Thursday, March 31, 2011

Names..

I have always had the ability to find the perfect pet name for people. More often than not, those pet names have been good and have stuck , being universally accepted and used. universally that is , by common acquaintances .

I was trying to sleep , as i started thinking about names - about what names do to us. Names and the familiarity they come with. Some people are lucky enough to be associated with awesome pet names, and some , like me , never get one.

I'll talk about two boys, two whom i loved at one point of time - one who was a traditional school romance, I tried a pet name for him , it was out of love, out of a childish urge to brand a particular soppy kind of intimacy , but it never stuck . I loved his name, it was one of those names that I liked - and true to my word, till this day today, when most of that familiarity and need is gone out of whatever is left of our relationship , I still call him by his real name, never shortening it , never familiarising it. Its funny how that name , seems to be all that remained unchanged - he will always exist as that perfectly pronounced name , without any hint of familiarity in my life.
The second boy however , was someone again , whom I have , and still vehemently love.I once loved him , with the ferocity of a possessed lover, and i love him now , with the familiarity of an old, studied one. \It was his pet name , that I was thinking of, when I felt I should write about it. Dalai - that's what he is and what he always will be . In this world, I no longer know his real name -  it is dalai , his dalai-like quality , his dalai-sh behavior that frames his very person in my mind . It is , by far, the most perfect pet name I have ever found for anyone. His entire personality ,  whole persona as it were , is encased in this name. It brings to mind , everything he ever said to me , and everything I ever said to him , with the simple ring of the familiar well used name. Everyone, who once gets to know him, knows that he is so perfectly , so honestly a Dalai.The best thing about using this pet name is , it sticks - even when he leaves a new number with me, he will say, its dalai - its like , he would have existed somewhere else, as someone else, but with me , in this world , he is dalai.
I think, I like him so much in spite of the pain he is most of the times, for the near perfectness of the name he has come to be , for never so perfectly has someone fit to something I made for him. It is the me in coming up with the awesome name, that I feel the love I sometimes  feel.

Names , they say, don't mean so much - yet I cringe when a friend threatened to date someone called a particular brand of bad name person - the very basis for not dating him became his name. A name is the first thing, you are going to remember of a person , it should be memorable. and if his real name is not awesome , then he must be found a new name, and he must fit to that name. One thing I realised, you cannot find someone a name if they were not meant to be that name for you, you cannot force a name on some one's face, they have to earn that name, they have to exact that name for you , and they have to be the name that you in your love for them came up with . There is a lot in a name - there is a lot of him/her and a lot of you in this name.

p.s. this has to be one of the nicest autobiographical things i have ever come with. I like this post a lot.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Dangerous Liasions

Have you seen Stephen Frears' Dangerous Liasions  ??

no ?

YOU MUST .

That is , if you are looking for a dangerous kind of feminism, and how difficult it is to own it  - and beautiful Michelle Pfieffer - and see seduction, revenge , betrayal at its best - and learn to die for it while not taking it so seriously.

The movie breaks beautifully into amazing wit , and harsh , intense cruelty - this guy is brilliant. Anyone who has seen The Quee, knows that he is brilliant , but this movie , i think , beats the crap out of Queen.

wow.

Maybe i am exaggerating - i do have a thing for period dramas.
Vicomte de Valmont: I ended by falling on my knees and pledging her eternal love. And do you know that, at that time, and for several hours afterwards, I actually meant it

Vicomte de Valmont - You see, I have no intention of breaking down her prodigiousness. I want her to believe in God and virtue and the sanctity of marriage and still not be able to stop herself. I want the excitement of watching her betray everything that's most important to her.


Marquise de Merteuil - When it comes to marriage, one man is as good as the next. And even the least accommodating is less trouble than a mother.


Marquise de Merteuil: I've always known that I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own.

Vicomte de Valmont: Is there anything I can do to help?

