Friday, December 16, 2005

exertion

physical exertion becomes an antidote to ennui

when there is
no time to think—think about people, plans and pains
no time to apply rationality and sensibility
no time to learn and unlearn and relearn

when there is
disgrace, disgust and hopelessness,
and your soul is seething with anger
to prove to the world of your capabilities

when there is
this world that, you think, is looking at you
as an anathema.

I know it is a bit too acerbic and hopeless. I guess, writing brings the worst and the best out of me. How coincidental, somehow the thoughts in the previous post seems to have been like a forerunner to my way of life—especially the last statement! Sincerely hope I revert to my normal mode soon.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Hope, Dream and Sleep

Hope is the dream of the waking man
Dream is the hope of the sleeping man
Sleep is the dream of the working man


Such an amazing quote!! I was stunned when I saw this yesterday, at my client's office. In fact, stunned is not the word. I am still being captivated and amazed by it. It is a beauty! Would surely rate it somewhere close to Separation by Merwin.

I had googled to find who the author was. Seems like it is an anonymous quote except for the first line of the quote.

The first line of the quote is by Aristotle.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Lessons

The night was chill and calm.
I took refuge in my private music source
to bring myself out of a burgeoning bedlam.

There were big ugly frogs hiding in the pipelines,
scaring me and running a chill down my spine,
a petite beautiful lady chatting with her boyfriend,
construction workers returning from the day’s amends,
and, maintenance boys changing shifts after mends.

Farther from where I am,
a naive adamant kid was refusing to listen to a grownup kid.
After her repeated efforts, patience, and hurt,
she threw her hand, up in the air and broke down,
“Am I here to teach protocols to people?
Won’t it just listen and play with me?”

By now, I had walked closer to them.

The kid’s mother kindly said,
“The kid is still learning, or maybe,
it didn’t know that the lessons were supposed to be learnt.
Or maybe it wouldn’t just learn under you,
however nice you are.
Give up on the kid. It will find its way,
in due course.”

Monday, November 07, 2005

SEPARATION

Your absence has gone through me
Like a thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

— W. S. Merwin


Sources:
Merwin, W. S. "Separation." The Moving Target. New York: Atheneum, 1979. 9.

This is a beautiful poem. I fell for it the day I read it at Melancholetta, sometime in April. Separation has been haunting me for quite a while now.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Story Tree...

...contd from meera

He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather's words "You will fail in the city and return penniless"; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, "Don't worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site." Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.

He would preserve this ticket. When he would succeed, he would frame and hang it for all to see, as a reminder of the fact that greatness had humble origins, of the day when he set out to seize his destiny. His lips quivered with emotion as he carefully counted the money in his wallet, yet again. Four crisp hundreds and two crumpled fifties. At seventeen, it seemed like a fortune to him. He would carefully plan his expenses. He felt as energetic as the strong breeze that hit his face. He stumbled backward, as the wallet slipped from his hands.


Turag watched it fall, with the fingers of both his hands curled—one gripping the steel bar and the other gripping nothing but air. The wallet settled, the second time it touched the greased stones. It was diminishing in size and moving away from him like an open-mouthed balloon propelled by the gushing air. He knew, well enough, the events that would follow if he pulls the stop-chain. In fact it was a stop-chain that brought a wind of change in his life. Getting off from the thought-train that the stop-chain had evoked, he rushed towards it, with uncurled fingers.
___

i pass the baton to sensibly stoned, s m i t h a and the sun dew

---------------------------------------------------------------
(Everything below the dashed line above should be copied and pasted with every accepted tag)
This is a Story Tree and is best nurtured as follows:
1. A blogger can add only 90-100 words (not more or less) at a time.
2. All previous snippets of 90-100 words need to be copied before the new set of 90-100 words are appended.
3. Each entire snippet should be linked to the respective author (and not just the first sentence or so)
4. Characters, scenes, etc. can be introduced by an author
5. Bizarre twists, sci-fi, fantasy sequences are best avoided.
6. A tag must be accepted within 7 days else the branch is a dead branch
7. After appending 90-100, the Story Tree can be passed on to at most 3 bloggers.
8. If more than 1 branch leads to a blogger, s/he is free to choose any one of them but cannot mix the snippets of the individual branches.
9. The Story Tree is best left to grow than concluded
10. Please attach the image of the Story Tree below with each accepted tag (the link address can be copied and used).

Monday, October 17, 2005

musings

There are withered leaves of yesterday,
pale and dead;
executed and lain bare on the green floor
by the martinet, gushy evening winds.

There are pigeons that enjoy free rides, down and up,
stepping out from its man-made pretended nest,
and landing ladylike on the outer ceiling of the elevator,
saving its shoulder's strength for other worthwhile journeys,

There are white-haired cranes that walk on the grass,
delicately, leaving the floor unhurt,
freezing and pretending to be nonexistent,
as I walk past it.

There are clouds that threaten
to drench the dehydrated earth,
waiting to close the deal
and induce new life cycles.

And there are also,

frozen tears that never saw beyond bay,
eyes that forget to remember the once thought-locked face,
rehearsed words of confessions that never saw its way,
mind-numbing thoughts of innumerous affrays,
faded memories of moments of dismay,
memoirs evoked by the disjoint rails,

and
persistent jubilant tunes of victory tales.

Now,

I see from a distance,
a whining kid that wants to see the chocolate store,
and select the ones that appeals to its eyes,
waiting to learn a new lesson in its life.

And here I am, amused by the kid,
cognizant of the kid's state of affairs,
But still,
yearning to see what life has in store.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

The one that stays longer and stronger...


The tough-minded
optimist views
any problem
as a challenge
to his intelligence,
ingenuity and faith.
He keeps on thinking,
praying and believing.
He knows there is
a solution and
so he finally finds it.


The title was for another write-up that I started writing; but I have been held up with other things. I liked the title so much. And the one in quotes is something that I have been telling myself quite often nowadays. Believe me, it’s quite an amazing thought!

Monday, September 26, 2005

Wondrous AR

Yes, I am talking about Rehman!! I am literally spellbound by the ‘Mayiliragae’ song. It is certainly one of the most beautifully woven spell in the air. It falls under the simple songs genre—simple in terms of usage of the orchestration. It’s an amazing blend of North and South. And, I never imagined Tabla and Thavil would compliment each other so well.

Even the non-apparent but significant cymbals (jinggu cha) are a treat to follow! I am sure each of the performers would have been on cloud nine when they were performing for this song—especially the rise in the tempo of the Thavil and Nadaswaram bit just before the second half of the song. In fact, the Thavil and the Nadaswaram are the inseparables—like the letters ‘Q’ and ‘U’ of English.

Talking about the vocals—none other than Rehman can use Madhushree’s voice in a better way. Be it the song from Aiyudha Ezhuthu or this one in Ah Aah. It is just the perfect example of how good or bad a voice can sound when in the hands of different music directors. And except for a few places, even Naresh Iyer has also mellifluously sung the song.

The pallavi of this song, ‘mayiliragae mayiliragae vardugirai ennai…’, which in the broader sense means that the touch of his or her beloved is similar to the magical and the lovely feel of the caress of a peacock feather. Believe me, the tones in their voices evoke similar emotions on the people who listen to the song!

I shouldn’t be talking about the ‘Maramkothhiyae’ song on this occasion, but I am compelled to as this is an amazing concept per se. Again Rehman excels in the remixed version of his own wondrous slow-tempo song, ‘Mayiliragae’. Each of two songs is unique but still each song is as dependent on each other like the steps of a ladder. Together they act in tandem to elevate the listener to a higher plane and both the songs compliment each other well in its characteristics.

Rehman for sure has craftily created a musical treat—at least for me!!

Friday, September 09, 2005

discourse

Well, this is an aftermath of a discussion (call it chat) that I had with my colleague. Like in all lengthy discussions that meander to multitudinous topics, one invloves in the play of tracing it back to its origin, and I asked myself, "how did we start discussing about cats...?" Ahh... after unsuccessful brainstorming, I went back to him and in 5 seconds he came up, “pets<-the doctor who had a big dog<-blood donation.”

I said, “ahnnn ok! good.”

It all started with a mail harping on blood donation.

Me: Hey!! Have you donated blood, in your life?
Colleague: Yeah, once. It was to a doctor who our family knew.
M: How was it? I mean, did you feel any euphoria that I have always imagined to exist after blood donation? (with a grin)
C: Euphoria? NO. I felt uneasy for a while, in fact for the whole of that day; especially after you see that something of your's is leaving your body. It becomes alright after a day.
M: (a nod and a smile)
C: They took a unit of blood—I have always thought one unit meant a litre, it was 300 ml and they don’t take beyond that, at one go, and they won’t let you donate blood if the time lapsed is less than three months since you last donated.
M: (with a raised eyebrow) Ohh...
C: This is the doctor whose son wrote those Tamil poetries. (questioningly and with a locked eyebrow) I have told you about this guy, right?
M: (with a reminiscent expression) Which guy...? Ahnn... ok. now I remember! (with an enlightened expression)
C: They had a big dog at their place. This big... (with his hand kept in the usual position that one uses to indicate heights—hand parallel to the ground, at a distance of about 3 feet) It was an Alsatian.
M: (with both eyebrows raised and with a bewared glance at the parallel arm)
M: (with a change in expression) You have grown pets?
C: Yeah we had two dogs and many cats.

A smile started blooming when he started saying 'many cats'.

C: In fact, dogs are better than cats, you know? Cats are always arrogant and lazy...

I perceived that he was drawing comparisons to a kind of species that I knew of well, and so pounced back at him, “you seem to be comparing cats with women...”, with an inspecting look on my face.

C: (with a light laugh) Did I say anything like that?
M: Ok Ok.

I thought, ”why to unnecessarily tarnish our sect? let me stop right here!!”

