Still got sand in my shoes... and I can't shake the thought of you...

Back today. Mind fucked like no body's business. Wish everyone would just fade away and leave me be with that beautiful city.

I wonder if I'm transferring feelings here. Do I miss the city or do I miss a presence?

Will I wake up with the Azaan echoing in my ear? Azaans are not intrusive. They make me feel safe.

Was I really happy? If so, why am I questioning it?

I feel like I will go back. I feel like I will know what I wish to know.

I missed out on shopping for myself. I missed out on shopping only for others.

Maybe I could have had one KFC chicken. Just for tryin to get blown up's sake.

Maybe I should just do everything I really want to do.

Maybe I should just move to between Lahore and Karachi. But closer to Lahore 'cos it's more fun.

Maybe I should just say what I want to, sound stupid, and get it over with.

Maybe I should go stand in no man's land like Toba Tek Singh.

Maybe I should just cry a little and get it out of my system.

It's all about I. I is so self centred, poor I. But now I will sleep, having been a debauched chylde in a prohibition state (Hawwwwwww indeed), I am sleep deprived. I will post more, and put up pictures soon enough. I loves you all.

The Peace Train Goes Choo Choo.

Some months ago, we got a call at our office, saying that this group of people who run an annual festival, wanted to have a look at a tape of our play, Creeps.

Now Creeps is not a brilliant play. It has its moments, but its not the best thing after a freshly cleaned stage. Still, we sent it.

Then, we got a reply, saying tehy are very much interested, and will get back to us. A couple of months passed, no news. We thought it must be dead and gone by now. Then, out of nowhere, an email.

Dates. Sponsors. Visas. Tickets. Damned Indian Airlines. (eep. sponsor. scratch the damned.)

Things happen in a sequence of events. A chain. One moment, you're sitting in your office, in midst of a fishing village, wondering when the play'll maybe go to Germany, and whether you'll get to go as well, and the next thing you know, you're figuring out how to get Indian Airlines to give you 8 free tickets to Lahore.

So here's the scene. Today (technically), I, plus 6 others leave for Delhi. We meet 1 there. Then, the 8 of us leave for Lahore, Pakistan. Till the 28th. Lotsa numbers!!! WooHoo, I is thrilled. Or I am pretending to be.

Anyways, will be performing on the 25th, 26th at the Allhamra something (sorry, can't remember, hugely sleep deprived) in (where else) Lahore, as part of the THIS (it is too long to type thank you). And before you get ideas into your heads, I am the lights designer and the lights operator. It's cooler than acting, hmph.

But still, Gee, now you know who what why where when how.

Anyone who knows what to buy here, post comment, will try and check.

Anyone who wants something from there, post comment, will try and check. In case what you wished for is not bought, will pretend lack of computers in Lahore.



P.S.>> Saw Ralph Fiennes in the newest Harry Potty instalment. Delish. More importantly, brilliant, vile, evil, serpentine, beautiful, beautiful, effortless. I fall for him everytime. Ever since English Patient. Don't mind his brother either. Quite the dish too. Daniel too. Nice meal, that.

A letter.

For my friend, the Vulture -

I keep saying, to my friends, war is futile. All this is futile. We talked about it, and about how the world should be a better place. How we could make it a better place. And how we could really change it. It scares me to think that I refer to these things in past tense. It scared me for a long time. Somehow, I never believed as much as you did. You were right, I didn't care enough. Maybe I don't even now. How do I know? You were the measure of it. And now, I measured you, and you were gone. By force, by choice, by who cares why.

I read a book. About a boy, and how he betrayed his friend. I asked a friend if the worst thing to happen to anyone is getting raped, because so many books centre around it, there must be some truth in it. No?

No. It's betrayal. I know that, you know that, and my friend who I asked said the same. Only, I forgot. We live somewhere we can't put names to our feelings, and make them larger than our needs. If we do that, we sound like megalomaniacs. Like people who dare to put feelings, moods, and pain above everything else. Like people who say words like betrayal. We don't want to sound like people who say words like betrayal, do we? No, no we don't.