Vicomte de Valmont: Now, yes or no? It is up to you, of course. I will merely confine myself to remarking that a "no" will be regarded as a declaration of war. A single word is all that is required.
Marquise de Merteuil: All right: war!

telling a girl who has been raped ,  Marquise de Merteuil: You'll find the shame is like the pain, you only feel it once.

Vicomte de Valmont: Why do you suppose we only feel compelled to chase the ones who run away? Vicomte de Valmont: I often wonder how you manage to invent yourself.  
Marquise de Merteuil , wow , what a woman , unhappy, but then , who isnt ? i have just found my feminist ideal. the way she holds her own  - and she loves, she feels , even contemptuous of the ones she loves yet she loves . she is my Eleanor Roosevelt !
 
must watch.


Marquise de Merteuil: Well, I had no choice, did I? I'm a woman. Women are obliged to be far more skillful than men. You can ruin our reputation and our life with a few well-chosen words. So, of course, I had to invent, not only myself, but ways of escape no one has every thought of before. And I've succeeded because I've always known I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own.



Marquise de Merteuil: Immaturity?



Monday, March 21, 2011

if there is one thing, that makes me really, truly happy -  , then it has to be words... so beautiful, so powerfu so poignant, so expressive - i feel myself forgetting everything else, imagining worlds, as i feel them grow bigger , straining against the page to get my attention...

oh also, listening to marilyn manson , at 5:00 in the morning - is the MOST AWESOME thing ever.
actually, listening to manson at any time, is not a bad option  - that man's voice is sex !! like, oozing melting sex ---   yummy !!

Sunday, March 20, 2011

watts : well how do they look ?
keith : you look good wearing my future.


awwwwww <3 <3 <3 <3

p.s. there are teen movies that touch your heart, or maybe , im just a little bit gay - Some kind of Wonderful

Friday, March 18, 2011

blue and breathless

"It needs to be F.U.N.N.Y !!" he bellowed , spit flying with every syllable he spelt out for my dimwitted ears.

 Suddenly , the humidity of the room has increased - there are sweat patches around his arm pits, and my neck feels hot from the stress. He is panting , slightly , with all the melodrama of having had to spell out funny for me . i want to bite the tip of my pen, but i was told , there are too many pen marks around my fingers anyway, and my face could do without the natural blue shade of ink.So I resist. I feel like twirling my hair around my finger - but I am sure, that this very generalised notion of feminine display would put him off even more. Sometimes, i am so sick of not knowing what gender i belong to . I mean , what the fuck - there is a limit to being considered androgynous - i have a vagina for god's sake . i have breasts - hello ? it would be nice to mark a domain for me. My fingers are itching for a cigarette - he would just stare at me while I smoked not letting me enjoy the high .And anyway, it is stupid to smoke infront of people - your private sin , when in public view becomes your ticket to  the moral damnation of a wannabe.

so I , take the pen , and in capital letters , put the word down - F.U.N.N.Y.  He is about to throw his hands in the air - spraying stray persipiration droplets around the room , all the while being converted to vapour in mid-air. I am crazy like that - i would like air to be perspiration free , thank you.

Just then , his phone vibrates louder than my roommats vibrater - it must be some girl for whom he applies deodrant. I must ask ma , why cant i get a guy to spray deodrant for me ? No honestly, my mother , has a unique way of simplifying all my problems to like two or three general problems with me - a.) appetite b.) lifestyle (smoking , and random drinking) c.) refusal to stop washing my hair on thursdays  and d.) my anti-social stance towards the world. I love her for over-simplifying my life. There should be more people like mothers in your life - they always know just what is wrong .

so as I try to breathe less and less, due to the fast vapourising male perspiration - i purposely look down . He is polite - she must be the kind who start a conversation with - "Daaarling !!" like some weird chain smoking white trash woman.

He , bangs the door , but only after he has triple underlined the word i scribbled in my notebook.
As he shags in the staff loo , i try to find out what in this world is possibly funny. This disgusting , bacteria-disease laden world.

I've had enough - i want to walk out , i want fresh air, fresher than atleast this scum's perpiration ridden air to breath. I can sense an adrenaline rush - i want to rebel.

