Once

There was a time when I thought it was a really good idea to

Express myself without restraint through my art, because the feeling was new and fresh and exhilarating and hey, judgement was for losers.

Talk about what was 'real ' and dismiss anything that seemed layered with artificiality, little knowing that I would become layered myself, what with college and life and electricity bills and movingtimespaces, and it would be less like an iced tower cake and more like protection from the wind and rainfall.

Read depressing poetry about death and longing and loss and write a lot of it myself in dog-eared books and this very public journal. It was insanely intense, and now intense is just a funny word.

Believe in love akin to instantaneous  rasna powder drinks, which would make themselves without any effort on my part. A list  or recipe was key to such a belief, and   any deviation from the list meant that it was not.meant.to.be.
The phrase 'not meant to be' was what we call the universe today,when we express thanks.

Dislike a god, or denote a capital G. Hate crimes, moral police and fattening temple coffers are still my reasons, but Ive discovered Neil Gaiman years ago and once you fall in love with his gods, well, here's a speech to start YOU off.

Listen when someone called me fat,

Chat with strangers online,

Never change myself,
Classify myself according to my 12th standard abnormal psychology book,

Study my family's genetic history,
Relive the past like a stuck tape,

Call sappy moments and cliches uncool,
Judge someone based on their city,

Pretend I wasn't from my own city,

Play blame games like some people play SIMS,

Think cats  are the bestest animals in the world (They are, but dogs have crept their way in somehow),
and thereby
Define the very existence of emo-ness.

Instead I'm  happy and searching for more happiness and can cook for myself and buy overpriced things if I fall in love with them hard enough,
and  use the colour yellow with aplomb,

and have embraced my love for clothing without worrying about my image,
and  can laugh at myself loudly and  appreciate design and know even LESS about the future than I did 8 years ago, 

which feels great. Though I have already planned my dream home right down its wooden bookcases and flooring samples and wide, wide windows.

Actually I think I'm pretty damned cool. Not compared to you, of course. Just my old idealistic and introverted self, the one I don't miss anymore than week-old laundry.

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!

Staple pins

I was lying in bed right up until a moment ago,going across the events of the past few days.
Feelings were swirling around inside me,much like stripes of airy, translucent strips of coloured paper in a windy void.

It had been two days of standing on the razors edge.

“I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That’s my dream. That’s my nightmare. Crawling, swiftly, along the edge of a straight…razor…and surviving.”
( Colobel Kurtz, from Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'-a book that has lived in me since the day I read it.)

Indecisiveness, and not knowing where I stand. Wanting to be this and that, and stamping my feet in the clouds of dust under the signs at the crossroads.

I wanted to sum it up. I took a few long walks at night, and played electronic music at low volumes, and thought about love and loss and love again, and the inbetweens which we all have to make work out, for our own sakes.

And then I was taking one such walk, with a chance friend, and we came across a puppet show, put on-campus as part of a workshop.
The loud chuckles and merriment caught my attention, as did the crowd being drawn to the display of brightly coloured, tightly wound-up folk toys.
I drew closer, still lost in my own world, and the crowd around me grew thicker as the puppet-play rose to a climax.

A young boy caught my attention;gawky and hunched. He seemed not to know what to do with his limbs, and swung around restlessly behind his mother, a local. Covering her head with her pallu, she was caught up in the excitement of the play and must have presumed that her son was doing the same.

He ran his fingers along the noticeboards propped up around the play.They served as boundary walls, and had battered looking board pins and staples stuck at odd angles, stuck in the rough cloth. I was curious. His eyes were unfocused, and his mouth half open. People pushed behind me, and I craned my neck to watch him, wondering if he had a sight problem.

And then his palm flattened out,up and against the board. A square sheet of paper was moved carefully upward, while small fingers poked a bent staple pin into the top of the sheet.
His drawing was red and yellow and criss crossed into triangles.
He smiled, seeing it placed just where he wanted, pinned up on the board.

The play ended,
and I clapped
absently,
suddenly blinking
furiously,
and feeling like the luckiest, and most privileged person around me for miles.

I walked away at a snails pace,
dreaming of staple pins and paper.
and feeling secure.

A Better place

Is it in vain
Is it a crime
Is it something I didnt explain?

Maybe I'll come by here again.

Maybe I sang too fast
And tripped over the words|
Getting pulled over for overspeeding|
Clutching the ticket and praying to a light
or something even greater up there|
Hoping I'd do it again.

Maybe I dreamed too bright|
Gulping down memories and
diving into them again|
Opening my eyes underwater
and breathing in till they burned|
Making new futures out of old paper boats
and setting sail again.

Or maybe I held my own hand too tight|
Walking on the edge of the knife
A snail on thin ice
Slipping into old skin
and slipping sliding fighting it
with worn soles
and a heavy rucksack

Preparing myself for the worst
and finding a better place,
After all.



I was listening to La Dispute by Yann Tierson.

A 4 letter word.

http://what-kaveri-seas.blogspot.com.
Thats my new,renamed domain.
For the art that I do,the scribbles I scan,explorations Im lucky to get myself into.
Its still called Sea of Inky toes,but the earlier http://moonskulled-sea.blogspot.com has died a premature death. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

Why the sudden change? No,its not the jibes at my poetical nonsense.(Ok I just added the poetical bit,certain fellow illustrators/batchmates giggle at the randomness!)
I appreciate poetical nonsense,why,Ogden Nash thrived on it like a glorious,absurd little hog-rose.
See,hog-roses dont even exist and yet a Nash fan could agree with me.

