Scribbly scraggly

I wish you weren't as wonderful as you are I wish you were that angelic only with me For I could brag and boast afar that your brilliance is only for me to see I wish we were our little big secret instead of out in the open for all to judge together wanting it badly, not because we were let I wish you wanted me badly, with all my brains and fudge I wish there was more of me for you to explore More for your eye, mind and sense to dabble, dismember and devour that the burnish sparkle of your eyes should flame untamed, unbridled, adrift for I know it has got to last given how extreme the reach of a moment's rift quite unlike the slow, sure sail of the lowly mast My thoughts warmly around you dwell Reason, logic, ethic cast aside for you gently caress through shame and snivel and let me feel my forgotten side.

British accent sounds horrible – any time of the day or night. But when you’re marauding through sleep cycles and get an earful from the late night telecast of Harry Potter, you know what the websites that advertise knife sets are talking about. Slick, ominous and cold. I don’t care if that is ruined parallelism, the tirade would give me nightmares even if I were dead to the world. It could actually wake me from sweet slumber by the sheer disdain in their prunes-and-prisms mouths strongly enough to write a blog post on it. Somehow, my sense of language is not what it used to be, at this late hour. Free flowing American expressions cannot be a smokescreen for lopsided grammar, tawdry flow of thought and half-baked enthusiasm to write. There I have to agree that the English have got their language down cold. Remember Nigella Lawson crooning over her cauldrons. Makes me feel life is worth living. And that way, I’ve made my morass lead my readers to the central thread of my labyrinth...

It all began with a modern-enough offering – the bulk-sms package on my cell-phone which ends soon, on Saturday. I didn’t want to leave close to a hundred sms-es unused. So I sent a characteristic ‘Hi’ to four friends, all of who have been in my life for longer than eight years. And for the record, I am 26-and-close-to-another-month old myself. Two responded instantly. They were two highly normal people, boys and gentlemen in the simplest sense. They were nice and then bade me goodnight; inspite of my acting rather whimsically with them after 11 PM. These are guys I can count on, for reasonable to not-so-reasonable things. A girlfriend responded too after a while. These are people who remind me of parts of myself. While all this was happening, I was rummaging my phonebook for more victims. Obviously my sms package does not cover international sms, so I had to leave my best friend be. The one guy who responded not at all, well, not much lost. What came home to me was how few peo...

I thought I . . . It’s bad manners to talk so much about yourself! And yet, there they are . . two ‘I’s in one phrase, well, something that can barely be called a phrase. The thing is, I assumed that I was eloquent and passionate, to boot. Passionate I very well might be, but I expected to be able to say what it was about. And yet, when I turn to type, I hear myself gurgling someone else’s lines, some poetry I’d read as a kid. And strangely enough, it’s comforting, to know that I have some beautiful thoughts to fall back on. Then it gets frustrating; that I cannot say enough, particularly when material is hardly lacking. I want to be able to say what I feel, to put it into words. People who want to read between the lines, be sure to read me right. I’ve impulses, thoughts, plans. I am bewildered by the beauty around me, and feel inadequate if I can’t tell you how beautiful it all is. I try too hard, I am too hard on myself and others, I need to take a break ...

I like it classic. I like it fun, fab and romantic. Adjectives? Yes, from the grammar geek’s point of view. What I am trying to drive home here, is how we like to qualify stuff. I didn’t quite understand when my professor said “We judge continually. Sometimes we’re so busy judging, that we arrive at deductions and conclusions, while barely taking note of what’s actually happening.” It’s like being on a fast ride – too much has gone by unnoticed while you are busy qualifying things, putting a label on each. We’re continually called upon to assess, to give an opinion and it soon becomes a habit. And face it - it is one job less if you’ve already put a label on somebody or something. Therefore, you’re in a hurry to label, and libel, if necessary. No, let’s not talk about people who ask for opinions about something but do not actually want to hear what’s wrong with it. Leaping into the realm of insecurity and realism is a no-no for now, when I am myself slipping into causticity and despond...

“By getting your thoughts down on paper in an undirected manner, you catch glimpses of yourself” – Richard Peck in Remembering the good times. Is that the right way of quoting other people’s intellectual property? Perhaps not. Blogging, as I understand it, is about not having a Quality team breathing down your neck and dissecting your flaws. A moron [yes, I have every right to call him that] told me that everything from the most negative to the most positive, the most startling to the most appealing things exist in the world. I guess I’ve not been able to put it across right – he meant that anything can happen and we need not be surprised at it. By God, he is right, but I’ve never made my peace with it. Things still surprise me, and is that such a bad thing? So much for making the world interesting! There are things that pick me up when I am feeling ‘Life is a labyrinth of dark shadows’ – quoth – who do you think?? Me! Okay, Narcissism all the way . . . Really, Almighty, when I felt I ...

So much has happened since my first post on this site. That was way back in 2008, when typing was a fantasy – I was proud of my ability to type fast enough, but I could still hold a pen, back then. It is amazing how a lot of us have changed. I, for one, cannot write faster than I type now. In fact, I hardly use my dexterity of the opposable thumb, except for hitting the spacebar. And while my handwriting has never been something to be proud of, it offends me that writing, as we still call it, holds less charm in the pencil or ink form as opposed to the ‘QWERTY’ form. It almost goes without saying. My job consists of the so-called ‘writing’ but only in the typed form, where my speed sometimes makes me think of the pitter patter of rain. I wish that were real! There, I tried to italicize a word and it doesn’t look very different from the rest of the script. And incidentally, those of you who’re wondering why I chose this font, just look at the beauty of the deliciously looped letter...