January 29, 2008


The other day we visited the Vasant Vihar market, a.k.a the famous Priya joint. It has become our second home, literally. There was a point in time when I had absolutely no idea as to where Priya really was--me, a being living in another part of the world!

Another place I frequent a lot is Khan market. But then again, who doesn't like going over there, enjoying the view of populated India and it's tiny cars from a second-floor view at Barista while sipping on hot cocoa or coffee? Or going over to Big Chill and indulging in that delicious Chocolate Oreo ice-cream? Or even visiting those knowledgeable bookstores and feasting on those alluring book covers--Or just, basking in the sun, walking, gibber-jabbering with your friend.

By the way, did you know that the word 'Oreo' is actually a racist, derogatory term associated with those who have black skin, who wish to have a white man's way of thinking? Oreo: Black choco biscuit on the outside, white cream on the inside. Consider yourself educated. One up on your IQ level.

The architectural structure of my institution is built in such a manner, that it seems that the sun deliberately tries to evade it. Class-rooms are mercilessly cold, and we all sit close together in order to generate some warmth. There is ample amount of sunlight at my college gate though, so after the classes we all sit at our college gate, devouring oranges or gulping down on some sweet coffee.

Then comes the time to leave.

Driving is tiring: one has to literally inch on the Delhi roads which are consumed by more than ten thousand vehicles everyday. It's so painful that I have to concentrate more on the traffic and bitch about those who are hogging the road, rather than enjoying Jim aptly singing to me:

"Keep your eyes on the road
And your hands upon the wheel
And then roll baby, roll"

Well, I am rolling!--but somebody is gonna get hurt real baad, if people do not stop driving like pathological maniacs on the road! Ugh. Delhi traffic. Ugh.

My mother read out a piece written by Rumi to me the other day. He said (very poetically, of course), that if one keeps moving, swirling and doing things in life--then, one is centred: paradoxical images beautifully placed together, to bring forth a very important aspect of life.

SiGh. Some people are born profound. Others become. Make it happen, R.


January 28, 2008

The Open Baithak @ The Attic

Attended the
Open Baithak today at The Attic. It was a relatively cold day, the streets of CP were tremendously crowded with people buzzing and passing by, as I scurried from DV8 to People Tree on my two feet, humming the tune of a song I don't remember now.

The door of the Attic opened into a warm and cozy room, brightly lit, accessorized with antique furniture--a space I would love to rent as an apartment, but alas, the space is not for sale. I was greeted by known and unknown faces, all smiling, happy to be there, waiting for the poetry session to begin: An evening with the performance poet, Bob Holman.

The thing that I have always loved about performance poetry, is the performing bit. I cannot endure people just standing in one place and reading out their poems which, mind you, are brilliant pieces left unanimated due to the lack of display of emotions, correct articulation of words, blah. Thus, to perform one's poetry is very essential, for it gives life to the piece and also leaves the audience enraptured, wanting for more.

Of course, one has to have the art of performing, and that is achieved through experience. I, for one, have done so at a college poetry recitation competition, but still do have a long way to go. Perhaps in the next Open Baithak session, I will be enthusiastic enough to read out my poems. Perhaps.

Today, a few read or rather, performed well. A few. One of the poems read was despicably atrocious, and I was confident that I could do better than the gentleman on stage. Over-confident? Noo. Just sure.

At the same session, I also met a deliciously handsome guy, whose name I shall not disclose, for the sheer fact of knowing that he might come across this page. Though extremely talented, I could not stay back for his performance. Did I mention that I like men who rap, by the way? :P

There is so much potential in me, potential I wasn't even aware of. Certain things happen in your life, and though initially you feel that they shouldn't have happened, when you see life from a broader perspective, you know that it was the best thing and that you are so much better off...

Ah well, you live and you learn. This is ME at twenty, and still going strong.


January 24, 2008

Sing It

Tu dhoop hai, chan se bikhar. Tu hai nadi, o bekhabar--

-- You have it in you to make it. Make it then.

My friend called from the States and gave me a lovely surprise by doing so. It feels good to know that there are people there in the world who still care.

"O hip-hopper mujhe pyaar toh kar, O hip hopper."

