MystiqueSpeak: love

Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Halfway.

One day, he finally snapped.

He was tired. Tired of trying so hard not to mope. (For other people’s sakes more than his own. If it was up to him, he’d settle into a seat with a drink and glare at the universe till the end of eternity.) Tired of being the one at parties with the blazing eyes and the sad smiles. Tired of having to remove himself from company so he didn’t upset the ones who loved and worried about him. But most of all, he could not anymore handle being around his girlfriend (he couldn’t bring himself to think of her as his ex, no, not even six months later) who

would not have him back.

So he left.

He packed everything he truly needed into a small backpack. Many books to read, a notebook to write in, a pen to write with, and music to save him. A photo of her.

He walked. For hours, days, he didn’t know. He walked till he had run out of thoughts. That was when he saw the house.

The sign on the gate said ‘Here live those whom love hath taken away’. He looked at it for a long time. Observed the quaint little garden, the empty swing, the shed. Then he entered the house.

Around a table sat people young and old, sharing stories. Memories. Remnants of souls wrung dry.

“I’m here because I can’t be anywhere else. Back there, all I think of is her, after she…she died. This is the only place I can sleep. I’ve been here so long…nothing matters anymore.” Grizzled old man, hands shaking.

“She filed for divorce. I got fed up of all the sympathy, the worried looks. Fuck that,” says another.

A photo thrown onto the table. The thrower sits in a corner, a seeming poster-child for the starved and the gender confused. “She killed herself.” Throaty voice, barely female. “She slit her wrists because her family wouldn’t let us be together. She just too the easy way out, didn’t she? Didn’t wonder what I’d have to do. What I can’t do.”

There is anger in the room. There is grief. There are memories, craved for, never to come back. There is yearning. There is love.

There is acceptance that comes only when you know everyone here’s hit bottom just as hard as you have.

He swings his bag to the floor and settles into a chair.

He’s home.

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Extra points to you if you get the 'poster-child for the starved and the gender confused' reference.

Written...a few days after the last karaoke night. Possibly for someone I'll never actually show it to.

Thursday, 30 December 2010

#2010Memories

I suppose it has to be done, yes? And if I must do it, I might as well do it full justice, with photos. Instead of 140 character updates on Twitter.

So we begin at the beginning. What my feeble memory discloses to me.

January begins with play rehearsals, walking around chor bazaar looking for props, and then finally, The Night of January 16th, by Ayn Rand, staged in college, on, well, the night of January....15th. Too bad. But wonderful it was.

Then there was the after-party, and all the debauchery that went with it. And then there was the re-telling of the stories, by the girl who sat curled up in a chair all night, watching everyone.

February went by in a flash, studying...er...trying to study. After the Kala Ghoda Art Festival, that is. My first. :)

February, I believe, was also when Nam and I started the writing threads. Some very awesome, creepy, and awesomely creepy things have come out of those threads. Feb was also the month of the slash. Sigh. Feb had one 70's party to its name, courtesy M, and a bboy battle event the day after, where MuSick debuts. The beginning of something big.

Exams were in March. After which I rushed home to see Chikki off...a two-night send-off, as it were. Lots of laughter. LOTS of fun. Much love for Chikki and all the boys.

Call them the LMAO nights, yes. March was also when I started the internship at The Week, in Muscat.

April blurs into the beginning of May. The internship made sure I actually woke up in the morning, as opposed to 1pm. Good fun, good work. A few movie reviews, with byline. Invictus with Sruti, Date Night, with Nam as company, and of course, Clash of the Titans. Nam, Liz, Vee. The brus. Slushkaz!!

Camping on the beach with the parents. Calm, serene. Lazing with the cats at home. Hanging out with Aarushi.

May was, well, Singapore! Kay, Bhai, tiny shorts, MANY malls, rollerblading, Bailey's, the metro, Universal studios, HRC, yada de yada. Forgetting the camera memory card at Jurong bird park, and being caught in the rain for an hour, with pretty owls to stare at. Spectacular walks at Singapore zoo. And a final flight back home.

