Tasting Travelling

I've started putting into practice the concept of myself as a starving, growing animal. 
The kind that likes her teas alone, and books tickets before the dreaded changing-mind-stigma-stodginess sets in. This year has sufficed. So far. And there's Bhutan to look forward to, in the next entry.

Why travel
because it isn't enough without
unless i do.

Because i want to physically feel something
new and bright 
that hurts my eye.

i want to always close my eyes 
and lie flat on my belly in Morjim
when it's most deserted
and no one else is holidaying except retired couples
and the lone woman beached like a whale
baking softly in the sun.
the sunlight is white
i can taste salt and warmth and you.

i want to lose my way over 
and over again
making a new friend to meet the Maha Kumbh mela
and walk barefoot on silver sludge
silver sky.
orange robe are walking by in hundreds
because every one is leaving,
it's over.
the humans are gone,
this is the end and goodbye.
i've only just arrived here.
(i know there's a we somewhere,
i just can't seem to find it.)
we're wearing three days worth of rain-soaked
mucky yucky
clothes on us,
layered like stodgy iyengar bakery cake
because the bus from Ghaziabad to Allahabad
dumped us in Kanpur and we walked a mile
at 6 am in jacuzzi rain.
putting on lenses like a pro at the deserted bus stand.

i'd really like to pour my savings 
into another spur-of-the-moment
Leh trip.
and never think twice.
eat a fat red chunk of melon flesh
and breathe deephardfast
as the Stok range looms around me.
Mordor could be right ahead,
and the Shire's already
a distant basecamp memory.
(i wish i had legs like a donkey.
you can't feel pretty on a high-altitude trek anyway.)

Rough,crusty beach of broken shells
at Bekal.
This is another way of seeing Kerala.
Shedding inhibitions
 and hugging myself underwater.
Swinging on a wooden bed
above the backwaters
but smelling salt.
Walking alone,
walking in the rain.
Gobbling kozhi rasam because
ohgodyes
I still don't feel the Malyali connection
in my blood.
(I do feel something else though
rushing.)

Either the food is a strong connection or
i'm a livingbreathingmass 
which could travel the earth on fours 
to taste something 
new on my tongue.

Home Truths

Apparently,

I write better than I draw.

Thats the ultimate compliment,

 the overpoweringly orangely garishly pungent marigold garland of policitian fame,

for a writer.

No problem.

Very flattered, thenks.

Except that I'm supposed to well

be a designer

an artist

sometimes a lost cause

other times just a visual person.

Apparently,

I can draw better pictures with words.

Basic.Space

So Ive been listening to a whole lotta The Xx lately, 

and they've been filling up a lot of

 the empty space around me.

Navrathri has swung it's way around Ahmedabad.
The season of sparkle dust high in the air, mirrorwork evenings are hot under yellow light and burning feet, people moving like cars on the highway.
I don't love this time of the year too much. The beat of the drums sounds funereal and disturbing in it's increasing feverishness, and reminds me of the same. You know, yellow fevers and 'passing-ons' (such a silly word, Whately, I know.) and bad news lapping over the mood. My asthma acts up and inhalerblue mornings last till the drugged hour post-noon. 


Most of all, my home is empty. Flatmates are off dancing in a blur of orangewhirl merry-go-round, and the night does that funny thing where it goes all cheap drugstore rubber-bandy on me. You know those yellowgreenred elastic pieces in packets for 5 rupees no? They stretch and stick to one another,mewling in horrid tones, and suddenly split down the middle in when you least expect it.


Last night felt particularly empty. The room was bereft of it's usual pleasant company and my laptop charging itself to glory, as shots from my film rendered away. My orange lampshade gave me filthy looks, as if to nullify it's function as a potentially warm friend. I could feel the hard, cold fingers of an off-mood reaching out to me.

 So I had to get a fix, yeah, I hadta getta fix.