C: In fact, they say ‘If you give food and shelter to a dog, it thinks that you are God. If you give food and shelter to a cat, it thinks that it must be God!’
M: Wow!! That was a nice way to sum up the attitude of a cat! :-)
C: We had a large family of cats growing around our house and it used to frequent our place quite often.
C: If it’s sitting on the sofa, and you go near the sofa and look for a place to sit, it will look at you with such an annoying look—as if to suggest why the hell are you disturbing me?
M: (with a tinge of amusement) Ahh... is it?
C: But cats are generally fun to look at while they play. If the parent cat rests on the floor, it keeps shifting its tail from right to left and vice versa, and the kittens keep chasing them—it would look as if the parent is teaching the kittens to chase its target.
M: In fact, now I remember, the kittens generally cling to the clothes, right, with its fragile paws?
C: Yeah, and you know there are a few things about cats—if you drop them from any height with its body turned in any direction, it always falls on its legs!!
M: Ohh!! (of late, with my spontaneity with analogies, I, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second and opening them as if finding the greatest idea to the most difficult problem on earth) Something like the shuttlecock, na? It always falls on the ground on the cork.
C: Yeah, I guess. (with absolutely no expression or amazement)

I thought, “Ohh God, why always me? Anyway, I guess he is busy with his cat observations that he didn't get deviated by my beautiful analogy.”

C: And one another thing is that as long as it was at our home, it has never gone to the kitchen and foraged for milk—but it promptly went to our neighbor’s house and drank milk!!
M: Ada paavi! (with a tinge—just a tinge—of sarcasm) You seem to have trained your cat very well!!
C: And if it ever ate something that caused itself a stomach upset, it intuitively knows which grass or plants to eat or chew to make itself free from the ailment!
M: That’s news!! (with a smile)

And there comes a mail that reminds me of my work (oh yeah, that’s what I am paid for, right!!)

There ended our digressing discourse!!!

Monday, September 05, 2005

Monday Morning...

5.50 a.m., Monday morning.
Ennui.

6.50 a.m., a bang on the shin, wrinkles on the face, clenching of the teeth.
Blackout.

7.20 a.m., arriving at the bus stop--early by ten minutes, encore 1984, a lass lunging and falling on her face on the road--out of weakness, lifting her by her arm, settling her.
Empathy.

My bus arrives and is waiting for me to get in, a feeling of helplessness, getting into the bus, she falls off to the floor again.
Remorse.

‘It’s Ok. Just Shut It Out!!’, says my mind.

And am off to "doublespeak" and "thoughtcrime".

Friday, August 26, 2005

(Blue) Black Magic

i was looking at a blue-black thick blanket,
trimmed at the edges and curved like tree-tops,
pinned up to a light-blue display board.

and just when I took my eyes off,
flickers of pinkish white light
shimmered from the thick of the blanket
and showed me a few more hidden tree-tops.

soon, revelation came along;
they were the potential rain-bearing clouds,
waiting for the wind to unfurl its flourishes!

Friday, August 19, 2005

dust and truck

you ran down on me, and trashed me
like the dust underneath the wheels of a truck,

and i,

i went behind you,
gaining an ephemeral momentum,
like the same loose dust,
mindlessly rushing behind it.


nota bene:
my eyes saw the dust and
imagination created the rest

Sunday, August 14, 2005

isn't it ironic?

After a very long time, it's lyrics time! It probably befits as a sequel to my last post. :-) I am not posting the entire lyrics here; instead, I am just quoting the ones that I thought were really the epitome of irony. I mean, if you are trying to explain the meaning of the word 'ironic', you would succeed if you just quote these.

"A traffic jam when you're already late
A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic...dontcha think"


And, Alanis!! Ahh... she uses just the right intonation to express these ironies. Just amazing!! Absolutely amazing!

Friday, August 05, 2005

isn't it paradoxical?

isn't it paradoxical,

that

the clock's hands have to go on in circles,
for me to move ahead;

i have to smelt ore,
for iron to be robust;

i have to pluck the taut guitar strings
to relieve me of my tautness;

i have to dichotomize something
to identify the beautiful symmetry in it;

i have to imprison air,
for a balloon to soar high with freedom;

i have to bury a seed alive,
for a plant to come to life?

Monday, August 01, 2005

words

If you take it for granted that others know how much you appreciate them, they will probably think you take them for granted. Put thanks and appreciation into words.

- anon


i kinda liked this! believe me. words make quite a lot of difference... :-)

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Recharge

Three hours is the time that my cell takes to recharge from drain. I am human; I probably take much longer. Well, let me come to the things that matter to me right now and are lingering in my mind.

Like how a small insignificant tiff rushes out all the past trivial tiffs to the forefront, the events in the few hours of a fine and sprightly morning acted on all the similar performances that failed to arouse emotions of any sort earlier.

So, what is it?

An hour-long morning walk and an hour spent in a temple.

It is always a welcome break—a peaceful saunter on a serene Sunday evening, when the families in the locality sink into family welfare activities leaving the streets deserted and without much activity. The oldies sit on the porch munching away the talks sensible to them. The youngsters sit on their cycles, sniggering but very apparent in their act of passing petty comments on a passerby.

The vicinity of the temple is an idyllic setup, with a hum arising from the susurration of the ladies who make basil garlands. There is an occasional rise in the decibel level whenever they beseech the devotees to bestow garlands, off their kiosks, onto the shoulders of the One in the sanctum sanctorum. The chime arising from the direction of the two cows serving the needs of the temple, adds a musical backdrop to the rustic lure. Looking closer at the tenderly looking cows, there is a yellowish orange smear on the forehead that brings divinity. All this makes a perfect stage for a trance.

The temple’s design falls in the design gamut of a typical south Indian temple; it has one main sanctum and multiple sub-sanctums. Typically, the sub-sanctums are would be that of the son’s or the daughter’s or of the people important to the One in the main sanctum.

As I was trying to connect to a Goddess at one of the sub-sanctums, this happened. A little boy who had accompanied his grandfather was enjoying his freedom confined to the temple grounds. He was sauntering in the yards whilst his grandfather reached one of the sub-sanctums. However, in no time the kid traced his grandpa and reached him. The grandpa, immediately, on a serious note and in a mildly threatening voice asked him to pray to the Goddess. The kid went to the locked gates and very endearingly said, “Saamee, saamee!!” that my reverence was distracted by its endearment. I am just wondering from whom or where the child had learnt to emote.

And the tone—it is still resonating in my ears!

The highlight of the temple visits is the time spent on the verandahs of the temple after offering prayers. Ideally, for me, it is the most sacred of the moments spent in the temple–the time spent in revisiting oneself and focusing on the revitalizing the soul. But when you are looking at connecting to the world, you tend to watch people around you and enjoy the things going on.

A kid’s obeisance replicated from its parent—the kid laying down itself as prostrate as its father and checking now and then if its father has risen and if not, ducking back to its original position, another kid nodding the head up and down—an interplay only known to the kid and the mother, a few children riding on the backs of the sculptured elephants and crocodiles positioned by either side of the sanctum, and another kid going far away from its parents and after discovering that it has gone far away, coming back with such happiness and falling into the arms of its parents and a lot more such sweet things happening around.

It is very true that the meaningless murmurings and acts are always sweet to the senses. Even the repeated acts of a kid chasing away all the pigeons that are being fed won’t let me imagine worse things about it. I readily do agree that our tolerance level is very high when it comes to kids because we don’t assume that they are aware of the “rules”.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Block and Bliss

I felt like standing in front of a tub of cold water,
for yet another session of the morning ablution,
knowing that I will be able to surpass the block
and enjoy the bliss,
only if I let it run down on myself for the first few times,

every time...
I sat down to write.

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Ensemble

An analogy is poetic; a comparison prosaic.

Crush
A kid toying with a trick it recently learnt to play

Newlywed Couples
Fresh toothpaste and a new toothbrush

Parents, Kids and Identity
Flower that bears fruit

Disquiet
Wrongly crossed cross-legged posture

Sea, Surfers, and Surfboards
City Roads, Adults, and Bus Footboard

Advice, Acceptance and Results
A Good Pen, Willingness to Write and a Beautiful Handwriting

Mind and Tempered Mind
Sour Curd and Sweet Buttermilk

Fate and Premonition
A Mortuary van following an Ambulance rushing to the hospital

Monday, June 27, 2005

am grateful to

the contrast-colored space around a literal,
the silence that lets me hear the spelt out words,
the darkness when i am asleep,
the void that engulfs my mind,
the discomfort in certain relationships,
the coldness in a relationship,
the restlessness of my mind and,

my shortcomings.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

kannathil muthamittal

O! Flower of the heavens,
Why that forlorn look in your eyes?

You are the life’s beginning
and the visible horizon.

You swept like the breeze
and stayed as the breath.

O! Sanguine surge in the soul...

You are my akin as well as my foe,
the flower of love and a thorn in the womb,
the cherished rain and the clouting thunder,
a neonate body as well as an aching death

O! Conqueror of death, conferrer of life...

You are my wealth as well as my wrecked ship,
an enriched epic as well as the error in it,
lent light and the bitter tears at night,
my bountiful sky as well as my broken wings,

And the beloved sorrow that I nurtured.triskaidekaphobia

No. I am not moonstruck. Just thought I shall translate/render the title track of the Maniratnam movie - Kannathil Muthamittal, written by Vairamuthu. The lyrics as you see below is the post in my blog dated 13th of June, 2005.

