Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Speaking in Tongues

There really isn't any specific reason for me to start blogging again, other than that I am at this moment at the San Francisco Public Library where any attempt at getting work done is being thwarted by the East European grandmother chatting up the empty space behind my left shoulder in a language I do not understand.

I find it oddly comforting that approximately 75% of the library population is comprised of the homeless or other disadvantaged groups. Such as the unfortunate man with an epileptic phone that hasn't stopped beeping in the past 30 minutes. He shows admirable restraint in not answering it. I do the same in not clubbing him over the head.

I wonder what they do to keep the homeless away at NYPL's main branch. There's something wonderfully San Francisco hippie free love come together-y about eating lunch at a restaurant called Ananda Fuara (fountain of delight, in Bengali) where an East-Asian origin young woman wears a sari and serves you delicious vegetarian meatloaf against blue walls adorned with photographs of some Indian guru named Sri Chinmoy. And then you commune with the homeless and white women wearing rudrakhshas in a rather nice public library. I'm not trying to propagate stereotypes, all this is just happening to/around me.

I wonder if there are pot brownies to be had in the vicinity.

Friday, January 29, 2010

I just realized that my blogger's still set to IST. An odd comfort.

Guilt

Since we're not young, weeks have to do time
for years of missing each other. Yet only this odd warp
in time tells me we're not young.
Did I ever walk the morning streets at twenty,
my limbs streaming with purer joy?
did I lean from my window over the city
listening for the future
as I listen with nerves tuned for your ring?
And you, you move towards me with the same tempo.
Your eyes are everlasting, the green spark
of the blue-eyed grass of early summer
the green-blue wild cress washed by the spring.
At twenty, yes: we thought we'd live forever.
At forty-five, I want to know even our limits.
I touch you knowing we weren't born tomorrow,
and somehow, each of us will help the other live,
and somehow, each of us must help the other die.

-- Adrienne Rich

I want to talk about death, but I'm superstitious.

With age and responsibility comes the burden of knowing exactly when you aren't doing your bit. Suddenly I'm scared.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Because I haven't time to fish out your emails

And because you know who you are...

I miss girls' night. Who would've thunk?

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

I live with a dessert-stealing chocolate burglar. Just thought you should know.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Note to Self

It shouldn't take 22 books to write a 5-page concept paper.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Monday, August 03, 2009

The last 48

One of the reasons why I started blogging was the need to get away from everything that was happening in my life - the break-up, the resultant loss of a best friend, the loneliness - and I did that by writing humorously about inconsequential things in my doped-up, hazy life.

One of the reasons I have stopped blogging is because now I can tackle whatever is happening in my life by talking about it with DD, instead of pretending it isn't happening and lighting a cigarette. [Gosh, cigarettes. I'm going to miss you. Downside of living with a sensible man. Pah.]

In about 45 hours I'll be at the airport, contending with a knot in my throat, and an obsessive-compulsive propensity to blink.

It's hardest dealing with the faces. So I'm trying to think of mishaps. Like my suitcase crashing itself open and pet bottles of home-made gorom moshla raining on customs officers. Or being held back at Singapore for carrying a suspiciously large quantity of underwear. Or being punished by God for placing my Toulouse-Lautrec print over a packet of shoes.

Which reminds me: thanks be to my friends for giving me thoughtful and fabulous gifts, all of which I am taking with me!

When I'm in pain [waxing, stitches, rage], I keep muttering to myself, "Think about childbirth. This is easier. This is a breeze. Think about waiting to dilate to 10cm." Possible factual inaccuracies regarding childbirth aside, it works. I can steel myself. Not working now, though.

Is anybody praying?

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Educating Rb_P

Me: I'm going to do a Ph.D. in theatre.

British-Indian aunt: A what?

Me: Uhm. A doctoral degree in drama?

B-I A (Confusion. Discombobulation. Total befuddlement.) : Well, I've never heard that one before!

Ladies and gentlemen, that which I call life.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Happy New Year

There is no way to Peace.

Peace is the way.



May we find the way in 2009.