A Hard Day's Night

Every once in a while come those days which make you question what you are doing. Today, was not one of those days. But, what am I doing here anyway? I decided to be associated with design and make money for further education, life on my own etc. Life seems tough. Specially since living as a woman is such a task in itself. Getting home is an issue even when it is only 9. K suggests i should get a boy friend who will pick me up and drop me. I think very few people are lucky enough for that kind of life. And knowing myself, I know I wont like the guy who will be willing to do something as sweet as that. I'll fall for the one who wont do anything sweet.
Half the reason i'm writing this when I'm so pooped is because the Beatles decided to sing Hard day's Night. Today I wish to order food and booze from outside and dance for myself, because well, there isn't going to be anyone who I want to be here with anyway. No this post is not talking about my loneliness. I meet some interesting women at work. They work with me at a store that sells Indian kitsch. They come from nearby villages, speak Kanada and Tamil (which I'm also learning.) only yet, manage to write bills in English and help around. But I can't deal with being indoors for soooo long. I spend the morning at the design studio, then the store and then I can't hang around outside but have to sulk to myself at home. All these walls are blocking the sky for me.

What about my visions of holding hands by the sky? What about singing and guitars and groups of people? Distant trees bobbing their heads with the music, some lollying in love, others in dope. I don't want to make Bangalore another Bombay. I know people who can laze in Bombay, its not Bombay to blame. Its me. I'm the one who books herself and then hunts for time. But when I don't have anybody to meet I rather sit and sell trinklets to firangs.

I think the Beatles are evil. Love is not all I need. I need money and a window and a place where my plants can catch some sun. I need a kaliedoscope and someone to cook for me on occasions when I'm tired. I'd like to have a luxurious martini now, or some gin with served with love. But life is cleaning spinach, cutting, washing and cribbing on blog.

The camera is back with my cousin. Cycle is being arranged and somewhere in the background the Beatles tell me what my parents are thinking. Don't let me down girl, don't let me down.

I should just give up the thought that I will ever be able to write about anything and anyone other than me.
yours miss unedited again

P.S: Took the bus today for the first time in this city. All on my own. Just asked people, and realised anyone who has been living here and taking the bus to right next to where I live is still as clueless as me. Such is the mind of the ever evolving homo sapien today. When I informed a friend (!?!) about my current status (= I'm lost) I was told to just keep going left. Yes such is the mind of the average grown up.
Came home to see this in my mail box:

Virgo (Aug 23 - Sep 22)

As you list all your possible choices, you may ultimately be pulled between two very different directions. On one hand, you are drawn toward a practical and reliable solution. On the other hand, you might receive an intuitive flash that seems too far out. Even if it's not your style, trust your intuition. The road most often traveled isn't the best one to take now.

(2 jobs, 2 possibilities, the road less travelled, the bus route?. Not bad, who is this guy! who is writing these!)

Feelings in SMS

My parents just left. Its a difficult walk back home when the train leaves. Its not easy to live with them but its difficult to live knowing they are old and need you.

Once you've shared your space with someone, its not the same after they leave. Its bigger and colder and quieter.

The monitor at home has lost the colour red. It only displays blue and yellow. Its really old and belongs to my house mate.

Its sad that all these feelings for my parents only come about when they are away. Not when they are near. I think sometimes I must be more patient and repeat it to myself asking the angels to make me more loving but so far it hasn't helped and this trip I have been selfish as hell. They got on my nerves. I was irritated because I wasn't well and had to drag myself through a tour of Mysore.
I hope and pray that by next time I'm a better person to them and to myself.

Tried to avoid shopping and decided to invest in a cycle in this city. It would be nice to meet someone now.

We are never where we were. We think we come back to people, to being similar but we never do, we are moving even when we try to sit as still as we can. Every muscle inside, every tiny bit of us and the whole planet. All moving at the same time. Walking away, toward and beyond.

Yours truly,
the walkway girl.

This morning I woke up with a bad dream about my father. I dreamt that he died while I wasn't home. I was not in another city but somewhere else in the same city and then I'm walking the rainy street to catch a bus for home. No need to mention how horrible I felt. In the dream Prachi, who I haven't met since school said some nasty things to me for leaving my father alone. I spoke about having heard dogs crying painfully in the night. I called home immediately after I woke up. Mom says Dad lost 3 teeth last night. He had a bridge which came off and he can't get it fixed because he is coming my Bangalore house.
So, well, good morning world.