She was escorted fifteen minutes later (after he had shagged his present shag ) - her face was blue , there was some three pens' worth ink in her system. She had , specifically used the new imported german pens , their seal unbroken to chew his shag's worth.

As he rolled her out of the room - he was in hysterics  . Turns out , when blue - she made quite a picture of the funny he had been asking for.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

For Love

Never regret anything done for , by or out  of love. It was the purest , nicest thing to happen to you that did not matter. God said , you must treasure the sweet nothings that happen in life. Treasure all things you did or were done for you out of love - it wont last, and it does not mean anything and it does not matter. But NEVER , EVER , EVER beat yourself up about things you did , when drugged by love . They.dont.matter and were NEVER meant to matter.

*Caution: NOT APPLICABLE FOR MURDERS, BEATINGS AND OTHER ACTS OF VIOLENCE. ONLY EMMOTIONAL VIOLENCE, FOR IT DOES NOT MATTER, HAS BEEN COVERED IN THE ABOVE DEFINITION.

** NOTE TO SELF : these reality checks , though witty to my self when i write them down, are strangely depressing.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011




You know that kiss in Jerry Maguire ? When they come back from their date and thy kiss ? That has to be probably the best kissing sequence ever filmed anywhere . I love that movie , I have seen it a zillion times, and I still cry every time when i see it.

I think, nobody, kisses like Tom Cruise . NO-FUCKING-BODY. Sure there are a lot of very good kissers around, but nobody kisses like him. Like he is , you know seeing a painting - he goes about it so slowly, memorising every line , ever freckle - and even when he kisses, it is not a gross all tongue affair (which i agree , is very good too if done properly) but he, is just beautiful.

He is , completely the man !!

Saturday, March 5, 2011

There are no lies now - i am telling you , there are no lies.

It is a death - a death of someone very close in the family. I told you, someone was going to die, and you though I was lying - just because I lied all the other times you thought this time too I had to be lying. See , this is why , you never got me. I told you the truth, you did not believe me , and now see , someone is dead - that too, in the family. You are going to sit there now , and you will take in the fumes from the dead body, of bacteria multiplying and of things still alive in the dead body, dying constantly as almost as an afterthought , death comes after them. You are going to say , I am insensitive, but you will check yourself, knowing how I had been right about somebody dying ,and you wrong and insecure in not believing me.

Anyway, now the fumes are within you body, and though you knew you were wrong you did not move. Your stubbornness, is going to be the death of me. You know I am looking , yet you let your tears fall on the white sari I had so carefully draped the dead body in. This is not the time to worry about the cleanliness of the sari , you say - I feel like interjecting, reminding you how you had run , when the body had bled, leaving me to clean the sores, the blood wounds, the hurt, the anguish. And now when i cleaned out the body, like something new and shiny , very much as how baba looks after being scrubbed when he comes back home form play. Raw, shiny and red - oh and of course , dead.

Sometimes, I can see through your phoniness - your sensitivity, your hurt and your anger is all a farce. You hide behind it , meekly clutching to your big manly handkerchief as you read the newspaper holding it close to your near-sighted eyes - it just shows , you with all your outward drama , feel much less than I feel in my unfeeling body. Even the children always run to you for favours, thinking how I will obviously refuse them - but when they fail tests, and when they scab their knees you pass a judgemental look in my direction, hold your hanky close to your nose and shout for the servant to come and clean the mud trailed footprints - I take the blame , I scold them - just as I pour with them over their homework , just as I hold tissues to their tear stained cheeks. Yet they call me unfeeling and you sensitive.



I know what you are planning to do now - you are going to run from the town , till the death has been lived down by the rest of us . You will say, my uncanny return to normal life , disgusted you and you ran, not only from the hurt and sorrow but your disappointment in me. You will say, you ran from me. Then , you will write long shadowy letters , of grief , pain , and wretched unrequited love - where all our friends have become your friends, and i am left trying to keep the children from getting out of hand - trying to stop the workers from revolting , trying to take care of your friends, when you in your phase of injured merit will stop talking to them.