Even when I read the book, for a moment, I thought it was about rape. It wasn't, was it? It was about what you expected from the rest of the world. It was about what you got the rest of the world to do. You got us to betray you. I'm not blaming you. Or atleast, I'm not holding you entirely and solely responsible. I know it takes two. But I hope you'll accept too. As I have.

And that book, it did to me what you tried to all this while before you decided I would go away too. Or I had gone away too. But never mind about that - that's old hat now. The book made me cry. And want to scream for justice. After so long, I wanted to hurt someone, for destroying every single thing that wasn't mine. But those things weren't fictional naa. Those things - those bicycles, those toys, those hopes, those books, those serving bowls, those matresses, those things, they belonged to someone. Someone who once must have lived. Someone who once must have had to leave them, or then just die. Friends. Friends who should have been together. Pride that shouldn't have been stripped, because what are we, eventually, but our pride and our honour? People who shouldn't have had to cross an ocean and work millions of miles below their deucation, because they didn't know the language, and then too, they had to die without a last glimpse of their homes.

Today, I saw more dead on TV. Yesterday too. Tomorrow also, there will be some. And why? Don't look them in the eye please. Whenever you go, don't look them in the eye. I'll do it for you instead. Maybe that will be my redemption. Or maybe it will be what you need to do what you should.

Too bad I'm never going to send this to you. Too bad we've chosen different things. Too bad. Too bad indeed.

Do-It-All. Or XXX.

She floats, she floats.
She looks up, up, up, up above.

Sees things, from the corner of her eye, she does.
Knows things, deep inside her.

And still, suffers from infernal stupidity.

Breathes a deep breath. Lets it out in
A pretty puff. Powdery, clean and
Unreal, like the snow always
Seemed in travel ads
In some vague
Magazine.
Snow.
Clean and
Perhaps a little
Clinical, like the smell
Of some sterilised needle that
Would pump the system with most
Wonderful of all things, with her dreams.

Floats, she does.
Looks up, her neck tilts,
She sees it all, from the corner of her eye.
Sees herself, looking up, floating, like in a dream.
Knows it all she does.

Flies in the wind, dances in the shadows, breathes under water.

Come on and let it show...

I don't know if it's me, or if the world's just gone mushy to the extremes!!!!

Yesterday, at office, Slink, Bozman and me, we were singing along to Wet Wet Wet's love is all around, and I came home, and the song still hummed away in my head. I played it over and over and over, and then some.

This morning, the brother went off to Goa, for his first "college adventure" with his buddies, and I went shopping with mom. Somehow we managed to love each other at the end of it too, and no one got hurt. Shopped, shoppped, shopped for Lahore. Oh yes, I'm going, next monday. :) Main jaa rahi hoon! Also bought The Kite Runner, which already seems to be promising. Shopped some more, resolved to discard fish tank, and get some yellow light in living room. Or rather, strengthened mom's resolve to do so. Drooled over cups, and Magppie. I so want to be very, very financially secure. (saying rich just sounded too immature).

But more than rich, I want Christmas. I have a feeling this is going to be a splendid Christmas, and an even more brilliant New Year. Yeah I know it's a long way away. But then, I saw a movie today, which said, that at Christmas, you can tell the truth. And things are ok in Christmas. If nothing, there'll be tacky Christmas tree.

I'm feeling so incredibly elated. SO ELATED. I feel like I won something.

Changing Nappies.

Ah, change. Nice nice if I say so myself. And how do you like my little alluring self up there? My first ever fucking around with templates. I feel so, so, so uber proud.

On a completely different note, don't you just love Love Is All Around? I can't seem to get it out of my head of late...

Dream-catcher, Fly-Swatter.

Ice cream again tonight. tsk, tsk.