as unedited as can be

Today can be counted one of the worst days of my life.
If I could draw a graph of how low I felt, it would dip way below the axis infintely.
It was just horrible. In the morning I wake up sane, in the night at the end of what I face I write angry words and I feel bad about what I said about K. He is one of the sweetest guys on the planet. I don't like how he has to deal with V and I see myself in the same way sometimes. I see V asking K to meet up. K doesn't feel like, but will do because well, to be nice. But V probably doesnt realise sometimes. Then I feel bad for V. But guys work differently. I just wish V didnt get on k's nerves and they would like each other, but underneath this there is an understanding which I'm incapable of perceiving. They are a sweet gang. that of course doesn't negate that i get on K's nerves and he hates me sometimes. He would rather spend time with Rudi, the moronic psycho wannabe photographer. Today I'm really in a strange mood. We're people we fool around and play around like little kittens till we entangle ourselves in wool. Thats what I think happened with me and BBB. Whatever it is, I can see that he didn't mean to and all that, his way was probably the worst sort of logic possible. He still hides a lot behind his eyes and that there might be someone he is interested in now, but
Each one to their own happiness.
I would only be more than glad to see him happy. Of course he left me alone all of a sudden and considering I had a good friend in him I'm very lost. I want to tell him that what I had was good enough I never wanted more. I cherish it whatever rottenness and beeps it brought along. The time we spent together was so different its not as simple as saying I liked it. Somethings don't work out. I almost believed I was "rejected" because I see things through a 12 yr olds eyes. I might be, I think in the hushes they share they might say she is so stupid, but my angels watch. I'm a hopeful 12 yr old again.
The dreamer sometimes falls into a well, but he is said to get out of it afterwards.
I must remember that instense times are better than wishy washy mall hopping times which seem to sell popcorn to the soul.
Peace is within, and I also think its because Javed replied to my emails. He is a sweet guy. But I'm just afraid to like someone too much. The ones you really like find a reason to go away. At the end of it all, life is lived not heard or read. I'll be out someday, living the life I want, near a pond with trees and the 60's.

yours truly,
with dreams in her eyes.

While talking to Rudigore this morning I said you need mirrors in your glasses to look inside you. I quite like the concept.

Mirrors in your glasses,
look deep inside you,
you might find rotten molasses
in your stomach,
somewhere near the surface of your shoe.
Empty empty empty
Humpty Dumpty,
How do you do?
He a-void-s, tell me a bit about you...
This morning I Chocos chew,
passed a few moments talking to you,
till you chipi-chipied and flew,
then I thought over the words you threw,
The Magic Numbers taught me to
put them in through Ear one,
and throw them out of Ear two.
Too close you think I cling,
Too far you think I push you.
Honest you think I can't be.
Bawling you expect me to
hear you narrate what ill I do to you.
You think, I'm silly don't you,
baby-face, foolish, dramatic too?
Well, go ahead and believe what you do,
I hope you find what you mean to.
Mirrors in your glasses,
look deep inside you.


empty empty empty

Someone else is always better.

Dear Vincent Van Gogh,

I've been reading your letters these days and you have inspired me to say things I wont other wise in letter style on my blog at length and in detail not caring about the reader as much as the genuineness of what must be said. I realise what an important thing it is for me to say and respectively be heard and to listen to another. For even when I don't speak my eyes scream it out, I can't pretend. I can't pretend I didn't hear K say he should hang out with people his age. I can't pretend when see the same neck I kissed now across the table from me. I can't look. I look away instead. I thought I was okay, but there isn't a rational reason for it, its a feeling. I know I have said this very often for anyone to believe it but how shall I explain why a hug melted my resolve?

Its a cold night. Its a horrible feeling to know your unwanted. I must repeat it till it changes. People at work, people at home, I don't like people. I don't like anyone. I'm just tired of this. Everything I do is so pointless, where does it all go? This moment, these words, these feelings, the people, does anything matter? I have tried and tried and tried repeatedly to be hopeful and believe and to keep hope alive for others but I can't anymore and I have no "reasons" to support my "argument". Its my life and its not a session in court. My stomach aches when I think there are others like me typing in the dark to this black hole that gulps our words.

At the end of everything all that happens is loss. I've lost not love but a friend and more friends. I've lost trust. I've lost patience and hope. I can't trust these faces. Not one. I don't want them to deal with me. They don't have to. I'm not their responsibility. I'm on my own in my dark room. Accepting the truths I need to accept and growing up to the real. My days are only evidence of how I avoid the truths and the loneliness, distract myself with trivial activity and move onto nothing that is certain. I don't know why I have to move on, I don't know why things had to change.

Vincent, I wish I could write like Leo or Scritch or Loony. They write about their lives, about work and cold days or longing for love but they don't feel so sorry for themselves. I try to look at myself like another but that makes it worse. I like how these guys are intelligent and sorted in their way of telling their story. Self mocking and entertaining. Underneath it all one can see that they are not the happiest people but they have things to do , people to meet, lives to live. May be they are just grown up and I'm stuck with this tag.

I think I want to hang out with a few my age who are willing to speak their mind who don't see age as a defining factor for anything. I want to meet people who don't meet people they don't want to meet, whom they don't like, whom they find below their IQ level. And yes, I can't take jokes about this anymore. Lets just find another way of humiliating me can we?

Vincent, tell me what is this life led crying to sleep worth? What is the life lived alone worth? What is the life writing angry words worth? Is there something valuable in this existence, in this moment where I'm writing something nobody cares about? What are these words strung together worth if they are not great literature for people to read.

I'm in the middle of people with beliefs opposite of mine. I believe in feelings, in happiness and in love. I'm around people who see life through reason, like goals they can achieve by chalking out a plan. You are so mistaken. you haven't wrecked a life, no you can't but you have made me think enough about mine. Stop lying to yourself. Stop being boring to belong. Stop limiting yourself. Stop seeing life through other peoples eyes. You need to see what you want to do. Its in your eyes. You want something better, but better according to what other people think. You can't let go of what you are for other people now, you can't change that image of you minus the pain. You are not getting better. But here's some luck for your way.