Hot buttered toast, burnt on the edges and sprinkled liberally with cinnamon-sugar (My newest FabIndia love: loose ground cinnamon with brown sugar and nutmeg. Divine.) was followed by a mini canister of tea and might I confess, that I nearly forgot what coffee was for a second? Shame on me. So fickle in matters of the culinary heart and simple pleasures. 
I didnt even need a playlist to colour up the scene, and peaced out in a blur until company came around 2am.

Oh, the glorious phoenix arising from a simple gas-stove!

Basic space is all you need, apart from love and chai.

Magic without a T.

Image from somewhere in the internet's depths.

I have an archive of beautiful images from around the place.
Photographs, posters, fashion and artwork which is exciting, inspiring, technically emulative or simply something I'd love to keep around me.

The above image popped up and reminded me that today is

The Day I Gained Purpose in Life! 
The Day I registered my grad film, my final year project!

that I don't write much save Tweets or the teensy blog/ DA posts.
Which is sad, really. 
There's just so much less to think about when I write. It's easier to put words together in text, than have face-to-face conversations or participate in stilted Facebook chat sessions.
(I should just post on my Blog. And tell people to read the daily RSS before we meet.Simple aforementioned problems solved.)

Coming back to the point,
Words are powerful. Radical Self Love from my favourite blogger in the world confirms that.

The more I realise that the only thing constant in life is change, I love life a little bit more. The minority of happy people on the planet can subscribe to that notion.

The Now is:

The unbeatable roasted lush of Coorg coffee, made in a steel filter every Ahmedabadi morning
September weather spells of warm wakings up in the cold morning
The unavoidable,hilarious and exasperating daily updates of the neighbour dogs,brought to you by your lunch buddy 


Skinny lizards skating over  the peppery ceiling searching for roaches
The new forevers of rediscovering Neruda on a tattoo quest
The old forevers of Radiohead,Jefferson Airplane,T.S Eliot and
the blazing nows of the Xx, HerSpaceHoliday, Vampire Weekend and all the indie music in the world made for you and only you


Ego-tickles and skin-tickles and goosebumps,
Beer and perfectly made eggs in honey-teriyaki sauce to share,
Letters from never-lost long-ago-still-here girls in penguin swimsuits who
made houses out of orange tang, dinosaur baths and magazine covers FYVP  when
the roof tiles were unguarded and  comfort came years, years later in a car-ride


Sister cats waiting in Mysore town with babies that are sprouting like acrobats
Photograph sleeping in folder not awake not  yet not again
Insomnia over  coffee dates and dirty drawings of furtive couples in stretchy pants and brown sugar

spells now in not so many words,

none at all.

  
  

It's on Loop.

I'm so lost that it's wonderful and not asking to be found.

Lost like

Songs on loop about the sea and and finding the stairway to higher hopes.
Finding a way to the ocean after wanting it for a year.
Air travelling into one ear and out another one.
Burrowing into comfort.
A lot of chai all at once.
A really long movie that felt less like a speech and more like a lyric.
People appearing like a cloud of smoke and dis-apparating right before brain freeze.
A line of books ready to be drank into skin,lined up on a clean shelf.
Consumerism over comedy.
Foolish frivolous talk without the alcohol kick.
Headphones is ignorance is bliss.
Treetops over very deep blue brightening skies.
Eyeball seeking dark room in bright house windows closed.
Writing today because inkpot is brimming.

So lost that I dont ask you to find me with a blissful smile.

Grey threads

I forgot all about my socks
the greying worn-out ones
threadless and bare and scuffed at the soles
My feet are naked and inconsolable at their tremendous loss.

The socks went on a roadtrip though
Right through double-locked suitcases and
endless goodbyes that didnt say hello frequently enough
They seem to be wiser, for all I taught them.

That seems to happen more and more, the
more I crumple up words and forget to write
because the papers too new,
the feelings too old,
the everything's just not enough to become a
something that I'll keep with me long enough to love.

Still.My feet are inconsolable at their loss.
I've reassured them with promises of blankets.
Not so snug as socks but
comfortable enough to
keep aside on those hot
long-winding summer nights.

