How long 'til the world will be completed?
How many times will history be repeated?
How long 'til the words fall to the pages?
How many times 'til all we can say is save us?
How many times will you look back at that one night? And wish that you had thought more and had just one drink less than you did?
How many times will you remember that car-wreck with shame and shock at your own callousness? And wish that you had stopped and checked whether the occupants were okay?
How many times will you tremble when you recall that betrayal? And wish that you had not done the things that led to an endless estrangement?
How many times will you recall the glass as you decidedly threw its contents at his face? And wish that you had controlled your temper?
How many times will you curse your fate and regret your decisions and apologize to the numerous people whose lives you've helped to screw up just a little bit more? And wish that you were a better person?
Climb on top of all you despise
It's a better view from the lies
Two steps behind before I've begun
Time stops to tell me all I could have done
If I want things to be different now, and forever afterward, will you hold on to me, like you have all these years?
I know where I'm supposed to be.
Finally.
I want to go
Will you show me the way?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
On crashing an intellectual gathering...
It was not a party we were invited to. Well, not directly invited at any rate. But a friend of ours was asked to it, and we tagged along. Free food and free alcohol? Come on, that’s an irresistible combination. Stop judging me. I’m sure you would have done the same when you weren’t making money!
Anyway, so the five of us walk in and look around a little sheepishly. It’s not a very big party and people are scattered all over the house. We feel conspicuous, and huddle together. The host (or some pseudo-host) dawdles over and offers us drinks.
“Sure!” beams out truly-and-directly-invited-friend.
“Sure!” we echo, rather weakly.
Once we’ve settled down with our vodka-and-Cokes and a bowl of chips, we begin to look around. And realize we’ve been provided with free entertainment as well.
There are a whole lot of people from a certain architecture school, famous for- well... actually, I’m not sure it’s famous for anything in particular but its students sure seem to think it’s a great place. I’m just going to take their word for it; sometimes you’ve got to have a little faith in people and what they say, you know?
So anyway, there are a number of women in cotton, ethnic-printed, Fabindia/ Anokhi saris and an equal number in Levi’s jeans and cotton, ethnic-printed, Fabindia/ Anokhi kurtis. Now, don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Fabindia and Anokhi. And I adore cotton, ethnic-prints. But it gets a little tiresome if that’s all you see. A bit like those identically dressed, plasticky, mini-skirted girl-gangs that we all love to hate in Hollywood high-school flicks. A little bit of variety is nice, you know, be it in the midst of high-school-drama or drawing-room-conversation…
The men are equally clone-ish. Raggedy kurtas, dirty-ragged-jeans (why is intellect necessarily synonymous with dirt and lack of maintenance and upkeep?) and (hold your breath-) French beards. Voila! If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.
And worse still, if you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all.
The-Woman-With-The-Dramatic-Snaky-Bindi-Creeping-Around-On-Her-Forehead: “You see, the premise of Chandralekha is that it’s vertically conceptualized, rather than horizontally. Then, obviously, when you see it, you must view it vertically because to do so horizontally is to lose the otherness inherent in the form!”
G. ventures a question: “Chandralekha? Which part of the country is that from?”
Snaky-Bindi shoots him a look of utter contempt: “It’s a post-colonial-style, three-minute documentary about the hallucinatory madness of an Ethiopian monkey. Made by a friend of ours in Andhra Pradesh. It will tell the world about the sufferings of the Ethiopians.”
G. looks confused, and ventures to ask a second question: “The sufferings of Ethiopian monkeys?”
Snaky-Bindi’s eyes now shoot Rajasthani-heritage-daggers at G: “Are you trying to be funny? Because it’s not funny you know. The Ethiopian situation is encapsulated in the monkey’s descent into madness. Even as we speak, the documentary is being shown at various film festivals in Mongolia. And R. has already got an offer to shoot the Mongolian royal family’s palace. He's going to be tied up with that now, for the next few months.”
G. decides to work up enough courage for one last question: “But then, what about the Ethiopian people? I thought the movie was going to give rise to a movement, maybe some charity events…?”
Snaky-Bindi has had enough: “You are just revealing your narrowness of vision. It’s about a movement in the mind, don’t you see? You must transcend this necessity to see everything translate into concrete terms. The otherness of insanity must be transformed into a holistic unity and that’s the only way to deal with the madness of modern civilization!”
G. has also had enough. We walk off, collapsing into laughter as G. downs his drink… “What the fuck…? Otherness? Vertical? Horizontal? Why can’t people speak in plain fricking English?”
