I want to be a songwriter... like Dan Hill. This is another of my favorite songs, it's almost as if the words were torn out in anguish and despair... a keeling almost...
It's such a lovely twist on the conventional scope of relationships... are we or aren't we? Is it.... or is it not?
What's in a name... we have to name everything we discover and create, from a disease to a flower, a sculpture to children...
In between the structured and the layered, the exalted and the expelled... the darkness and the bright... there is an empty space that we rush to fill in.. we need that. It's the control freak in us. Anything unnamed, unclaimed, unsaid... isn't!
Think again...
Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill
You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I'd rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I'm only just beginning to see the real you
And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides
Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I'm just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth
At times I'd like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I'd like to break through
And hold you endlessly
At times I understand you
And I know how hard you've tried
I've watched while love commands you
And I've watched love pass you by
At times I think we're drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
My rainbow of colors...
Am posting one of my favorite poems - 'Colors' by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the colored world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colors in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
This poem brings out a sense of sadness in me that I cannot describe, I love the play of words... The poet so beautifully expresses his inadequacy, his joy and writes his own epitaph. 'Love's slipshod watchman'... Wow!
As love poems go, this one has to be one of the most woebegone ballads. It's general tone is of pessimism, yet there is this celebration of awakening, an epiphany almost.
I guess we are all familiar with the figure of speech that we learned as part of english grammar -'personification' also known as 'Anthropomorphism'. This poem is a perfect example of the opposite, '
Chremamorphism' is giving characteristics of an object to a person. When the poet compares a human face to an object as he does in the first line, 'when your face appeared'... 'Then it's particular light'... 'When your face sets'... he reduces a person to a thing.
Love is very much like that isn't it... it reduces you, depletes you, destroys you and nullifies you... until you are nothing but an object... but hey! An object of divinity and immortality... one that shines through a prism of light, bursts into the brilliance of the colors of a rainbow...
Who's bothered about the permanence of that arc, that variegation, that band of color... The fact that it was... even if for a breviloquent while... that suffices!
May the colors in your eyes propogate a brilliant canvas!
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the colored world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and that the colors in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
This poem brings out a sense of sadness in me that I cannot describe, I love the play of words... The poet so beautifully expresses his inadequacy, his joy and writes his own epitaph. 'Love's slipshod watchman'... Wow!
As love poems go, this one has to be one of the most woebegone ballads. It's general tone is of pessimism, yet there is this celebration of awakening, an epiphany almost.
I guess we are all familiar with the figure of speech that we learned as part of english grammar -'personification' also known as 'Anthropomorphism'. This poem is a perfect example of the opposite, '
Chremamorphism' is giving characteristics of an object to a person. When the poet compares a human face to an object as he does in the first line, 'when your face appeared'... 'Then it's particular light'... 'When your face sets'... he reduces a person to a thing.
Love is very much like that isn't it... it reduces you, depletes you, destroys you and nullifies you... until you are nothing but an object... but hey! An object of divinity and immortality... one that shines through a prism of light, bursts into the brilliance of the colors of a rainbow...
Who's bothered about the permanence of that arc, that variegation, that band of color... The fact that it was... even if for a breviloquent while... that suffices!
May the colors in your eyes propogate a brilliant canvas!
Friday, July 20, 2012
Pushpa... I hate tears...
It's the silliest line you would hear, yet it has acquired cult status. Rajesh Khanna, hailed as India's First Bollywood Superstar passed away yesterday.
Cannot claim that I am a fan, he was my mother's generation but there is something about what I heard which has remained in my psyche.
When I was very young, we didn't have a television at home, infact, TV came into sleepy Mangalore in 1984 I guess and we had one at home a year later. The only channel available then was the Government run Doordarshan which we religiously watched since we had no choice otherwise anyways.
Sundays and Fridays were special. Sunday would feature a National Award movie in regional languages at 2:00 pm and a Blockbuster movie in the evening and Friday had the medley of popular hindi film songs called Chitrahaar.
Rajesh Khanna's movies were very popular and quite regular. What has remained with me is this memory of mother and me watching 'Aradhana' and mum saying in shocked tones, 'you know, when I was single and working in Bombay, every time a Rajesh Khanna movie released, the ladies compartment in the train was abuzz with excitement. One of the women said, Rajesh Khanna is my God!!! As mother narrated this, she was shivering and shaking in outrage. As a devout Christian her sensibilities were terribly offended and the statement too blasphemous to be real.
