lyrics
kiss me, out of the bearded barley
nightly, beside the green green grass
swing swing swing that spinning step
you wear those shoes and I will wear that dress
oh kiss me, beneath the milky twilight
lead me out on the moonlit floor
lift your open hand,
strike up the band,
and make the fireflies dance
silver moon's sparkling, so kiss me
kiss me, down by the broken treehouse
swing me up on its hanging tire
bring bring bring your flowered hat
we'll take the trail
marked down your father's map
oh kiss me, beneath the milky twilight
lead me out on the moonlit floor
lift your open hand, strike up the band,and make the fireflies dance
silver moon's sparkling, so kiss me
Monday, December 24
Wednesday, November 28
my my it's been a while
once love was innocent and free it was true and i pointed to trees and dreamt of waters, of bright lights and yellow upholstry and found peace in glee and sleep in wide eyes once love was innocent and free it was the wind in bamboo forests it was feet in broken bathroom tiles blue rubber and eaten corn cobs and splashing rainbows in petrol once love was innocent and free
Friday, October 12
"MAYA ANGELOU'S" BEST POEM EVER.
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .. a youth she's content to leave behind....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..... a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... a feeling of control over her destiny...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without; ruining the friendship...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... when to try harder...
and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... that she can't change the length of her calves,the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. .whom she can trust,whom she can't,and why she shouldn't take it personally...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...where to go...be it to her best friend's kitchen table... or a charming inn in the woods...when her soul needs soothing...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... what she can and can't accomplish in a day...a month...and a year...
Tuesday, September 18
Saturday, August 4
WILD TRIBAL PASSION FRUIT
my favouritest fruit in the (awoooh god i love it - gutteral) the whole whole fuckin world.
Meanwhile Mario Giacomelli
i stumbled upon this man. Mario Giacomelli. I haven't heard of him before Sorry if i am causing any people to gag out of shock. I only clicked on his thumbnail cause cause his lastname ended with elli and I like reading about people who eat cheese and tomatoes.
Extract from interview -
Frank Horvat : What about the camera? It seems that you don't have the same camera as everyone else, a Leica, a Nikon or a Kodak.
Mario Giacomelli : I don't know about other people's cameras. Mine is a thing I had cobbled up, it holds together with tape and is always losing parts. All I need to set is the distance and that other thing - what do you call that other thing? I'm not a fan of mechanics. I have had this camera, still the same one, since I started taking photos. It has lived with me, shared many moments of my existence, both good and bad. If I ever lost it... well, the very idea of having to live without it pulls at my heart.
Frank Horvat : But where does it come from?
Mario Giacomelli : I had it made. By dismantling a camera given to me by a friend and removing whatever seemed useless. I only need distance and that other thing - what's that other thing called again? I don't know how these machines work, what counts is that light shouldn't get in. It's just a box.
Frank Horvat : And what film do you use?
Mario Giacomelli : Whatever I get.
Frank Horvat : 24 by 36 millimeters?
Mario Giacomelli : Don't ask me about millimeters ! I use the larger film, not the smaller one. I've never used the smaller one.
Frank Horvat : So, six by six centimeters?
Mario Giacomelli : Don't talk to me about figures! I only know that six by nine becomes six by eight and a half.
Frank Horvat : So you get12 photos per roll?
Mario Giacomelli : I can't remember, but I think it's more like ten. Ten, not twelve. What's important is that there shouldn't be too many. Once I won a competition and was given a small size camera as a prize. But I didn't know how to use it, it was too fast for me, it didn't participate as my own camera does, it left me no time to think, made me press the shutter for nothing. I felt deprived of what makes my greatest joy, which is the waiting, the preparing of the image, the winding of the film, the replacing of the roll. My own camera is exactly what I need, it suits my character.
Mario Giacomelli : I don't know about other people's cameras. Mine is a thing I had cobbled up, it holds together with tape and is always losing parts. All I need to set is the distance and that other thing - what do you call that other thing? I'm not a fan of mechanics. I have had this camera, still the same one, since I started taking photos. It has lived with me, shared many moments of my existence, both good and bad. If I ever lost it... well, the very idea of having to live without it pulls at my heart.
Frank Horvat : But where does it come from?
Mario Giacomelli : I had it made. By dismantling a camera given to me by a friend and removing whatever seemed useless. I only need distance and that other thing - what's that other thing called again? I don't know how these machines work, what counts is that light shouldn't get in. It's just a box.
Frank Horvat : And what film do you use?
Mario Giacomelli : Whatever I get.
Frank Horvat : 24 by 36 millimeters?
Mario Giacomelli : Don't ask me about millimeters ! I use the larger film, not the smaller one. I've never used the smaller one.
Frank Horvat : So, six by six centimeters?
Mario Giacomelli : Don't talk to me about figures! I only know that six by nine becomes six by eight and a half.
Frank Horvat : So you get12 photos per roll?
Mario Giacomelli : I can't remember, but I think it's more like ten. Ten, not twelve. What's important is that there shouldn't be too many. Once I won a competition and was given a small size camera as a prize. But I didn't know how to use it, it was too fast for me, it didn't participate as my own camera does, it left me no time to think, made me press the shutter for nothing. I felt deprived of what makes my greatest joy, which is the waiting, the preparing of the image, the winding of the film, the replacing of the roll. My own camera is exactly what I need, it suits my character.
