Doing as Vasu said.

Following Vasu's task of putting random words into stories I've decided to make my posts similar. These drawings are assorted precipitants of The Everyday everyday. The arrangement is random and when I upload them there isn't much that ties them together but the fact that they are on the same page and that this stuff has somehow passed through me. Vasu is a member of the House of the Cult.24th April 2011 was a Sunday. Sunday is a great day to listen to Hindi songs anywhere from the 50's to 70's. Sholay was released in 1975, the year my parents got married. Hema Malini played the role of a familiarly talkative Basanti in Sholay. Plenty of people arrive to this blog looking for Basanti, Miss Chamko, Shiela ki jawaani and the like. She is a dear friend of Chamko Rani and Chamko Rani is not Miss Chamko. That will be made clear in the near future. Now, Hema Malini is called Bollywood's Dreamgirl which is Sapnon ki Rani in Hindi. In the song, "Mere sapnon ki rani" Rakesh Khanna is trying to woo a woman seated in a tram. The Lady who was seated in this chair at Daily Bread moved while I was drawing it and the bread from Daily Bread made me sick for days, and everyday turned to a Sunday.

The House of the Cult.

You can be my dearest diamond or a nameless chair,
You can be a peice of my heart, or ruffled paper, of which I don't care.
Sometimes I could smile and blow smoke or sometimes I couldn't be bothered
to give you a stare.
Such is the life, if life is life, and everything else is also there.

Sting Operation images from the House of the Cult

Premism and the cults

"What is your next step?" is a question I am most asked by my parents and friends. It is also the question I least ask myself, because usually I look at what is passing by and hear my gut decide to follow it or not. The latest decision in the making is "Where to take the next steps you want to take?" Surely it's not at par with decisions about the Maoists, approaching monsoons-potholes and Japan's nuclear problem, but they sort of are, at the personal front.
The choice of destinations are Bombay and Bangalore as I might have discussed earlier in posts on the blog, conversations in cafes (if you are where I am) and other popular ways of booking faces- facebook. Because you see this question is connected to the deepest question man can ever ask, that of love, amour, of prem.

Ask me how?

Because all decisions are ways loving yourself, all choices are ways of carving better roads minus potholes and Maoists for yourself . (In the path of love, fearlessly we choose the path with potholes a many; but even a mother's carefulness is love.) I know the discontented restlessness one can I have from not being sufficiently productive or not justifying your talents, not blossoming to one's true potential and definitely not translating it into a means of income. These have been very efficiently illustrated with Mr. Father and Mrs. Mother. But none of the understanding rules out a feeling- The Feeling . None of Knowing What To Do, takes away the Waiting Till The Time Is Right and Knowing Today And Not Knowing Tomorrow.
All of this has, simply, to be sat through and enjoyed in good company and good weather like a movie on someone else's tragic but eventful life - full of miserability rescued by unexpected miracles. miserability rescued by miracles. i like that.So, I live in a cult home. The cult/religion/philosophy is work and make no friends, specially make no conversation unless it solves a function that you are aware of. So nothing goes without thinking of Where, What and How this will be received/understood/folded up and forgotten. As you may notice this is quite opposite of my manifesto and the way GOD has made me. So I find myself typing long hours of nonsense only to say DELETE ALL. I take walks in the park staring at the trees and thanking them for the shade, sometimes when no one is looking I dare to hug.
Although, yesterday was a freak circus in the nightsky TM when all the lanets united over drinks and pop corn to stare down at the little green patch on the earth. This very cult decided to go out for a random dinner and we ended up at a place in the dark, so dark you needed to ask for another candle. To which the waiter said "What!?! Another candle?!" Seems within 5.6 secs of entry we were already demanding too much. Then the cult continued within large pockets of silence to exchange a few words and even a few laughs. Some times the caps, and glasses came off to expose the true vulnerability of a wine drinking soul who would like to be happy but is too busy being intelligent and useful.

working working

Anything you don't want to do, but have to do now is called WORK.
People often take breaks from these tasks called WORK and blog about. At least in my days of the blog they used to. Now, facebook has taken over much of that.
Although what I do , I think is fun. But deadlines coming in and I want an assistant making scans while I sing and paint :P
Here's a rough draft for a book on witches I've been working on since I was in Goa.