Monday, June 13, 2005

a peck on the cheek

nenjil jil jil jil jil
kaadhil dhil dhil dhil dhil
kaNNathil muththamittaal nee kaNNathil muththamittaal

oru dheyivam thandha poovae
kaNNil thedal enna thaayae

vazhvu thodangum idam needhaanae...
vaanam mudiyumidam needhaanae
kaatrai poala nee vandhayae swasamaga nee nindrayae
maarbil oorum uyirae...

enadhu sondham nee, yenadhu pagaiyum nee
kadhal malarum nee karuvil muLLum nee
chella mazhaiyum nee, chinna idiyum nee
piRandha udalum nee, piriyum uyirum nee
maraNam meenda jananam nee,

enadhu selvam nee, enadhu vaRumai nee
izhaiththa kavidhai nee, ezhuththu pizhaiyum nee
iraval veLicham nee, iravin kaNNir nee
enadhu vaanam nee, izhandha siRagum nee
naan thooki vaLLartha thuyaram nee
- vairamuthutriskaidekaphobia

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Silhouette

It was a rainy dark night. There were heavy dosages of flashes of white light like those thrown on a celebrity involved in a controversy. And the thunders - they started from one end with heavy thumping and ended at the other end in an allayed mode – probably the heavens were witnessing those spiteful moments of the malicious pandava-gaurava dice tussle. But it seemed like the thunders and lightning had taken some inspiration from the mortals. The usual thunder-follows-the-lightning pattern was absent and there were heavy flashes of light but no subsequent thunders. It was as if the thunders were involved in a retort rather than a conversation. The thunders boomed after a relatively longer time.

Vehicles sped on the autobahn and the roads lay bare feigning to be an offspring of the rain and light – they shimmered as wet black silk would. The street lights were the only indicators of the intensity of the downpour. One could easily think that the government had come up with an innovative idea of providing showers, in the night, from the streetlights to alleviate the cruel heat that reigned through the day.

I was in one of those speeding vehicles and was trying to measure the intensity of the showers from the streetlights. The rains denied me the luxury of relaxing after a heavy grueling day at work. It brought in me a sense of urgency, though I couldn’t imagine one single task that would provoke me to react with such urgency. The heart-pounding feeling existed and this unrest did hurt me.

The driver constantly made sure he removed the mist that formed within our closed compartment. The two sticks dutifully alternated from one end to the other clearing off the clouds’ attack on us.

Sitting on the backseat ensured that I see just the silhouettes of the other people traveling with me - the silhouettes that formed as a result of the light beam emerging from the vehicles on the opposite direction. The beam from our vehicle threw light on a car that was experiencing the same package as ours. I could see three heads: one was of the driver’s which I wasn’t quite interested; the other two on the back seat was that of a man’s and a woman’s. They were seated alongside each other so close that there was enough space for two people to sit on either side of the two. Another of those beams heavier than ours from the opposite direction, made me see just the silhouettes of the three now.

I was slowly getting relieved of the sense of urgency that the rains managed to instill in me, a few moments ago. I felt the peace that could have prevailed between the man and the woman. Our vehicle now succeeded in overtaking their car and both the vehicles moved on parallel tracks. I loved this peace that prevailed in me and controlled that instinctive urge to look into their car. The two cars were on a parallel mode long enough for the two to get uneasy but I didn’t quite sense any movement.

By now, a vehicle speeding in the opposite direction made our driver to operate in the safe mode and I again saw just the silhouettes of the two. The lady had rested her head on her man’s shoulder. I imagined peace to endure between the two. The driver of our vehicle flashed his lights prompting the vehicle in front of us to move faster. The flashing of lights showed me the yellow number plate which stood as a proof of a hired vehicle. The driver of our vehicle now zoomed and extended his arm backwards and switched on the vehicle’s private light. He did it with such perfection that he never removed his eye from the road. It was an act that would come in handy – sure he would have taken a long time to practice it. Apparently time had come for the paths to diverge from the public median. He asked for directions to reach the houses of the inmates of the vehicle.

Within these few moments of distraction I lost track of the coupled silhouettes. I frantically searched for peace. Just after few fractions of seconds I saw them traverse on the main median and we on our less important road. I consciously made a check on my state of my mind. Peace did prevail in me, as strong as the bond that I imagined between the two.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

life... sleep... and death.

can i live as peacefully as i sleep?
can i sleep as peacfully as people die?

written a long, long, long time ago - maybe about 5 to 6 years...

Monday, May 23, 2005

Life is beautiful.

My Credits: Meera’s lists

The distant church chimes, the day’s first tune that you hum, the locked hair in between a hook, the pink tint on the clouds after a sunset, the sweet body ache after a tiring workout, trembling of the hand, the subtle hints in a budding relationship, the creak from a sheave, usefulness of an aglet, lint on washed clothes, the non-committal conversation with a long forgotten friend, the innumerous shades of green in plants and trees, the neatly trimmed coconut leaves,

a supple one year old kid, the moments after a sobbing child sleeps on your shoulder, the comfort in hugging a kid, an awe-inspiring nimble five year old child, the naïve questions of an eight year old, the shyness in an adolescent,

the soothing berceuse in an Ilayaraja’s song, the privacy provided by the headphones, the distinct clarity in the guitar tunes, the mellifluent music from a saxophone, the continuity in flute melodies, the divinity attached to a veenai, the tremor produced by the thumping of drums, the impulsive hum of the next song in your favorite play list,

the million questions after an eerie dream, aroma from the first jasmine flower in the garden, the fine early morning dew on a parked vehicle, the reverberations from a speeding bus felt by the foot, water sprinkled on hot tiles,

the crispness of starched cotton, water droplets on an unused dress, the coziness in a thoroughly used cotton saree, the hand that tries to grip the elusive satin, the firm grip of your terrified friend, the solace of a good friend, unkempt hair after a hair wash, the reminiscences arising after finding a long-forgotten written memoirs of a train trip, the dry dead leaf placed in a book that brings to life the memories related to it,

the hum that arises after hitting a half-filled metal container, the lull after placing your hand on the vessel, agility of water, firmness of ice, the thinness of watermelon juice, the thickness of mango milkshake, the quick moving beach sands under your feet, the hardness of the rocks on a hill,

the neatly arranged toes of the foot, a pen that makes your handwriting legible, the graphite that wanes, the decisiveness arising out of just a few eye glances, the rocking of a train, the straining conversations exchanged on a speeding two wheeler, validating a stranger’s lip movement to the song played in the bus, the rubble from a freshly laid tar road that hits your mudguard,

the discreetness in a mason while mixing cement, sand and water, splitting of bricks with his instrument, the pleasure in curing a constructed wall, the scent and the sound arising while curing, the neatly arranged scaffolds of a building, the evenness indicated by the bubble in a spirit-level, the arranging of the bricks while they are unloaded from the truck, the entire act of transferring the bricks stone by stone,

the serenity of early mornings, the hurried breakfast, the briskness in the later hours of a morning, the essential lunch after starvation, the lazy afternoons, the vibrant evenings, the detached dinner, the peaceful sleep.

Monday, May 16, 2005

How does it feel...

when,

you see the crisp leaves of a checkbook that bears your name,

you just created an excellent piece of writing,

you see a pretty lady
and...
she takes a really long time to walk past you,

you lose your ear to a humorous jingle amidst cacophony,

you see a date associated with you
that stands as a proof of an enduring relationship,

you are acknowledged for an extremely brilliant joke,

you understand the intricate meaning behind a word
that you mindlessly use everyday,

you see something very simple in design
that captivates you and fills your senses,

you set tears in your friends’ eyes with your joke,

you used your discretion to avoid yourself getting into a disaster
that was threateningly appealing,

you kick a small object that you threw in the air,
in your first attempt,

you realized that you served yourself the right quantum of side dish,

you find an answer to the ‘why-me?’ in your life and
prevent it from happening to others,

you spot something that others are desperately trying to find,

after 15 years of schooling,
you tend to choose lighter shades for your work, on a Monday,

you see a distress-call mail from your friend 13 hours too late,

you look forward for the peaceful sleep, sans the nightmare
that has been stinging you for days?

Saturday, May 07, 2005

memories...

my headgear lies somewhere on top of a stand,
unused and covered up with layers of dust -
the smaller specks neatly and comfortably juxtaposed,
among the bigger blotches...

Saturday, April 30, 2005

Making love out of nothing at all, Air Supply.

I am waiting for you, in the backyards of my house. I want it to happen again; the same way as it happened a few nights ago. Ours was not something that was planned. The tryst was destined and was forecasted by the heavens. But like all forecasts and predictions, I was as cynical as I would always be. I paced up and down for a few minutes and looked at the heavens. I had a premonition that you would be coming.

The last time it happened, it was wonderful and sublime. It was a feeling I never had experienced before. Though you didn’t give me a chance to see you last time, you did give me signs of your coming, before you came. I did pick up the signals of your arrival, like how a patient wife spots her beloved’s footsteps, amidst other tramps.

My heart was pounding and my adrenals pumping.

You neither let me speak a word last time, for you were aware that I knew you too well; true, we didn’t have to. Of all the eligible ones thriving on this earth, you chose me. You gave me the simple, priceless pleasure of being the first to experience you. Thanks for the honors. I felt liberated – liberated from the shackles of my own personal restrictions and inhibitions. That day, I did find the reason for my habitual, sleepless explorations into the wee hours. It now seems to me that the nocturnal intrusions of emptiness were designed, just for you.

I feel sad that I experienced this kind of revelation only after nearly two decades of my existence. I don’t feel ashamed on my meek surrender; I only feel happy that the wait made me realize your ruthless power to engulf my senses. I still admire and wonder the way you nonchalantly doped me but still managed to empower me.

You gave wings to my restless, struggling mind. After you had devoured me, I was floating in the air, weightless, leaving behind all the impending worries - the heavy-weight worries and the light-weight silly thoughts of mine. The worries – big, small and silly worries, that fill my senses like those big, small stones and the silt that fill a jar to completion.

Yes. I did feel you. Do you remember? A few people even gave us our due privacy, evacuating their bivouac on the terrace. They just couldn’t continue their slumber after you had come. I only felt gratified when I caught a glimpse of their envying faces after they saw your impositions on me.

Now, here I am waiting for your palpations, in the godforsaken hours of the 24-hour cycle - waiting for you to feel me, waiting to submit myself and to feel the liberation, waiting to float again. Won’t you do it again please, I beseech you, and won’t you reign me, O! Rain?

;-) Ppl!! I knew you were gonna fall for this! This is a perfect example of an anti-climax, isn’t it? Though, I still have my doubts if this is a likeable piece... anyway, hope you nsoi-ed it!!!