June and July, traipsing around college. And all the wonderful Twitter people I met. E, Piu. Ladies' Nights, Azbaz. June was a green-streaked fauxhawk and a week in Pune, July was Burger & Beer at Woodside and the fun that followed and the people I met.

July and August, I assist Annie with her MA project on Dharavi. I did more photography than assistance, really. But it was wonderful. Profoundity, opinions, a new outlook, and the best chai ever. And, of course, seeing Annie, after SO long.

August, later, was the EA bake sale, where we positively raked in the bucks. And WONDERFUL brownies!

August, also, Olio and all the fun and stress that came with it. Likla was a nice dragon.

September was when I was introduced to fire theater, with Nikhil. Mesmerising. Absolutely brilliant stuff.

Sept was also the month I got sick. Food poisoning, I say. I was down and out for two weeks. Sigh.

It's all downhill from here...October was mad study, exam mornings at CBTL with Ankiet, exams, a birthday post-exam lunch with Ankiet (his birthday, not mine), exams, and then Muscat. Lazing with the cats and dad. Chilling alone on the beach. And of course, the Canon EOS 50D and what I did with it.

Then back to Bombay with the parents. November would have been a trek in Nepal, but that got cancelled, which meant I was 'on vacation' in Bombay. Which I haven't really been since I moved here, so it was quite nice. Much roaming about the city, talking to the mother, TTS launch, and Garudmachi. Dad and I escape to the hills for two days, where I am in absolute bliss.

Also, I hit the beautiful rock-climbing wall there, attacked each face of it, and was left with beautifully sore muscles for the next two days. Such utter bliss.

November was also my first Diwali in India, Irish coffee, getting DRENCHED in the rain with Nikhil, cursing all the way from Dadar station to wherever we found the cab.

Also, Elephanta.

November was the beginning of another play, (Two plays, actually, The Boor, and The Proposal, by Anton Chekov) 8-hour rehearsals, and the month ended with my 19th birthday. Bringing it in with another birthday girl at Krish's, then lunch, then rehearsals, then E & Nam, and then Janata, and the wonderful fire-spin night (where I did eventually fall asleep), fire wielding, and Marine Drive at 6 am on a Sunday, with Nikhil and Bidi. Dosas at the lovely Ram Ashray at 8. UnderDog Kombat Anniversary battles in Andheri, in the evening, me with the camera, happy.

December, rehearsals, rehearsals, falling asleep in rehearsals, bad music (HOW CAN SHE SLAP?), good guitar playing, inside jokes, McDonalds, Subway, pizza, all kinds of junk, all ordered in, and then, showtime. And quite seriously, after that, it's just been a countdown to the week off college (which is right now). Global Fusion lunch with Dad, who was here, one fun birthday/christmas party, bike ride on Marine drive, bringing in Kutt's 19th, all of that. It's a countdown to tomorrow and to the 1st of jan when I'll be on a plane, heading to the parental and feline abode.

So yeah, it's been an interesting year. With much love to the Bombay people, R, Datta, Nikhil, Ankiet, Radhika, Kutt, E, who, well, make me feel loved. Goodnight, 2010.

Tuesday, 30 November 2010

One Random Memory. Some updates.

Once, I was given a butterfly.

It must've been four years ago, maybe.
I was waiting for him, in an empty school. Perched on the bar of a free-standing basketball hoop, a few feet above the ground. A couple of small girls chattered away by my side, I was supposed to be watching them.
Suddenly, I'm shoved in the back. I involuntarily jump off the bar and turn to see him. standing there.
He grins at me, his fist is raised.

The fist opens, releasing an orange butterfly, which flits away.

In the background of my mind, I hear the little girls chorus "Ewwwww!" but I'm too busy smiling.

To date, that remains the most unusual thing anyone's ever done for me.
But then again, he was never a conventional guy.