Friday, August 3
Thursday, August 2
So i had to detour to kolkata because imphal was hiccoughing. The new president dint even make it to the top half of the front page. doesn't make a difference to imphal as the ferment of the amada/bangla script fight had begun to fizz. To add to it, the farm birds were catching the flu. We played with our cats and cocks, fought like cats and cocks and woke up in the morning to more pineapple at the table and bitter herb to clear any worms.
Before I came back home to kolkata, to talk to my gran before she loses all her hearing we went to churchandpur (and loktak on the way). Loktak was a fractured heaven. Supposed to have been one of the most intensely beautiful spots in the world, with uncomparable geology/geography/peace. Stopped by, and went off to Churchandpur. A very pretty village led upto by wetgreen paddy fields and wetclouds coming down on hills. So when i ask H's mom, so what did you plant here? She said, O we planted paddy no, now they plant soldiers.
Before I came back home to kolkata, to talk to my gran before she loses all her hearing we went to churchandpur (and loktak on the way). Loktak was a fractured heaven. Supposed to have been one of the most intensely beautiful spots in the world, with uncomparable geology/geography/peace. Stopped by, and went off to Churchandpur. A very pretty village led upto by wetgreen paddy fields and wetclouds coming down on hills. So when i ask H's mom, so what did you plant here? She said, O we planted paddy no, now they plant soldiers.
Saturday, July 21
manipur can't even make matches
As the plane approached imphal, i could see cubiques of silt water in green and earth grey, paddy fields and along their perimeters lone mat woven roofs. Sometimes the land spewed up hills into the heavy sky.
As we got out of the small plane that would take off to aizwal shortly, I saw a bush of the thorny poison fruits I played with as a child with my brother, making swivering things. The air was sweet, yes sweet. And there were dark berried flowers. There was a doux rain in the air. I say, in the air, because it almost dint fall. No gravity. As if the air was precipitating its waters. (And shy fairies would take out their kayaks.)
Plenty men in guns everywhere. As we waited outside the airport for H’s pa to come and get us (since no communication could be established, roaming blocked and no PCOs) there were children (from the village, H pointed out) proudly in their uniforms, young women in the latest HK fashion of skinny jeans, kitten heels and feminine tunics (jeans to protest against its ban, or just), local muslim manipuri women in traditional phanek of horizontal stripe skirts and shawl worn like hijab, local hindu women with phanek (half sari) always, always mismatched with handloom skirt weave, bright printed polyester second piece and random short tee. :d
After a long wait, (especially as I started getting cranky) with too many armed men, we decided to take a rik. 150 bucks for 15 mins ride home to Lamphel. A large colony of wood-brick cottages and woven mats to separate each home with garden. Closely packed. I say, a colony of cottages, perhaps because I saw no people outside.
Soon, H’s Pa was home. We missed him by a few minutes I guess. And I had the most touching welcome I had ever had in my life. We gathered in the living room and his Nu and Pa said prayers. I don’t know what he said, but it was very peaceful. He said, we must thank god that you have reached home. This is our home. Make it yours. We will live together for some time. Nu said, my children are away, this is how we live. Everyone speaks in the deepest of voices, very softly, very gently, no quivers, no sharp intonations, compressions and liberations of air when consonants give way to vowels like the Buddhist prayers pillars in monastries.
In the evening, girl cats come home to rub their noses on us so we may be taken by their sweetness and give them a piece of fish. So do the mosquitoes for a drop of blood. H’s pa brings out his stunner racquet to en-zombie those bnuzzers. The racquet is then my limb for the rest of the evening.
The cocks and hen cackle like geese, the bees more disciplined than the siren happy armymen at the airport, go on with their honey, while I run around stunning mosquitoes.
At dinner, I ask if it is a Manipuri specialty- this racquet. Nu says in her prayer voice, “Manipur can’t even make a matchstick. We only weave cotton and silk.”
As we got out of the small plane that would take off to aizwal shortly, I saw a bush of the thorny poison fruits I played with as a child with my brother, making swivering things. The air was sweet, yes sweet. And there were dark berried flowers. There was a doux rain in the air. I say, in the air, because it almost dint fall. No gravity. As if the air was precipitating its waters. (And shy fairies would take out their kayaks.)
Plenty men in guns everywhere. As we waited outside the airport for H’s pa to come and get us (since no communication could be established, roaming blocked and no PCOs) there were children (from the village, H pointed out) proudly in their uniforms, young women in the latest HK fashion of skinny jeans, kitten heels and feminine tunics (jeans to protest against its ban, or just), local muslim manipuri women in traditional phanek of horizontal stripe skirts and shawl worn like hijab, local hindu women with phanek (half sari) always, always mismatched with handloom skirt weave, bright printed polyester second piece and random short tee. :d
After a long wait, (especially as I started getting cranky) with too many armed men, we decided to take a rik. 150 bucks for 15 mins ride home to Lamphel. A large colony of wood-brick cottages and woven mats to separate each home with garden. Closely packed. I say, a colony of cottages, perhaps because I saw no people outside.
Soon, H’s Pa was home. We missed him by a few minutes I guess. And I had the most touching welcome I had ever had in my life. We gathered in the living room and his Nu and Pa said prayers. I don’t know what he said, but it was very peaceful. He said, we must thank god that you have reached home. This is our home. Make it yours. We will live together for some time. Nu said, my children are away, this is how we live. Everyone speaks in the deepest of voices, very softly, very gently, no quivers, no sharp intonations, compressions and liberations of air when consonants give way to vowels like the Buddhist prayers pillars in monastries.
