Chamki

The prints of the first roll I have clicked with an slr camera are here.
Little by little you can see them here.
I'll be in delhi for a month from tomorrow.
Blogging might be slow and no pictures because I don't have a scanner there.
I will have a camera but not a digital one so I won't be uploading those pictures either.
But I'll be back with many many many goodies and
Stories from my trip .
See you soon,
Chamki

How pictures click

A little window in a window
Of a window
Through a window
With another window
And a mirror
Makes a camera

The sun’s ray pierces
A little window
Of a window
Through a window
With another window
Hits the mirror
And then the film

I look through the little window
In a window
Through a window
With another window
And a mirror
And try to focus

Focussing is tough
Too many windows, you see

The photos travel through the little window
In a window of the darker window
With another window
And a mirror

And settle
On my picture

Then picture after picture
Walk out of the little black box
Into the red room
Hang themselves to life
(Unlike us)

All I do is pay the Elite guys.

I wanted this to be a song.
Special Thanks Elite photo studio

Watch the words

Willie in the water wanking
Versace and willfully whistling welcomes.
Wendy wasting burgers on a walrus
While the whale is waiting.
The wheelchair is wet with whiskey,
And whirling about on its own.
The workman is just wondering
And needs one wicked whip
To walk back to the real world.
Woolen wood woman is watching
Woodpeacker eat the woodworm.
The working class however is wrapped
Within the activities of the workhouse
Is it worth writing these words?
Wrinkling my skin
Is it witty? Or whine? Or like a wobbly
Windmill swaying with the W’s?
Wot O wot am I writing?

Beware words,
your walking sticks want to walk over you.

22nd April

I will go down with this ship
And I won’t put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I’m in love and always will be

Birthday bash and blue balloons for you!
Booboo Babies were better together
But big born bitches broke them.
Bitter cake and buttercup blisters
Are the only beautiful things
I can give you this birthday.
Have a blast burrow bearded basturd.
May more bitches come your way to
Add to your distasteful brew.
What you call the flow of things,
The inevitability of loss
May you know its true meaning too.
May the evil in you grow
And let your true self show.
May your hair fall like mine does
And slowly but steadily you bald like me.
May your May be as you may never thought it could be.
You were my Booboo Babie.
But now all I can love is a memory.

So you are with her not with me.
I hope she is sweet and so pretty.
A “little” angel besides you
Oh how lovely it must be.
Now how do you feel
Does it bother you now
All the mess I made?
Does it bother you now
The clothes you told me not to wear?
Does it bother you now
All the angry games we played?
Does it bother you now
That I’m not there?

And it’s true that
You don’t think of me.

words in purple-dido.
for best results listen to dido.

Memory has forgotten to store
The feeling of being loved
By someone in me.

Jefferson Airplane can keep asking
But I don't need somebody to love.
I love me.

This post is for Debu

Thanks for the lovely birthday gift you gave me exactly 7 months and 24 days later. This makes it the second birthday gift I get this year. Well, thats just how popular I am. Its fantabuloustically funny.
"Wicked Poems". And it has great illustrations too! So, i decided to post your favourite poem from the book.

The Kleptomaniac
Beware the Kleptomaniac
Who knows not wrong from right
He’ll wait until you turn your back
Then steal everything in sight.

The nose from a snowman
(Be it a carrot or coal)

The stick from a blindman
From the beggar his bowl

The smoke from a chimney
The leaves of a tree

A kitten’s miaow
(Pretty mean you’ll agree)

He’ll pinch a used teabag
From out of a pot

A field of potatoes
And scoff the whole lot

(Is the baby still
there in its cot?)

He’ll rob the baton
From the conductor on stage

All the books from the library
Page by page

He’ll snaffle your shadow
As you bask in the sun

Pilfer the currants
From out of your bun

He’ll lift the wind
Right out of your sails

Hold your hand
And make off with your nails

When he’s around
Things just disappear

F nnily eno gh I th nk
Th re’s one ar und h re!