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I know I haven't written in over a month. I haven't been feeling it. I've been low, and I've tried to raise my spirits. In many ways.
A large part of my Diwali break was spent chilling in and around Bombay. I got a new camera. It's my baby. I'm delighted, yes.

Another birthday has come and gone. It started well, and ended better...thanks to my lovely, lovely friends. And in the middle, I had to attend college. The night, well, it had flames, and it had cake. And wonderful people.
I don't feel any older or wiser, really. But age, it's in the head, isn't it? I feel ageless.
I am ageless.

Monday, 18 October 2010

Home.

Dad's here. Mom's not.

I spend my mornings alone, in a sleepy stupor. With cats. I don't seem to NEED the laptop to be on. I don't need anyone, really.
I sleep. I read. The cats flop around me, fat white furry. I wake up late nights sometimes to see a white mound curled at my feet.
Closest I can get to contentment under the circumstances.

Tuesday, 27 July 2010

Reductio Ad Absurdum

Thanks to a friend, I stumbled across this book, which I am currently reading. What the poet does is quite simple and awesome: he picks a page of the New York Times and blackens it with a permanent marker, eliminating the words he doesn't need. The result is something that is art, poetry, and a tinge of humour.

Quite an interesting concept of creation. More than creating, it's eliminating, negating.

I think I shall try this.

Sunday, 28 February 2010

Procrastination. Cyberspace discoveries.

Ah, well. I have finally cracked my psych textbook, though I am making absolutely no progress. And it's all thanks to something I'd never thought possible: Fanfiction.

Actually, I'm done with the fanfic, now it's just me being lazy that stops my progress.

But seriously, after the Harry Potter series was complete, there was a void. In my life. Our lives. Everyone's lives. For some, that void was filled by the Meyer-menace called Twilight, others turned to fanfic.
At the onset, I resolved never to set eyes on these, but then I started reading SNam's work. And it is GOOD. The problem? It's not just fanfic, it's Harry/Draco slash fic.

*mutters to self*

Blasphemy, yes. Well written, yes. Want more....quite possible.

And so SNam, who's currently in India, and studying, and a tad bored, vowed to convert me. By sending me the link to the Shoebox Project. Notes, photos, letters, from the Marauders. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. And the making of the Map. In the authors’ words: “The Shoebox Project is a series of stories (of sort) written by the fabulous Jaida and Rave in the Harry Potter universe. It contains photos, notes, and stories, written about the Marauders (James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew) during their time at Hogwarts. While the story mostly takes place during their 6th and 7th years at Hogwarts, there are also tales of the Marauders younger years. While focusing on the mischievious Marauders, it also touches on the relationship between James and Lily Evans, the rise of Voldemort, and a relationship between Sirius and Remus (which is in the last few parts).”

I fell in love...with the writing, and more than the writing, the art. Oh, the beautiful beautiful art...I want.

See what I mean? This is NOT the best in there. By no means.

In other news, I have also discovered Community Queer, a blog written by 'Scudder' and 'Finn', from my old home, Muscat. This interests me because, well, the LGBT scene in Oman is so underground/closeted, you don't even think about it. Sure, you do hear the occasional rumour about that hairdresser at that salon near my place being gay, and having a boyfriend who went to one of our rival schools, but no more. I personally knew no gay boys at my school or any other, and I always wondered what would've happened to anyone in my school who chose to be open about their sexuality.

So yeah, I found Community Queer. It's kinda like a solidarity thing, I guess. And, it was in the (Omani) news, a bit, because the site was blocked by the service provider a while ago (the Government of Oman owns 70% of their main ISP, and thus chooses to block any sites that it finds to be...unsavory? While this includes all pornographic sites, and sites with sexual content, I once tried to venture into a website featuring tattoo designs and found it blocked.) and then, somehow, they realised that everyone had a right to free speech, and unblocked the site a few days later. In the words of Scudder and Finn: We have started something here, something that cannot be blocked or censored, something that will not go away, because people believe in it. We believe in it. And you seem to, as well.