I don't care about what you think behind your eyes. In the maze of veins what passes is not my concern. I was conscious today of what I said, I felt I was indeed very young for your ways. I'm too young to let go of all the possibility I see in life. Too young to accept sarcasm and the nothing really matters attitude entirely. I'm too young to edit these long passages of truth I write. I'm too young to play safe. I am my spontaneity and my honesty.

yours,
Miss Tu Yung
from China

PS: Saturday, July 7th, 2007 PST

Virgo (Aug 23 - Sep 22)

A new approach in your dealings with an intimate partner or a business associate might be enough to change a difficult dynamic. But don't expect to make gains without some sort of uncomfortable confrontation. Once you put your feelings out into the open, others will be able to engage you on a very real level and this can make all the difference in the world.

The dreamer, the absent-minded and the idle.

The dreamer sometimes falls into a well, but he is said to get out of it afterwards. And the absent-minded man has also in compensation, his lucid intervals. He is sometimes a person who has his reasons for being as he is, those are not always understood at first, or are unconsciously forgotten most of the time, from the lack of interest. A man who has been tossed to and fro for a long time, as if he were tossed on a stormy sea, at last reaches his destination: a man who seemed good for nothing and incapable of any emplyment, any function, ends in finding one, and becoming active and capable of action, he shows himself quite different from what he seemed at first. I write somewhat at random whatever comes to my pen. I should be very glad if you could see in me something besides an idle fellow.
Because there are two kinds of idleness, that form a great contrast. There is a man who is idle from laziness and from lack of character, from the baseness of nature. You may if you like take me for such a one.

Then there is the other sort of idle man, who is idle in spite of himself, who is inwardly consumed by a great longing for action, yet does nothing because it is impossible for him to do anything, because he is seems to be imprisoned in some cage, because hes doe not posses what he needs to make him productive, because the fatality if circumstances bring him there: such a man does not always know what he could do, but he feels by instinct: all the same I am good for something, my life has an aim after all, I know that I might be quite a different man! How can I then be useful, of what service can I be! There is something inside of me, what can it be?

Excerpt from the Letters of Vincent Van Gogh edited by Mark Roskill for fellow citizens idling their youth away.

James,
the times in Bangalore are tough.
I hear things that hurt.
I know they don't intend to but
the shades changes like the phases of the moon,
from the gentle soak, I feel the chill of the melting glaciers in the bathroom. From 24hr company to no one at all in a switch.
I strive to better. Better my home, better my skill. Competition is what keeps me alive, it makes me feel I'm ok, I'm good and I'm worth living.
Music fills the air of my treasured home to provide me company as I type to people countries away.
Its a pity that we share so little with the people near us. May be if we meet and talk we'll hate each other forever. Irrepairable damage may be caused. Do you fear meeting someone you share your everyday with?
Is there something to do with the names begining with J? James, Jen, Jyoti and Javed?
Should I look for a Joseph, Jasmine or Jaimini to understand me? Talk to me? Be patient with me?

I miss having someone to make feel better also. Its a good way to reassure yourself of help. I know, if I can help someone there will be help for me. I'm not mad, I don't need psychological treatment. Just a hug once in a while, and a person to talk to and hear. How awkward and indulgent one can feel to call someone to say "I'm sick, I'm unwell, not feeling well, or feeling unloved, worthless, feeling responsible of making others unhappy". So you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, reading a book, praying, feeling the aches of your body numbing your thoughts till you fall asleep because you can't call someone and no one is going to know.

Life has it way to make grow up and stop crying your heart out.

yours,
Dee

guess who's back (for a bit)

Virgo (Aug 23 - Sep 22)

Your irrational emotions are aroused today by a close friend or family member. Current activities stimulate memories that may make you nostalgic. This is a moving experience for you as you must leave your fantasies behind and fully engage with your feelings intact. Don't hide your desires. Although denial can take the edge off the day, it will also prevent you from breaking through to new ground.

I'm HOME!
I'm in Bombay! Its Bombay! Its not so much nostalgia how much it is the joy of familiarity. I know the streets, the people, and it feels like I never left it. I think my father really missed me, its all over his face. I hate to be going back because of how he feels and I really don't have any emotional attachment to Bangalore, it has changed significant people in my life. I've trusted a lot of people from that city and regretted that, and I know this is not the last time. Anyway... I'm HOME! My computer is here. My mother used alphabets from the calender and fixed the keyboard so its as funky as a ransom letter. Its my style also, I loved it instantly. I don't feel settled, half of me is in Bangalore, with K and BBB and whitey the car chasing dog. I'm a collector, I've collected these people and built them little shrines in my memory. I don't know where they keep me. BBB, I'm sure I'm out of his blinkered view there just about enough place for one person and camera. Whitey for sure remembers me. May be BBB's mommy does, because she doesn't have to force me to eat. May be the rickshawala who corned me does remember me and laugh about it. But I give everyone a pocket, and like this fact in a bittersweet sense. These pockets are accessible and you can be lost in one or more of them. I really don't know what I'm doing where I'm heading, but I'm walking.
yours truly,
walkway girl

just a thought.