When this song first splashed across the television screens, I screamed. I could not believe that people could come up with such inane lyrics. Though I cannot shy away from saying that the song actually grows on you--and I have surprised myself by humming the tune now and then--but err... what happened to the entire concept of writing and making songs that actually made sense?? But I guess the music company will make songs for the masses. I feel alienated from this culture and at the same time am aware that I belong to it as well.


My brother told me a story the other day: There are four kinds of gadhas in the world. The first is the one who keeps walking, doing things that are required of him and is content with life. The second donkey keeps hitting the first one with a stick, wanting the first one to do his work for him. The third kind keeps lying down, sleeping, dreaming and does his work once a while. The fourth gadah however, sits in one place and mourns: "Mein ghoda kyon nahin hoon?" (Why am I not a horse?)

Most of the people in the world fall into the category of the fourth kind. Always wishing why things can't be better off for them. If you are not content with life, change it. Do it on your own--no one is going to come to you and help you change it. Don't crib, just do.

I think that's what convinced me to start driving on my own. Being dependent on someone is the last thing one wants in life. I decided, I can no longer be dependent on my dad (or auto wallas) for taking me somewhere. Lesson: Do everything in your stride to be as self-sufficient as possible. That's the way the world roles--it's your wish in whose palm you want it to roll.

Sing it:
u dhoop hai, chan se bikhar. Tu hai nadi, o bekhabar.


January 20, 2008

Cotton Candy

January creeps in

Smokey eyed
Crawling through the dingy passages
Hunched on its paws,
Rolling the fog in its mouth
Like grey cotton candy


I woke up in the morning today with a song in my head. I kept myself busy today. Made breakfast for my dog, took him for a walk, listened to music, drove for a bit, read--life's been decent. Wanted to go to Khan today and have coffee with a friend, didn't work out.

Reason? "You need to study" (says mom).

My mom has recently decided to write an article on 'Literature and Memory'--I, being a good daughter was giving her a few tips on that. She has begun writing some beautiful poetry in Hindi and Urdu and I sit mesmorized listening to her and the emotions that are awaken through them.

Love these moments.


Someone rightly said: Ignorance is a bliss. It's true.

January 17, 2008

Random Thoughts

Driving has become a necessity in winters. I hate being dependent on auto wallas who bargain with me every morning as to how much I should pay him for a ride to college. Coming back is another head ache--they throw tantrums, "Madam, vapsi mein saavari nahin milegi." Bullshit!

I prefer driving now days. It's warmer in the car, you get to listen to good music, and you don't need to exchange dialogues with any annoying auto walla!

I have to admit, I am new on the roads.. but this time I ain't quiting. There are certain things in life which jolt you into reality so much, that you realize you need to take the reins of your life into your own hands.. or the steering wheel--which ever suits you best.


What can I say? I have the instinctive urge to write, but time evades me. She is always there when I have nothing to do, but begs to leave when I really need her. I have so much to do, and I keep contemplating as to what I should begin with, little knowing that every second counts. Sigh, here I go again knitting cliches with my thoughts. Ambiguous thoughts, really. Nothing is substantial in life and that's the truth.

One of my oldest friends told me something very important today. Something I didn't know, something I never even thought of about life. Funny. I suddenly look at things from a different perspective.


The other day my friend treated me at CCD for passing the army entrance test. Army. Sigh, all I can think about army is a bloody hard life--though my pal looked extremely thrilled about passing. There are some things in life you just know you want to do. Perhaps it's the calling from within.

I however, am still confused as to what exactly I wish to do. Write? Dance? Make movies? Ah, this damn indecisiveness--it happens to the best of us.

Notion of the day: Nothing is better than a hot mug of coffee with a pal.

January 10, 2008


The other day dad got a flute for me. Wonder why though, I have no clue how to play that thing. Nevertheless, I kept it, to keep his heart. It's funny how I love it when he gets me the most innocent of gifts unannounced. My dog was one of them. Anyhow, today my dad peeked into my room to see what I was upto. He saw the flute lying there, untouched by the owner who was peering into her novel.

"You aren't playing this fella' ?" Dad asked enthusiastically.

I looked up. "Naah. I don't know how to use this thing," I replied sheepishly.

"See, this is where you put it," he said picking up the flute and placing it right below his lower lip. A phenomenon which disturbed the air along with the dust particles which flounced ecstatically in the column of sunlight that was penetrating the curtains.

