so if this burns down looks like I have another place to stay.
Musings of the day
- Stardust offers Revital piils wit their latest issue
- Reader's digest (India) does the same with sugar free natura packets
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
xyz...
and this is my new blog natashaxyz.wordpress.com
so if this burns down looks like I have another place to stay.
Musings of the day
so if this burns down looks like I have another place to stay.
Musings of the day
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Weekly bliss...
Cold wind.
The day is waiting for winter
Without a sound.
Everything is waiting—
Broken-down cars in the dead weeds.
The weeds themselves.
Trees.
Even sunlight
Is in no hurry and stays
For a long time
On each cornstalk.
Blackbirds are silent
And sit in piles.
From a distance
They look like
Something
Spilled on the road.
The day is waiting for winter
Without a sound.
Everything is waiting—
Broken-down cars in the dead weeds.
The weeds themselves.
Trees.
Even sunlight
Is in no hurry and stays
For a long time
On each cornstalk.
Blackbirds are silent
And sit in piles.
From a distance
They look like
Something
Spilled on the road.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Among the things I love..
As random as you can be.
- I love the excitement of dawn creeping over you when you haven't slept
- I love strong,undiluted wicked coffee
- I love green herbal tea with a dash of lemon and honey
- I love reading in bed
- I love sunsets
- I love moments of silence
- I love the treasured hope of meeting someone fabulously new
- I love sunlight falling on things kept on a table as if shedding light on them very mysteriously
- I love colored pages
- I love sharpened pencils ready to tear through a page
- I love pretending to be asleep on a lazy afternoon all the while listening to my maid's bangles go ssss sssss ssss
- Eco friendly grafitti
Among the things I don't
# Inconspicuous memories......and the path I walk everyday.
# My 'will you write me a eulogy plea' that has driven many a decent folk away.
Whore memories..
They're kinky,they're slutty..they are The Whore Bunnies.
They currently reside somewhere on the outskirts of Bangalore..more specifically Rosh's dorm-his butterpaper lined cupboard.Trashed out and sleazy the best stuff we could come up with on Rosh's birthday.
We spent the entire evening and day after dressing them up in chichi beads,glossy fabric and attaching notes containing inappropriate content on to their drastically ruined soft fur.
Then we smothered them up in some gross mascarra,outrageous eyeshadow and a hideous in your face pink lip color.
Finally we couriered them to their much awaited destination because we couldn't stand them.They hurt the eye.Those scandalous bitches.
And sadly enough this is the only memory of us I have left.
'That is so not true...' Rosh yelled on the phone the other day..
Do you remember the time when D's place was reeking of smoke and you wanted to go home not smelling of it so she brought out a hairspray instead of body deodorant with a cigg in one hand and sprayed the rest of it in front of you almost setting the house on fire?
That was big.
Yes maybe that was big.
I miss the dysfunctional trio.
I miss the eternal morose haters of the world.
I miss Rosh and D ordering the worst food ever and then having to struggle through it.
The world looked so pathetic as seen from a corner table at ccd.
I miss Rosh giggling and D being ever so loud.
Oreganos are officially 'Rosh's thing' now..
Everything about us so irritatingly satishfying.
For we are damaged,young and inconsiderate and it only gets worse from here.
So here's to friend's you don't come across everyday..
and the one's you can't stand for more than 3 hours.
And the one's you cherish forever and ever and ever.
Here's to the three of us.
Ignominies of a different kind..
The air won't stir, not even a bit.I usually 'sit it out' in the evenings, cloud watching being my only respite from my derailed train of thought that I've come to mistrust and regard with much contempt.
The fetor of the sticky air is very suffocating today, the picturesque beauty of it is unmatched though.
'What part of you is so oblivious to climate change?' I mutter as I pass by a shop selling the usual toxic stash that is supposed to light up this diwali.
Not one soul have I seen, folding his hands up across his chest,face held back in a grimace staring away into an ocean of horizon and calamity and thinking out loud- Is it just me or is it really getting hotter every year?
No I haven't seen anyone like that.
And those that I have known hide behind clouds of discontent.You can't see much beyond clouds of discontent.I've been there myself.
'Up on the roof' is the song of the moment.It suits the mood,not so much the atmosphere,but the place,position and location perfectly.Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King (The Drifters) it was quite a sensation in the 1960's.