In the evening, girl cats come home to rub their noses on us so we may be taken by their sweetness and give them a piece of fish. So do the mosquitoes for a drop of blood. H’s pa brings out his stunner racquet to en-zombie those bnuzzers. The racquet is then my limb for the rest of the evening.
The cocks and hen cackle like geese, the bees more disciplined than the siren happy armymen at the airport, go on with their honey, while I run around stunning mosquitoes.
At dinner, I ask if it is a Manipuri specialty- this racquet. Nu says in her prayer voice, “Manipur can’t even make a matchstick. We only weave cotton and silk.”
Wednesday, June 6
Tuesday, June 5
water kingdom
o i wish i was writing this last saturday. i had the most amazing weekend after really really long. what a thrill. it was so frikkin amazing i want to go back. and it was so frikkin amazing when i was back at work on monday i had no frikkin clue what client i was doing on friday. took my little darling sister out and also went out with ms. agrawal after really long. she'd heard so much about my sis and my sis had heard so much about her. they got along so well too. these pics are on ms. agrawal's sexy phone. 
Friday, May 25
Wednesday, May 23
La Figlia che Piange 1917
STAND on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
Wednesday, May 16
H has left the city. H is leaving the city.
Hen's sister is getting married next month. He's gone home to fix things. She will be expelled from the zomi church for a year. So Priscilla will now be.....Lalrhamlun (Priscilla) Ramaswamy? and I'm going to be witness :D :D :D i'm so excited.
That's H and me in the Boys common room in SY / TY. me looking like moron cause the cam clicked few seconds here or there. H looking honest and peaceful cause he is.
and while i'm at it, here's a nother one of H and me. This one's in Pune, at harita's. H is leaving the city he says, for Pune. Deccan college he wants. But i think it's just the jumbo chicken, fillet o fish at burger king that's drawing him there. And riding bikes. I Hope he finds his light.really really. I still think he should go study agriculture and live his dream of buying a hill and starting his orchid and pine apple farm, dunno if business is his thing though. Or become chef. omg omg i know harita and nishant pushkar singh will second that. The last time he made chicken with almost nonexistent spice/condiments, all of us stared and stared and stared at the clock and decided to miss the train back to bombay so as to not disturb the 'feeling' of fulfillment. That silly boy shouldnt get into criminal sociology and rehab.
henry my boy, spike it up! do the jig! life's good. and STOP EATING FERMENTED FISH and raw Marve shrimps. That's whats giving you the loose motions.
Monday, May 14
Thursday, May 10
starting trouble
ok so my net decided to connect. and. i'm coming back to life in a horrifying, zombie state.
finally theyre here. reminding me that i am a woman. after so long, and much ado.
and yes Dr desai/pai/xyz i shall still refuse to take those pills.
i feel tired and drained and feverish today.
i want to quit, maybe. thats not the trouble. i hope i am quitting for a good reason. is there anything better that i can be doing? or do i just need to grow up, as someone sternly pointed out?
i want to work for nat geo. research. cultural. anthropological will do too. but i dont know any social anthropology. should i study soc. anthro? what should i study?
i want to lose weight and go free runing. and
where is she that loved the rain, that loved the green and silence in
halls of stone, strange bamboo forest lights and flying in dreams
that i found last july in the rains between the goth and deco buildings
in that grin of october 2003
that was learning to love to find and read and look and see and feel and detach
to kill deadbedbugs and find love and hope in violence
and seek echoes in hollow words
and finger the souls of a messy haired zombie who sat over the orphan boy that drew purple bananas that refuse to peel and complain of colic once the midnight settles and does not sleep and does not sleep and grows long hairs to cover all that has grown and does not sleep
finally theyre here. reminding me that i am a woman. after so long, and much ado.
and yes Dr desai/pai/xyz i shall still refuse to take those pills.
i feel tired and drained and feverish today.
i want to quit, maybe. thats not the trouble. i hope i am quitting for a good reason. is there anything better that i can be doing? or do i just need to grow up, as someone sternly pointed out?
i want to work for nat geo. research. cultural. anthropological will do too. but i dont know any social anthropology. should i study soc. anthro? what should i study?
i want to lose weight and go free runing. and
where is she that loved the rain, that loved the green and silence in
halls of stone, strange bamboo forest lights and flying in dreams
that i found last july in the rains between the goth and deco buildings
in that grin of october 2003
that was learning to love to find and read and look and see and feel and detach
to kill deadbedbugs and find love and hope in violence
and seek echoes in hollow words
and finger the souls of a messy haired zombie who sat over the orphan boy that drew purple bananas that refuse to peel and complain of colic once the midnight settles and does not sleep and does not sleep and grows long hairs to cover all that has grown and does not sleep
Tuesday, May 8
Sunday, April 29
i leave in a few hours for kaivalyadhaam
if it works, i'll quit my job and disappear from the face of the earth for atleast 3 months.
i have neglected my body for too long now
just queenily wishful thinking
i shouldve done x when i was small, i shouldve worn z.
and i shouldve not discontinued my kathak, and tennis and why did ma give away my cycle and why did i spend all those evenings watching tv, why dint i swim all of third year when bombay gym was so close by.
everything's a mess.
everything.
it's all wrong
now where do i begin cleaning up.
if it works, i'll quit my job and disappear from the face of the earth for atleast 3 months.
i have neglected my body for too long now
just queenily wishful thinking
i shouldve done x when i was small, i shouldve worn z.
and i shouldve not discontinued my kathak, and tennis and why did ma give away my cycle and why did i spend all those evenings watching tv, why dint i swim all of third year when bombay gym was so close by.
everything's a mess.
everything.
it's all wrong
now where do i begin cleaning up.