Frankly, all I could hear was "foooo"--the blowing of air by my amateur musician a.k.a dad. As a result, my dog perked his ears and happily jumped around my dad. It was honestly a very amusing episode.

"Well," I said humouring my dad, "at least you've got one fan." I winked at him and he responded by smiling, "You my girl, are becoming too big for your boots," and winked back.

He left me laughing. It was one of those beautiful days. Father, daughter, and the holy dog.

P.S. The second last word is highly debatable adjective.


Today we had a discussion on whether women have a good sense of direction or not. Two guys, a girl and a canteen place. I defended my stand, for I know the roads decently well (except for those parts of Delhi which I have rarely visited). The men tried to pull me down (sigh, friends!) but I still fought. Ultimately the conversation dissolved by a series of coffee and chai orders. It was cold. The sun winked through the leaves. College will end in a few months. These days won't come again. I look at my watch: ten minutes more before the classes begin. Here we go again, preparing ourselves for a new day.


January 5, 2008


"Do you think I am a fool?"

"Do you think you are a fool?"


"Can fools think they are fools?"

"I sure think so."

"Are you thinking right now?"

"I don't know."


"I am not Lucky and you are not Pozzo."

"Who was Pozzo?"

"Master of Lucky who asked him to 'think.'"

"That means Lucky was his slave... Then how was Lucky, lucky?"

"I don't know!"

"Lucky, Kucky, K-l-ucky, yucky, mucky." (singing)


"Is it Klucky or Erky?"


"Are you sure?"

"Haven't you read Waiting for Godot?"

"Waiting for who..?"


"I thought you said Lucky first."

"Yes, but Lucky was in that play."

"Was Godot in the play as well?"


"Then if it is Godot's play, why is Lucky in it?"

"Because Estragon and Vladimir are waiting for Godot, Lucky is a marginal character."

(Thinking) "So... Ass-my-gone and Lad-im-r are in the play, Lucky is in the play, but Mr. Go-dot-com is not?!?"

"Its Es-tra-gon and V-lad-imir. And Godot, pronounced as Goo-do."

(Slowly.) "Doo-do. Dodo!"

"It's Godo!


(Sighs.) "Forget it."


"Does Godot meet them?"


"Then why do they wait?"

"Well, because that's the play. It's about waiting. They just... pass their time."

"That's the play?"


"BORING!" (loudly.)

"Well, it's famous!"

"Is it?!?"


"Boy! People are dumb."

"U think?"

"And to think we call ourselves the fools."



"Well, are we waiting too?"

"For whom?"




"Whether you want to wait for a dodo or not. Dodos are extinct by the way, so I think we'll have to do a pretty lot of waiting."

(Sadly) "I didn't know Dodo was dead. No wonder they keep waiting."

"It's Godot!!!"

"That's exactly what I said."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"I think contrary."

"U cannot think!"


"Beause a fool cannot think!"



"Prove it."


"Ph-roooo-ve it!"

"I don't want to."

"Neither do I." (Silence.) "So, are we done waiting?"

"We weren't waiting for anyone in the first place!"

"We weren't?"


"Then what are we waiting here for?"

"I don't know."

"Well? Shall we go?"

"Yes, let's go."

(They do not move).

Inspired (evidently) from the Absurdist playwright Samuel Beckett's magnificent play, Waiting For Godot.

January 2, 2008

XX versus the XY SOCIETY

I am sleeping
Or am I awake?

I answered in the first,
And questioned in the next

Should I learn to be me from me
Or turn to you, to 'be' ?

Should I place my legs together?
For I am a girl and not her brother

Why should I wait for men to woo me?
Why does wo separate me from he?

Why can't I stay out late?
Burp on beer and smoke on cigarettes

What has sex got to do with it?

Speaking of which:
Why can't I have it before marriage?
Why should I whisper and speak about it?
Why should I call it, it?
IT- it- iit- itt- iti- tit--
Oh, I get it... It's because of my... hmm..

Is this poem going anywhere?
Am I going somewhere?

Unless you change your designed roles
No where, is where I am going to be.

Apologies if this poem does not make sense. It is something that just came out of me as incoherent thoughts. Pardon, me.