I dreamt early this morn that I was on the Titanic. Or some ship/trawler/sea vessel that passed the Titanic. Or something similar. Can't remember much, of course, but the damn dream was tilted, straight out of the movie. I wonder if it was trying to tell me something. But then again, maybe I'm reading too much into a morning dream, the ones notorious for coming true. I mean, Titanic toh doob gayi naa? So how can I, or anyone else go up on it again?

Unless of course, there is some profound meaning of all this, and I'll only know as I drown what it was all about. I went to Prithvi today, to see a 'technically stripped' version of Measure for Measure. Slick liked it fine, I was much disappointed. In a deep, philosophical way, Slick was too, but my disappointment was with the fact that the brilliance of it completely died. Not that it was extremely brilliant to begin with, I mean it rocked in fits and starts, but it didn't come close to what it could have been, especially with all that they have. Also, I felt like mass murdering half the audience. In the last row sat an especially annoying bunch of college fucks. Not that I mind them any more than I mind flies - they exist, so one just finds ways to get rid of them. The problem with them is (and this is not a snobbish statement), but if the actor on stage is standing there in her bra, they start giggling. If another actor is shouting, because Claudio is going to die, they start sniggering. Assholes.

The other problem is all those important people who squeeze in a play when they can. They should, in my humple opinion, be flogged, and then tied to the back of a camel, and dragged around the desert. I detest people who keep their cellphones on, and on silent and sit right next to the amps. So everytime someone rings them, the entire theatre will know. What I hate, even more, is that those people will, then, proceed to pull out their cellphones, and try to look at the number, in what they believe to be an inconspicious way. In alltruth, it is inconspicious. Only two whole rows behind them, along with the row they're sitting on will know, after all. And today, Mister Fidget, sitting in front of me, blocking my view everytime he had an itch, pulled out his little notebook computer thingie and started writing numbers his wife gave him in it. Dude, get up, get out. You've obviously got better things to do. Jesus H. Christ.

I know there's people who don't even switch off their cells, or who feel obliged to start a coughing fit in a blackout. But we'll just pretend that Natraj has disposed of them already.

I know this is a rant, but why don't we understand that there are larger consequences of what we do, or decide to not do? I wish, for once we'd think.

I wish for once I'd figure out my dreams.

Cruella.

Sometime during the day, I read Casablanca's post about love, happily ever after, and such similar. And while I feel what I feel about it, and while I do love, and have my own opinions about being loved, I'm a cynic. Or rather, someone who wants to stay a cynic, because belief is far scarier.

Another word for that could be coward, but so be it. I'm not going to deny it. Coward is good. Coward is great. Coward is brilliant. Not that there's no love that I feel for people around me. I love my friends. I love my family. I love my mentors (though I just barely fit in that category), and I love who I'm in love with. My problem lies in believing that it will last. That's right. These things, according to me, don't, and can't last. I thought, and thought about it. Right from the beginning I never had just one crush, just one person, just one centre of my atttention.

Such shit I tell you. And then, in the middle of this damn post, he calls. Sheh. I can so mess with his mind - I'm evil. Evil, evil, evil, I tell you!

And then, on MSN I read about Terry McMillan, and her woes. She and her husband dear reunited on Oprah for a tamped down Jerry Springer Show. Accusations back and forth, and such things. I mean what's the scene. I'm in love. Slink's in love. And it's going nowhere. Letter-girl's in love, and he's not coming back. Pseud's in love too. With all sort of illnesses, so that doesn't count.

I can't end this, because I'm still talking with him. ok bye then.

Melting Ice

One could say I've been having much too much ice cream. Last night, for instance, I had chickoo, sitaphal and almond ice cream. I'm not a big fan of experimenting with ice cream flavours. Truly.

