Waiting

What about the love between Voldemort and his horcruxes? Draco, Crabbe and Goyle? Can I write without remembering what I wrote?

I wish I could.

I bet I could.

My soul shrinks and expands as I look all around myself.

You bring me space and I bring you time.

You bring me echoes.
I'm just a wall.

In a world, where people grow wings, I tell myself that I've grown roots.

I know you're waiting for me, like Death.

The very first time I saw you, I knew.

You and me.
Hang on. :)

Why Do We Talk?

You don't have answers to the questions I haven't asked you.

You don't have answers anyway.

But I do know one thing...

If I cry "Bully!", you'll cry "Bystander!"

I'll say I wanted to belong to you and your world.

You'll say I let you be, let you get away with all that you did.

I can't say yes. I can't say no.

Maybe I'm talking AT you. I was talking and you.. well you just happened to be there... you know what I mean?

Happens all the time.

Glitterature

Ten years of Potter are about to come to an end.

Some are old faithfuls, like the trio playing Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course. Some, like Robert Pattinson have moved on to.. er.. shinier prospects.

Over the past couple of weeks, the phenomenon of Potterphiles lashing out at Cullen's clan ("Toilet", Ed"Weird" and "Squid"ward being just a few examples) has seen a crescendo of emotions and true to hollywood background scores inside my head. Initially, I laughed at every poster that admonished Rob Pattz and his vampire state of mind.

With time, however, I have begun to see the franchise as a series for breathless adolescents and sleepless fanged people.

On the verge of turning indifferent, I decided to finally acknowledge it's presence in my life and treat it as a much-disliked but hard to miss chapter in my syllabus. (And yes, I still teach in a school).

And this is what I would like to observe about shiny things in general, with some help from "How I Met Your Mother":

The more I connect with people, the more they seem to shine. The more polished they seem to be. Squeaky clean. And I see myself reflected in them.

I am more of a matte finish girl.

Fish and women get attracted to shiny things, says Barney Stinson. I don't know about fish but I think I do because anything that's shiny is attractive because of the image of myself in it. Who doesn't love to look at themselves, right?

As for Edward Cullen (aforementioned vampire), he shines like an engagement ring in sunlight. Not that he wants to. For the record, Edward also dislikes Jacob Black's perennial public display of brawn and is known to have reacted, poker-face, "Doesn't he own a shirt?"

P.S.: Jacob is also shiny, but probably that's just sweat. Sorry, not important.

I'm Too Young For This Shit

Ted Mosby (of How I Met Your Mother) seems to believe in a list of all the stuff he thinks he's too old for. On the show, he and his friends call it The Murtaugh List, after the role Danny Glover played in the Lethal Weapon series.

Well I'm gonna go with stuff I don't understand. Transcending categories of "couldn't", "wouldn't" and "shouldn't", I'm just gonna settle for "don't".

Yes, I don't think I can understand this stuff.

1. Words like Forever and Never.

2. Definitions - like "friend", "relative", "love", "happiness", "success" etc.

3. "Time". Beat it nerd. Go watch someone else bat their eyelids.

4. People who say they "found" themselves. If they WERE hiding till now, what's to say they won't fall back again?

5. The use of Comparatives and Superlatives. I don't think they'll ever come up with something like "Superlative Psychology". What's that again? "I'm the best and f*** the rest"? You're really gonna go with that?

6. Answering "why?" satisfactorily. Can't be done. Trust me.

7. Trust.

8. Me.

Sustainable Development: Can Tata Photon help?

I didn't mean to be hesitant about naming this post. But I never really thought I would have such an official sounding post either.

The thing is, over the last couple of months or so, people around me can't stop talking about recycling. Reusable waste. Like?