I love how even the Internet gives up on me. Just when you want to post to your blog, it walks out on you. My last way of connecting to the world when I want to say things to people but to no one in particular for them to feel I’m latching on them. Isn’t this the safest way to communicate? Isn’t this why online dating picked up so soon? Why online social networking is the next big thing to Paris Hilton’s sex tape, and why we’re so comfortable with Gtalk?

Miss Dispensable’s dump site.

These words I want to leave here to save myself from thinking them, saying them and playing them in my head.

My house, my home, my hollow, my hole.
And I thought I was okay
but it takes just one song to make it all turn around.

Unknown Artist – Untitled Track

It’s a song of no significance actually, just that the last time I heard
it I was holding someone close to me. Singing.
These are moments that may not be very long or intense as the present
but as memories they are as potent as home made wine
from Noon wine, Church Street, Bangalore.

There are not too many memories of all of you.
There is no face that I picture when I think of you.

You , and you and then you.
There are no memories of your touch.
But there are
and it hurts to be alone again.

Is there something I do to be like this repeatedly?
I know good things happen to good people, I've said it
enough to believe it, but I don't know if I'm one of those people

Because at the end of it all, I’m alone in this city with very few people
I can call at 2am in the night.

Its not about a ear, or a shoulder, or company.
Its not about a particular man anymore. Or my parents. Or my friends.
Its just… everything, me, the time of the day,
The door, the music, the food, the climate, love, life, everything.

I don't know what I feel when I cry anymore.
I cry. Its an all absorbing activity, all senses surrendering to the sovereignty of the pain.
I cry missing someone to hold, sometimes thinking of happiness, sometimes thinking of nothing, sometimes listening to other people's stories, sometimes because everything is so beautiful and painful like a movie, like a walk in the park, like a lake.

I'm difficult to like me. I understand. But why?
Every time I look in the mirror, I see a girl, who doesn’t really look harmful, but there are
so many words that make me question that belief. What is it that I do?

What makes me so dispensable?

Each one to their own happiness…

Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on.
Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on.
d.r.e.a.m. u.n.t.i.l. y.o.u.r. d.r.e.a.m. c.o.m.e.s. t.r.u.e.

what about mine?

Dream on – Aerosmith.

Ok, I know I have been away for very long with no news of my adventures. I must say my adventures were as interesting as making Maggi (instant noodles) in a microwave. If my life was a song by Madonna it would begin something like this...

I don't have no Rudigore,

we love each other no more.

What rises, peaks falls to the floor,

is usually sealed by a slamming door.

I'm a little lost with blogging and hoping to find it soon... so lets begin with the updates. I have finally graduated. I got a first class with 65.33% which is good for the way I studied and the way I gave my exams. Note. I'm working or finding myself work to do gradually in this whole new city I have earlier seen as a hill station. Work is painting t-shirts for a sale we are planning to have and making digital collages for the walls of an IT food court. I have been away for home for a month and a half. The Rudigore I thought would support me has now given up on me. (look up an Irish dictionary called Healy J. for the meaning of Rudigore) Last night, I moved into my very own, but I really mean rented apartment. So, people from Bombay wanting to visit Bangalore for concerts can find themselves a place to stay. I'm being told by my Irish sources that I've been moving mountains here, but that's far from the truth. I have been lazy, almost on honeymoon since I arrived till a few2 days back when life turned around to give me a rude shock. I lost my wallet with a lot, A LOT of money , my debit card, my Nataraj pendant I bought from Nepal, my Bombay sim card, a photograph with my sister, a photograph of Arshad, Shaun and Mahima respectively, my railway id, a whole lot of bus tickets and bills. I wonder how all of this fits in that wallet! My wallet was a work of art, made in jute but street children and an NGO. Miss you.

Beyond that pile of gibberish, I must say that a new house is not easy to handle, a new house with a fridge and a computer with Internet connection, a kitchen where you can stand and cook! (if you are amazed, you haven't seen apartments in Bombay, they are famous as matchboxes.) I live near Ulsoor lake and right now I can hear the birds outside. At night I could hear the dogs, but lets be optimistic.

I'm kicked about this task by Mahima which is to make a friend and keep in touch with them everyday for a year. My Irish friend and me have been there but its not something that was intended, its one of the magical things that happened. So... If anyone is interested in me the mountainmover, feel free to email.

lotsa love,
yours truly,
miss unedited.

PS: blog changes coming up as soon as i finish downloading Firefox.

The photograph is and old turkish window which has travlled half the world to come here and an original print of an old Opera Posterfrom my new house. For more pictures visit my flickr account.

Its just heavenly to listen to Norah Jones echo in MY house at 9 in the morning. Its sad that I can't share this with anybody. Come! VISIT ME!

The walkway girl

Walking into the colours
walking one step at a time
walking away from the city
that never sleeps on time
walking a path ever changing
walking nevertheless
walking slow not steady
walking smiling
dreaming hoping
loving wanting
seeking showing
comforting oddly
seldom balancing
but walking nevertheless

the artist the lover the observer the keymaker the magician

inspiration trickles in when no one is watching,
when you are alone
and quiet inside

It jumps over drains
and stirs clothes on clothes lines
it hisses like passing cars
and shines like street lights

It soothes like a warm bath
and engulfs you
surrounds you.

Inspiration is so much like love.