Sneak preview!

everything is hand drawn/painted and then assembled on the computer. The characters are based on the author's family. The inspiration is his daughter, and the million stories he had to come up with, to entertain her. This is my first brush with drawing humans and bodies. I worked with a Korean painter and tattoo artist, Ji, in Goa over anatomy.. but loved making flat drawings. This witch is my favourite. I wanted to stick to pen and ink, black and white close ups of strange things and washes, but the book is for 7 yr olds and above, a bit of colour won't hurt anyone :)
love,
chamki

ps: post # 666

*

I had a dream this afternoon that I was hugging a version of myself that was clearly clinging onto me for dear life. A size smaller, slightly wrinkled wearing the same clothes I was (white muslin) wrapped to my chest with her arms wrapped around my neck and shoulders.
I tried to push her away when the grip got too intense and all she said was, "me" repeatedly in a whisper.
In my head I heard the word "ego", but who knows what the word meant.
It didn't feel heavy or light, not a burden or any different from everyday. But she was afraid and needed me all the time. She was afraid I'd push her away and she would die. then I woke up

Just a little prayer. Oh blog!

Hello again. Perhaps, I was being overly critical or I meditated so much that I reached stages where I didn't need to talk anymore. The latter being highly unlikely, I was prevented from writing about what I felt, what I thought and what I did.
I don't really think I've ever written on this space for others as much as myself. What I've shared has been extremely beneficial only and mostly for myself. By seeing what you spew out, loud and clear one can witness oneself and hope to edit.
I know this might actually be of little use to the rest of society but it makes one person in the chaotic hippie-lands or crammed cities a little easier to deal with. That person is me.
Yes, in this way I love myself.

In the last year I left my job, the closest I had to routine and wandered in emotions of hormonal happiness, impulse and desperation in Goa and Ibiza. This year I feel a little more open about Bombay again..

Bandra, where I grew up, to return would complete a circle of sorts.
I wake up and spend the sunlit hours debating the good and bad of Bombay and Bangalore.
One offers a fresh fast moving active population, inspired and creative in their own street smart ways, entangled and pouring out of trains, while the other offers a laid back crowd, greedy autorickshawalas and a sense of comfortable confidence of living in a small town (yes, I think social life here is small townish) . I almost know everyone in Bangalore.(at least it feels like it)
The 2 people who inspire me (unknowingly) to come to Bombay again are Paro and Suraag, (also nice to visit home once in a while). As for Bangalore: Shilo, Tapas and a long list of friends similarly confused and jobless.

Perhaps it is easy to be creative and playful as a student bent over homework. The kind of lust for the newspaper and sketches when one should be preparing for the geography exam. It can be very different being your own boss and tiffinwala.

I've been excited by projects and saddened and blocked by myself too many times this year. I've been surprised many times by the sudden marriages of my friends. I've questions my choices watching the progress of others.People have called my life "the dream life" too easily and far too many times recently. Equal number of people have called me flaky, scattered and distracted. I've changed 8 telephone numbers and a part of my hair has turned to dreadlocks. I've swam naked and danced for a music video, danced on the streets, attended an ayahuasca ceremony, sold cold drinks on beaches, given massages professionally, danced in water, made my first choreography, been a non dairy products person, received bio-magnetic therapy, attended tantra workshops, cut my friend's hair, performed in 2 international dance festivals, taught English to Spaniards, screamed in foreign woods, half way illustrated a children's book, learned to speak Spanish, had a decent conversation with my ex, bonded with my family, woken up in different beds 7 days of the week (alone), had a pet pup, lived in a hut, taught Hindi to the Dutch, been shocked to silence for 2 days, been part of past life regression therapy, family constellations and somatic practices. I've noticed my pattern with men and male attention. I've grown my hair to the middle of my back. Changed my mind far too many times. I own 2 cellphones with 3 numbers of 3 different cities.