I'm quite proud, I gotta say.

Meanwhile, it is with a slight exasperation that I announce that I have succumbed to Twitter. Hooray. Another way to waste time. Like I don't procrastinate enough already *shrugs shoulders, gives up*

I notice that my writing capabilities are deteriorating. How tragic. I haven't written any actual fiction in a while.

But I have been taking photos. I leave you with this, for now. Taken yesterday, at Worli seaface, with Datta bowing bubbles, attempting to get back some childhood joy, even as we slip out of our teens.

Damn, profound much? Screw that, man. Bubbles are happiness, don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

Saturday, 13 February 2010

Hearts. Flowers. Chocolate. NOT.

I've never been non-single on Valentine's Day. Last year, it was full of the spirit of Pink Chaddis. This year, it's the end of the Kala Ghoda Festival, a Devdas marathon ( Not that I'm going to watch any of them. I WOULD have gone for Dev D, but it's late, and home circumstances prevent me) and a pfft in the face of all you cheesefest couples.

So yes, hearts, flowers, chocolate, NOT. But if anyone's up for a ritual protest drink, do join me. I'll be that girl at the bar laughing at all the couples and hitting on the bartender.

Peace.

Happy Valentine's day, all.

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PS. This last part would be SO much easier if I wasn't in India.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

Beyond the Frame

Note: Credit for title goes to SNam.

Sitting at my usual booth in the bar earlier tonight, watching, waiting for someone worth my attention to come in, I saw her.

She was perched on a bar stool, so tall that her toes just skimmed the floor. Her black dress stopped at her knees, giving me a glorious view of a pair of perfectly arched legs, ending with the trademark red soles of her black Louboutin stilettos. Her hair was piled up in a messy chignon, and above the collar of her coat, I could see the beginnings of a tattoo on the nape of her neck.

Indeed, this woman was intriguing. So intriguing, in fact, that I lacked the courage to go over and talk to her, at least immediately. I nursed my drink and watched her.

The bartender smiled at her and put a mug of beer in front of her. I saw her reflection in the bar mirror smile back at him before taking a long sip of her drink. You don’t see too many women who like beer…this one was definitely my type, and as the minutes ticked by, I stared, fascinated. She put the mug down, leaving a perfect scarlet lip-print on the rim. That would have made such a wonderful photograph…that beer mug, with froth spilling down the side of the glass, and that immaculate lip-print. A visual treat, hinting at something beyond the frame of the picture.

That’s it. In five minutes, I thought, I was going to go up to her and say…what? I didn’t know. Something smooth and charming and witty. I’d make it up on the spot.

As I gathered the remaining shreds of courage, watching her, a man walked up to her. I was transfixed, I couldn’t go there till she had finished with him and (I hoped) turned him away, could I? I sat in my chair, melting in a puddle of my own cowardice. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

She turned to him, and said something, so soft I just barely caught the words….

“You’ll have to pay me in advance”

He slipped her a hundred dollar bill, which she hastily stashed in her coat pocket. Then she gulped down the remains of her drink and eased herself off the stool, taking his hand.

As they walked out the door, my heart shattered into a million pieces.
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I haven't written fiction in a while, so my apologies if this is a bit...shaky. It comes from me trying to do justice with words to an image in my head.

Thursday, 17 December 2009

Readying herself for bed, Juliet heard a sound

T’was the feet of brave Romeo, hitting the ground

From the wall into her orchard he has jumped

Adrenalin and love his systems have pumped

He opens his mouth, delivers a dose of sap:

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady, O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright

That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Ay me, thinks Julie, what do I say

This silly Casanova will not go away…

“Tis thy name that is my enemy, you cannot have me.

Oh, don’t protest, together we cannot be”

Says the emo Romeo, “Then if it is so

To the afterlife I will have to go

First I leave Rosaline, then I lose you

I now know what I have to do”

He shed a tear, and drew his sword

He slit his throat and thus kept his word.

