to get there - and they would just move on to the next sum? For a while you'd struggle; leave that sum, move onto the next one, but you were already too late, so you've fucked up this one as well. Eventually you just give up and pretend to scrawl, looking out of the window, making shapes with clouds.

Driving. Well, its a big one. Not knowing how to drive can really get in you in trouble. You're always depending on someone else for a ride, and during an emergency you are useless because even if you have a car, you wouldn't know how to use it.

And directions. You don't get left, right, baju, parallel, upar, niche - nothing. I personally, only know roads because of landmarks. Very Hansel and Gretel. If someone took away the breadcrumbs, I'd totally end up at the witch's house.

And yeah, having a boyfriend. That's another thing you should have. Good, bad, ugly doesn't matter. As long as you have one. It makes a world of a difference.

My career sucks. I need to do something about this.

Empty Rooms

I don’t think I’ll ever fully fathom how lonely an empty room feels. Not like the way my parents do. Maybe if you have kids you should have them ten years apart or something. Or ensure when they’re grown up you adopt a few more. I think being a parent is akin to having a job. Just like you don’t know what to do when you retire from your job, you don’t know what to do when your kids are all grown up and don’t need you like they once did. Could I live with something like that? I don’t know. It’s scary, having kids.
I no longer feel the same excitement about shifting homes like I did once upon a time. I don’t think I ever liked it much, but now I don’t even have the energy to protest. I just think of this horribly muddled up future and then zone out. I don’t want to think. It’s too goddamn heavy.
Leaving home this time, I feel a huge, huge void. Like something is changing forever. My brother’s not here, I’m not here, and there is this huge, lonely house with things accumulated for 30 years, maybe more, not knowing what to do with itself.
I also know when I leave this time, I’ll be leaving behind a tradition with a friend. I won’t meet him anymore. I won’t see him anymore. Not in this city. Not in such innocent dreaminess. It’s the end of something glorious, and I know it. Next time, we’ll all be expats, with noisy children and strange spouses. So weird, so weird.

I feel as blue as a whale. Heh.

One more time, for a few seconds

Sometimes I think we’ve got it again… when we lean against each other like uncared books in a dusty shelf. And when you tell me about your little quixotic plans. I love you like mad then. But then you look away, like you’ve made a mistake…or like you have more important things to do…or like you’ve said too much. I don’t know what I do then. Probably look at my hands or nod idiotically, laugh unexpectedly or something. What does one do, when they feel love slip so clumsily out of their hands? I am certain I look as silly as you do.

Aug 7, 2006


Tonight, today, at one o one am, I need to talk to you. And only you. On Gtalk. A year ago. I need to talk to you and make you read my old horrible writing and I need you to pay attention. I need to wake up to your hello and I need to go to sleep with your goodnight. But then I ran into you one day and you were a phantom shopping for groceries and listening to old cassettes.

I had no answer today when they asked. What have I been doing for the past 3 years? I don’t know, I’m stuck. Despite the superhuman overhauling. Despite the rude, loud moving on. I am stuck to a moment which was all a big, fat lie.

Crossfire

Okay, maybe its a little twisted, but 3 things -
1) what. a. song
2) Brandon Flowers (oh yes he does)
3) Every woman at some point of time or the other likes to rescue a man.

Okay, so maybe not every woman, but I'm sure many do. But most men don't like being rescued much, which is why this video kind of makes me smile.

I can't write now because I'm not writing very well. So later.