I would like to say a few words about the title of this post. This is an excellent song I recently happened to listen to and I just fell for ths song. A few of my blog-friends would know the extent to which I adore this song. A simply amazing song, this one, especially the place where it goes...

"But I don't know how to leave you, and I'll never let you fall;
and I don't know how you do it, making love out of nothing at all
(Making love) out of nothing at all,...."

This song was released as a new entry in their 1983, Greatest Hits collection. Air supply, the Australian soft rock group was originated by Russell Hitchcock and Graham Russell. They became very popular in the late 70s and early 80s.

This is an amazing song and do listen to it, if you can.

And, yeah! thanks for listening for so long!!!

Friday, April 22, 2005

Rambling

Ppl!!! You must listen to this… the moment this happened I thought I should be blogging about this. Here I go.

Life was getting pretty heck-ed up and inertia was setting into me. Things were moving at a pretty fast pace but nothing moved me – I was like the coin in the inertia example in the physics text books. Machine-washed clothes piling up on my bed waiting to be moved into the wardrobe; maybe they would need another washing, if I let them lay there for long enough. All the bills that the shopkeeper gleefully gave me, in exchange for my money, his profit and the commodities, were inside the myriad small covers – the ICICI and ABN Amro bank covers. This along with the ATM slips were eagerly waiting for an entry in my expense tracker, like a child waiting for its share of second helping of the ice cream.

All the Frontline issues that were untouched were also piling up. If it had ears it would have felt so grateful to my mom – for having bought it and mentioning, “Why don’t you read Frontline instead of sitting like this”. My thumb having settled cozily in the narrow groove between the up and down buttons of the remote would not let me budge. The neatly arranged books were all covered with dirt, like those snow clad mountains.

I love cleaning and setting things right, except for I need goads at the right spot to set me into motion. I started with those lovely dirt clad shelf of mine. The last time I arranged this shelf was in early 2004, I guess. I kept piling sheets of papers and notepads on to it. And now, it has grown into being an untamed, recycled forest. One after another I picked them, dusted and kept them on a table that was a few feet away. Segregations and categories kept increasing - like how I add another column in a table in MS Word, after I decide that adding it would enhance the meaning of the table.

So, I have these categories: sheets that have an unused side, sheets that needed shredding – expired bank statements, missives that were never exchanged. Birthday cards, thanks cards, all-the-best cards all on to one side. Sheets that need careful examination – God only will know when I will take these up!!!

I was shuttling between my shelf and the table. I know. By now, if not for the mosaic on the floor, the path that I traced back and forth would have a rut. The rut the bullock cart left on soft earth – the arcane path that I always want to trace.

I spotted a small notepad that endured the weight of the stack all these days. It brought back memories of the train that I took to my hometown from Pune. I flipped through the pages one after another, with my hand tracing the semi-circular path - right to left. I see an address there – the address of a friend that I made in the train. I see her name written in both Hindi and English – it showed that she hadn’t rehearsed the English version well. She was a tenth drop-out and all she new was Hindi and a lot of Marathi. In spite of my unused Hindi, we did exchange a few words and had a good time.

And then, I see this...

“Well! Valentines Day? Phew!!! That’s the ways life is. Even the bags have a place to rest! What an irony? We were supposed to travel in the third class AC compartment. Even a second class should have been a luxury. We landed in the compartment of proles. I think ‘proles’ is an over-statement. Anyway let’s talk about the observations or interesting facts that hooked on to my mind. In fact it is like the-Madhavan-style in Anbe Sivam. But my fall was from a smaller height when compared to his.”

My hand draws another of those semi-circular figures in the air, eagerly waiting to read more from the next few pages. I had a feeling that I might relive a few of those memories again. My mind imagined all those it can, within the few seconds my hand drew the curve. I flipped. And what do I see now? - A circle with four diameters, with a square on one of those thin pies.

What the hell does this mean? It meant nothing. It meant that I apparently got interested in other interesting things that happened in the train that I forgot to write about it. It just meant that I needed a good break from the cleaning sessions. It just meant that I had to play a prank on my brother and have a light hearted laugh, when I saw him go, ‘enna di ithu? michham enga?’ - 'What is this? Where is the rest?’, after he drew a similar geometrical figure in the air. It just meant that I had to re-live a few of those moments of a day in February, 2003. It just meant that I had to leave a rambling incomplete, so that I could blog about it. And it probably meant that my train-friend could have had a few coughs when I thought about her.

And now! I just wonder, ‘how many virtual semi-circles will a library have...?’

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Days of ignorance / innocence

Quite unbelievable; but we, I mean our family, didn’t own a TV until I was 10 years old. Thank God for that. I am sure it was a blessing in disguise. Prior to that, I didn’t have much access to TV either. My mommy would probably let us, I mean me and my brother, watch ‘OLiyum Oliyum’ (tamil) – ‘Light and Sound’. I pity the English language for not having been able to express lucidly, the fact that it’s the light and sound that constitutes a song (read movie).

With regard to pronouncing those words: oLiyum oliyum - you should pronounce the 'L' in the first ‘oLiyum’ with the tongue curled inwards and the ventral part of the tongue touching the upper gums. The 'l' in the latter 'oliyum', with the tip of the tongue touching your upper gums.

Coming to the point, the fact being that I was not very interested in watching TV, I hardly bothered to peep into my neighbors’ small screen. Oops!!! I think I am compensating for all those that I missed during my early days – the moment I come back from office, I am all hooked up to the TV.

We got our first TV... don’t ask!! We, I mean my parents, bought a brand called ‘Pyramid’. I mean, the irony being within about 2-3 years of its existence it became extinct!!!! I shouldn’t be saying this because the very first mobile that I got – Siemens A50 – that’s about 1.5 years ago, is now a non-existent model.

So, we got our first TV – a black and white TV with no remote control and with those sturdy knobs. There were these smooth operating knobs to increase the volume, decrease or increase the brightness and contrast. Then the knobs which were hard to turn till a threshold and beyond the threshold it would rest, with a ‘click’, to its next position. The latter was to change channels, apparently.

I am all done with explaining our first TV; so let me come to the crux. So, I the Ms. Innocent, was eagerly waiting for the TV to work. Did it work? Of course, it did. Otherwise my dad would have ripped off the heart from the electrician’s rib cage!! Now, what do I see on the TV? – A commercial of the ‘pyramid’ TV. Your highness now comes up with a brilliant question – ‘Hey!!! How can our TV show an advertisement of our own TV?’

Ok!! Ok!!! I didn’t know the laws of electromagnetism then, please pardon me. I can even hear somebody comment, ‘nee chinna vaiyusilae erunthae eppadi thaana?’ which means, ‘you have been exhibiting such radiance right from that small age, is it?’

Guys, enough is enough!! Now that you have had a good laugh, I consider it responsible of me to explain myself at this juncture. Maybe I thought that if the viewers already had that brand, then why is he wasting the precious time space on air? Well... I know I was too small to think about advertising strategies then, anyway...

And then, there was one another excellent thought of mine which, people in my family had had a good laugh over it. Ok. Let me explain the background first. My mommy works for a central government organization. Saturdays are usually an off for them.

Once upon a time, when I was about 6 – 7 years of age, she said she had to go to work that Saturday also. I asked her ‘why’, for which she said, ‘Our chairman is coming today. So we all will have to be there in the office.’ I was all confused and nonchalantly asked, ‘why do you guys have to be there? It will be a trouble if you guys are there. How will he clean the chairs then?

Well well!! the folks at home, especially my brother and my mom had a good laugh and asked me ‘What?’ I answered, ‘isn’t a chairman of a company, a person who takes care of the chairs, clean them and maintain them?’

I know, i can hear people guffawing now!!! Anyway, It is justification time!!! I would have probably derived the explanation from the fact that a post man delivers the letters or a milkman who supplies milk or a cowboy who tames and rears cows. Isn’t it a logical conclusion? I know you guys would say, ‘fat chance!!!’ anyway...

Quite funny these anecdotes are, I know. But then I couldn’t help sharing my ignorance or innocence, which ever it is - you guys decide. As always altruistically yours wanted you guys to have a nice time at my virtual home – at my expense!! Hope you guys enjoyed it; as much as I did, writing it. Like how every time, when I am in public, I compensate a loud laughter with a tight, pursed-lip grin when I visualize kushboo asking janakaraj for an address with the street name nae-sa-ma-ni-ponni-ya in the movie annamalai. I can hear more laughther this time!! Way to go, people!!

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Transmigration

After pacing up and down for a few seconds she sat on the parapet of her terrace. There are a bunch of school boys who were improving their reflexes, reacting to the ball thrown on an unevenly surfaced wall. A few others on the same balcony were, apparently, discussing cricket. There is a guy on a distant terrace showing signs of interest towards this lady sitting on a parapet wall.

The sun was just about beginning its slumber. She stared at the falling sun. It looked as if the tower behind which the sun was hiding was its final resting place. Her soggy red eyes made her blink in a consistent but slower frequency than the inconsistent normalcy. The sun’s brightness seemed to fade with every blink.

She looks at the boys who were ceremoniously engrossed in improvising their fielding skills as if it was the last minute of their exam preparation time. But all she saw was a hazy black patch. She would have wondered myriad times about the ephemeral existence of the black patch every time she looks at anything, immediately after she reaches the core of the sun, battling her way with the sun rays to reach it.

Her stomach was grumbling. But she despises eating food with a lump in her throat.

She thoughtlessly gazes back to her earlier area of focus. By then there is just the tower – the tall, svelte tower; like those long skirted American blond beauties whom she started admiring a few weeks ago. The sky was painted with a faint tinge of pink on a light blue canvas with the intermittently scattered, persistent, ever existent white patches.

She reverts to those boys. Now, she could see their faces clearly. They had retired from their play and were chatting. She thought they should have quit due to the fading natural light. She turns her head further away from the west and traces back to the terrace where she saw the guy, whom she thought was conscious of her existence. He had gone by now.