Thats not how i meant to start writing today.
These days I have no time to think about what I want to write or plan. I've read the comments people have left on the mail and haven't been able to reply. I'm sorry. I feel busy just being these days.

Todays post is about a conversation I had more than a couple of years ago with a recurring figure called J. I was listening to John Mayer while doodling on the newspaper when I remembered what J and I once discussed on our way back from a film festival in the middle of crowded local train. I could only see his bright eyes and spikey hair between the distance of one arm and the other of men in the Virar fast.
He said, "Are you an artist?"
I said, "I don't know. These days anybody is an artist. Thats what I like to think but what I hear is that an artist is actually one who practices art, does it with skill."
He said, "Thats rubbish"

And I knew I didn't have anything to support my belief. It was something I had come to believe because of assuming and trusting people, the ever-important they. Even today when I'm looking for work in a city as a designer and showing people my sketches I hesitate to say I'm an artist. Its so easy to hide being the amateur, the student, the experimenting kid.

I want to be an Artist. I'm on my way.

Although one question still remains, who is an artist? Someone who enjoys art, the daily life, the beauty, the peculiarity of everything? The detailer, the one who is sensitive and patient enough to carefully observe every minute detail and relish it. The one who can reproduce these details in his/her own way, with his/her own associations? Is the artist an escapist or a dreamer? Does it matter? Is the artist a trickster like Plato would say? Is the artist a griever for no grief? like my shrink once said? Is the artist a lover? Is the artist a well of images, bits of paper and music? Is the artist a dust bin soaking everything others throw away? Is the artist a collector of slices of the cake of life, freezing and capturing moments and making them immortal?

yours truly,
miss unedited.
this post is unedited not re-read
to maintain a certain flavour
of honesty and spontaneity.

I don't like Mondays.

Emma was a cornflake girl
she left home to find a new world
but this a this a this is not
really happening?

You bet your life it is.
The song I'm listening to
a little differently.
(changed the second line)

I've been away from home
since 11th May
but it doesn't feel like it.
Bangalore is a pretty city.
The weather is great,
the food is different and cheap
the people are better than Dilli,
fewer even.
Its a small city with lots of trees and parks.
I have not walked out alone as yet.
Somehow Dilli's laziness seems to carry on.
I've been reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron.
Tomorrow I begin my first assignment from the book.
Have not written or doodled for the last week.
I feel like a peice of furniture,
dependent on someone else to make my
life purposeful.
All interesting thoughts welcome *hint for Jen and M*
This post has been sooo entertaining I know,
but thats how I am right now.

My slow day in Dilli

IIMC exam. JNU sight seeing and Mausaji's office.

click to enlarge
Mausaji = my mother's sister's husband.

These things I shouldn't say.pictures clicked by Yours Truly. Pictures 1,3 and 4 from Humari Dilli May 2007

Humari= Ours

The Good Life?

Dilli has made life strange and lazy. Hours spent in bed in boredom. No reason as such but the focus of life seems to be the future. I seem to dead my brain and crawl along life. I haven't shopped like the postcard suggests, because the focus of life is the future. The thoughts running through my head are like words of a sufi song, few and haunting.
Yours truly,
restless and worried.

Almost famous in Humari Dilli

Dilli life is slow when you come here from Bombay. But today has been a day of finds.
I was watching National Geographic in the morning because well... I don't like news channels. (Oh! there are enough reasons. Ok... If you insist, 1. My parents put on the news channel really loud in the morning and the house feels like a chawl. Secondly, a minute of exposure to the channels supplies us with enough violence to ruin our day. 3. I'm not interested in AB's baby's wedding, nor Jhanavi.) 4. I like reading a newspaper once in a while. Coming back to the National Geographic Channel, the show was about babies, not AB's but twins - fraternal, Siamese and mirror image twins, multiple children and their birth. The effects of pre-natal environment on their behaviour patterns. Not as boring as it seems. There were interesting thoughts like most eggs are fertilised to give birth to twins, or more than one baby (like in animals) but we, er, the ones who are born might have killed them early at birth. Our instincts are to take nutrition and anything that restricts it can be gotten rid of. Not too much of this was discussed (obviously). The focus was the birth cycle of twins, triplets and quads.
Mirror image twins are fascinating, unlike twins who resemble each other these are mirror images of each other, even to the extent that if one twin is right handed the other is left and if the heart of one twin is located in the left side of the chest, the heart of the other is in the right!

Then life dragged again, Dilli style till I decided to listen to the radio on my very sparkling new phone. After switching radio channels for 45 mins I heard the word "blogging". Now this I couldn't miss. Chhavi joined RJ Jeena on 104.8 fm to talk about blogging. Chhavi is an internationally acclaimed blogger who has written 23 blogs or so she denied :P The songs were boring, and the time too little to really talk about something significantly deep that's what kept you at it. See, no one can handle too much gyaan on the radio with bad voices. But Chhavi has a great voice and must consider the Radio as a career option. She was waaaaaaaay better the RJ. Why am I telling you all this? Like all narcissistic and self obsessed people who love to blog, I'm telling you this because I, Yours truly, am involved in something big and significant, deep and important! Well... I hesitated and tried to come up with a question just to be involved in this. All I could think about was the future of my grandchildren, them inheriting all the revenue generated by my blog. I called, knowing somehow I would get through because they had announced the number 289 times already. Also, in Humari Dilli, I don't know of many people who are not sleeping or working, (same difference) at 4:3o ish in the afternoon.
and the voice said (it still felt like the radio!) You're on air!
And I was 2 feet about Delhi Ground Level, nervous at first then a little better, they spoke to me about me knowing I'm a little nervous perhaps and in all this drama I forgot about my grandchildren and their right to inheritance.

