27th October 2006

28th October 2006

Is there a hole in my bag?
Where is all this good luck going?

H2H Log 4:05

I cut open the sun
Like a watermelon.
The whole of it
I swallowed.
My stomach is
A hornbird hollow.
September gone
October born
November follows.
I watch the tinkly tangly
Buttons and beads
Bob with the breeze.
Did you just say something?
Tell me please.

There is something about Lova and surprises

Somethings are easy. Like bungee jumping, killing a cockroach, standing on the 19^th floor of a building blindfolded, and keeping a secret. But you ask me to keep my mouth shut about a surprise and it seems impossible. I need to have a couple of packets of chewing gum, coffee, and some music to keep me calm. I even have an assistant to help me with my Surprise Projects. Lova, (name changed to maintain dignity, besides this is what I call him)an angry young chap with a chiseled face, a little too chiseled sometimes (poor guy he is going to be reading this) and who easily passes off as someone you have never and will never see again in your life. Perfect!

So... the plan is all set. The surprise wrapped . All preparation done. I have gone over the plan more than twice but there is one thing about Lova, poor guy is jinxed as my assistant- he can never get it done in one go, either he forgets the address or to wake up in time to deliver the flowers and write messages on the road with chalk, or misses the man by a minute and has to come back to me. I always have to face my biggest anxiety maker, my evil twin, my Mogambo, my Count Dracula- The SURPRISE!

We walk back and do some damage control.

The worst part is when your surprise is half done. The packet left outside and the joke is on you. You have to wait till people come home settle down on their couches and realize that there can be a box with goodies waiting for them. They may decide to open it after dinner, bath, feeding the dog, trimming their toe nails, the dentist's appointment or the Simpsons on TV. You of course are supposed to savour this precious moment! I can’t. I simply can’t that’s why I am writing this post - to spend these sickening moments of endless wait.

And it’s the same every time! Every surprise. Poor Lova must have written a million angry letters to the Indian Government about his degrading job. I like the government for not being bothered sometimes- they think people should fight and learn, just like children. I agree.

I always manage to leave enough clues despite the paranoia. Let’s hope my surprisee -even though he is a scriptwriter, a shark, and a Don- hasn’t read much mystery fiction.

Blogs

These little things floating
in the air
in the middle of nowhere
sharing a million lives with mine
sometimes just make me want to smile.

This post is for blogs
and all the friends I made
thanks to their existence.

Untitled

My head these days
Cuts, hacks, collates
And neatly puts things in place.
Some dreams
Some thoughts
Some people
Are wrapped in pretty paper.
Some thoughts
Unsent letters
Backs of photographs
Lie like yesterday's newspaper.
Some thoughts preserved to ponder over
Some thoughts with no feeling whatsoever.
The slashing, hacking, slicing, ripping
Like the song of the construction worker
Is a slow hum that doesn't bother
And is drowned out by music.

Mrs. Mendanha? Mrs Rustomjee? Mrs. Aggarwal? Mrs. Ismail? Mrs. Kirtikar?

So is today the day I get my cheque?
Is today the day I help an old lady
cross the road?
The one who lives alone in a
big old haunted bungalow?
She has no children who
can inherit it
and leaves it all to me!
Then I give one room
to artists who don't
have a studio,
to (nice) theatre people
who don't have space to rehearse,
To kids who don't have a place
to put up a tent or fly kites,
To people like me who want to
hoolah hoop, buy music instead
stealing it from the internet,
travel to far away fantasies
Or read in peace.
A house where we paint the walls,
grow wild plants not manicured grass
put some sugar in our bowls.
A place where we make friends, cook together,
have a little of our dreams fulfilled
and do a little of what we think is impossible.

Fluteman,
every note that you stretch
with your breath
is like your eyes
outline my lips
the kind that leads to a kiss.

Athena's message to me

Gold rimmed cards
Black backed
Silver pentacles
Tarot cards
Angels
Prayers
Love
Gifts
Wishes
Smiles
make my world
today.

I found another little thing.
Hindu mythology and Greek mythology
have a lot in common.
Even my name
Divya,
divine in Hindi,
Diwya or Di-wi-ja,
divine in ancient Greek.

Athena told me this.

on this link you will see that she is also
related to Diwya.
These days posts are just short messages
to whoever is listening.

buh-byes

All is well that ends.
Oh well!
Exams over
with a grand feast
At China Garden
with Green Tara and her
Maddy Daddy.
Abundantia's blessings linger
like fairie dust around me.
I'm being the Emperor at workshop,
just need to get back to being the Page of Cups
And things will flow.

Sipping my Milo Milk,
Chamki

PS:
1hr 58 minutes 4 secs to the next workshop.

Abundantia's grace

The Goddess has blessed.
The new beads.
The new dress.
The smile.
The golden caress
round my neck.
Stress
now has a new address.
Not mine.
Thank you,
Abundantia.
This makes the mess
a little less
in my head.
Help me
and guide me
to success.
Help my friends too,
who do not possess
what they need.
Love and tender care.
Help them breathe
Oh Goddess of excess!

Friday, October 13, 2006, 1:33 am.

Watermelon moon,
Abundantia
A strange sort of
Contentment
And hope.
Mindless conversation.
Typer sharks.
New metal prayer box.
New beads
Blessed by her.
New to do list.
New friend.
New faith.
New obstacles everyday.
Hey Jude, they say,
Don't make it bad,
Take a sad song
And
Make it better.

Nothing is better than being a good person.
It is ok.
All is ok chamki.

Sometimes you just have to say it to yourself.
Most times you have to believe it.

Wow! This could be something.

Sunday Morning Screeching Song

Egg shells egg shells
help me separate my yolks
from my whites

Chamko Rani announces a big gift hamper for anyone who can get her this song

This thought of you

This thought of you
Is warm like honey
And yellow
Like a beam of the rising sun
So mellow.
This thought of you
Makes me smile
Like you are here by my side
Frying an egg
And washing the dishes.
You loved to.
The pink walls
Of your house were just as strange
As you were,
You funny fellow.
Why do you live so far away
And yet so near.
The distance is too close
To not know you're here
And too far to hug.

You in US

You
A circle
Begin and end
love and are loved
always

I know you taste
Like a sip of wine
And dew.

I know you know
And you smile
While I smile
Worlds away from you.
I know you know
I love you

You in US
You in us
You in me
You my memory

Can't just can't.

I make excuses to feel ok
about looking at myself fail
little by little.
With no reason
for my restlessness
I stand in the middle of
a million OK people
wondering why I can't be OK.
Knowing what I have to do,
Not doing it.
Witnessing my defeat
against myself.
I win
I lose

Today is strange.
At 1am I can hear crickets and dogs.
In a city like Bombay where it is difficult to hear
yourself talking, this is very strange indeed.
If there is a time, place and feeling that spells nothingness
then it is now, here and this.

With nothing to say,
nothing to do,
I end my day,
having achieved...
nothing.