Wednesday, April 18
Monday, April 16
Sunday, April 15
15.04.2007
pigeon is my current favourite lingerie brand.
today all day i went shopping and dint find anything my size.
i wanted lace edged leggings to wear with a sharply cut longish shirt, tucked neatly at ribs/lowerback and sleeves,pin striped, over boots.
so i found black lace edged leggings, but the XL mod shork (shirt/frock) was too tight.
then i found nice grunge denim eeniemeeni skirt in L with softlace edge but so small it got stuck up on my umm before it could even. then i cricked my neck trying to get it off and then it was stuck at my armpits.
no hope.
then i found that lovely lovely winterblackgrey rough broken twill tweedy skirt with a satin inner lace extensiond with a little goth feel with blacksatin rosebow. O!! h! but of course the last size was like my one thigh.
very very sorrowful, i spent 10 hours looking to get clothes i like/can afford/my size. found none.
anyway, i went to STRAPS (current positioning: smart women come to straps. the rest go elsewhere/ be happy you came to straps) o my god.
anyway, the bra i liked was 2400 bucks.
but the one i liked even more was 120.omg. probably the cheapest thing they had. its smart, comfy, functional, minimal, sheery, lycra,NON WIRED, no seams, engineered within the fabric. wow. it's my favourite brand now. AND i fit into small/medium. how? i dont know. and i got it from the "beginners" section.
someone please tell me what this sizing is all about.
i used to be fab india small/medium in kurtas. suddenly i am large in fab india. whats going on.
XL is too small for me sometimes.
i want more pigeon stuff. i like i like.
hopefully, i'll get off my fixation with lace inners now.
(but hey i still like lace. i just hate it that it's in fashion and now everyone's gonna be wearing it even if they dont so much desire it really, just like that mod look i've been wanting.)
today all day i went shopping and dint find anything my size.
i wanted lace edged leggings to wear with a sharply cut longish shirt, tucked neatly at ribs/lowerback and sleeves,pin striped, over boots.
so i found black lace edged leggings, but the XL mod shork (shirt/frock) was too tight.
then i found nice grunge denim eeniemeeni skirt in L with softlace edge but so small it got stuck up on my umm before it could even. then i cricked my neck trying to get it off and then it was stuck at my armpits.
no hope.
then i found that lovely lovely winterblackgrey rough broken twill tweedy skirt with a satin inner lace extensiond with a little goth feel with blacksatin rosebow. O!! h! but of course the last size was like my one thigh.
very very sorrowful, i spent 10 hours looking to get clothes i like/can afford/my size. found none.
anyway, i went to STRAPS (current positioning: smart women come to straps. the rest go elsewhere/ be happy you came to straps) o my god.
anyway, the bra i liked was 2400 bucks.
but the one i liked even more was 120.omg. probably the cheapest thing they had. its smart, comfy, functional, minimal, sheery, lycra,NON WIRED, no seams, engineered within the fabric. wow. it's my favourite brand now. AND i fit into small/medium. how? i dont know. and i got it from the "beginners" section.
someone please tell me what this sizing is all about.
i used to be fab india small/medium in kurtas. suddenly i am large in fab india. whats going on.
XL is too small for me sometimes.
i want more pigeon stuff. i like i like.
hopefully, i'll get off my fixation with lace inners now.
(but hey i still like lace. i just hate it that it's in fashion and now everyone's gonna be wearing it even if they dont so much desire it really, just like that mod look i've been wanting.)
Saturday, April 14
Monday, April 9
Tuesday, April 3
i want
to learn how to bellydance
i want to learn bartending
i want to learn japanese
and spanish
and to speed write bangla
i want to become healthy
lose weight
yoga
i dont want to pick up all these disorders all the time
i want my hormones back in order
i dont want to go to any doctors anymore
i dont want to have to take allopathy anymore
i want to find something i love doing
i want my eyes to be fine
my right eye
i dont want glasses
why do i get conscious facing a camera
i want to learn how to sing properly
thumri
i want to figure what i should be studying further
do i want to work for money?
do i want to work for romance?
do i want to work to occupy myself comfortably
where am i going to find the balance
what am i supposed to be balancing?
how's my health?
how old am i really?
how old am i?
ami too old?
but that i cannot help
am i too old to learn how to sing
why cant i play the sitar anymore
why cant i take pictures?
what is it about photographs that i just cant understand?
should i get back to film
maybe digi makes it sterile
is digi sterile?
like my electronic keyboard
sterile
am i thinking too much?
to learn how to bellydance
i want to learn bartending
i want to learn japanese
and spanish
and to speed write bangla
i want to become healthy
lose weight
yoga
i dont want to pick up all these disorders all the time
i want my hormones back in order
i dont want to go to any doctors anymore
i dont want to have to take allopathy anymore
i want to find something i love doing
i want my eyes to be fine
my right eye
i dont want glasses
why do i get conscious facing a camera
i want to learn how to sing properly
thumri
i want to figure what i should be studying further
do i want to work for money?
do i want to work for romance?
do i want to work to occupy myself comfortably
where am i going to find the balance
what am i supposed to be balancing?
how's my health?
how old am i really?
how old am i?
ami too old?
but that i cannot help
am i too old to learn how to sing
why cant i play the sitar anymore
why cant i take pictures?
what is it about photographs that i just cant understand?
should i get back to film
maybe digi makes it sterile
is digi sterile?
like my electronic keyboard
sterile
am i thinking too much?