At the moment my roof is an agreeable place to be.Recently cultivated, it accomodates a chair that belonged to my great grandfather,a table with a nice chequered cloth over it (which obviously needs to be washed every now and then owing to bird shit..) but otherwise I think its a perfect place to pour your heart out.
Despite the floundering palms surrounding the roof I took an additional effort to place a potted green Singonium at one corner.
Neat.
My neighbour's house is clothed in irritatingly bright lights.The ones that leave you dazed after a while.He lights up a match and ka boom go the fire crackers..the ones that won't let me sleep tonight and the night after.The ones that use up most of my paracetemols.
Bizz..Zoink..Darkness descends.
The lights just went out.But what do you need lights for when a million people are lighting up the skies and streets?
The glitterati surrounding the house next door has assured me a safe descent down the stairs.No I won't break a leg or stumble down..I would just be up for most of the night amidst the glaring lights.
The fetor of the sticky air is very suffocating today, the picturesque beauty of it is unmatched though.
'What part of you is so oblivious to climate change?' I mutter as I pass by a shop selling the usual toxic stash that is supposed to light up this diwali.
Not one soul have I seen, folding his hands up across his chest,face held back in a grimace staring away into an ocean of horizon and calamity and thinking out loud- Is it just me or is it really getting hotter every year?
No I haven't seen anyone like that.
And those that I have known hide behind clouds of discontent.You can't see much beyond clouds of discontent.I've been there myself.
'Up on the roof' is the song of the moment.It suits the mood,not so much the atmosphere,but the place,position and location perfectly.Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King (The Drifters) it was quite a sensation in the 1960's.
At the moment my roof is an agreeable place to be.Recently cultivated, it accomodates a chair that belonged to my great grandfather,a table with a nice chequered cloth over it (which obviously needs to be washed every now and then owing to bird shit..) but otherwise I think its a perfect place to pour your heart out.
Despite the floundering palms surrounding the roof I took an additional effort to place a potted green Singonium at one corner.
Neat.
My neighbour's house is clothed in irritatingly bright lights.The ones that leave you dazed after a while.He lights up a match and ka boom go the fire crackers..the ones that won't let me sleep tonight and the night after.The ones that use up most of my paracetemols.
Bizz..Zoink..Darkness descends.
The lights just went out.But what do you need lights for when a million people are lighting up the skies and streets?
The glitterati surrounding the house next door has assured me a safe descent down the stairs.No I won't break a leg or stumble down..I would just be up for most of the night amidst the glaring lights.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The chronicles of flower arrangement..
Wikepedia defines Ikebena (the Japanese art of flower arrangement) as a disciplined art form in which nature and humanity are brought together.I call it an obsessive compulsive maniac's preoccupation with conquering the world.
For once I can't stop prattling about 'the wretch' who just happens to be the mainstay of my recent posts.See there is something super fascinating about old age.It surpasses Alzheimer's,cancer,Parkinson's delightfully and subsides into a realm of its own.
(Parkinson's..that reminds me..I always joke about how I think I have Parkinson's because my hands tremble a lot and my recent stint at cracking this joke in front of the wrong people turned out to be nothing short of a self initiated disaster.it went something like this: The guy I told this to actually thought I had Parkinson's,he didn't know what Parkinson's was,the combination of inbred paranoia and smoke made me believe I had parkinson's,so when I finally left the bistro I was more concerned about having Parkinson's than than my recent faux pas pertaining to words and sarcasm alike and waste of boisterous wit that would haunt me for quite sometime.)
So anyway "The right one's," she always says.They all look the same to me.They are flowers for heaven's sake.They consist of a stalk,peduncle,calyx and brightly coloured corolla and they die within a day or two..except lilies she once told me..they could live up to two weeks if rightly looked after.Her flowers are always rightly looked after.
"A rebel like yourself would never understand the gifts nature has to offer."
True and not.
Flowers are essentially feminine they say and I have never been able to figure out why.
D buys flowers for herself.I find that atrocious.But that's okay I guess, people would find buying unnecessary stationery for oneself equally atrocious.
Another aspect of Ikebena is that it employs minimalism.Minimalistic art I adore but minimalistic flower arrangement I cannot comprehend.Plus her arrangements are plentiful and over the top so I am guessing what she follows isn't Ikebena anyway.Maybe this is a peculiar style of flower arrangement invented by her embodying her own theories and thoughts.
"The darker one's go at the bottom and the lighter one's at the top."
Why?
Because the darker ones are symbolic of the earth,ground and soil.They form a base, a stronghold- perched on these are the lighter one's they become progressively lighter towards the top symbolic of the air..the zephyr.