While you were away - I revived old friendships as only I know how to. I will hold down the domestic fort while you try to raise your injured merit physically off the ground,visiting large mouthed whores who in their innocence took you one for an artist. Only I as i run baba's lines with him for his play, will know how much of a farce it is.

I will , feel the natural course of jealousy that every woman feels for every penis that enters her - regardless of my sense of displaced authority. I will bemoan the lost cause of my marriage to friends who try to listen to me, but mildly tell me it is all my fault - because I was too harsh, I couldn't understand you as they in their foolhardiness understood you. I listen to them and I take the blame - for I don't need to be proved right like you did. But needless to say - I was hurt , hurt how i never understood you till i had no way to run , no way to go, no way for peace except that wretched existence with you - but then I stop myself, for I don't run , I don't hide.

As I thought about this and other things, i contemplated leaving. With a little practice and a lot of sex, I know i can forget you , and i can forgive you - for I was always ready to take things as my fault. But then I thought - I never leave, and I never go away - so I am here, bitter, angry and resentful but knowing that you know, that i knew there would be a death , and you know you were wrong. I check myself in time, yes my body is battered and old in my complacency of a settled love - but I forgot how every man is a wanderer and to never let yourself go for one such rover.

Till you come back , I will have found someone else, and this time I will blame you, this time I will not clean up the mess - this time ,I will not settle with you for you seemed safe, but change myself and get myself a real man , a man not so afraid to talk, to act , to love as you were. A man not given to such cowardliness as you were - a man who as you used to say, is as cold and calculating as i am - in this thought, i let you know that even if i am never able to forget you - i have forgiven myself. And as you know, it was never about you, it was always about me - about me knowing I did not hurt a good man - my hurt (if it indeed was my hurt alone) for your hurt . We are even - in the knowledge that there is a death , and that I was right.
 
p.s. this is a different kind of story. would definitely want opinions :)

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Nothing else Matters .....

If there was one thing he regretted, it was not having died for love ….. – Love in the time of Cholera


When does love become apologetic ? When do you have to do things so as not to harm the balance of an old love ? What are the formalities that you have written in your book for our love now dead, but still burning , still breathing when memories take control , when there is silence, when there is darkness ? When do you think of me – without regretting the things that you did, or the things I did not ?



I saw you there today – as I slept , fitfully , waking at every sound in my room. It was not a good sleep – it was troubled , and in that troubled sleep I met you. I don’t know if it was troubled because I met you or it was my demons , rushing in , filling my ears with noises I could not comprehend. You stood there – not a day older than you were some years ago when I first met you. All you failings have been dimmed by time. You are perfect , in that troubled oasis of my mind. I see you , not looking at me . that was when I woke up , for you were always looking at me , when you were the age you were in my dream.

I have been reading about love, and I have been wondering , why it never happened for you and me. And what happened for us ? where did it go , and why did it destroy itself ? and if it is completely gone then why do you still exist in my life, not as you were a few years ago ? why do you smile your half smiles, and why do I look away when you try to talk ? what are we thinking as we try to grip each other existing as we were in the present ?

I don’t like the present – much as I disdain the future. The past is mocking me , yet , the fact that we will never live down it seems to hold me , not steady , not cast ashore yet in this swirling sea of dreams. Turbulent dreams.

Do you dream of me still ? do I look as I looked a few years ago ? is that comforting ? does it bother you that I have changed, worse than change could have changed me ?

I want to hold onto something – the past and its memories slip past me, for I am older, and more skeptical . but one thing I know for sure – I almost died for love. A love that will never exist. A love that never existed at all. Yet I died for it , and you saved me. Death happened.i moved on. And so did you.

But even then – even after death , you are just as old as you were – a few years ago, before you saved me in my head. And now I know the trouble was’nt you – it was me. It was me knowing that I will die, and you , in all our miserable unfortunateness will save me.











George Orwell :Animal Farm

small book , sarcastic, funny, and heart wrenching.