So when I hear of or watch Rajesh Khanna on TV, I'm instantly transported back in time and my mother emerges in all her hell hath no fury frame and her scorn is a living thing, even after all these years.
We never grow up do we.... prisoners of memories...
But remember... Pushpa... I hate tears...
Cannot claim that I am a fan, he was my mother's generation but there is something about what I heard which has remained in my psyche.
When I was very young, we didn't have a television at home, infact, TV came into sleepy Mangalore in 1984 I guess and we had one at home a year later. The only channel available then was the Government run Doordarshan which we religiously watched since we had no choice otherwise anyways.
Sundays and Fridays were special. Sunday would feature a National Award movie in regional languages at 2:00 pm and a Blockbuster movie in the evening and Friday had the medley of popular hindi film songs called Chitrahaar.
Rajesh Khanna's movies were very popular and quite regular. What has remained with me is this memory of mother and me watching 'Aradhana' and mum saying in shocked tones, 'you know, when I was single and working in Bombay, every time a Rajesh Khanna movie released, the ladies compartment in the train was abuzz with excitement. One of the women said, Rajesh Khanna is my God!!! As mother narrated this, she was shivering and shaking in outrage. As a devout Christian her sensibilities were terribly offended and the statement too blasphemous to be real.
So when I hear of or watch Rajesh Khanna on TV, I'm instantly transported back in time and my mother emerges in all her hell hath no fury frame and her scorn is a living thing, even after all these years.
We never grow up do we.... prisoners of memories...
But remember... Pushpa... I hate tears...
Just you...
Tip toe with stealthy feet…
With the silence of velvet footfalls
Shimmying into barren lands
Lighting forgotten embers
To the blind what is the beauty of your countenance
Do the deaf know the melody of your voice
When the softness of your hair kisses my face
The scent of you that invades my every sense
I look at my hands with a wonder
They glazed over the satin of your skin
My face has welts where your eyelashes kissed
I am empty with an emptiness of the cup that overflows
All my questions answered
Shall I say that now there is a me I don’t recognise
You are the pain I rejoice in
Joy that tinkles like wind chimes that sway gently
Caressing the wrinkles of the heart
Creases that you iron out with ease
Stay, you are home
Just you.
With the silence of velvet footfalls
Shimmying into barren lands
Lighting forgotten embers
To the blind what is the beauty of your countenance
Do the deaf know the melody of your voice
When the softness of your hair kisses my face
The scent of you that invades my every sense
I look at my hands with a wonder
They glazed over the satin of your skin
My face has welts where your eyelashes kissed
I am empty with an emptiness of the cup that overflows
All my questions answered
Shall I say that now there is a me I don’t recognise
You are the pain I rejoice in
Joy that tinkles like wind chimes that sway gently
Caressing the wrinkles of the heart
Creases that you iron out with ease
Stay, you are home
Just you.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Ladies Hostel...
The major news making the rounds in a Mangalorean website since yesterday was the apprehending of a young man clad in an Abaya or Burkha.
He was caught with his girlfriend, pants down, making out in the bathroom of the Ladies Hostel.
I occasionally check out the website for gossip on my hometown, the website is completely without class, cheap and downright proletarian. I love checking it out to see the pictures and greetings posted there. It makes me cringe and laugh, yeah yeah... cheap thrills.
The news that it carried though about the boy and the pictures featured, shocked me and has quite disturbed me, I have been thinking about it since yesterday. The pictures feature the boy, half naked with his jeans open and his underwear showin and one pic even has a cop yankin him with his jeans with the boy's bottom exposed.
All of this on a supposedly 'news worthy' website. It's disgusting. Ok, that in itself was bad, but they have many pictures of the boy and what's worse... comments galore, almost everyone condemning the boy, his religion, his upbringing, parents, society, internet even!
I can't describe how grossed out I feel. And very let down and cheated... I do know that the website isn't really an accurate description of Mangalorean people and culture, but the narrow mindedness and archaic thinking as evinced in the comments are totally demoralising.