Now, I want to make informed decisions. Drink coconut water and swim everyday. Draw and dance consistently. Rent a space of my own, which I transform into a studio-temple and love myself.Amen.

**

Another season of Goa wrapped up. Tai Chi, contact improvisation, dances on the beach, dances in video projections, massages given, raw food, reading Mohammad and a whole lot of meditation and listening to the body.
Somehow, the whole experience is too vast for words. The truth sounds corny. Perhaps the drawing does justice.

*

I request the mighty universe to manifest a laptop with a stylus friendly monitor, a scanner on the flip-side of the keyboard and a printer on the top of the screen. Or a screen that scans and is stylus friendly, with a printer at the base of the machine..
JUST SO I CAN DRAW, SCRIBBLE, WRITE, SCAN and print, whenever I want, wherever I want.

print less yes. print less, but more fun!

Kabootar tweet tweet tweet~ (rap for the world wide web)

You tube, I pod.
Agreed, our love at first website,
is a little odd.

From the day I saw your Facebook
and your poodle named Google,
under that billboard, round the corner
that said "Bill is Bored".
A gigantic Yahoo! Linked (you) in to my being.
By God! You flipped my kart!
Asklaila if you are not seeing.
You occupy a very soft blogspot in my heart.

Crystal Chanda Leir,
when your eyes flickr ,
my heart beats quikr.
Good things about you and your infinite grace...
uncountable!
as many words are wordpressed on MySpace.
you tweet , you tube at the speedoffart
I promise, I'll naver leave you,
I'll naver depart.

I'M DB. I have no choice.
ICQ and your sweet voice.

Skype is the limit !
and love is blind.
Let me be your PayPal,
since you are so kind.

Al K. Holik

Kabootar tweet tweet tweet was greatly inspired by
conversations with non-sleeping internet satyagraphees
at Koramangala who tape glasses on their faces
and flip karts for a living.

that which bothers me today

It is extremely upsetting to watch my diabetic father who has just had his blood sugar level tested this morning to walk to the kitchen and unearth that very plastic packet which contains the sweetest thing in the whole house. Why are most popular forms of socializing over alcohol and drugs? Knowing what is the worst for us, why do we walk willingly towards it?
What transformed pleasure and health into pleasure and debauchery? We can condition ourselves towards both. That which feels good, and that which is good.
Our likes and dislikes are truly not our own. Our likes and dislikes are simply the kind of conditioning we have learnt to accept and the kind we are unwilling to accept. The kind of actions and choices that get us appreciated, sometimes they give us pleasure, or benefits. There is no charter of right and wrong hanging above in God's closet to verify if our likes the appropriate or inappropriate.
Taste much like appearance is about craving and pleasure. Its rather confusing because one can't spot these hidden values easily. Everything belongs to a box, and we want all the boxes to co-exist in a peaceful democracy. The box for brand value, the box for alternative, the box for handmade, the box for herbal, the box for popular, the box for cult.
where is the self in all of this. why is it so difficult to say no. why is there so little room for one to discover what is truly good to be put in one's mouth. why is it more important that we use "prediscovered" formulas to find ourselves successfully settled, socially appreciable before we even know what is best for us.
why isn't education about learning to understand what is best for us. and if it isn't when are we truly going to educate ourselves.

*

i had a dream in which i had a dog named Bach.