BRILLIANT !!!

looking forward to reading 1984

my rating : 9/10


must read  if you like satires , or if you are intelligent enough to get them.

Grabriel Garcia Marquez : Love In The Time Of Cholera

wow !!

this is , from now , definitely one of my absolute favourite books. i dont even know how to review this book here , all i know is either you will love it or you will absolutely hate it.

marquez is a genius ! i dont need to say that , for he has won a nobel prize in literature, but i just want to let the world know that now i know why . i have never read anything that touches me so ,i dont even know how to explain it -- it is so believable , it is so true , yet , it talks about all abstract things like LOVE - you end up believing in love , you end up living their love, as yo are constantly aware of the lies , the half truths , the circumstances.

one thing , is constantly reiterated - that you can love not only a lot of different people, but you can love in different ways - you have to let yourself be .
my rating : 9.5 /10

if you are someone who likes words , who is a romantic , and who likes to read descriptive things , almost as if the author drew a picture for you you must read this book. and no it is not unbelievable , infact, the awesomeness of the book lies in the fact that is just so fucking there, just so fucking doable.

every page , offers you a memorable quote , but here are some of my favourite ones:
Fermina daza aout her husband :
Little by little she had been discovering the uncertainty of her husband’s step, his mood changes, the gaps in his memory, his recent habit of sobbing while he slept, but she did not identify these as the unequivocal signs of final decay but rather as a happy return to childhood. That was why she did not treat him like a difficult old man but as a senile baby, and that deception was providential for the two of them because it put them beyond the reach of pity.

dr urbino's last words
He recognized her despite the uproar, through his tears of unrepeatable sorrow at dying
without her, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more grateful than she had ever seen them in half a century of a shared life, and he managed to say to her with his last breath:
“Only God knows how much I loved you.”







fermina daza about florentino ariza
She also knew that he was one of the musicians in the choir, and although she never dared raise her eyes to look at him during Mass, she had the revelation one Sunday that while the other instruments played for everyone, the violin played for her alone. He was not the kind of man she would have chosen. His foundling’s eyeglasses, his clerical garb, his mysterious resources had awakened in her a curiosity that was difficult to resist, but she had never imagined that curiosity was one of the many masks of love.

Florentino Ariza wrote everything with so much passion that even official documents seemed to be about love. His bills of lading were rhymed no matter how he tried to avoid it, and routine business letters had a lyrical spirit that diminished their authority.

The drama of Florentino Ariza while he was a clerk for the River Company of the Caribbean was that he could not avoid lyricism because he was always thinking about Fermina Daza, and he had never learned to write without thinking about her. Later, when he was moved to other posts, he had so much love left over inside that he did not know what to do with it, and he offered it to unlettered lovers free of charge, writing their love missives for them in the Arcade of the Scribes. That is where he went after work. He would take off his frock coat with his circumspect gestures and hang it over  the back of the chair, he would put on the cuffs so he would not dirty his shirt sleeves, he would unbutton his vest so he could think better, and sometimes until very late at night he would encourage the hopeless with letters of mad adoration. From time to time he would be approached by a poor woman who had a problem with one of her children, a war veteran who persisted in demanding payment of his pension, someone who had been robbed and wanted to file a complaint with the government, but no matterhow he tried, he could not satisfy them, because the only convincing document he could write was a love letter. He did not even ask his newclients any questions, because all he had to do was look at the whites of their eyes to know what their problem was, and he would write page after page of uncontrolled love, following the infallible formula of writing as he thought about Fermina Daza and nothing but Fermina Daza.

They alone knew how tiresome was the man they loved to distraction, who perhaps loved them but whom they had to continue nurturing until his last breath as if he were a child, suckling him, changing his soiled diapers, distracting him with a mother’s tricks to ease his terror at going out each morning to face reality. And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separate: another life.

with no tears, she wiped away the memory of Florentino Ariza, she erased him completely, and in the space that he had occupied in her memory she allowed a field of poppies to bloom. All that she permitted herself was one final sigh that was deeper than usual: “Poor man!”

But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about