Ah well... At the best of times, critical terminology is a wonderful thing. It allows us to conjure up entire systems of thought with one word or one phrase. But critical terminology should not obscure what you’re trying to say! It should make your point clearer, shouldn’t it? Unless, of course, you’re hiding the fact that you don’t really have a point to make at all…
“Shall we go have the kakoris? They’re yummy.”
“Yes, let’s. And let’s stuff a couple into Snaky-Bindi’s mouth as well. Then maybe the room will stop resounding with her "otherness"!”
We stuff ourselves with kakori kebabs, swig a couple of drinks, and flee the party. There’s only so much erudition us mere mortals can take in one night.
I know, I know. We’re horrible people. We crash people’s parties and drink their alcohol and eat their food, and then laugh at them! We’re simply awful. But I wouldn’t trade places for the world. Being on this side of the fence is way too much fun...!
Anyway, so the five of us walk in and look around a little sheepishly. It’s not a very big party and people are scattered all over the house. We feel conspicuous, and huddle together. The host (or some pseudo-host) dawdles over and offers us drinks.
“Sure!” beams out truly-and-directly-invited-friend.
“Sure!” we echo, rather weakly.
Once we’ve settled down with our vodka-and-Cokes and a bowl of chips, we begin to look around. And realize we’ve been provided with free entertainment as well.
There are a whole lot of people from a certain architecture school, famous for- well... actually, I’m not sure it’s famous for anything in particular but its students sure seem to think it’s a great place. I’m just going to take their word for it; sometimes you’ve got to have a little faith in people and what they say, you know?
So anyway, there are a number of women in cotton, ethnic-printed, Fabindia/ Anokhi saris and an equal number in Levi’s jeans and cotton, ethnic-printed, Fabindia/ Anokhi kurtis. Now, don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Fabindia and Anokhi. And I adore cotton, ethnic-prints. But it gets a little tiresome if that’s all you see. A bit like those identically dressed, plasticky, mini-skirted girl-gangs that we all love to hate in Hollywood high-school flicks. A little bit of variety is nice, you know, be it in the midst of high-school-drama or drawing-room-conversation…
The men are equally clone-ish. Raggedy kurtas, dirty-ragged-jeans (why is intellect necessarily synonymous with dirt and lack of maintenance and upkeep?) and (hold your breath-) French beards. Voila! If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.
And worse still, if you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all.
The-Woman-With-The-Dramatic-Snaky-Bindi-Creeping-Around-On-Her-Forehead: “You see, the premise of Chandralekha is that it’s vertically conceptualized, rather than horizontally. Then, obviously, when you see it, you must view it vertically because to do so horizontally is to lose the otherness inherent in the form!”
G. ventures a question: “Chandralekha? Which part of the country is that from?”
Snaky-Bindi shoots him a look of utter contempt: “It’s a post-colonial-style, three-minute documentary about the hallucinatory madness of an Ethiopian monkey. Made by a friend of ours in Andhra Pradesh. It will tell the world about the sufferings of the Ethiopians.”
G. looks confused, and ventures to ask a second question: “The sufferings of Ethiopian monkeys?”
Snaky-Bindi’s eyes now shoot Rajasthani-heritage-daggers at G: “Are you trying to be funny? Because it’s not funny you know. The Ethiopian situation is encapsulated in the monkey’s descent into madness. Even as we speak, the documentary is being shown at various film festivals in Mongolia. And R. has already got an offer to shoot the Mongolian royal family’s palace. He's going to be tied up with that now, for the next few months.”
G. decides to work up enough courage for one last question: “But then, what about the Ethiopian people? I thought the movie was going to give rise to a movement, maybe some charity events…?”
Snaky-Bindi has had enough: “You are just revealing your narrowness of vision. It’s about a movement in the mind, don’t you see? You must transcend this necessity to see everything translate into concrete terms. The otherness of insanity must be transformed into a holistic unity and that’s the only way to deal with the madness of modern civilization!”
G. has also had enough. We walk off, collapsing into laughter as G. downs his drink… “What the fuck…? Otherness? Vertical? Horizontal? Why can’t people speak in plain fricking English?”
Ah well... At the best of times, critical terminology is a wonderful thing. It allows us to conjure up entire systems of thought with one word or one phrase. But critical terminology should not obscure what you’re trying to say! It should make your point clearer, shouldn’t it? Unless, of course, you’re hiding the fact that you don’t really have a point to make at all…
“Shall we go have the kakoris? They’re yummy.”
“Yes, let’s. And let’s stuff a couple into Snaky-Bindi’s mouth as well. Then maybe the room will stop resounding with her "otherness"!”
We stuff ourselves with kakori kebabs, swig a couple of drinks, and flee the party. There’s only so much erudition us mere mortals can take in one night.