Ive been doing some thinking lately,as a student of design(yes,im embracing it) and loyal practitioner of the intangible nuances of WhatTheyCallArt. Conversations with Prof Ranjan (http://design-for-india.blogspot.com) have also lent me a certain amount of understanding regarding the clash of great minds between aesthetics and functionality, in the process of creating something.
Im all for 'art for arts sake',hell,Im a good example of someone who toes the line by doing a lot of work 'because I feel like it/it looks pleasing/I love blue',etc etc.And Im definitly not product inclined,viewing the act of creating as fulfilling the needs of the masses or redesigning for better functionality.

However,when does your work become faff?
Its four letters,and can be as dirty as you want to be.

Im coming across a lot of similes in my contemporaries' work these days. The overuseage of death,of so-called morbidity which means repeated usage of the words 'alone', 'depression', 'pain', 'black+(add another word)', all disastrously in the same context.
Paisleys.God save me.Please look up the usage of the symbol in fashion today.
Hindu Gods.I find this extraordinary. If one does not follow/believe in a part of what they are promoting in their work, then how is it personal?How can you call upon the bad girl sex appeal of Kali or the boy-next-door charm of Krishna to sell yourself?

For it IS selling yourself.
Indian street graphics. Its a category of its own, I love the way people celebrate it in posters and coasters and ove toasters.But there's Autooverload. Bad imitatons of Sabyasachi's bindified and goggle-eyed ramp models. Truck art to shame all trucks.Gods with blue eyes.Blinded by this blasphemy of 'culture'.
And then theres the genre of individuals who freely place copyrights on the lyrics of The Beatles ,Floyd,The Doors,I dont know,choose your poison.
The Blogsphere is scarily full of it.

For it IS selling yourself.
Faff.
In this whole struggle to be noticed, no one seems to notice that the limelight's turned a rather unpleasant shade of red. A virtual bloodbath, with schools of fish trying to be individuals.
Its a troubling question,for who wants to be caught in the trap?
I find myself hesitating to illustrate songs I like,for fear of pretentious dragonflies omshantioms and washes of colour that will drown whatever Im trying to say.
Do I dare?
Do I dare disturb the universe,after all?
The sacred order of things that makes cash flow and the world grind to a screeching halt every once in a while?
Faff.
Precisely why I am no more http://moonskulled-sea.blogspot.com,
I'm joining the squad of sheep grazing on yonder side of the hedge.
Wish me luck.

Dear Reader,your comments and criticism will be appreciated greatly.I place my words on the table and invite you to a pleasant debate, over one of my more opinionated posts.

Entre of a working woman

That title sounds so good.
Todays the 1st day of my internship at a graphic design company.
Its website design time,for a rally racing company. me-the technologically ignorant creature,who manages to work her way through designery stuffs via a trial and error process with illustrator and photoshop-is currently enjoying the benefits of a mac.just dont tell all those mac-obsessed creatures on campus(who actually keep those free ipod apple logo stickers!)
so far,im LOVING these ComputerArts UK works,theyre so inspiring I could spend hours and hours and HOURS on them.
Above are some images of peoples work..
2 and a half weeks is going to fly by.
OH,and the people seem nice...If i open my mouth(still mouse in the house corner for me,squeaking questions earnestly and tripping over more than one wire!)
I think my ideas are good,but they never feel professional enough when you look at sites like Red Bull and all...do a bit of snip and cut here and there,play with images on illustrator and maybe SOME hand work...hopes hopes hopes.
so far so good.
:DDDD
*grins with anticipation*

Chitron ka Bandhan

Coming soon.
A blog with less words and more pictures,so rejoice,ye who bore of my tireless ranting!
For over a year now,Ive left a hundred stories untold between the pages of my sketchbooks.Now,its time to let those little critters out for a breath of fresh air.
The second blogs already got one post-but alas,I dont know how to un-do the 'private' setting listed so friends can see whats up...oh well,till then!
ps-Im aware the title is hypocritcal,as Im still struggling with my Hindi skills..give me strength and creativity people..:D

The Astounded Ocean

"The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again

Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You’d rather cry, I’d rather fly"

It was like I felt nothing at first..then I saw the coffin,and I heard the cries of family and lovers who were suffering at a level I couldnt possibly fathom,and it hurt me inside like a fist knocking at battered wooden door,the sound echoeing...
I cant believe he's gone,and I had to be so strong..for a person or two who needed me,and that made me feel all the worse.
Death isnt about being poetic and morbid, about wearing skulls on ur t-shirt or contemplating the art of a glistening blade against young skin.It isnt about using dramatic words and it isnt about watching movies which sell sorrow and darkness.
Its about thinking about life itself, and how it can just.....go. disappear. vanish.
Id never seen a cremation before, Id never really felt the pang of the death of a loved one,like the merry old uncle who succumbed to cancer the year before,burying our laughter and memories with him.
I realised it affects you more when the persons someone you've lived with,laughed with or at,argued with or even eaten with. Someone who breathed the same air as you did....and you didnt see it any other way.
Why would you,really?
We're coccooned,all of us,safe and insecure in our worlds that keep colliding,always bouncing back and taking the simplest things for granted.
It makes me want to appreciate what I have more.Its rare I feel this,for I feel few things close to me. I actually wanted to return to Mysore, and Im soaking in the feeling right now.
Im speechless,and Im blank,and I dont like explaining it beyond the fact that I want,want,want to be back on campus right now...

Just to know what it feels like again.