# 662. the one in which the naked voice emerges..

No. Just writing great words is not enough. Making art is not enough. I'll even say even being a doctor is not good enough. Great! you could inspire people that way, you could perhaps take care of them, but that consequence I think not much for. To live in a body that doesn't just serve as a machine carrying the mind from one place to another. The brain would just be pulp if the whole of you wasn't around. To live the moment you write or paint about, in the presence of your worldy siblings and thus heal. Write with your body, make the whole of you the art and the artist. porous. transparent. Not with an act of pretense with lines rehearsed to create reactions, not within theatre that creates an unreal believable world. But just to experience a certain oneness with the audience, of taking them with you somewhere, because you're going. there. Not through roles. Not through fingers typing on plastic keys, through the wholeness that is you. Don't underestimate the limitless power that you are.

a line from On The Warrior's Path by Daniele Bolelli.

the 63 day cycle

This is what we started 30 days ago. Look deep into yourself with eyes closed. Into the right brain and find nearby truths catching dust while you continue to believe the critics in the left brain.

Test: you either think you're no good or on some special days your self image meets the sky. Perfect, you're the candidate for this project.

List Talents, Qualities, Empowering values and Dis-empowering Values you already posses, and may or may not be aware of. Understand what each of these packages hold within them, translate them into possibilities of actions eg: combining research and performance: self searching lead me to designing a performance of dancers in the dark with lights on their heads.
Observe at the end of each day, whether you did them or not. Merely observe and watch the patterns emerge over 3 sets of 21 days. total 63 days.
Why 63 days? On average it takes 21 days to learn a new habit says a legend in advertising. unprogram your brain of forced programs and watch yourself as entertainment.

disfruta, enjoy madi.

maps spam

you know that the world is going to be a better place when you get spam that says:

Be a LONG - man. Enhance your penis with this Herbal Formula.

this is why we dont have an equivalent of "bon appetite" or "bon profit" in hindi.

for best results: read aloud in sweet and sour sauce.
don't forget to relish and garnish.
bon appetite, bon profit

An afternoon trip
to the wholesale vegetable market
in North Delhi,
could be more adventurous
than looking down at the earth and
finding uncharted plastic islands.
On the carved wooden floor of the local bus
stand many more doers of anatomical grafitti,
than all of the sufis everborn combined.
At the red light
jumps in a man,
in police uniform,
a policeman with a walky talky
antenna raised.
He claims in perfect rhyme and urgency,
holding a cut-out of Krishna from a greeting card
pasted on a beach-ball racket
"a 3 yr old has gone missing ,
and he who finds him will be awarded fifteen thousand."
for a minute you buy into his story
as the new street theatre
but then you hear the bus conductor
talk about his diligent dementia.


At the blessed market,
seas of sweet smelling
rainsoaked
mashed and soiled vegetable spares
await your arrival.
Table fans drying onions of the colour of brinjal,
are being sold at the price of gold.
On such a day,
everybody is looking for onions.
Men lie on mounds of cauliflower leaves
tossing soggy tomatoes into the sea
of uncooked vegetable curry,
splashing sprinkles on your back.
Some claim with all their pride accumulated
that the spinach is hybrid,
joy as wide as their pan-stained smiles.
You decide to alter your menu and leave
out the saag.
Dreams and bubbles of seasonal fruit,
fresh green vegetables,
Gajjarella, sweet carrot halva
burst for ever and ever more.

You return to stitch your grandma's
old and tearing saree into
tiny bags of glee.
tiny bags of lentils
stay
soaking
and
sunbathing
and
sprouting
against the larger picture
of the highway traffic
at Mangolpuri.

feeling good?