I have, however, emailed Chhavi the following:

Dear Chhavi,

I really enjoyed listening to you at the show on the radio today.
I meant to ask you a question but this was my first call to the radio
and I forgot.
My question is actually linked to a fantasy I have.
I began writing diaries a little earlier than the blog hoping that my grandchildren would have something to inherit since I know I'm going to be poor all my life. Now, diaries I know will stay, the pages may yellow and get dog ears but they are physical. As for blogs I'm not sure if my grandchildren will be able to google chamko rani to find me 50 yrs later.

What will happen to all these valuable posts then? Should bloggers so obsessed with their life or making property for their future generations to inherit make backups for their blog posts?

Lotsa love,
chamki
of chamkorani.blogspot.com

I want to do a Sketchcrawl in Dilli.
This is something M and me were planning to do around Colaba and Bandra in Bombay, India but now we are in two differen countries and I need to look for people to do this with me simply because it will be fun to do it with people.
I'm open to a sketchcrawl around Cannaught Place, Delhi. If YOU are interested send me an email and we can meet for some sketchcrawling on the 19th of May 2007.

Here is the info on how to do a sketh crawl from the sketchcrawl website:

The idea of SketchCrawl is that of a global drawing marathon: taking a day to journal and draw all that is around you.

How to participate to a World Wide SketchCrawl?

-Look around the forums and see if anyone in your area is getting together for the upcoming SketchCrawl (we set dates every 2 or 3 months).
-If not, put a call out to artists in your city or town.
-If no one responds to your call, you can still go out on the SketchCrawl day and draw away solo (you'll actually get more drawing done that way).
-Then be sure to come back to these forums after the SketchCrawl, share your sketches and experiences and peruse through drawings of fellow "crawlers" from all over the world.

In brief, these forums have those two goals:

1- Get artists together and organized for the upcoming Sketchcrawl.
2- Share artists' sketches and photos from all over the world after the SketchCrawl.
3- Create a community of friends passionate about drawing around the world.

There are no rules:
-Anyone can participate, be it to draw for 20 minutes or the full day .
-Any level of ability is welcome from veteran artists to first time sketchers.
-Any age! Try it with your kids!

From time to time we try and raise funds for a good cause. On those special SketchCrawl we ask this global drawing community to come together and give something back to the world.

- A key thing, help us spread the word!
If you are reading this, I am sure you have a number of friends that might be interested in this as much as you are. Tell them about SketchCrawl! Let's share this idea with the rest of the globe. No borders.

Thanks for your support. Let's draw and share !

#450 Bombay to Delhi

I'm leaving for Delhi this afternoon. Its been hours of packing, ironing, sorting and thinking. It didn't hit me till this ominous moment. Nick Drake reminds me I'm going to be leaving Bombay. I don't know how long its going to be. May be I'll be back soon, like next month, or may be not. There is a part of me that doesn't want to leave. I've lost the comfort of college. I hated it but there were always people to meet beyond this gate. M and Pallu.gate to college hostel

I'm just so used to this space, the sea, my room, my computer, the people, the food places, the raddiwala, the ganna (sugarcane) juicewala, my cycle, my stuff, the air, the moon, the view, my plants, the comfort, the stuff that I haven't noticed. But its time to go. Try another city baby, sings Nick Drake as a type.

this is my room last monsoons. It looks different now.

Its not so much leaving the city that is adding to the silence of tonight, its the beginning of a period of newness, uncertainty and change. I will need to think of things to fill my day with. Perhaps a job or more studying, dance training, money making, creative idling. New people!
New influences. Imagine my life without a scanner. Pictures I click and drawings I make will not be able to make it to the blog. So I leave you with a picture of the Bombay I see from my window. The Bombay that's in my head.

And the story of the world.

“Their grades will determine their job, their house and their car.”

I don't feel an urgency to excel in this sense anymore. I don't see a need to work with people I don't agree with. I don't know if its a good thing.Don't give me that sentence...you know how that sentence goes ... You'll have to do it someday OR but thats what life is...

Read.

The Story of me.