Monday, April 2
Sunday, April 1
blogthings
i'm a sucker for these silly psycho tests. know me!! :D :D
yes yes yes
| You Are Skinny Heel Boots |
 |
What'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/whatkindofbootsareyouquiz/">What Kind of Boots Are You?
yes yes yes
| You Are Right Brained In Love |
 |
Are'>http://ynr.blogthings.com/areyourightbrainedorleftbrainedinlovequiz/">Are You Right Brained or Left Brained in Love?
| Your True Sign Is Aquarius |
 Rebellious Cutting Edge A Total Freak Unconventional Difficult to Predict Breaking All The Rules Independent and Inventive |
Wednesday, March 21
go mod
i want the clean lean look.
skinny jeans with ballet flats or stilleto boots
fudgy corduroy jacket is good
so i googled - fat people hate skinny jeans
nice discussion board i found
http://www.discovervancouver.com/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=79383
it's true. sigh.
i am doomed to look hoggy in them, at best maybe frumpy.
since the flower style broad base is narrowing, blink and the sharp mod will be here.
i hope the skirts worn high up at the waist constriction is back
post war style. i like.
dunno if itll catch on, people are still hungover on the low waist. (cause they think high waist is so makapao) thatll be good. i dont want everyone wearing it.
o i love fitting skirt high up at the waist. nice mod look jacket with feminine cut shirt inside
with skinny heel boots.
i saw a bag yesterday that'll go. black and white clean knitted to a rough grey.a bizzaro orange tan is good too. just out of clockwork orange.
enough kalamkari i have worn
cotton earth tones relaxed bordering on chhapri
skinny jeans with ballet flats or stilleto boots
fudgy corduroy jacket is good
so i googled - fat people hate skinny jeans
nice discussion board i found
http://www.discovervancouver.com/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=79383
it's true. sigh.
i am doomed to look hoggy in them, at best maybe frumpy.
since the flower style broad base is narrowing, blink and the sharp mod will be here.
i hope the skirts worn high up at the waist constriction is back
post war style. i like.
dunno if itll catch on, people are still hungover on the low waist. (cause they think high waist is so makapao) thatll be good. i dont want everyone wearing it.
o i love fitting skirt high up at the waist. nice mod look jacket with feminine cut shirt inside
with skinny heel boots.
i saw a bag yesterday that'll go. black and white clean knitted to a rough grey.a bizzaro orange tan is good too. just out of clockwork orange.
enough kalamkari i have worn
cotton earth tones relaxed bordering on chhapri
Tuesday, March 20
Saturday, March 10
pathetic and tragic
From 2002 until this year, NASA’s mission statement, prominently featured in its budget and planning documents,
read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers … as only NASA can.”
In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with
the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted.
read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers … as only NASA can.”
In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with
the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted.
Saturday, March 3
was to write
of my blue purple skirt umbrella cut and being unready and fear and lessons in feeling and the crows we watched and a raspberry for valentine of falling in some affection down deep into the rabbit hole where youre suddenly big and small suddenly and your head is stuck in the chimney. of my bedroom window that looked like it was out of a gothic terrorspook that brought out veins and webs and long fingers and dirty thick hair and hung daggers from mosquito nets and crawling into ma in the night. The verandah door that opened on dewy wintermornings to akas that were out of some ice in the eyes. i was a cow once and again when the lights go off. and jump to flail into the earth a tamarind tree and wimmyn that cleaned toilets in the chalky house they rested. The cotton trees in the breeze and gathering and chokingof writing letters with blue string preludes and waiting for moments where it was all yellow day and pixies and piracies and hopskotch and discussing november twentythree of long long ago at the hostelsteps hoping the cramps would never go and watching green and pointing happy and another lesson in feeling.
of somethings in the eye for smooth functioning
Tuesday, February 27
another post for me
all for me
swims around in circles
all mine
all mine
all rise
the court is in session
would you like to have a chocolate missy?
no, i prefer cool muskmelons left in the freezer. to feel my brain freeze and the dribbles.
i want to ride the blind parakeet
watermelon colddrips too
gone are the days of tender and scratch
now its all dogs and bitches
will be over soon
will be over soon
in one quick slice of the lance
all at one
want me magyck back
no
dont show and tell calvin
i want black lace i say
black lace
but a grotesque body is so hard to achieve
i wish i could endure
i try so hard
try toothbrush she said
so it'll be a dream
la belle dame sans merci
black lace and the mourning jewel of the princess' hair locked inside
velvet suede and a bloodrose.
you need the chill though
silence! the court is in session. she had shadows in her hair that woman who spoke so fast and she stumbled and bruised herself but she let her tongue loose \the nights that grew out of her frazzled hairs... many swift feet dancing their nightly prayers...Dancing down the stairs... frazzled hairs having affairs My eyes schlepped. ....but her frazzled hairs, said their prayers and had affairs...disagree disagree disagree it must be me.
coming back to the sunflower seeds
or do i mean pumpkin seeds
i really meant to write melon seeds.