"In order to judge properly, one must get away somewhat from what one is judging, after having loved it. That is true of countries, of persons, and of yourself". - Andre Gidé
I don't really appreciate passing judgements... I try not to most times... but this spate of nasty comments has really bothered me... What kind of people live in Mangalore now...? was I wrong in my pride in my hometown... it's my security blanket, a vital part of my identity. I plan to go back home to spend the dusk of my life there (If I dont kick the bucket before my grand plan that is) but peering into that society from the outside as it were, as I am doing now... I'm not very sure...
Is it me? Is the change internal... I dont want think so... I am trying very hard to understand, rationalise, assemble and structure my thoughts and feelings... I need to have a place I call home, one that I love and respect and have deep faith and pride in.... My friends back home haven't changed a bit, that I know... Life goes forward... why is Mangalore driving furiously on reverse gear...
He was caught with his girlfriend, pants down, making out in the bathroom of the Ladies Hostel.
I occasionally check out the website for gossip on my hometown, the website is completely without class, cheap and downright proletarian. I love checking it out to see the pictures and greetings posted there. It makes me cringe and laugh, yeah yeah... cheap thrills.
The news that it carried though about the boy and the pictures featured, shocked me and has quite disturbed me, I have been thinking about it since yesterday. The pictures feature the boy, half naked with his jeans open and his underwear showin and one pic even has a cop yankin him with his jeans with the boy's bottom exposed.
All of this on a supposedly 'news worthy' website. It's disgusting. Ok, that in itself was bad, but they have many pictures of the boy and what's worse... comments galore, almost everyone condemning the boy, his religion, his upbringing, parents, society, internet even!
I can't describe how grossed out I feel. And very let down and cheated... I do know that the website isn't really an accurate description of Mangalorean people and culture, but the narrow mindedness and archaic thinking as evinced in the comments are totally demoralising.
"In order to judge properly, one must get away somewhat from what one is judging, after having loved it. That is true of countries, of persons, and of yourself". - Andre Gidé
I don't really appreciate passing judgements... I try not to most times... but this spate of nasty comments has really bothered me... What kind of people live in Mangalore now...? was I wrong in my pride in my hometown... it's my security blanket, a vital part of my identity. I plan to go back home to spend the dusk of my life there (If I dont kick the bucket before my grand plan that is) but peering into that society from the outside as it were, as I am doing now... I'm not very sure...
Is it me? Is the change internal... I dont want think so... I am trying very hard to understand, rationalise, assemble and structure my thoughts and feelings... I need to have a place I call home, one that I love and respect and have deep faith and pride in.... My friends back home haven't changed a bit, that I know... Life goes forward... why is Mangalore driving furiously on reverse gear...
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Double meaning
Check this out- First day of the week and I have dragged myself with great reluctance to office, bleary eyed, swollen feet and all…
Rings the phone… the Chief Accountant is at the other end. Asks me if the Finance Director is in office.. I’d like to say ‘sod off’ but I probably will get my backside whipped for that, hence mumble a polite ‘I don’t know’.
I need to get my salary and have to bloody well be politically right, so I say, ‘So is it urgent?’ and he’s like ‘yeah, I need him to sign some documents’.
Not-so-polite-but-being-good-girl-me asks in somber tones, “oh… top urgent?” and the reply I get is “performance guarantee for a company that deals in erections”.
Like I said earlier I have with utmost and sincere reluctance brought myself to work and obviously not all faculties were working fine, without thinking I typed the same message to the Top Gun… your presence is wanted as we have to give a performance guarantee to the company that deals in erections.. and hit the send button faster than you can say Jack Robinson.
Ever had the feeling… this woozy confused state that you are content to lie in and the sudden jolt that shakes you off and brings you to reality in a heartbeat with the first thought in your head that goes ‘what-did-you-do-you-idiot’.
I cringed as I saw the message, was wondering what he who reads it will make of it. Living in a world and working in a place where even a mundane, ‘how was last night’ may have sexual connotations, I was embarrassed, hassled and felt intensely foolish.
I cannot forgive the English language for changing so much that I cannot even use words that we did with gay abandon as we were growing… or is it my head…? the grey cells are completely corrupt and I read puns in sentences that are absolutely not ‘pun-ny ‘. It used to have another word, ‘double meaning’ as children we used to refer to puns as double meaning. As an adult double is used only with whisky and gins… oops! I mean chins.
As always.. there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip and that which dribbles lands safely on the double chin….
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