I know, I know. We’re horrible people. We crash people’s parties and drink their alcohol and eat their food, and then laugh at them! We’re simply awful. But I wouldn’t trade places for the world. Being on this side of the fence is way too much fun...!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
*snip*
According to Greek Mythology, the three Fates are Goddesses who supervise destiny by controlling each person’s “thread of life”. Clotho selects the thread, Lachesis measures it, and Atropos cuts this thread to signify the end of a person's existence.
What does that sound like, I wonder? The end of a person’s life? If I were making a movie about these whimsical Fates, I know what sound-effect I would use at the moment that Atropos cuts that slender thread. It would be a clear, simple, razor sharp-
*snip*
Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
Ranjana Bose looks out of her office window. What a beautiful day! The sky is overcast and it looks like it’s going to rain. A welcome respite from the recent heat wave in Delhi. Ranjana looks down at the paperwork on her desk. Is there time for a quick cigarette? Probably not, she tells herself hurriedly, recalling guiltily that she is supposed to be in the process of quitting. And the documents need to be turned in by the end of the day anyway. Ranjana looks out again. Is it drizzling? People seem to be scurrying under that bus-stand.
The landscape lurches.
Her hands are clammy.
A shooting pain.
*snip*
Young Corporate Whiz Kid Succumbs to Untimely Heart Attack
Bill Malkovich trips down the steps from the lobby onto the sidewalk. Oh my god, it’s already 2:00 pm? He curses himself for losing all track of time in the young girl’s room. While one can easily call Bill Malkovich a cradle-snatcher, one can just as easily see that he is a fantastic father. The divorce hasn’t stopped him from attending Parents’ Day Meetings or taking Jenny out regularly for pizza and movies and story-telling sessions. Today is an exception. He should have been at the school right now. His gaze rakes the parking-lot on the other side of the road. Where is that damn car? Oh, there it is! He steps off the kerb as the pedestrian-signal turns green.
The horns blare.
He is momentarily blinded.
Screeching to a halt.
*snip*
Successful Publicist Fatally Run Over As Speeding Bus Turns Corner
Jenell Morrison leans over his Physics textbook. The jingle-jangle of the lecturing professor’s silver bangles is un-fucking-bearable. He wants to crawl back into bed but he knows the test tomorrow will include material from the lecture today. He sighs and glances at Abid, who is glancing at Maria. Jenell tries to suppress a grin. Abid is truly hopeless when it comes to Maria. All his charm and arrogance melt into awkwardness when that girl looks at him. Jenell appraises Abid carefully. Is he really dedicated enough to become a permanent member of Jenell’s beloved band? Well, he did write that great song last week… Jenell looks up at the whiteboard.
The door crashes open.
Something whizzes toward his collarbone.
The room tumbles into chaos.
*snip*
School Student Goes On Arbitrary Killing Spree
Melanie Costa walks in and sits down in the train, comfortably sated after the delicious Italian meal with Gabriella. She rummages in her backpack. Where is that I-Pod gone? She often thinks that perhaps buying the Nano was not such a good idea. So easy to lose! Especially with her messy bag and careless ways. Ah, there it is! Melanie settles back onto the seat. Hmmm… She feels indecisive and there is an inter-generational, musical conflict. Cat Stevens or James Blunt? She thinks about Idan all of a sudden. Good-looking, witty Idan with his sharp cheekbones and crooked smile. Okay, James Blunt it is. “You are beautiful...” the singer’s voice croons into her ears.
A loud, grinding explosion.
She smashes into iron and steel.
Flames towering high.
*snip*
London Underground Rocked By Terror Attacks
Chonburi Sopon tosses the fish up expertly, one last time. It falls into the plate and he takes it to the lone customer sitting outside in the sun. Chonburi smiles at the Australian woman as he hands her the fish, and then decides to take a walk down the beach. He is calmly content today. Thankfully, the loan has been approved and he can finally open the club on the beachside. He is still hesitant about the colour scheme of the interiors though. He is rather partial towards a deep green but Annie has her heart set on a dusky shade of pink. “It’s more vibrant! More club-like!” Chonburi can almost her slightly high-pitched voice over the crashing waves. Are the waves a little more powerful than usual today? He turns to look at the Australian woman who is enjoying her meal.
The waves gather force.
His eyes widen.
The furious water crashes.
*snip*
Asian Tsunami Disaster’s Final Death Toll Over 300000
***
I have been told that bank-balances and moderation and career plans and health insurance and stable relationships are excellent things to possess because they give us:
security and stability.
Except that I’m pretty sure that security and stability are fairly fragile castles.
At that *snip* moment, I do not want to regret the things I did not do- however trite that might sound.
