That day ...

It was 1:00 in the morning , a little past midnight , when , without any prior notice the Himachal State Public road transport bus came to a grinding halt. The bus had been running like a gas steam engine, constantly squalling , hitting against the unruly thicket of uneven shrubs and tree branches growing on the sidewalks of the naturally developed road , which lacked any sign of cement or of human intervention. The bus driver, who was habituated to the daily grind of arduous journeys was busy trying to communicate with  other drivers through the handy walkie talkie that he carried. We were still deep in slumber when the bus arrested its movements and were oblivious to the happenings of the outside world.

The breeze halted as if signalling for permission. It was chilly outside and the lack of movement made the weary passengers open the window pane for some fresh air. Couples murmuring, mothers shouting , half -awakened children crying, fathers snoring and other agitated noises filled the bus . There were footsteps from all directions. There was a loud thud on the bus roof, as eager men began climbing up to get a better view of what had transpired. This entertained the kids.

I was still asleep, when I felt something soft , almost hair like rub against my left ear. I had put my head on the support bar of the seat. Soon , I felt someone breathing heavily , struggling to remove something massive and valuable from the top shelf. Her hair had the distinct smell of chameli , the locally grown wild flower. In my daze , I could hear someone , a female calling out to her father. She was seated next to me in the bus and when she moved , she almost shoved me. That woke me up.

I banged my head onto the support bar , on which I had rested my head all this while. The camera bag containing my DS LR Nikon D 40 landed on the metallic floor with a thud. We continued travelling after a exhausting halt of 3 hours.

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urgency is the new emergency.

hi!
forgotten? remember me faintly ? ya. same chick.

urine and words. both flow. both yellow. both blissful. The ideal way they should be 'fluid'. I have'nt written much in ages and i may not write for some time to come. This has nothing to do with laziness as claimed by bloggers but more to do with being able to conjure topics , not just two or four words but an idea. conjuring most things today is difficult and i am no exception. at times all i am immersed in are passing thoughts. the sorts that stimulate you but don't make you come. They are there , but not there enough.

i am beginning to feel the need to rearrange or lego-ise my thought process. let it build block by block, standing by itself on a strong base, growing by its scope on a wide scale.

Both are appealing thoughts. i wonder what to choose? The urinal thought process is in my veins (susu in veins not quite biologically appealing). it is how i think how i am . fluid. without boundaries. its like letting out a drunken torro in the middle of a crowded vizhipuram street. the end of it could just be bullshit. but it gives you the power to look everywhere. no need to wear blinkers. do netrachodan all around yet stop and think where you know you gotta stop. this power is powerful.

legoising is good. it is very good. (reminds me of the remarks my teachers used to note in my school diary and in other kids' diary) anyway isnt this a little to restricted? like you are a guy and someone asked you to pee in one-point-shot-sprinkle way. like you were a girl and someone asked you to dress all pink. pink hair colour and pink lens too.

Well. Thats what it is. my mum just brought kaju katri home. i am going to exercise my urinal thought process, which is, leaving the blog wrioting mid-way and doing what i love to do. pigging out.

point noted. fuck blinkers.

Yeh love kya cheese* hain?

I love the title! Recently I celebrated, rather , was a part of 'the love' week. This week is defined by certain outrageous qualities , such as, of transforming even the most mundane things into lovely somethings, of producing enough rouge(read blush)to give LOreal a run for their money, of letting you pass effortlessly through an entire day of misery, ladies-compartment-squabbles, bad-hair day and much more. These outrageous qualities have been so pleasing that I plan to stick around for a long , make that real long time to come.

Let me run you through the happenings of the love week.

Mon: I was chasing fluffy clouds on 7th heaven while trying to decipher latin. While I galloped around in a dizzy speed , I missed a cloud and I fell on the clouds of the 9th heaven. They were dream-inducing. But strangely, they were firm, safe and solid. I think i stayed in that state for almost a century before I realized it was already Wednesday.

Wed: I got to know about a few avenues of sightseeing on 9th heaven. They had a fish pond, filled with beautiful fishes. The catch here is , usually these fishes like to be caught and they will readily fall into your hook/trap, but the couple that evades the maximum fishes finally falls to the 11th heaven(the baap of all heavens). We went fishing and were so busy swimming in the never ending pool of each other's eyes that the fishes felt completely left out. Of course they dropped us to the 11th heaven and by the time we fell onto the clouds of this heaven it was almost the end of the week(and the beginning of a new love week).

Love also defies gravity. You know falling 'down' from 7th to 9th to 11th is not quite possible. I think i have made my point.

Its quite incomplete, i know. But why dilute love into words? Hain na?

Feel

I feel like i am breaking,

But i will hold on.

I feel like i am withering,

But i will flower on.

I feel acute anger

But i will smile on.

I feel downright insane

But i will go on.

I feel like i burnt a hole

Right in my heart,

But I will heal on.

I feel like feeling again

But, i don’t know yet,

If i could feel on.

-Subha Ramachandran

Let's Talk

I am in denial ,

Complain,I shall.

Reason the wrong,

demolish the right.

Foul , you cry?

And,

you shall watch.

Born,

To two organs

craving work.

Raised, too,

Replicate, Impersonate

Childhood,

wringing rights,

But,

writing wrongs

Adolescence,

Hush, Stop.

Adulthood,

Proletariat?

Shut up.

Work, You will.

Middle age,

Life,left,incomplete.

Death,

Inhaled my last,

Refused to let the breath 'go'

Stifled,

to sing the silent song.

Old Age?

I never grew old.

-Subha Ramachandran