the pragmatic love-letter :-

i wonder at times what i'm doing here.
if i should be here.
if here is only a place i've created to feel more at ease about the there that i have left and the bridges that now lie charred.
i wonder if it would be so bad to not pay my phone bills or not help around the house.
i wonder if you'll miss me if i disappear, as i'm so often tempted to do.will you miss me?
i've spent precious seconds and minutes wondering if you would even notice.
i've spent a few hours every week dreaming up tragic scenarios where we don't say goodbye.
it's not true, is it?
you'll notice.
maybe a few months after i've gone, but you'll notice.
knowing you and knowing me and knowing what we are together,you'll notice, and you'll repent.
i don't know if that's what i want for us, but it feels like one of those times where you can't really see something ten years down the line.
where you're headed and where i'm headed have never been so far apart.
still, somehow, we've never been closer.
but it's so relative, being close. closer. closer than before? closer than we ever will be?
is there such a thing as too close? and if there is, that's what we are.
we've said the i love yous. you've told me how i am the other half of you.
so who do we blame that we don't believe in completion?
sometimes i want to ask you if we never talk about where we stand because it's so palpable
or because we're scared of killing what we have.
there is such a thing as too close.
in your face.
i'm not impersonal by the way.
i love you.

i'm not a defeatist. i'm not pessimist. but somethings, even a complete optimist is scared to believe in. so here's the real confessional. i don't think it'll come to anything. i don't believe because i'm too scared to believe. because if i really and truly believe, it'll break me.

heh. such melodrama. that's why one shouldn't sleep alone.

right. i just wrote a post. then i cancelled it. guess i'm just conflicted. becoming a natural state of mind for me.

the good thing is, atleast i can blow bubbles from bubble gum. guess i finally found a good teacher.

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.