On the 23rd of August in the year 1986 when I was born, the Pandit said "Dramatic people should have big names" and I was named Divyavibha Sharma. (I hated my name. It wasn't Divya or Vibha, or something cooler.) I never understood what the connection was. Clearly at 5 feet 3, I'm not dramatically big or exciting. At most stores I needed to hop through the kids section till a few months back. Anyhoo, I must quickly get to the long story I want to narrate. Today, 7th May 2007, 20 years later, was supposed to be my last college exam. An exceptionally calm morning it was, I made scrambled eggs for breakfast, read the newspaper, picked a parcel I needed to courier, even shampooed my hair after oiling. Exit stage left, cut to Sophia College Gate. As I pulled out my ID card to show the watchman, the sky darkened, thunder and lightening set the mood, angry violins screeched and bats flew by, I had forgotten my Hall Ticket at home.. for the benefit of my Irish readers a Hall Ticket is the little piece of paper that marks your destiny at a University examination. Pan right: shot of girl running in pink skirt with strawberries against the pink walls of the college. They said, "Which college are you from?"
I said, "This one."
They said, "Shouldn't be a problem then."
I believed it till I met Mrs. Meena who said
"What? You've given sooo many exams my child, this is not done. You must go back home and get it. I'll let you enter late and give you half an hour extra even. No no-no-no ... What if they find out, I'll be responsible, I can't do this!"
I said, "I live in Bandra! %#$@*% Its 1 hour away, 2 hours to go and come back."
She said, "This is a University examination, not your college exam. Show me your ID card."
(Enter John, the hammal with my ID card. Yes! I had dropped it somewhere.)
"What's this? What's Chamki? Why does it say Chamki?"
I said, "Ma'am, thats just a rubber stamp, my name is in pen- Divyavibha Sharma"
She said looking at my pink skirt, "You are too casual!"
and casual felt like an insult.
Cut to shot of teary eyed girl running away from Mrs. Meena towards PCO. I was out of calling credit!
"Papa, I've left the Hall ticket at home, get to college, its the bus stop after Jaslok Hospital."
Runn n n n n n n n n n
She said, "Sorry, can't enter without Hall Ticket"
I said, "Let me write, don't take my answer sheet if my Hall Ticket doesn't arrive." (somewhere I know James Bond smiled.)
She said, "Fair enough"

I fished through my bag to look for a pen. You know by now whats coming... yus yus, I didn't have a pen on me. Runn n n n n ...Pareen Bookshop. L.o.c.k.e.d. There were a some girls at the stairs of the Science Building.
I said desperate, "Can you give me a pen, I have my exam now and the bookshop is shut. Please!"

One red and silver, Kingfisher airlines ball point pen promptly appeared. It's a miracle!
2 and a half hours later I was the first person to leave because my brain and my hands were still run n n n n n ing top speed.

I might not get fantabulous marks but I know one thing for sure, I deserve to be called Divyavibha Sharma.

my tarot life

Feel free to give me a reading for the month of May.
You don't have to be a tarot reader, use your imagination.
The deck: tarot of the metamorphosis.

One of the many things you can’t say to that someone.
I will be okay without you.
I won’t be okay without you.

Last night's 3 by 3 art. I hate the scanner for making the crazy flourescent pink a harmless baby pink. A wall full of these should be interesting.

#444

I don't know how things go wrong. I don't know how I stopped saying things, writing them, lost the touch of words. I never considered myself skilled but I knew I was honest. Now, I feel things slipping by, one after the other like tears. There is never silence. There are sighs, thoughts and words of songs. One long constant sigh. You know I always thought this kind of dramatic life always belonged to a genius, an artist or a poet. Its because we got to know about their lives. Look at me, how will you know what I feel if you only know this happy pink blog. Does anybody know us till we shout it our loud? Do we ask how things are? Do we want to hear their answer? Age, wisdom, maturity, intelligence, success, happiness, what are these worth without sensitivity? What are we if we can't be happy? No. I don't want to talk about happiness today. Its not my job to make you happy. I've tried. I've wanted. I've believed I'm capable of it. But today, I'm sad. I'm sad for myself. I ought to think about myself for I'm just another person am I not? and who will? Will you? Do you know what it is to be me? I'm not saying its special, but you just don't know. No one will know if I stop breathing in bed today. Neither will I know if you do. We call it a small world, don't we? I've said my sorry. But we stand apart. You and me. Its such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy. Nobody said it would be this hard. I don't want you to tell me you love me. I don't want you to promise me to be there forever. I just want you to sit by my side without being drunk, or stoned. I know it wont happen. I'm moving on. I'm leaving my dreams behind. I don't want a house and a pond with you and our time. I don't want anything. I don't want to care, because I've done that. I've seen that I keep writing to you and you only reply to be polite. Is there never a thought of me in your mind? Is there not even a memory that makes you think of me? Is there not a reason to call? Must I spend all my time with my thoughts? But I'm going to change, against my will. Just like everyone else who seem to have adjusted to the world. I'm going to stop caring about you because somewhere deep down in my heart that makes me want you to care for me, a little like I do for you.

words of the song i'm listening to.
Coldplay.

I've been doing things. Looking at everyone move ahead in life while I idle away my youth. Usually it wouldn't bother me to idle away my youth, I think myself privileged but now free time to think is trouble. I sleep to escape and find myself awake way to early everyday. My life is number on the postcrossing site. All that makes me happy is when someone gets a postcard and I get to ask for another address to send a postcard to. Nothing excites me, not ice cream, not shopping, not music. Movies affect, ice cream cools me down and interesting members of the opposite sex offer conversation and an escape, but thats not enough. But this can't be me. What's wrong? I don't know. Another dream with an elevator, hair cut by a friend who was doing it for the first time, hot days, no mother at home. I've been doing things I say. But I don't want to tell you. I will anyway, because I'm pathetic. I talk in riddles instead. I don't like you much. You listen and you run away. You never hug or hold or talk or call. I can be happy I know, but I'm not. I can be happy (may be) without all of you but I rather be with you. I realise I'm not prepared to be alone. I can't be. But I should be, because You will not be there. No particular you, just all of you.