Roger McGough

Sunday Summer Afternoon

When angry, sit in a place you don’t sit often. My kitchen window, where the wind chime that never makes a sound, looks into LIC building. My favourite flower chameli, jasmines and bougainvillea look up at the purple jamun tree and find me admiring them from the 4^th floor. Here at my height, I only have the company of a few crows. Their regular lunch is not available today I guess because it’s a holiday at the fish market too. So they will also have to look for their Sunday special food. That must be the reason for them being quieter today. The men who had made my life hell by slicing marble like it was my skull are now enjoying their 12 inch pizza size rotis. In the company of cheese and chutney (yes we had chutney sandwiches for breakfast and the smell still lingers), the kitchen is a calming space. But there is so much I haven’t noticed about it all these years that it feeds me with the urgency to write hurried sentences. Once in a while I can smell the fish Sadiq’s mom is frying.

The wind chime only moves and makes no sound.

The TV is far away and is just a faint hum here. Mom had finished cooking at 10 this morning so the vessels lie dead. The cuckoo seems to be on a holiday too, else I would be able to hear it nice and clear and spot it too. Its persistent cooing has been waking me up in the past week.
Little boys are looking for sticks and twigs now. I am too. My story needs support. I can smell palak (spinach) now being cooked in dal. Yes im good at this smelling business. I used to know at the door itself what was cooked for lunch every afternoon after school. There will be no lunch today. My stomach is full of all the anger trapped inside me.

Thank you kitchen window. Will see you again.

Beach Day

The sun stung the eye with silken smiles.
Run! to the water
No, lets go back now
Oh look! the boat is floating
Oh no, its not!
This is my house.
Phuchuck! No house no more.
There were no walls.
Just the big blue sea
carrying a whole lot of sewage may be.
The little kid, with the tiny mouth
found the pani puri too big for a bite.
The monkey girl found the sun too bright
for her eyes.



The waves of the sea
stir the sea breeze
which flutters the strands of hair
and spreads the stench in the air

She sits by the window
and with a slow push
of her stare
blows bubbles in the air

The picture has now been removed by the author

O please keep that sepia tone away from her.
She doesn't want to know if he isn't in town.
Did she ask you?
Stop telling her about him.
She is out of his life. Kicked out.
He doesn't feel guilty about what he did.
And she doesn't want to be remebered by him.
I don't think she deserves to be even in his memories.
For people who lie often build their memories with
fake flowers and free sex.
Don't you dare to sell your moment to her by talking about him.
She sees it clear. There is much more to think about than him,
much more to do than send him cake that she baked on his birthday.
She won't. She doesn't want to knock on the hotel room that says
DO NOT DISTURB in bold.
She can only be happy if she is happy by herself.
And she will be.

Illustration Friday : Tea

If i knew of illustration friday when this was the topic of the week
i would have made this. I dont drink tea.
When i was a kid, everyone used to say
that kids shouldn't have tea, they should drink only milk.
If children drank tea they would get dark
and being dark then was the worse one could be.
I don't know if i didn't drink tea because of that story or the strong smell of elaichi.
I hate elaichi. I hate it when my pulav has elachi and it goes khachick! in my mouth.
Well, I still dont drink tea.
I hated how everyone was addicted to it. I hate being addicted to anything. The need for us to consume something to be sane or high or to like life enough to live on. I don't include the need for the sun, love, flowers, hugs, music, pinwheels, sister, and house in the bad addictions list. Simply because I'm addicted to these!
wuhahahaha!

FAQ: Who is Blue Fish?

For all the people who have been confused by the presence
of a certain blue fish, Blue fish is me and i am blue fish.
Something like Brahman and Maya.
Blue fish is the creative power, doesnt create illusions though.

Sigh+lense= Silence

sun+ set= sunset
sad+ den = sadden
s+ ample = sample
s+even = seven
s+and =sand
s+he = she
St.+ and = stand
short+ cut = short cut
Sub + stance = substance

I know its been a long time i havent used words
I'm trying.

What happened to my spring?

painting the sun

another picture of me painting here

Spring is in the lime.

Fry Illu Nimbu marke
Don't taste the lime yet
Its not the time for that
Just the colour for now.

Way to heaven?
Fools!