1. Nek Chand's Rock Garden in Chandigarh.
2. Last year's hard-bound exercise books being piled onto the floor at the school where I teach.
3. My grandfather's car, with its sensitive wipers raised like canine hackles when the rains come unannounced. Someone washes it everyday and gets paid for it.
4. The Himalayan Village at Sonapani, an eco-friendly resort. Solar panels for sale at the small local shop on the way back to the Kathgodam Railway Station.
5. Ravi Gulati, our fellow camper at Sonapani and co-founder of the NGO, Manzil, and his presentation titled "The Story of Stuff".
6. A sudden dearth of plastic bags all around me, except the khaarbooja waale bhaiya (fruit vendor) near my house. (Yes, I was happy he had a carry-bag.. so sue me.)
7. Endless Rituporno Ghosh Bong movies with names like Utsab (Festival), Noukadubi (Boatwreck), Abohomaan (The Flow) where someone or the other must face the herculean task of getting over a slowpoke and involve the audience in the long, arduous entrails of the entire process of "moving on".
8. An ex-colleague, talking about my ex-company and x amounts of barley. Read beer.

But that's not the point now, is it?

The point is, I desire of becoming a person who has no emotional excesses and simply moves around randomly like a gas molecule. It strikes me as odd now that scenes from movies that my parents called classics seldom have the impact on me that they promised. It strikes me as odd that when I talk to someone who once held a special place in my heart, unknown to myself, I skip details and forget to mention events which I cannot deny to be important in my life. I remember them the moment I hang up. And yet, something tells me that I hadn't forgotten in the first place and that it was simply, a well organised conversation. Nothing I would regret later. No loose ends. No way back? Maybe.

Now I call that cleaning up my act. I will allow myself a moment's envy of my cousins who have a full-fledged flaming episode of OCD that they can recognise and report. Washing helps. Cleaning my clothes, my room, my floor. Realising that I have far too many blacks in my wardrobe and wearing yellow to work with perfect nonchalance. Relying on melons for dinner. A colourful shirt for a dazzling summer.

Knowing that I can provoke without regret. I can offer myself for company without letting my passive-aggressive tendencies take over.

I can sustain this. I can turn the page.

Somewhere, something I read in Linda Goodman's description of the Capricorn woman comes back and haunts me. Apparently, this woman can look into the eyes of a frog and see a beautiful prince instead. Funny how Ms. Goodman skipped the steps that led her to this. Like Annie Lennox sings.. there's an open door in my room.. and it didn't just get there by itself.

You know?

Summertime..and the Living is Easy..

This Summer, they should know about this flame inside. This gigantic tongue of fire inside that destroys what it tastes. You should make it run. Make it chase something. Watch as it spreads in a circle and dances like the devil. You should watch when it takes over. Applaud. This fire chases the good in me. It chases all that is happy, contented. My memories run like refugees, spilling the past over in small threads and crumbles. The fugitive prays for the rain. I don’t have the rain in me yet. You see the skin running dry, droughtlike. Nothing works on that parched terrain.

The fire reigns inside. This is the fire I inherited. And I need the slimy and the unctuous. To survive.

Why would you put it out? Something so primal. So bright. Let it flee. Create a burning desire and then destroy it the moment it takes shape. Let it scorch the vessels you so lovingly build with your earth and your water. Let it burn.

I was born of fire. The light. The chaos. The screams for mercy. The heat of emotions. I couldn’t last in a suit. I couldn’t behave myself. Because I couldn’t fight the fire even if you forced me to. Fire smells like home.

Hanging Up

I don't know why the title makes me think of scenes from disaster movies like 2012 and Vertical Limit. Jerking spiders with crooked legs, dangling off threads of silk. And for some reason, a doe-eyed student with thin, Voldemort-like fingers.

What do I say to that? The dry spell is inexplicable. And anyway, I find myself explaining too much these days. My address, my career, my weight, my food habits, my generation, my hairstyle, my wardrobe, my silence, somebody else's words, my absence, my affinity towards my neighbours, my fevers, my redness, my blacks, my lights, my journeys, my Facebook status messages, my irregularities, my strangeness, my familiarities.

My need to stop.

My need NOT to.

All in the name of impact.

And this, when I'm in between two trips to the same place. Sonapani.. one. Sonapani.. two. Someone's counting the milestones on my road to boredom.

A brief spurt of activity inside. Me with my curls. Twists and turns. Poker-faced, I do my job. I make meaning, even with my eyes closed. Dreaming.

People. People. People.

Is that all there is to it?