For Love. And a Memory of Another Time.

and sitting by the sea
by myself and sometimes,
by your shadow,
thoughts run boundless
freed by the
sea
and me,
sitting by the sea,
think all I want and
all I can.

and I can hear you
almost like you were
there, just there,
sitting with me.
by the sea.

and sometimes,
when the gulls drowned my laughter,
yours would be heard still.
and sometimes,
hearing it,
the gulls would
flee.

I remember,
that I thought then
as I do now,
how joy is simple,
like how it is not a phenomenon
like our footsteps in
the sand.

and I whispered – “don’t go” –
as you turned and went.
I stood in the sand, the
waves lapping at my feet.
the sea, I think it cried with
me.
you said,
and I believed,
how you would not be swayed.

and I will see you always,
-I remember thinking-
as I know you now.

and you will see me always
as you know me now.

and forever, we shall see
who we were,
but never who we are
for years are nothing
compared to memories that
we have made in the blink of an
eye.

dammed if i do.

Sitting around in the gallery, it's so pissing off, when in all this quiet, some asshole rich-bastard with cool sunglasses and buying power decides to answer every single call in that loud, over-confident manner that sometimes is inherent in the manor-born. though, when one says manor born, even the stable boy's kids could be considered manor-born.

i suppose it gets worse with fame. the more page three/two/ten (well, all of them are the same, from beginning to the end) events you get photographed in, the prettier you look. and honestly, one should thank the party photographers. because not one of them has the ability to make the party person look nice. i'm not asking for stunning, or gorgeous, or even pretty. i'm just saying nice. no, i did not get photographed. however, i've been plunged into similar type events, where people around me, who are of course, more famous, and more asshole, do. me on the other hand, am happy to hang around, and come up wtih ideas that get noticed.

right now, i'm a tad annoyed with Aamir Khan. that's not a nice way to publicise Fanaa. I'll tell you why. There once was a cause. and within that cause, a million other tiny causes. In Plural. Then there was this one superstar. Thankfully, he wasn't self proclaimed. Nu-uh, the rest of the world did it for him. Recently coming out with A new avatar. Madonna-esque, he became, after this movie called Lagaan made him the people's hero. Then he went yuppie, went hairy and primordial for a movie that flopped (i'm sorry, my opinion only) and then he went cool. for something he was supposed to looke 25 in, but ended up looking, well, 40. Then he comes up with another movie, and a chilly necklace. And a sudden outburst of passion for the Narmada Valley?

Stop.

Dude.

W.T.F.

He said, in todays papers, which all claimed an exclusive with him, how he doesn't really have an opinion on the Narmada dam's height, but is all freakishly pissed about relocations. How nice. Seperate self from politically explosive issue, and make self popular by *caring about the potentially homeless*.

Gah. This sort of stuff makes me sick.

Trix

(Strikes a pose)
I asked you
And I did ask nice,
If you
Will play
With me.

We can play
At whatever you
like.

We can play at
(ticks these off fingers)
Hi-ding/
See-king/
Charades/

I told you
Whatever
You like.

We can even draw
On nice drawing paper
(sits on the stool with legs crossed)
Red hearts
And black hearts
And bruised and broken hearts

As I said,
We can do as you
Like.

And then, after
Playin, while drinking hot
Chai on the porch outside the house
(doesn't know where to look, so stares at feet)
I will hear your silence,
And know you've gone
Before you left.

And I won't say anything,
(self-deprecation is a must)

Because I did tell you
You can do whatever
And my pride won't say a thing.

©Phalguni Desai April 09, 2006

Multi-coloured Me.

The New & Improved Me, went and coloured her hair.

The Old Me, is watching in jealous fashion, because she never had so many colours in her hair.

The Stuck In The Middle Me, is wondering how, after this, people can claim that schizophrenia doesn't exist.

I suppose it's all about deviance. Next time Madge decides to get off on stage, I'm givin her an award.