The music from the walkman had stopped long ago. But she realized it much later – after she reasoned out as to why the boys had quit their practice.

All along her life she worshipped music and had immense faith in it. So much so, even when she had a headache and her friend asks her to anoint, she would amusingly say, ‘I shall listen to the walkman.’

She took the walkman from her trouser pocket, gazed at it for a while, with the same affection a mother would, when she sees her child after two long days. The walkman was revivified. By now, she seemed composed and was in a much better frame of mind. Her eyes had the enough thinness of the watery film to look at things in the right perspective.

She now turned her head towards the western skies and it was crimson red.

Dated: April 02, 2005

Friday, April 01, 2005

Impromptu, Random Thoughts!

The aspiring cyclist who keeps trying to pick up a race with every speeding vehicle, that fast approaches him from the rear and eventually zooms past him in a jiffy,

The commoner who desperately tries to pick up a cue, from the girl who travels in the slow moving bus,

The killer-stare from the meekest of all the pedestrians, who has been offended by the sudden and unexpected barge of a vehicle venturing in the wrong side of the road,

The happy and well dressed mannequins of a posh boutique,

The smartly trimmed coconut leaves and the stickler-pleasing army haircut of the common trees growing in the familiar but arcane distant houses anchored in the street farther from yours,

A car’s rear wind shield, which bears the similar sounding names that are apparently related to the owner of the car,

The confident bitter-better half who signals to the world that the shoulder or the lap of the rider is safer than the strong, designed-with-care steel loop fastened to the two-wheeler by a sturdy and time-tested nut and blot,

The deliberately deglamorised and minimized version of a witty road safety billboard that might have an opposite effect, if read on the move,


The stealth smile and the memoirs that a particular song manages to evoke every time I listen to it,

The beautiful eyes of the dark colored cleaner of the bus that I travel,

The pink lips of my new found friend,

The sands of the beach, enclosed between my cell phone and the cover, that I, the Ms. Immaculate, purposely forget to clean,

Well…, below are the various titles that I came up with, for this post…

Common and not so common facts
Common and not so common facts – common ones listed first
Untitled!
Untitled thoughts!
Impersonal and Personal thoughts…
Random thoughts!
Uncensored Random Thoughts!
Ad-lib, Uncensored Random Thoughts!

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Something!!

I am not sure what has gotten into me! Well, you must be wondering what I am talking about. I don’t understand this something that is happening to me. The other day I was listening to ‘Ennai pooppol koithuvittal...’ from ‘Minnalae’ and though I have listened to it before, this something happened to me and I deleted all other songs on my play list and kept listening to this song alone for about four hours. Remember the song is just 1 min and 56 seconds!!.

The same happened to ‘Don’t speak’ by ‘No doubt’. Then I did it to ‘thathi thathi thavudhae nenjam...’ from ‘Kaadhal kondaen’. And now it is ‘Lovefool’ by ‘The cardigans’.

You can check out the lyrics of the song here.

first band on the moon/lovefool
lovefool

Well, coming to think about it. It is a very ordinary song and there is nothing great about it. I am not sure on how well this song fared on the charts. But, there is something about this song that made me listen to it again and again. Actually, after some thought I came to a conclusion that this has tones similar to that of ‘Don’t Speak’. I mean the type of music, the fact that a lady has sung this song, the overtones relate to that of ‘Don’t speak’. Is it that the last one that makes me listen to it again and again? I don’t know.

Yeah it is quite obvious that it has something to do with the mood that I am in. But then why did this thing of listening to a song again and again happen and why only to a few particular songs alone? Whatever it is, am enjoying it with a tinge of sadness.

Ohh oh!!! Now do I sound very sad? Well, no. I am not. But then, I won’t call I am happy either.

Talking about the ‘Lovefool’ I like the way the vocalist Nina Persson has sung the song; the casual delivery of the emotions, the way she emphasizes the word ‘Pretend’ in ‘pretend that you love me...’ is just too good. Even the place where she sings/says, ‘Love me, love me...’ is good.

You can check out the information on these guys over here.

cardigans-bio

Oh! yeah, they even maintain something like a blog: cardigans. Really nice!!

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Theories and Proofs

Having understood the theory behind the energy consumptions, I switched off all the electrical devices at my home, then switched on each of the same, one by one, to check at what rate the energy meter runs.

Having understood the theory behind surface tension, I related it to events that happened in the next few seconds the soap-foam fell on a wet floor.

Having learnt the ‘light travels faster than sound’ theory, I tried to tie a relation between every lightening stroke to the delayed sounds of every thunder.

After having learnt a few root words, I successfully crack the meaning of a word.

Speaking of cracking the meaning of words using etymology, I would like to share this…
Etymology could be really interesting. A few examples actually made me fall in love with etymology. One such is what I have tried to explain here.

Origin of the word ‘Deliver’
For example deliver is actually de + liver. De can be used either as a prefix that acts as an opposite or as an intensifier. Liver has its origin from liber (yeah! the same as that of liberate). So, de is an intensifier here and liver (from liber) means to grant freedom to. Hence the word deliver per se means to release.

That is why in cricket every ball bowled in an over is called delivery.

Giving below are a few of my theories and proofs.

Chicks (I mean chickens) have the worst road sense.
I have been having slowing down my bike drastically and sometimes even stopping it, every time chicks (I still mean chickens ;-)) try to get to the other side of the road.

*tongue in cheek remark* ‘The above words could be interpreted in a different way by a few others. I would like to mention that I had altruistic intentions when I originally thought of it. But then, I couldn’t stop a double entendre in the making.’

Most of the human beings have good music sense.
I have been hearing Beethoven’s ‘Fur Elise’ in almost all the trucks inching in the reverse gear.

This doesn’t fit under the title of the post, but this was the first sentence that I wrote when I was thinking about my next post. So, I thought I should it give the ‘prime salutes’ (mudhal mariyadhai)

Have a sense of satisfaction after I successfully synchronize the song that plays from a public broadcast with that of the one in the play list stored on my computer.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Results of a few interesting things... that I thot abt

There is an English word whose meaning is: the meaning of the word is known but the word is not known.

well...I do not remember the word!!
__________

There are certain things in life that you can neither categorise as permission nor information. It is something like the side indicators used by drivers to take a right or a left turn.
______________

I saw the hoarding of a Fitness studio and how ironical can one get... The letters were all out of shape!!
___________________

I would work in the same place as some XYZ does and would have seen him/her a lot many number of times. But it would obviously look funny to smile at XYZ. But on any given day I see XYZ somewhere outside the campus. We recognize each other and smile. The next day I see XYZ in the campus and we smile. But I am sure, if yesterday’s incident had never happened we would still be strangers.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

A few of my favourites - Not in any order

She is always a woman to me, Billy Joel
Rasputin, Boney M
Have you ever loved a woman, Bryan Adams
Janies Got A Gun, Aerosmith
Hotel California, Eagles
Ironic, Alanis Morissette
Born in the USA, Bruce Springsteen
Smoke On The Water, Deep Purple
Don't Speak, No Doubt
Lemon Tree, Fools Garden
I’d love you to want me, Lobo
Lady in Red, Chris De Burgh
Nothings gonna change my love for you, George Benson
Sweet Child Of Mine, Guns n roses
I cant help falling in love, UB40
Kiss from a rose, Seal
I swear, All 4 one
Janies Got A Gun, Aerosmith
Uptown Girl, Billy Joel
Starry Starry Night, Don Mclean
Leaving on a Jet Plane, John Denver
Que Sera Sera, Doris Day
The Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel
I Just Called To Say I Love U, Stevie Wonder

Friday, February 25, 2005

Radio romance

I was on a public transport
with its radio playing a duo

The bus’ accelerator though,
let me hear only the hero’s solo

Blaring from the road-side radio,
his foray, made him sound like a true hero

The bus’ change in gears,
let me hear his highness’ meek tears

Oh! There is resistance and distance,
Even in radio romance...

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Dont Speak, No Doubt.

This is a very very good song and i just love it. Its only recently (OK. the recently is today) that I had a chance to look at the lyrics. I thought it had very beautiful lyrics. But then when I actually attempted to sing along, I found it very hard. Boy!!! such a difficult piece of writing to make music to.

But then, all said and done the credit should go to the lyricist, musician and singer, the only female in the band (don’t ask me who else, other than lyricist, musician and singer is needed to create a song – thot I will be a bit generous when it comes to compliments :-)). Gwen Renee Stefani, the vocalist has done a good job of it (I was impressed with the video, the first time I saw it, bcos of the pottu aka bindi that she had on her forehead). If you guys haven’t listened to the song, please do listen to it. It’s a wonderful song!!!!

Dont Speak


You and me
We used to be together
Everyday together always
I really feel
That I'm losing my best friend
I can't believe
This could be the end
It looks as though you're letting go
And if it's real
Well I don't want to know

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts

Our memories
Well, they can be inviting
But some are altogether
Mighty frightening
As we die, both you and I
With my head in my hands
I sit and cry

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts

It's all ending
I gotta stop pretending who we are...

You and me
I can see us dying...are we?

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts
Don't tell me cause it hurts!
I know what you're saying
So please stop explaining

Don't speak,
don't speak,
don't speak,
oh I know what you're thinking
And I don't need your reasons
I know you're good,
I know you're good,
I know you're real good
Oh, la la la la la la La la la la la la
Don't, Don't, uh-huh Hush, hush darlin'
Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush
don't tell me tell me cause it hurts
Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush darlin'
Hush, hush don't tell me tell me cause it hurts.

:-)

Saturday, February 19, 2005

SWEET, small MIRACLES

Yeah!!! I am kinda overwhelmed. Just think about the following happening. You are in one of those really really happy moments of your day and are in your elements. Ok. I will tell you what I generally do when I am in that state.

I hum every song (my voice is really pathetic for a song but I still feel proud of my voice) that plays on the radio while I am traveling and if possible try to whistle all through the songs.