Somebody asked me to list 20 things that make me feel good..
when I think about them, talk about them or do them.
Just as a resource. And I began.
But what is 'feeling good' to me? What is the feeling of feeling good.
Perhaps, it has many colours.
Feeling good doesn't feel alone any one of the following:
Feeling good isn't just feeling happy or feeling pleasured.
feeling desired or inspired. feeling cared for, or satisfied.
not anymore.
feeling good isn't being in a good mood. in a state of excitement,
or thrill or emergency. a hint of feeling good still exists in surviving a mess.
or solving a puzzle i battled with. but just a hint.
feeling good isn't about success, popularity or even creativity anymore.
not in the dance performance or the applause after, not even the drawing.
feeling good is not a heightened state of being anymore.
feeling good is not about winning, conquering, progressing, or succeeding despite the hazards, risks, or hardships.
a good feeling not in successfully convincing anyone, selling or marketing myself either.
a good feeling isn't when people think i'm good at what i do, or judge me as good.

a GOOD FEELING is something more constant now. in the plain moments of the day.
when nobody is even there to notice it. or appreciate it. a good feeling is subtle and constant.
i associate a good feeling with nerve impulses firing themselves to be alive. just like when you get a chill down your back. a good feeling is alive, pulsating and so very personal that love even is distant. a good feeling is so natural and so uncalled for, yet constantly present as if it is the very nature of my being. this good feeling, when i understand it in language is just two words, alive and true. this good feeling is a combination of alive and honest, true. and everything can be true. love, emotions, happiness, cities, civilization, money, psychology, family, events, and everything can also be untrue. to itself.
notice your good feelings. is it in chocolate milkshake or lemonade or with lying in the sun with eyes closed, or in reading and gaining knowledge, in a task or in meditation.
what do you associate with feeling good. how does feeling good feel, taste and smell.

recent thoughts

1. Unlearn.
Unlearn images and identities
benevolently gifted as education, as culture, as cuisine, as entertainment.
even love.
See with eyes shut. With eyes own.
No newspaper, no television and no google.
What is it that we know without any learning
How is the baby taught to breathe and cry
unlearn.

2. There are no pegs, no dots.
You are floating about aimlessly.
resting at unmarked spots.
momentary homes.
and then the womb opens and you fall out.

3. conversations are futile.
what the heart speaks, the ear cannot hear.
and that which the ears hear is the word of the art.
that which the skin feels knows no rainbows
and no deep blue sea.

intuitive drawings, Eivissa.

Ibiza was devastating and miraculous at the same time.
One of the good things, I began to make some intuitive drawings. Not guiding the pen.
No idea what I will bring onto the paper. Just following the line till it said something to me.
Sometimes it said, "Look I'm a face" and well.. I added the mustache and sometimes it didnt.
Made first thing in the morning, inviting a person's presence onto the page, visions, memories and object that would be healing, some times fish, some times olives.
I used an old dip pen which makes these drawings more meditative. the pen in the picture is not the one i used.

just today.

Today,
I'm coming back to that part of me in the spiral that began writing this blog. But this isn't a circle, so it isn't exactly the same space. The universe is always expanding and so has my horizon of understanding, my collection of clothes for myself. Just like understanding can collect and direct you to knowledge or cause conflict by bringing together two conflicting opinions, I've battled against the seas asking why I wish to write on the sand. And today, after many hours spent in this dialogue, I suggest to myself to enjoy the grains and the waves . I'm back to this writing, because what I truly love is just writing. The pure act of scribbling, no matter what it says, where it comes from and to whom and how it goes. And yes, I admit, that I like if it goes somewhere, in letter, in words, in voice, in visuals and in movement.
Today,
was spent trying to maneuver handwritten words into an email and collecting words of poets in all shapes and sizes. And Today was hence much enjoyed, now Today can rest in peace and return when the sun does.

a dreamed world

Love. Courage. Little courage.
Little moments of courage. Little tiny moments of courage and truth.
Those we live everyday. Thats what makes love.
Not great poetry, or inspiration,
not a menagerie of muses or
paintings of crushed desires folded as flowers.

love is a kiss,
a soft cloud on lips,
a fleeting feeling so real,
so temporary
that it isn't real today.
just a rich memory.

Just as much as i wish
my words,
these words, would carry what my heart does.
you in the dark.
bottles being passed.
it isn't real today.
just a rich memory.

why live a dreamed world?

after watching Atonement.