Six words speak so sense

Feet in socks
Winter bite unheard.



Recently joined a group called Six-Word stories on DA.
Its a great exercise to get me writing more, and value the skill it takes to express more in less. Namely, writing a story in 6-words.
Stay tooned.

Things I love When Im Wise

Things I Love Appreciate and Hope-to-think-of-more after having my wisdom teeth pulled out(yank,to be precise!) a week ago.

-My growing collection of teas. It's like organic farming out of a packet.Out of the nine current lovelies, its organic tulsi-ginger which does the trick and washescleanthebloodstream. Organic India,you're rather wonderfully good for me.

-Giving the mirror LESS IMPORTANCE.Its amazing how a swollen jaw can distort your entire appearance, to your own eyes.I still can't recognise myself(and apparently,neither can my family hair stylist who thinks Ive aged centuries!)but hey,it's okay.See next point.

-Glowing,healthy skin(It glows in the dark too.) which must credit from The Mummy's endless doles of turmeric curds,chocolate cows milk,soaked almonds and...

-Papaya sitafal passionfruit yoghurt smoothies!Yum,yum,yum.They can pass me shady lines at any given time.

-Finishing a really well written book in one go. Thank you Michael Cunningham,for giving meFlesh and Blood. The cover was nearly as irresistable as the throw-away sale price- FIFTY RUPEES!Horrific,no?

-My green room,tantadantaaaadah!

-Got to love hand-me-downs!My aunt's plastic earrings from the 80s.So plastic!The Mummy's aerobics tights in with neon pink,black and blue swirls.Also from the 80s.

-Setting my caller tunes so I feel different inside each time the phone rings.(Hello,I just love some people a little more.)

-Watching Very Trashy Reality TV. I even saw a re-run of EMOTIONAL ATYACHAAR with full devotion.

-Getting a high score on Mah Jong Titans and vowing to play for real. I am so multi-cultural. I think I love myself a wee bit more; it's addictive. Next I will wear that new velcro-attachable saree.

-Revisiting a piece of art that means that little something more, each time.

Thanks to GalaDarling, one of my favourite bloggers for rooting these things out of my head and into the air!

bookstores bring out the best of the blues

you walk into crossroads,and are bathed in yellows.

and of course its one of those aah!I see the light now! kinda moments.
i was soaked in chocolate flavoured coffee(doused by an earnest,apologetic friend who later allowed me to drink her coffee up)and dying for a restroom.walking past those rows of polished bookshelves,my eyes began flickering-
birdsswim fishfly-gayathri prabhu

the famished road-ben okri

half of a yellow sun-adichie

the rising tide-amitav ghosh
and i couldnt stop my feet from following my eyes and devouring all those titles.hungry was i,dying for a book to fall into.
or so i thought.
it was then,while browsing through these emotional,psychologically intrigueing capsules full of image-soaked ink blood that i heard a calling.

i wanted to write!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
like write properly,more than typing out random scraps and under/over dramatizing them(right from the heart of course)into my blogspace.at one point,my notebook with the cat in the fishbowl on its cover was my life.what i felt,i spilled onto its pages in a cryptic script which meant little to those who chanced upon it,but made more sense than the facts-of-life to me.

i wanted my name to be on one of those intrigueing pieces of literature,and it was more than fame calling me.
to be more precise,it was
Fate.

Fine,laugh at me.but ive decided one thing after looking clearly at a coupla other things namely
#1-Im pursueing a diploma/degree in design,at a place i wanted to be in for a good portion of my life.
#2-on the other hand,anything i do as a lifecalling will definitly involve art(proper art,not this design technique nonsense of perrfectlineslineslines and principles and multidisciplinaryapproachyadayada)people(learning about them,being with them,the whole shindig) and literature.wherein i will write.

it sounds so simple!

and i will be so happy!

nothings gonna change my world....lalalala..jai guru deva...

Ps-do note abovementioned books,my birthday occurs at the end of this year and such consideration will be truly appreciated.