Get along with every song that you hear. I mean when I say get along I mean: feel sad for a really sad song and get peppy when a hit dance number plays. Basically empathize.

Pick up some really nice numbers that I might be able to whistle and sing as well. Whistle in low base all through my walk.

Mock all the people around me. ;-) (You should ask my brother about the mockery that I make of others when I hitch I ride with him.)

Race along the empty roads on the bike and sing/whistle one of those select few songs as aloud as possible. Well!! Again, Mahesh should be familiar with that.

I suppose you can assume that I did all of the above today while I was returning home. Now, what happened to make me overwhelm so much, that I have come to the extent of blogging about the same. OK. Now listen. I was in a really excited state, simply for the fact that I have not been in the happy-for-no-particular-reason types for a very very long time.

The song that I was singing/whistling was ‘Mellisayae…’ from the film ‘Romeo’. Though I don’t like the way it has been visualized (well I jus discovered, to my shock, that Microsoft Word says there is no such word called picturised), it is indeed a beautiful duet by Swarnalatha and Srinivas. The other one was ‘Azhagiya Theeye…’ from ‘Minnalae’. My mind should have chosen this song for the fact that it has a music-bit that one can easily whistle. I was alternating between these song all through my journey.

I reach my home in the same good spirits. The first job that I do when I come home will be to turn on the radio. I do this before I sleep and before I wake up. In fact, even when my mom wakes me up, the first thing that I ask her to do is to turn on the radio and then proceed with anything that she asks me to.

I switched on the radio as usual. To my surprise. I listen to the song ‘Mellisayae…’ playing somewhere in the midway. I was On-Top-of-the-World literally. I mean how can this possibly happen unless you are really really lucky!!!! This is not a so often repeated song in Radio Mirchi (yes, they generally repeat songs a lot). There is no chance that I could have picked it on the way because there are not many of these tea stalls that blares loud songs from the radio stations. I thought I should be really lucky.

I know this is not such a big thing but still, I am all surprised and so thankful for the same to have happened. Cool!!!!

Friday, February 18, 2005

Morning (C)Rush

I saw a red shoe-flower on the tar road,
the Latin name of a flower that still stays in my mind.

So bloomed and full of life
And so striking the contrast was
that such a beautiful sight it was.

If the road was a living thing
it would feel as we would,
when we hold a newborn in our arms.

But within nanoseconds my thoughts withered
I knew it was in danger.

It didn’t know where to go.
In its undefined path, it was all astray.

I neither had the time nor thought
to save it.

This time, within even lesser than a nanosecond
A truck came rushing in.

It crushed the flower
Under its rugged black tyre.

Now all I see is a crumpled object
Like the one that has been thrown from a frustrated poet.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

This is some interesting reading that I found at this blog: fayrouz. I liked it a lot. So i thought I shall post it here. Well the blogger maintains this blog as a leisure blog. The description of the blog is this: 'A place to write fun stuff. A place to take a break from politics'. She writes very serious materials which on any given day i ll never will be able to handle. Yeah the serious material being politics. The links to her other blogs are can be found in her blog. For now, the one below is just too good!!!

• If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it will always be yours. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with. But, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats your food, uses your telephone, takes your money, and doesn't appear to realize that you had set it free. You either married it or gave birth to it.

• Reason to smile: Every 7 minutes of every day, someone in an aerobics class pulls a hamstring.

• My mind not only wanders, it sometimes leaves completely.

• The best way to forget all your troubles is to wear tight shoes.

• The nice part about living in a small town: When you don't know what you're doing, someone else always does.

• Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

• Sometimes I think I understand everything, then I regain consciousness.

• Amazing!! You hang something in your closet for a while and it shrinks two sizes!

• They keep telling us to get in touch with our bodies. Mine isn't all that communicative but I heard from it the other day after I said, "Body, how'd you like to go to the six o'clock class in vigorous toning?" Clear as a bell my body said, "Listen fatty....do it and die."

• I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That's my idea of a perfect day.

:-)

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Last of the Kill Bill scripts series!! RIP ;-)

This is quite an amazing scene and my favourite in the whole of the movie. This is where Beatrix Kiddo meets her child after four years. In fact, she is unaware of the fact that her child is still alive. Uma Thurman's expressions are simply quite amazing. Too good. Just too good!!!


What the Bride sees in front of her is, Bill in a tuxedo, holding a small, orange squirt gun pointed at her. Standing next to him is five-year-old little B.B., dressed up in a very pretty party dress, arm outstretched holding a orange squirt gun, aimed at The Bride. The three look at each other for a moment, then Bill says;

BILL (loudly): Bang Bang!

Then he suddenly clutches his abdomen like he's just been shot.

BILL: Oh B.B., Mommy got us.

B.B. lowers her gun and plays out a big dying scene alongside her dad...Bill falls to the floor.

BILL: Oh, I'm dying...I'm dying...

B.B. parrots this.

B.B.: Oh, I'm dying...I'm dying...

Bill on the floor, says up to his little girl;

BILL: Fall down sweetheart, Mommy shot you.

The little girl falls down pretend dead. The Bride, still absentmindedly pointing her weapon at them, is truly thrown. Bill delivers his lines from the floor, spoken like a dying breath;

BILL: You did it Quick Draw Kiddo. You are-the fastest.

And with these last words, pretends to die.

But then while pretending to be dead, he speaks in a dramatic narrator's voice.

BILL: But...little did Quick Draw Kiddo know,...that five-year-old B.B. Gunn was only playing possum, due to the fact she was impervious to bullets.

B.B. raises her head off the floor and says;

B.B. (to Mommy): I'm impervious to bullets, Mommy.

BILL(to B.B.): Hey, get back down there, you're playing possum.

The little girl's head drops back down. Bill continues his dramatic narration;

BILL: So, as the smirking killer approached, what she thought, was a bullet-ridden corpse,...that's when the little B.B. Gunn fired.

B.B. springs up holding her tiny orange squirt gun and says;

B.B.: Bang bang!

The Bride continues watching in gobsmackery. Bill raises his head off the floor, and says to her in his normal voice;

BILL: Mommy, you're dead - so die.

The Bride shakes off her confusion, and acts out a big death scene for her little girl.

THE BRIDE: Oh, B.B., you got me. I should have known, you are the best.

She falls to the floor and pretends to die. The little girl in her party dress, runs over to the big girl in her wedding dress, and kneels over her mommy. Mommy opens her eyes.

B.B.: Don't die Mommy, I was just playing.

From the floor, looking up at her daughter, she speaks to her for the first time.

MOMMY: I know baby.

They embrace each other.

B.B.: I waited a long time for you to wake up, Mommy. Did you dream of me - I dreamed of you?

The female killer says to her daughter as mommieness begins to creep into her voice;

THE BRIDE: Every single night, baby.

She holds her daughter out at arm's length to get a better look at her.

THE BRIDE: Now let me look at you. My my my...What a pretty girl you are.

B.B.: You're pretty too, Mommy.

B.B. starts stroking her mother's long blonde hair.

THE BRIDE: Thank you.

All of a sudden, Bill has joined them on the floor.

BILL: When I showed you Mommy's picture, tell Mommy what you said.

The little girl gets shy.

BILL: C'mon shy girl, you know what you said, tell Mommy, it'll make her feel good.

As she strokes her long blonde hair, little B.B. says;

B.B.: I said - I said - You're the most beautiful woman I ever saw in the whole white world.

BILL: That's the truth. That's what she said.

INT. DINNER ROOM - NIGHT

The dining room of Bill's house. The family, mother father and daughter, sit at the dinner table eating.

BILL: B.B., don't you think Mommy has the prettiest hair in the whole wide world?

B.B.: Yes I do.

BILL: In fact it's better than pretty. What's better than pretty?

B.B.: Gorgeous.

BILL: Very good, gorgeous. Mommy is gorgeous.

The Bride shows no sign of thawing around Bill.

BILL: You know baby, Mommy's kinda mad at Daddy.

B.B.: Why? Where you a bad daddy?

BILL: I'm afraid I was. I was a real bad daddy. (to Mommy) Our little girl learned about life and death the other day. (to B.B.) You want to tell Mommy about what happened to Emilio?

B.B.: I killed him. I didn't mean to, but I stepped on him and he stopped moving.

BILL: Emilio was her goldfish. She came running into my room holding the fish in her hand, crying, "Daddy daddy, Emilio's dead." And I said, "Really, that's so sad. How did he die?" And what did you say?

B.B.: I stepped on him.

BILL: Actually young lady, the words you so strategically used were, "I accidentally stepped on him." Right?

B.B.: Yeah.

BILL: To which I queried, "And just how did your foot accidentally find its way into Emilio's fishbowl?" And she told me no no no, Emilio was on the carpet when she stepped on him. (beat) Hummmmmm, the plot thickens. And just how did Emilio get on the carpet? And Mommy, you would have been real proud of her, because she didn't lie. She said she took Emilio out of his bowl, and put him on the carpet. And what was Emilio doing on the carpet, baby?

B.B.: He was -- flapping.

BILL: And then you stomped on him?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: And when you lifted your foot up, what was Emilio doing then?

B.B.: Nothing.

BILL: He stopped flapping, didn't he?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: And you knew what that meant, didn't you?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: What did that mean?

B.B.: He was dead.

BILL: (to Mommy) She told me later, that the second she lifted up her foot and saw him not flapping, she knew he was dead. Is that not the perfect visual image of life and death? A fish flapping on the carpet, and a fish not flapping on the carpet. So powerful even a five-year old child with no concept of life and death knew what it meant. Not only did she know Emilio was dead, she knew she had killed him. So she comes running into my room, holding Emilio in both of her little hands - it was so cute - and she wanted me to make Emilio better. And I asked her, why did she step on Emilio? And she said, she didn't know. But I knew why. You didn't mean to hurt Emilio, you just wanted to see what would happen if you stepped on him, right?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: And what happens when you stomp on Emilio, is you kill him. And you discovered that, didn't you?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: So we drove down to the beach, had a little funeral, and gave Emilio a burial at sea. And right now I'm sure he's happy as can be, swimming around in fish heaven. But the point being, our child learned two very important lessons. One, about life and death. The other, somethings once you do, they can't be undone. I knew just how she felt (to B.B.) You loved Emilio, didn't you?