Juliet she stared, and then gave a little shrug

The poor little chap must have been on a drug

Then she went back inside, before her mirror she did preen

For the lace-clad lover in her bed, her fair Rosaline.

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Just something I was trying out. Yes, the 'sap' IS lifted directly from the balcony scene. Please do not bash me for 'destroying' one of the greatest ever love stories. Literature is free to interpretation and all that.

On a slightly darker note, college has resumed, after them exams and that teeny break. It's a royal pain trying to wake up in the morning.

Friday, 13 November 2009

TWLOHA

It's a bit late, but I'd planned to do it this year and I did.

It's in sketch pen, don't get too excited.

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

To Write Love On Her Arms Day is a day where anyone can write the words love on their arms, to support those who are fighting against depression and those who are trying to recovering. On this day, just write love on your arms, and show it off, other people will ask why you have love written on your arms, and you tell them you are supporting to write love on her arms day, and how its benefiting a non profit organization helping stop depression, and make love the movement ♥

I might've been late with the arm-decor, but I'm spreading the word.

Tuesday, 27 October 2009

Trying, as always, to find the colour.

I have not much to write right now. So, the photos. I'm loving my new Nokia 6303 (low budget, to compensate for the loss of my MOTOK1.), more for the camera than anything else. It helps greatly when I'm bored.

I have a group project to submit by November 1st, the topic is Celebrities as social activists. Growr.

Okay, photos, from top to bottom, we have:

1. Mosaic at Candies, Bandra. I could take photos of every single tile in the place, it's done up SO well!

2. My daily commute. I need to reshoot this tomorrow.

3. Pretty blue tile, Candies. My phone camera didn't capture the colour as it actually was.... :(

4. What I did in today's English class. Inspired by thegirlinthebigbox, specifically her rainbow art, which I absolutely adore. Great examples of her work are here, here and here. She's so incredibly talented....I'm gonna stop now.

5. I shamelessly advertise. I made that. Got all the beads and stuff when I went to Muscat over Diwali. Green garnet and silver.

6. Teeny carrot-cupcake at Candies. It was delicious.

7. Colaba causeway. The silk bangles.

8. Conversely. I have magenta, she has purple.

So yeah. That is me, for now. Enjoy.

Now reading: Lesley Downer - Geisha

Now listening: 3oh3 - Starstrukk

Now watching: Pretty Woman

Monday, 12 October 2009

Mascate

Clean roads.

Half empty streets at 10 am, then again, this city wakes up early.

Solitude.

Did I mention clean? And bright? And sunny?

Empty, so drastically empty.

Meeting the friends was awesome, I went to school. No one except Chikki knew I was in town. So I got a whole bunch of :

"What're you DOING here?"

"Oh my GAWWWWD"

*Startled looks*

"your HAIR!"

Quite surprisingly, people seem to have missed me. And not just my heroes, or my teammates. Even the wonderful people whose bras I have messed with, seem to genuinely have missed me.

As Chikki says "people seem to like you this time round"

Huh.

I have a week of holiday.

And so, I'm in the parental home. This should be fun.

It's 2 am, I'm Halfway through Maximum City, and quite contented.

I will write, soon.

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

Thank me later

How I Met Your Mother Season 5 Episode 1, for those who haven't already seen it.

http://www.himymepisodes.com/season-5/season-5-episode-1-definitions

you're welcome.

Sunday, 16 August 2009

And Just when I needed it most....

I went home. To the place I've called home for the last 17 years.

Swine flu holidays and the ongoing teachers' strike put me on a plane to Muscat on Thursday...and now I'm home. My bright flat with my white cats. Who managed to remember me within two hours of my arrival.

Just being here makes me feel good. More than being here, I think it's being with my parents, and my mom's excellent cooking. And the white cats. I woke up to Maheen-cat biting my ankles. *Happy sigh*

Kaminey was yefterday, and after that movie, I have a newfound refpect for Fhahid Kapoor. A double role with TWO fpeech defects if no eafy tafk.