Which just makes me think that Horace got it right, back in 23 BC, when he declared:
Carpe Diem.
Seize the day.
Take hold of the day.
After all, one never knows when Atropos might decide to slit the thread.
What does that sound like, I wonder? The end of a person’s life? If I were making a movie about these whimsical Fates, I know what sound-effect I would use at the moment that Atropos cuts that slender thread. It would be a clear, simple, razor sharp-
*snip*
Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
Ranjana Bose looks out of her office window. What a beautiful day! The sky is overcast and it looks like it’s going to rain. A welcome respite from the recent heat wave in Delhi. Ranjana looks down at the paperwork on her desk. Is there time for a quick cigarette? Probably not, she tells herself hurriedly, recalling guiltily that she is supposed to be in the process of quitting. And the documents need to be turned in by the end of the day anyway. Ranjana looks out again. Is it drizzling? People seem to be scurrying under that bus-stand.
The landscape lurches.
Her hands are clammy.
A shooting pain.
*snip*
Young Corporate Whiz Kid Succumbs to Untimely Heart Attack
Bill Malkovich trips down the steps from the lobby onto the sidewalk. Oh my god, it’s already 2:00 pm? He curses himself for losing all track of time in the young girl’s room. While one can easily call Bill Malkovich a cradle-snatcher, one can just as easily see that he is a fantastic father. The divorce hasn’t stopped him from attending Parents’ Day Meetings or taking Jenny out regularly for pizza and movies and story-telling sessions. Today is an exception. He should have been at the school right now. His gaze rakes the parking-lot on the other side of the road. Where is that damn car? Oh, there it is! He steps off the kerb as the pedestrian-signal turns green.
The horns blare.
He is momentarily blinded.
Screeching to a halt.
*snip*
Successful Publicist Fatally Run Over As Speeding Bus Turns Corner
Jenell Morrison leans over his Physics textbook. The jingle-jangle of the lecturing professor’s silver bangles is un-fucking-bearable. He wants to crawl back into bed but he knows the test tomorrow will include material from the lecture today. He sighs and glances at Abid, who is glancing at Maria. Jenell tries to suppress a grin. Abid is truly hopeless when it comes to Maria. All his charm and arrogance melt into awkwardness when that girl looks at him. Jenell appraises Abid carefully. Is he really dedicated enough to become a permanent member of Jenell’s beloved band? Well, he did write that great song last week… Jenell looks up at the whiteboard.
The door crashes open.
Something whizzes toward his collarbone.
The room tumbles into chaos.
*snip*
School Student Goes On Arbitrary Killing Spree
Melanie Costa walks in and sits down in the train, comfortably sated after the delicious Italian meal with Gabriella. She rummages in her backpack. Where is that I-Pod gone? She often thinks that perhaps buying the Nano was not such a good idea. So easy to lose! Especially with her messy bag and careless ways. Ah, there it is! Melanie settles back onto the seat. Hmmm… She feels indecisive and there is an inter-generational, musical conflict. Cat Stevens or James Blunt? She thinks about Idan all of a sudden. Good-looking, witty Idan with his sharp cheekbones and crooked smile. Okay, James Blunt it is. “You are beautiful...” the singer’s voice croons into her ears.
A loud, grinding explosion.
She smashes into iron and steel.
Flames towering high.
*snip*
London Underground Rocked By Terror Attacks
Chonburi Sopon tosses the fish up expertly, one last time. It falls into the plate and he takes it to the lone customer sitting outside in the sun. Chonburi smiles at the Australian woman as he hands her the fish, and then decides to take a walk down the beach. He is calmly content today. Thankfully, the loan has been approved and he can finally open the club on the beachside. He is still hesitant about the colour scheme of the interiors though. He is rather partial towards a deep green but Annie has her heart set on a dusky shade of pink. “It’s more vibrant! More club-like!” Chonburi can almost her slightly high-pitched voice over the crashing waves. Are the waves a little more powerful than usual today? He turns to look at the Australian woman who is enjoying her meal.
The waves gather force.
His eyes widen.
The furious water crashes.
*snip*
Asian Tsunami Disaster’s Final Death Toll Over 300000
***
I have been told that bank-balances and moderation and career plans and health insurance and stable relationships are excellent things to possess because they give us:
security and stability.
Except that I’m pretty sure that security and stability are fairly fragile castles.
At that *snip* moment, I do not want to regret the things I did not do- however trite that might sound.
Which just makes me think that Horace got it right, back in 23 BC, when he declared:
Carpe Diem.
Seize the day.
Take hold of the day.
After all, one never knows when Atropos might decide to slit the thread.
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