B.B.: Uh-huh.

BILL: Well sweety, I love Mommy, but I did to Mommy what you did to Emilio.

B.B.: You stomped on Mommy?

BILL: Worse. (making his finger a gun) I shot Mommy. Not pretend shoot, like we were just doing. I shot her for real.

B.B.: Why?

BILL: I don't know.

B.B.: Did you want to see what would happen?

BILL: No, I knew what would happen to Mommy if I shot her. What I didn't know, is when I shot Mommy, what would happen to me.

B.B.: What happened?

BILL: I was very sad. And that was when I learned, somethings once you do, they can never be undone.

B.B.: What happened to Mommy?

BILL: Why don't you ask Mommy.

B.B.: Are you okay Mommy. Does it hurt?

BILL: No sweety, it doesn't hurt anymore.

B.B.: Did it make you sick?

MOMMY: It put me to sleep. That's why I haven't been with you B.B., I've been asleep.

B.B.: But you're awake now, right?

MOMMY: I'm wide awake, pretty girl.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Kill Bill Vol. 2

This is a continuation of the last post

These are the dialogues that conveys how cruel a person can be when it comes to betraying somebody. In fact, Budd (Bill's brother) leaves a bad taste in the audiences mind for burying Beatrix Kiddo alive. But what Elle Driver does makes one feel sympathetic towards him at the end of it. By now you should have guessed the extent to which Elle Driver would have brutalised Budd. I wont call it brutal. It is the betrayal that is quite threatening than anything else.

Budd turns on the NOISY blender, as Elle writes down the name Paula Schultz on a small notepad, placing it back inside her pocket. As the blender MASHES ICE, Elle looks around and sees the Bride's Hanzo sword in its sheath, leaning up against the T.V. In the front room. Budd shuts the blender off.

ELLE: Can I look at the sword?

BUDD: That's my money in that black case, isn't it?

ELLE: Sure is.

BUDD: Well then, it's your sword now.

The tall blonde girl steps into the living room, takes the Hanzo sword, and sits back down on the kitchen chair. She slowly removes the Japanese steel from its wood sheath.

ELLE: So this, is a Hattori Hanzo sword.

Budd answers as he fills up two former peanut butter jars with breakfast margaritas.

BUDD: That's a Hanzo sword alright.

ELLE: Bill tells me you once had one of your own.

Pause.

BUDD: Once.

ELLE: How does this one compare to that one?

BUDD: If you're gonna compare a Hanzo sword, you compare it to every sword ever made -- wasn't made by Hattori Hanzo. Here, wrap your lips around this.

He hands her her margarita, she takes a sip. He takes a gulp.

BUDD: So, which "R" you filled with?

ELLE: What?

BUDD: They say the number one killer of old people is retirement. People got'em a job to do, they tend to live a little longer so they can do it. I've always figured warriors and their enemies share the same relationship. So now you ain't gonna hafta face your enemy on the battlefield no more, which "R" are you filled with, Relief or Regret?

ELLE: A little bit of both.

BUDD: Bullshit. I'm sure you do feel a little bit of both. But I know damn well you feel one more than you feel the other. The question was which one?

Elle looks right at him with her eye, and says;

ELLE: Regret.

BUDD: Yeah you gotta hand it to the ol' girl. I never saw nobody buffalo Bill the way she buffaloed Bill. Bill useta think she was so damn smart. I tried to tell him... Bill, she's just smart for a blonde.

He looks over at Elle and grins. Elle looks at him.

ELLE: Want your money?

She gestures to the black suitcase by her feet. He smiles and lifts it up on the table, unzipping it open. Lying inside is a cool million, the thousand dollar bills are inside stacks of a hundred thousand each. At the sight of all this lettuce, Budd lets out a whistle.

BUDD: Great day in the morning.

He lifts a stack out of the bag, then another, then another...and when he lifts the third stack out, he looks down and sees a BLACK MAMBA SNAKE coiled underneath. The Black Mamba opens its WIDE JAWS...and LEAPS RIGHT AT BUDD...STRIKING Budd in the face repeatedly in blurred succession (three times in the face, and once in the forearm). Budd topples out of the kitchen chair onto the floor, bundles of money fall with him. Elle takes a sip of her Margarita. The Black Mamba leaves Budd and goes under the refridgerator. Elle looks down, Budd lies on his back on the kitchen floor at her feet. His face is already grotesquely swollen and white as a sheet. The serpent's extraordinarily potent venom makes a full-frontal assault on the cowboys's nervous system.

ELLE: Oh, I'm sorry Budd, that was rude of me wasn't it? Budd -- I'd like to introduce my friend, The Black Mamba. (gesturing towards the refridgerator) Black Mamba -- this is Budd. You know before I picked up that little fella, I looked him up on the internet. (she removes her notepad from her pocket) Fascinating creature the Black Mamba.

Listen to this, (reading from the notepad) "...In Africa, the saying goes, in the bush, an elephant can kill you. A leopard can kill you. And a Black Mamba can kill you. But only with the Mamba, and this has been true in Africa since the dawn of time, is death sure. Hence its handle; Death Incarnate." (looking up from the paper) Pretty cool, huh? (back to paper)"...Its neurotoxic venom is one of nature's most effective poisons, acting on the nervous system causing paralysis. The venom of a Black Mamba can kill a human in four hours, if say bitten on the ankle or the thumb. However, a bite to the face or torso can bring death from paralysis within twenty minutes.

(up from paper to Budd) Now you should listen to this cause this concerns you. (reading from the paper) The amount of venom that can be delivered from a single bit can be gargantuan. (looks up from paper) -- You know I've always liked that word Gargantuan, and I so rarely have an opportunity to use it in a sentence. (back to paper) "If not treated quickly with anti venom, 10 to 15 milligrams can be fatal to human beings. However, the Black Mamba can deliver as much as 100 to 400 milligrams of venom from a single bite."

Elle finishes reading and puts the paper away. She looks down at Budd at her feet, going through all the symptoms she just described.

ELLE: Now in these last agonizing minutes of life you have left, let me answer the question you asked earlier, more thoroughly. When it comes to that bitch, I gotta lotta "R's" in me. Revenge is one. Retribution is another. Rivalry is definitely one. But I got another "R" for that bitch you might be surprised to find out. Respect. But right at this moment, the biggest "R" I feel, is Regret. Regret that maybe the greatest warrior I have ever met, met her end at the hands of a bushwhackin, scrub, alacky piece of shit like you. The woman deserved better.

Budd, dying, watches from the floor as Elle takes out her cell phone and presses one button. The other party comes on the line, but we never hear their side.

ELLE: (into phone) Bill...Elle. I have some tragic news. (pause) Your brother's dead. (pause) I'm sorry baby. She put a Black Mamba in his camper. (pause) I got her, sweety. (pause) She's dead. (pause) Let me put it this way. If you ever start feeling sentimental, go to Austin, Texas. When you get here, walk into a florist and buy a bunch of flowers. Then you take those flowers to Huntington cemetery on Fuller and Guadalupe, look for the headstone marked "Paula Schultz", then lay them on the grave. Because you will be standing at the final resting place of BEATRIX KIDDO.

Impressive scenes & Voice overs from Kill Bill Vol. 1

This is a continuation of the last post

The Bride's lying vertically in Buck's truck's backseat. Seemingly out of danger - at least out of sight - but she's still stuck hiding in the hospital. And until she regains full use of her legs and feet, this little Bride ain't goin anywhere or doin anything.

Lying flat, with the back of her head propped up against the door, her long, lifeless legs stretched out in front of her, her two bare feet at the end of them, pointing to the sky, the Bride focusses her eyes, her stare, her thoughts, her strength, and all her concentration....on her big toe.

THE BRIDE: (monotone) Wiggle your big toe.

Toe doesn't move an inch.

THE BRIDE: Wiggle your big toe.

It doesn't move.

THE BRIDE: Wiggle your big toe.

(VOICE OVER) As I lay in the back of Buck's pickup truck, trying to will my limbs out of entropy, I could see the faces of the cunts who did this to me, and the dick responsible. Members all of Bill's brainchild; "The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad."

THE BRIDE (V.O.): Now after five years of beauty sleep I knew absolutely nothing about my enemies' strengths weakness or whereabouts. But as fated by God vengeance would have it, I who knew nothing - knew one thing. As sure as God made little green apples...

WE MOVE FAST TO O-REN ISHII'S SILHOUETTE, The SILHOUETTE BECOMES A POSED PICTURE OF O-REN in all her Deadly Viper glory.

THE BRIDE (V.O.): (continued)....if O-Ren Ishii, the first name on my Death List, was still alive... she'd live in Japan. O-Ren Ishii, made her first acquaintance with death at the age of eleven.

THE BRIDE (V.O.) At twenty five she did her part in the killing of eight innocent people, including my unborn daughter, in a small wedding chapel in El Paso Texas. But on that day, five years ago, she made one big mistake...

THE BRIDE (V.O.):...she Should of killed nine. However, before satisfaction would be mine, first things first...

CU The BRIDE IN BUCK'S TRUCK An hour and a half later from the last time we saw her.

THE BRIDE: Wiggle your big toe.

CU The BRIDE'S BIG TOE wiggles - slightly.


THE BRIDE (V.O.): When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, at the time it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing his will. At a time when I knew the last about my enemies, the first name on my death list, was the easiest to find. But of course, when one manages the difficult task of becoming queen of the Tokyo underworld, one doesn't keep it a secret, does one?