ma
there! absolved.
swims around in circles
all mine
all mine
all rise
the court is in session
would you like to have a chocolate missy?
no, i prefer cool muskmelons left in the freezer. to feel my brain freeze and the dribbles.
i want to ride the blind parakeet
watermelon colddrips too
gone are the days of tender and scratch
now its all dogs and bitches
will be over soon
will be over soon
in one quick slice of the lance
all at one
want me magyck back
no
dont show and tell calvin
i want black lace i say
black lace
but a grotesque body is so hard to achieve
i wish i could endure
i try so hard
try toothbrush she said
so it'll be a dream
la belle dame sans merci
black lace and the mourning jewel of the princess' hair locked inside
velvet suede and a bloodrose.
you need the chill though
silence! the court is in session. she had shadows in her hair that woman who spoke so fast and she stumbled and bruised herself but she let her tongue loose \the nights that grew out of her frazzled hairs... many swift feet dancing their nightly prayers...Dancing down the stairs... frazzled hairs having affairs My eyes schlepped. ....but her frazzled hairs, said their prayers and had affairs...disagree disagree disagree it must be me.
coming back to the sunflower seeds
or do i mean pumpkin seeds
i really meant to write melon seeds.
ma
there! absolved.
Tuesday, February 20
shokol niye boshe thaka shorbonasher ashaye
sup says pari's ajji puts his neice to sleep singing
majhi sonyachi chakuli
tu baher nako jaus
tula porach martil
tujhya angatlach kadhtil
tujhya angat nahi bal
tu chimta kadhun pal
i want to write of gran stories
of poor little princesses banished and salt
and rhymes sung with baby on shin
of curly knotted hair, river veins and oil dribbling from crevices
of the surprise summer showers when mangoes and plums dried
and the sharp tang of pickled tetul
tar shojol chokhe kajol chhilo na
chhilo na ashadh megher badhon chhilo, badol chhilo na.
majhi sonyachi chakuli
tu baher nako jaus
tula porach martil
tujhya angatlach kadhtil
tujhya angat nahi bal
tu chimta kadhun pal
i want to write of gran stories
of poor little princesses banished and salt
and rhymes sung with baby on shin
of curly knotted hair, river veins and oil dribbling from crevices
of the surprise summer showers when mangoes and plums dried
and the sharp tang of pickled tetul
tar shojol chokhe kajol chhilo na
chhilo na ashadh megher badhon chhilo, badol chhilo na.
Wednesday, February 14
blood and acrylic
i have always been fascinated by menstrual blood. so intensely magnetic i find it. when i still it in my palms, it sucks me into myself.
when i was eighteen, the women i drew always menstruated. There was a pool of brick red beside them. I don't know if it is to decode as shame. I cannot, no matter how much i try, think of menstrual blood as waste or something to be sanitised. It is beautiful and so feverishly intriguing. I can watch it do the slow dance under water, all by itself. or slithe on my palms surprising me by its changing character. sometimes a surrendering liquid, next moment the same pool defined and linked.
On days when I come out rich beetroot, i want to keep it. in my homoeopathy pill bottles. to share it with someone.To watch the magic as i let it rest on my palm. And when i don't bleed anymore, i will mourn. That when i sit under the shower, there is no red whose flames lick up with the flowing water.
when i was eighteen, the women i drew always menstruated. There was a pool of brick red beside them. I don't know if it is to decode as shame. I cannot, no matter how much i try, think of menstrual blood as waste or something to be sanitised. It is beautiful and so feverishly intriguing. I can watch it do the slow dance under water, all by itself. or slithe on my palms surprising me by its changing character. sometimes a surrendering liquid, next moment the same pool defined and linked.
On days when I come out rich beetroot, i want to keep it. in my homoeopathy pill bottles. to share it with someone.To watch the magic as i let it rest on my palm. And when i don't bleed anymore, i will mourn. That when i sit under the shower, there is no red whose flames lick up with the flowing water.
Sunday, January 21
ma is looking for a boy for me. i know she wants me to go for my niece's wedding so she can hook me up with an eligible. i dont think i can take so many days off work. maybe i should go. maybe i should wear my sexiest blue bandhani choli with the bandhani georgette saree. wear a minaworked or filigree nosering.kajal.
i want to have babies and i am worried i wont end up with a man that i trust with full abandon
i want to have babies and i am worried i wont end up with a man that i trust with full abandon
Saturday, January 6
this post's for me
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
apine apple
apine apple
apine apple
pine apple
apine apple
slow motion
mildew
sorrrow sodden
mildew
mildew
sodden
moron
sillybillygoat
breaks his horn
now what
csa
cas
casa
mexicana
now what
now what
blue
blue
prelude
blue
blue
blue
blue
bling
bling
bling
psycho
meterioroid
howdyouspellthat
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
repeat
ctrl alt delete
so now what
okay
too bad
now leave
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
he takes out his gun
and rocks her world
umm is that the right word to use
rocks her world?
anyway
meanwhile
now what does he do
what does she do
what will happen
wheres the time for going back now
does he think about
is it gone
poof into thin air
anyway
there will be time
to ebb and flow
a time to leave and atime to heal
turn turn turn
i like that song
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
dinosaur
plays
in a level playing field
pterodactyls
i was 2 when i went to school i believe
actually i was almost 3
but i believe i was 2
and my ma did do my homework with her left hand
and i lost my pencilbox
it was yellow
in auxillium convent
flat yellow
and the next day i saw it on top of the cupboard
and i dint say it was mine
cause i hated attenion
so maureen miss walked around the class asking for claim
i dint claim
i still wonder why
wow i was scared of nuns
sister superior
i thought her name was sister supeeriya.