Today we gave Basu a farewell, well a kinda pseudo farewell, it just ended up with a bunch of us in his complex pool, buoyanting, as we call it. Truly awesome to see these guys again, these guys I love so much, after so long. Today I learnt to always keep camera batteries charged. I learnt that the element of surpise, and some sentimentality is a good thing to have. (SLK, LOL.) I've been spanked multiple times today, and pushed into the deep end of the pool. Which I enjoyed, even though I can't swim too well at all....

Very cool. I love being in the water though. Feels nice. Not too nice after I get out, like a drenched cat, hair all frizzy.

I learnt...that a few people don't forgive easy and there's nothing you can do about it. And I know my Muscat friends love me, and home will always be home.

For Once, I'm happy about this strike bullshittyness.

Saturday, 8 August 2009

Oh I'm SO glad I joined B-Boying instead of salsa this time!

Sunday, 12 July 2009

Urgh.

I woke up yesterday morning on a blue mattress in the bedroom of Ani's flat. Turned to see Ani fast asleep next to me. How'd I get there? Last I remembered was the living room.....

Ani's surprise 21st birthday party was something we'd been planning for a while. It didn't end up exactly as we'd hoped it would...mainly because she had no idea and had invited everyone for a sleepover the next day. Silly girl.

But yeah, when she showed up, there were 7 of us there, and 21 gifts arranged in the middle of the room. And yeah, she was pretty surprised. And happy. And a wee bit sentimental.

More people showed up later....After she'd inspected all her gifts, and hugged everyone, and been sentimental. We had music, we had people, and we had champagne. And later, rum. And a LOT of biriyani.

It was a good party, yeah. We played 'I never'. And laughed a lot.

And I woke up yesterday morning with the worst headache ever. Staggered out into the living room to see the others who'd slept over....And I was told the stories of the night before.

Conclusion: Myst will stick to two drinks. No more. I don't think anyone who was there is ever gonna let me have ANY anyway.

Many hours later, most of which I slept through, I was relatively better. I will hopefully never be in that state again, because it does NOT feel nice. At all.
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Annie Sharma, I love you very very much indeed. Also, Jai, Nikhil, Aaku, thanks.

Monday, 1 June 2009

Framed

Sunday, 24 May 2009

Abysmal Poetry

You're the rum in my coke
The puff in my smoke

The vada on my pav
You're my hugs and my love

The rocks on my beach,
Th credit in my phone

Ragda to my pattice
The flesh to my bone

You're the pillow on my bed
You're the voice in my head.

You're the blood in my heart,
You're the apple in my tart.

You're the red on my nails
You're the To: in my mails.

You're my little love-smile
You're the sparkle in my eyes.
You're among the best hugs ever
And I'm the reason for those lies.

You're the coffee in my cream
You're those eyes in my dream.

You're the only reason
I'm writing this bad mush,
So shut up and read
and don't make a fuss.

I've tortured you enough
With my over-cliched lines,
So I'll end with more cliche.
I'm yours, you're mine.

Sunday, 17 May 2009

She befriended him the way she befriended most new people, a Facebook message saying "I love your work, Hi."
They became close thanks to a mutual friend.
A week before she first met him, she realised that he'd entered her life at exactly the right time.
Two days before she met him, she realised he was a godsend. A blessing.
The first time she met, he hugged her like no one had, she closed her eyes and realised they had a bond.
The next day, when she asked him out and he kissed her, she knew the nature of that bond.
And the day after, as they sat reading in a bookstore, ignoring killer looks from all around, she knew they were in love.

And today, when she was oh-so-late but still didn't want to leave him, she knew she'd probably always be.

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A bit of fiction. Inspired by something a dear friend wrote.
I'm loving Bombay. It kills me by the end of the day, but I get by... with a little help from my friends.