I remember the one that you see below very distinctly, as this is the last scene of the Kill Bill Vol. 1. Another impressive thing is the way in which Uma Thurman delivers the dialogue. Here she is talking to Sofie (quite a pretty lady ahnn...).


THE BRIDE (ENGLISH): I'm allowing you to keep your wicked life for one reason and one reason only. So you can tell him, in person, everything that happened here tonight. I want him to witness the extent of my mercy..., by witnessing your deformed body. I want you to tell him, all the information you just told me. I want him to know what I know. I want him to know I want him to know.

THE BRIDE (ENGLISH): And I want them all to know, they'll all soon be as dead as O REN.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Kill Bill

I have decided that the next few posts are going to be on KILL BILL. Ok! So, let’s start with Vol. 1 first. I so happened to get the script of the movie on the internet. Believe me. I was so happy I managed to get it. As I adore the easy to understand dialogues present in the movie, I decided I am gonna post a few of my favourite dialogues present in the movie. I agree that you will be able to enjoy it, only if you have seen the movie. But all said and done these are all amazing pieces of conversation per se.

I will just give a brief introduction on the movie as such. It all started when Bill and The Deadly Viper Squad kill the pregnant Beatrix Kiddo aka Black Mamba aka The Bride aka Mommy in a wedding chapel. That is Uma Thurman for you and she is referred to in different names in the movie. But unfortunately for the killers and fortunately for Uma Thurman, she escapes the death bed but instead goes into a comatose for four long years. She wakes up after four years and decides to take revenge.

Now this particular conversation takes place after the tussle between The Bride and Vernita, who is one among the four who were involved in the assassinations. The scene is that these guys get into the fight right away. When I mean right away, it is written in its true sense. The minute Vernita opens the door without peeping into the door eye lens. They stop their fight when Vernita’s daughter arrives from the school. After a brief intro session with Nikki, Vernita’s daughter, this conversation comes up.

I mean the beauty of the whole conversation is that they talk as any acquaintances would. You might not be able to feel the impact here, but believe me one can't imagine a conversation of this kind especially after a brutal fight.


The two women turn to face each other, masquerade and combat both finished.

THE HOUSEWIFE: Want some coffee?

THE BRIDE: Yeah, sure.

The two women move into the kitchen. The Bride re-sheaths her SOG, and The Housewife puts the butcher knife back in the drawer. The Bride sits down at the kitchen table, while The Housewife pours both of them coffee.

THE HOUSEWIFE: Cream and sugar?

THE BRIDE: Both, please.

As The Housewife fixes the coffee, we hear The Bride's VOICEOVER ON THE SOUNDTRACK:

THE BRIDE (V.O.): This Pasadena homemaker's name is Jeanne Bell. Her husband is Dr. Lawrence Bell. But back when we were acquainted, five years ago, her name was VERNITA GREEN. Her code name, was "COBRA"..... Mine was BLACK MAMBA.

The two combat artists sit at the kitchen table, drinking coffee out of Vernita's coffee mugs.

THE BRIDE: Were you expecting me?

VERNITA: Yes and no. Bill got in touch with me right after you woke up, and then again a little later after your episode in Japan. (pause) So I suppose it's a little late for a apology, huh?

THE BRIDE: You suppose correctly.

VERNITA: Even if I was sincere?

THE BRIDE: Oh. I'm quite positive you're sorry, now.

Vernita says to the Bride across the table furiously but with low volume;

VERNITA: Look bitch, I need to know if you're gonna start anymore shit around my baby girl!

THE BRIDE: You can relax for now. I'm not going to murder you in front of your daughter.

VERNITA: That's being more rational than Bill led me to believe you were capable of.

THE BRIDE: Well that's a demonstration of Bill's complete ignorance when it comes to the subject of me, and what I'm thinking, and what I might do. It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack, not rationality.

She pauses for effect -- the ham.

THE BRIDE: I'll wait for now, but I won't wait for long. I'll allow you to choose a time and place for us to meet again, preferably as far away from Nikki as possible. I could have just HIT you, I didn't, I demand respect for that. Since this is not a HIT, consider it a DUEL. And as two former Deadly Vipers, we will observe Viper rules of honor. One on one - no help – no bushwhackin - no treacherous weapons - on weapon of choice – our skill and our bodies. Vernita says her name;

VERNITA: *(BLEEP)*

THE BRIDE: - I'm not through telling you. Failure to keep our date, or duplicity of any kind, will result in me putting a xoxo hollow point bullet into the back of your skull from a window of a building across the street from Nikki's elementary school. Now, feel free to respond.

VERNITA: Look...I know I fucked you over. I fucked you over bad. I wish to God I hadn't, but I did. The blonde listens to the black woman with a poker face.

VERNITA: If I could go back in a machine I would, but I can't. All I can tell you is I'm a different person now.

THE BRIDE: I don't care.

VERNITA: Be that as it may, I know I do not deserve mercy or forgiveness. However, I beseech you for both on behalf of my daughter.

THE BRIDE: -- Bitch, you can stop right there.

The B-word stops Vernita short, almost like a cold-handed slap in the face (it should affect the audience that way as well).

THE BRIDE: (leans in close) Just because I have no wish to murder you before the eyes of your daughter, does not mean parading her around in front of me is going to inspire sympathy. You and I have unfinished business. And not a goddamn fuckin thing you've done in the subsequent five years - including getting knocked up - is going to change that.

VERNITA: You have every right to wanna get even --

THE BRIDE: -- But that's where you're wrong, Vernita. I don't want to get even. To get even, even Steven. I would have to kill you, go into Nikki's room, kill her, then wait for your old man, Dr. Bell, to come home and kill him. That would make us even. No, my unborn daughter will just hafta be satisfied with your death at her mother's hands.

Vernita knows no matter what else is said, blood will spill.

VERNITA: When do we do this?

THE BRIDE: It all depends... When do you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow? That's about as long as I'll wait.

VERNITA: How bout tonight, bitch?

THE BRIDE: Spendid. Where?

VERNITA: There's a baseball diamond where our little league has its games, about a mile from here. We meet there around two-thirty in the morning, dressed all in black, your hair in a black stocking, and we have us a knife fight, we won't be bothered. I have to fix Nikki's cereal.

As they continue to talk, Vernita pulls down a cereal bowl for her daughter and lays it on the kitchen counter.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Blog Wandering

I have been doing a lot of blog wandering these days. I was reading almost all the posts of a few blogs that I found interesting. A few of the blogs that I read from their first post till date were ‘Walk with me.’, ‘myspace’, ‘Anonymously Yours’ and a few others. I have added the urls of the same in the ‘Recently visited’ section of this blog. (This doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t visit any other blogs.)

In fact, I have been reading bits and pieces of many blogs for the past few days. I am sure I would have trodden a minimum of 25 blogs this week. A few of that I had been through were of any of the following categories. Indian bloggers settled/trying to settle/living abroad, a few working in different Indian states but have TN/Chennai as their origin, a few blogging from the same hometown – be it of a foreigner or an Indian.

Like how the analyses and documentation of every long drawn activity proves to be useful at some point in time, I thought I will for sure write a post on the different styles of blogs that I came across. Almost all were distinct in nature; and all those I liked were of Indian origin. I don’t know why I don’t like the way a personal blog of that of a foreign origin is written. May be it is the way they present it. But there were quite a number of similarities amongst the Indian blogs. I have listed down a few points that I noted.

Simple templates with the background colour generally being either very dark as or very light. Basically, most of them were pleasant to look at.

One interesting pattern that I found is that most of the bloggers who have gone abroad have black as their background. It could be because of the fact that when they started blogging they could have chosen the one that their friends had; anyway that is my deduction.

Most of the blogs offer something that the readers can take home. Some blogs were reflecting the philosophy of life, some reflecting a philosophy of their own life etc.

The posts were easy to read and to the point, unlike a few foreign blogs that either had offensive language or their style was totally different.

Almost every blog had the Haloscan commenting system in place.

Very few blogs had a calendar and a site meter in them. May be the counter might be invisible but then we assume that only what we see is the real thing right?

As I had read a few blogs at a stretch, I could see how they have lived their life since they started blogging. In a few cases how they it was even before they started blogging.

Almost everybody has been happy that they have started blogging. They have either mentioned it directly or have felt that blogging is a welcome gift for them with a sense of gratitude.

Every blogger had a unique way of presenting their thoughts and the degree of privacy varied hugely.

Some have reserved their blog for daily use, some twice a day, a few monthly one or twice and some without any distinct periodicity.

For almost all bloggers that I came across, blogging came into their lives in the year 2004.

For a few bloggers, blogging is a compensatory act. I mean blogging has become a means to fill the time that they had originally used it in some way.

For some it is just another means to express their thoughts and feelings.

These are the few deductions that I made from my blog-wandering.

A few other things that were first timers for me, was to comment. I should say I am an introvert when it comes to commenting on blogs. I was the kind who silently read the blogs that came my way and said nothing at all. But then I thought life was boring that way. So I am surprised to see that I have left comments on a few blogs and a few have picked my blog from where I left a comment as well; thereby bringing in new visitors to my home on the net. I should say that marks the beginning of a new walk of life!!

Friday, January 28, 2005

Hey!! I found this is one of my friend's blog. Agreed that for the amount of introspection that I do, I can easily fall for such things - I mean such tests. I wouldn’t mind taking personality tests. I do believe that they have been designed with some psychology behind it. Anyway the below gives a gist of who I am. The result seems to be true. In fact the elaborate version was good. Don’t ask me for that. You can’t expect me to be such an open book!!! :-)


My Inner Hero - Warrior!
I'm a Warrior!

I'm courageous, straightforward, and charismatic. I'm a born leader, but I'm also not afraid to face danger on my own. Nothing stands between me and victory... nothing that lives to tell the tale, anyway. If you need someone to charge into battle for you, call on me.

How about you? Click here to find your own inner hero.


You could find if what you think about yourself and what the psychometric reveals match at this place. And of course mail me about what it says about you. It will be nice knowing somebody through this mode. :-)