maureen miss wore simple a-line frocks.
frock needs can can
not a frock
ladies dress hem line just below the knee with half umbrella cut and a belt the same color
and i thought boys pee-d backwards. what does that mean?
peeing backwards.
meanwhile
i remember the smell of peppered boiled egg when i opened my plastic tiffin box
the smell of green guava cut into two mingling with boiled eggs peppered.
and i'd feel at home. comfort food. and i'd love choking on the yoke. and love the smokey overboiled smell that rubbed off on the guava.
shelled boiled eggs and choking make me feel womby.
the tables in auxillium were steel green and shiny. They had grey foldable whatchumaycallit. undersides on which the greensteel rested. pods? and we had sleeping period. we slept after lunch.
everybody had to compulsorily put their headsdown. i couldnt sleep like that and the older girls came down to monitor us. strange. anyway then there was the loo class. everyone had to go to the loo to pee in a straight line single file. the loo was khaki light coming through frosted glass on top. ventilator?
anyway. then i came home by schoolbus. The usher was called manoranjan-da. hmm. and everytime i got off they'd say chandrani bye! and i dint know what to say. i was embarassed at so much attention. i hated auxillium. now that i think of it. and i remember being confused that this girl neha/ niti had 2 names. i remember telling my father " Neha Niti same" and i sat down each time bringing my skirt behind me neat, with my legs together crossed one on the other like i was in a nunnery. my mom thinks i have 'regressed' now. frog she calls me when i sleep especially.
what to do
she called me a social butter fly this supriya in her blog. referring to me Dec 31. sometimes i have a cheerful disposition and a surprise myself at how sociable i can be. dhiren the host said i knew more people than he did. anyway. i surprise myself.
asima hjas beautiful eyes, full of karuna like she saw a bomb blow up her home. she has the deepest voice. no not manly. but just deep.how to say. emerging from some memory. i see her far far away. why do i see her far far away. she loves old monk neat i know. she drank and drank and drank and sat on the swing and got qoozy and passed out. that was at the end of TY. why was she at the party i cant remember. she came with shuchi. but it was a lit party what was an eco doing there. or did she major AIC?
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
prince ali khandani ali of agrabah
tomorrow my day is packed
god Hr, Hen, Tbsh, Frh...who else? ma is leaving for kolkata again. should i get drunk with H and H tomorrow? they share the same bday. 2 of my closests.
mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
hmm hmm hmmm hmm hmmmmmm if i saw you in heaven
when i was small i thought girls who dint wear petticoat(camisole?) under their uniforms were immoral. and those who wore small white undies without duckie frills at the back were bad girls and should be punished (this is when i was 3). shame to them. I kept a good distance from them. then one day i learnt deepali this girl who ui thought was a good girl dint wear petticoat and i was so upset. and this i am talking about lower primary school through primary school.
In senior school my bes friend was the one who refused to wear a bra like all the other girls who were so desperate to get into one. she wore a petticoat. so she wasnt like "those kind of girls". She was a good girl. This girl Samantha wore only the bra and no petticoat. I was mortified when she sat next to me. and then i found she had a boyfriend. to add to that i found that SHE STUDIED NOT FROM HER OWN NOTES BUT FROM THE NAVNEET GUIDE. OMYGOD! terrible. one day she was talking to me and i felt physically sick because she was that chick who had boobs and dint attempt to hide it under 3 layers of underclothing and flattening sports bra and had a skirt 2 inches shorter than it was supposed to be and rolled her socks down and had a boyfriend EWWWWWW and studied from omygod the navneet guide AND she sucked at Math. I was scared of that type. People who couldnt do math. and people who couldnt spell.
now i think i was so frikkin judgemental.
so when did i grow up! ? i cant quite place it. i think i grew up in the 10th standard. when my english teacher said very casually while doing Vanity Fair with us that in the 16th century men liked women with big bosom. ? wha? that doesnt make sense. and i started loving tgrammar cause i was so good at figures of speech and most people sucked at it. when did i grow up?
i was TERRIBLE in school. cheee. but i washed my hair everyday. why dont do that now? and i had think hair. not like this jhadu i have now.
and that prayer we recited.
the more i learn the btter i see how little i know
how little i kow of my own capacity to know
every branch of knowledge is so rick so complex
one can study a lifetime and still be a beginner.
......
dont remember anymore
i was good at art. always. and i was good at language. both of these were effortless. and i was good at sciences. and i took pride in being good at math. and i took pride in getting bad marks in history and geography because that meant that i was smart and intellegent and logic driven and not a stupid dumchick who MUGGED her way.
i've wasted the best years of my life.
now what.