When I was younger, maybe 5, my ice cream tastes were all devoted to one thing - strawberry. Because it was pink, of course. Then it became chocolate. For a long time, it was chocolate. Then good old vanilla. Last night, it was either three crazy flavours, or no ice cream. Sometimes, not having a choice is good. It makes you realise things. Things like it's not so bad yaar. You'll live. And so will everything else. None the better, but none the worse. However, those three ice creams in a plate were so much better.

I'm getting highly philosophical these days. Everything has a deeper meaning and all that. Everything gets translated into Fellini, Guernica, and things like that. What's wrong with me? Since when and why are little violins playing in the background? And some piano as well? What the fuck is going on? At least last night it was "who's got the herb". No I wasn't high or anything. The song just stuck.

Now maybe something else will. And my pineappl ice cream too. (it's damn nice haan, by the way.)

Wake-up Calls.

There's something so, so, so wonderful, about getting done with something. Done, over, finished. Every last *thing* that just is hanging around, and you've been so loathe to do, you've managed to get done. You've managed to get rid of all the hangovers. And saying that it's a really nice feeling is an understatement.

Of late, I've been doing something I love. Going to the theatre. A lot. Hai! Such beauty naa, such a homecoming. The other day, I wasn't sure whether I ought to cry. I was in the light room, and I forgot where the light switch was. As in not like I knew where it was, but I couldn't place it in the moment. More like I just didn't know where it was. Or what it looked like. Fie, fie, fie on me. But it was a good show. I have never seen 90% of Mumbai's theatre-wallahs in one place, at one time. Let alone in one place, for 24 hours. Atleast. So here's what happened: 12 playwrights (3 from each of four languages) were given a singular common theme. They started writing, and gave in their scripts in 12 hours, and then 12 "prolific" directors picked a script. The next day, these 12 "prolific" directors drew lots for actors. These lovely people put up their plays that very night. Uff, what joy! I spent 2 hours editing music and bending over boxes, taping them, simultaneously breaking my back. Then I spent 4 hours crammed in weird poses with a multitude of people. So crammed, I couldn't move my little toe. So crammed I could here the goosebumps rising on the next person's skin. Crammed, hot, filled with people.

What a beautiful feeling that was naa. That sudden, "oh, this is mine. this belongs to me, and I belong to it," feeling that just pulls you naa.

Today too, some loveliness. Atul's pregnant wife performed. Their kid's already made his debut, what fun! But before that, the granddaddy of all of them - Habib Sa'ab (Kunal, if you saw him perform today, you'd start calling him that too, that man is too much!!!), all of near-90, comes wheezing, sits on the dias, and talks of the harmful effects of tobacco (die all of you who don't know Chekhov). So, so old, so frail. So amazing.

What to say. It's too much only, suddenly waking up to all that you've missed. It's heartbreaking, and it's exhilerating all at the same time, because, at some point, you know you missed so much, but you realised it in time to not miss it forever.

Meow. (or, as they say in English, Hello!)

I’m back. In all honesty, I got slightly tired of the whole tantrum throwing. After all, that’s what it was naa? Sulking, tantrum-throwing, etc. All said and done, you got to come back where you began. You got to know your roots.

I’m not just talking about the blog. I’m talking about everything. Whatever made me think I could juggle two jobs? Whatever made me think I could be happy with being where I don’t belong? Whatever made me believe I needed that so desperately in my life, all that questioning, all that doubting, all that sick feeling in the stomach, all that… not belonging?

Some days back, I spent one entire day with my head up my ass, so sure I was going to lose my job. By the time the evening meeting was over, I quit. Atul said perhaps it’s all that ego that makes me say I quit. I’m not sure if it is. It makes a difference. Quitting, on good terms, and getting fired, on bad ones. But all that said and done, I don’t think I want to work with said people again. Hah.

So how come I’m back?

Well, Maybe I found enlightenment. Or something like it.

Sometimes, you just have to hang around, bide your time, and then jump back in. That’s the policy I’ve based my life on. By the way, shall be at the Prithvi tomorrow, if anyone wants to have a cup of tea. Even includes d/d who lies without a thought.