Very symbolic of the world we live in don't you think?
No..I do not.
What about the leaves..?
The leaves can go anywhere.Top,bottom,in between,at the periphery..
One hot afternoon (when the heat seeped through your skin like an invisible toxin) I sat at my desk staring at a blank paper for quite sometime.I must have been 14.
I scribbled some utter random stuff and neatly folded the paper and slipped it into a drawer and completely forgot about it.When I came upon it years later it went like this..
I am the kind of girl who loves circles more than squares and leaves more than flowers .....
My heart skipped a beat when she said that 'the leaves' could fit anywhere - like they didn't have a place or a say or the glam of a flower.Yes, their essential quality was ruthlessly overshadowed by the fabulous flower.
Ask me again why I never liked a flower..because I was always a leaf.
Another thing.Did I ever tell you? The house has six mirrors.
One two three four five six.Six mirrors.
And sometimes I catch a glimpse of her staring into one of them just as she is going about her day.That is when she temporarily halts and looks at herself for an unnecessarily long period of time...and that's when I know we are both tragedies in the making.
A wilted flower lying on the newspaper babbling about global warming and the financial meltdown at a table beside the window that eyes a glorious sunset.Now that's art..and yet you miss it.
For once I can't stop prattling about 'the wretch' who just happens to be the mainstay of my recent posts.See there is something super fascinating about old age.It surpasses Alzheimer's,cancer,Parkinson's delightfully and subsides into a realm of its own.
(Parkinson's..that reminds me..I always joke about how I think I have Parkinson's because my hands tremble a lot and my recent stint at cracking this joke in front of the wrong people turned out to be nothing short of a self initiated disaster.it went something like this: The guy I told this to actually thought I had Parkinson's,he didn't know what Parkinson's was,the combination of inbred paranoia and smoke made me believe I had parkinson's,so when I finally left the bistro I was more concerned about having Parkinson's than than my recent faux pas pertaining to words and sarcasm alike and waste of boisterous wit that would haunt me for quite sometime.)
So anyway "The right one's," she always says.They all look the same to me.They are flowers for heaven's sake.They consist of a stalk,peduncle,calyx and brightly coloured corolla and they die within a day or two..except lilies she once told me..they could live up to two weeks if rightly looked after.Her flowers are always rightly looked after.
"A rebel like yourself would never understand the gifts nature has to offer."
True and not.
Flowers are essentially feminine they say and I have never been able to figure out why.
D buys flowers for herself.I find that atrocious.But that's okay I guess, people would find buying unnecessary stationery for oneself equally atrocious.
Another aspect of Ikebena is that it employs minimalism.Minimalistic art I adore but minimalistic flower arrangement I cannot comprehend.Plus her arrangements are plentiful and over the top so I am guessing what she follows isn't Ikebena anyway.Maybe this is a peculiar style of flower arrangement invented by her embodying her own theories and thoughts.
"The darker one's go at the bottom and the lighter one's at the top."
Why?
Because the darker ones are symbolic of the earth,ground and soil.They form a base, a stronghold- perched on these are the lighter one's they become progressively lighter towards the top symbolic of the air..the zephyr.
Very symbolic of the world we live in don't you think?
No..I do not.
What about the leaves..?
The leaves can go anywhere.Top,bottom,in between,at the periphery..
One hot afternoon (when the heat seeped through your skin like an invisible toxin) I sat at my desk staring at a blank paper for quite sometime.I must have been 14.
I scribbled some utter random stuff and neatly folded the paper and slipped it into a drawer and completely forgot about it.When I came upon it years later it went like this..
I am the kind of girl who loves circles more than squares and leaves more than flowers .....
My heart skipped a beat when she said that 'the leaves' could fit anywhere - like they didn't have a place or a say or the glam of a flower.Yes, their essential quality was ruthlessly overshadowed by the fabulous flower.
Ask me again why I never liked a flower..because I was always a leaf.
Another thing.Did I ever tell you? The house has six mirrors.
One two three four five six.Six mirrors.
And sometimes I catch a glimpse of her staring into one of them just as she is going about her day.That is when she temporarily halts and looks at herself for an unnecessarily long period of time...and that's when I know we are both tragedies in the making.
A wilted flower lying on the newspaper babbling about global warming and the financial meltdown at a table beside the window that eyes a glorious sunset.Now that's art..and yet you miss it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)