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
pine apple
apine apple
apine apple
apine apple
pine apple
apine apple
slow motion
mildew
sorrrow sodden
mildew
mildew
sodden
moron
sillybillygoat
breaks his horn
now what
csa
cas
casa
mexicana
now what
now what
blue
blue
prelude
blue
blue
blue
blue
bling
bling
bling
psycho
meterioroid
howdyouspellthat
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
repeat
ctrl alt delete
so now what
okay
too bad
now leave
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
he takes out his gun
and rocks her world
umm is that the right word to use
rocks her world?
anyway
meanwhile
now what does he do
what does she do
what will happen
wheres the time for going back now
does he think about
is it gone
poof into thin air
anyway
there will be time
to ebb and flow
a time to leave and atime to heal
turn turn turn
i like that song
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
dinosaur
plays
in a level playing field
pterodactyls
i was 2 when i went to school i believe
actually i was almost 3
but i believe i was 2
and my ma did do my homework with her left hand
and i lost my pencilbox
it was yellow
in auxillium convent
flat yellow
and the next day i saw it on top of the cupboard
and i dint say it was mine
cause i hated attenion
so maureen miss walked around the class asking for claim
i dint claim
i still wonder why
wow i was scared of nuns
sister superior
i thought her name was sister supeeriya.
maureen miss wore simple a-line frocks.
frock needs can can
not a frock
ladies dress hem line just below the knee with half umbrella cut and a belt the same color
and i thought boys pee-d backwards. what does that mean?
peeing backwards.
meanwhile
i remember the smell of peppered boiled egg when i opened my plastic tiffin box
the smell of green guava cut into two mingling with boiled eggs peppered.
and i'd feel at home. comfort food. and i'd love choking on the yoke. and love the smokey overboiled smell that rubbed off on the guava.
shelled boiled eggs and choking make me feel womby.
the tables in auxillium were steel green and shiny. They had grey foldable whatchumaycallit. undersides on which the greensteel rested. pods? and we had sleeping period. we slept after lunch.
everybody had to compulsorily put their headsdown. i couldnt sleep like that and the older girls came down to monitor us. strange. anyway then there was the loo class. everyone had to go to the loo to pee in a straight line single file. the loo was khaki light coming through frosted glass on top. ventilator?
anyway. then i came home by schoolbus. The usher was called manoranjan-da. hmm. and everytime i got off they'd say chandrani bye! and i dint know what to say. i was embarassed at so much attention. i hated auxillium. now that i think of it. and i remember being confused that this girl neha/ niti had 2 names. i remember telling my father " Neha Niti same" and i sat down each time bringing my skirt behind me neat, with my legs together crossed one on the other like i was in a nunnery. my mom thinks i have 'regressed' now. frog she calls me when i sleep especially.
what to do
she called me a social butter fly this supriya in her blog. referring to me Dec 31. sometimes i have a cheerful disposition and a surprise myself at how sociable i can be. dhiren the host said i knew more people than he did. anyway. i surprise myself.
asima hjas beautiful eyes, full of karuna like she saw a bomb blow up her home. she has the deepest voice. no not manly. but just deep.how to say. emerging from some memory. i see her far far away. why do i see her far far away. she loves old monk neat i know. she drank and drank and drank and sat on the swing and got qoozy and passed out. that was at the end of TY. why was she at the party i cant remember. she came with shuchi. but it was a lit party what was an eco doing there. or did she major AIC?
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
meanwhile
prince ali khandani ali of agrabah
tomorrow my day is packed
god Hr, Hen, Tbsh, Frh...who else? ma is leaving for kolkata again. should i get drunk with H and H tomorrow? they share the same bday. 2 of my closests.
mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
hmm hmm hmmm hmm hmmmmmm if i saw you in heaven
when i was small i thought girls who dint wear petticoat(camisole?) under their uniforms were immoral. and those who wore small white undies without duckie frills at the back were bad girls and should be punished (this is when i was 3). shame to them. I kept a good distance from them. then one day i learnt deepali this girl who ui thought was a good girl dint wear petticoat and i was so upset. and this i am talking about lower primary school through primary school.
In senior school my bes friend was the one who refused to wear a bra like all the other girls who were so desperate to get into one. she wore a petticoat. so she wasnt like "those kind of girls". She was a good girl. This girl Samantha wore only the bra and no petticoat. I was mortified when she sat next to me. and then i found she had a boyfriend. to add to that i found that SHE STUDIED NOT FROM HER OWN NOTES BUT FROM THE NAVNEET GUIDE. OMYGOD! terrible. one day she was talking to me and i felt physically sick because she was that chick who had boobs and dint attempt to hide it under 3 layers of underclothing and flattening sports bra and had a skirt 2 inches shorter than it was supposed to be and rolled her socks down and had a boyfriend EWWWWWW and studied from omygod the navneet guide AND she sucked at Math. I was scared of that type. People who couldnt do math. and people who couldnt spell.
now i think i was so frikkin judgemental.
so when did i grow up! ? i cant quite place it. i think i grew up in the 10th standard. when my english teacher said very casually while doing Vanity Fair with us that in the 16th century men liked women with big bosom. ? wha? that doesnt make sense. and i started loving tgrammar cause i was so good at figures of speech and most people sucked at it. when did i grow up?
i was TERRIBLE in school. cheee. but i washed my hair everyday. why dont do that now? and i had think hair. not like this jhadu i have now.
and that prayer we recited.
the more i learn the btter i see how little i know
how little i kow of my own capacity to know
every branch of knowledge is so rick so complex
one can study a lifetime and still be a beginner.
......
dont remember anymore
i was good at art. always. and i was good at language. both of these were effortless. and i was good at sciences. and i took pride in being good at math. and i took pride in getting bad marks in history and geography because that meant that i was smart and intellegent and logic driven and not a stupid dumchick who MUGGED her way.
i've wasted the best years of my life.
now what.
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