The search is over. I have found him. He is the watchman of the building opposite mine. Its love. I ran across the road. Spoke to him. Asked him to teach me. He is nepalee. He has the sweetest voice. I got my first flute lesson.

timro,
chamki

PS: M!
I knew it had to be nepal love.

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

size 3.5 x 3.5 inches

+ postcross +

These are the stamps I have collected in one month with Postcrossing . I think more and more people should join + Postcrossing + . Its a great way to send mail and receive mail. I'm in love with the guy who owns the site. Today has been a great day, all from making art, talking and whistling to parrot and playing badminton. Good days!

Tagged by Steamroller

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:
Marks of stitches right next to my right eye. Hit a cycling kid when I was 6, it was red with still blood not flowing Tarantino style. Got stitches 3 or 5.

2. What is on the walls in your room?
2 pictures of me when I was 3 and 4. A painting Dhi made and signed with pall point pen at the back. Pin wheels, butterfly clips, radium glow in the dark fish and sea creatures which freak me out at night sometimes.

3. What does your phone look like.
White, simple flap bought only because of the design. I appreciate a good design. Features none.


4. What music do you listen to?
Sounds, mood makers, silence, a car splashing clogged drain water, Aazaan - muslim call for prayer and my favourite is distant flutewala.

5. What is your current desktop picture?
It was my Dad's photograph on London Bridge but now its Ace of Swords from the Sacred Rose Tarot Deck.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
A house with a little grass a swing and a fence. Tiny pond can follow. Also, a guy who wants to live with me and I want to live with him.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
whats there to believe?

8. What time were you born?
4:55 in the evening.

9. Are your parents still together?
yes.

10. What are you listening to?
Right now? Jack Johnson - Fortunate Fool.

12. The last person to make you cry?
BBB and his ex.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
Oceanus by Body shop and my homemade perfume.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
Bright eyes, ones that I want to look at and not shy away. Hair colour? Anything from black to white to none.

15. Do you like pain killers?
No. I never take them. I sleep instead.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
Always. I've never asked anyone, they somehow know, I make it too obvious.

17. Fave pizza topping?
I've had pizza 5 times in my life. Today was the 5th time.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Chocolate ice cream, or kiwi ice cream, or 21 love ice cream.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?
BBB.

20. Is anyone in love with you?
Yes.

I pass the tag to Mahima (please?) , Pallavi (don't be fussy), James(c'mon you can do it), Aneesh (See! now you have something to write) and Chini (get to it maaan!)

Thank you

+postcrossing+

+post+

+ ditto +

+postcrossing this postcard soon+

In the moment postcards for postcrossing. We (Chini and me) cut up images randomly and pasted them on ugly postcards to make these new postcards. I'm quite thrilled with these because when I stuck them together I didn't see a connection, its only later that I figured that any image simply because its adjacent to another image will add to the story or contrast and therefore add to the story. So here is the postcards with Chini series.

+ Postcross +

This is what the next postcrosser will get from me.
I'm not very happy with how this looks but
I'm doing collages without thinking now to try new stuff.

Grow a Shangai

Today's morning page. I think this will look good on a wall.

I bought a book to cut up words for collages. This is what it says.

Kindly Read

Harrison Bergeron

by Kurt Vonnegut (1961)

Originally Posted by Rudder Mass

My worry

bigger than me.

XT experiment # 258

Step 1. Take some powdered salt in a bowl with water and turmeric.
Step 2. Keep the proportion of salf and water 1 : 1.5
Step 3. Now put this smaller bowl in a bigger bowl filled with water out in the sun.
Don't drown the smaller bowl in the bigger bowl. This step is actually quite pointless just that it looks good and feel like you are involved in a complex chemical process.
Step 4. Watch it everyday.

A few days later you will see neat crystals like crystals of sugar formed in the smaller bowl, the bigger bowl will just be dry. For best results do this is a vessel you plan to dispose.
I did this experiment in 2 earthen bowls. Turmeric was added only to give colour and protect from fungii.

I wish I could click a picture and show you the neat crystals. I'm totally fascinated. Its like making crystals for your house. All on your own.

Taking cue from A black and white Steamroller in Calcutta
I present to you
(on a sucky day)
my very own quiz.
Please feel free to take it even if you don't think you know me.
I'm sure you underestimating your powers.
I'm pretty porous.

The Big Bad Quiz of Ugly monsters

April 13th, Friday.

This is why i am not getting a haircut. Click on the image to enlarge. Xia Aifeng, 36, combs her hair in China. She has grown her hair to the length of 7.94 feet. Xia has never cut her hair since she was 20 and she spends 90 minutes to wash her hair once a week. (Once a week! In China you can probably do that, not at my address in Grimewich) I have been growing my hair since August 2005. I plan to trim the edges though, but at home. Anybody interested in voluntaring?

Call now ! Offer valid only while stocks last. (yes, I'm also balding with worry and lack of love.)


Also, the useless fact of the day : Who decided to call the fear of Friday the 13th Paraskevidekatriaphobia! Just tell me who!

If I were a painter.

I made this while listening to Norah Jones' Painter Song. But I heard the words a little wrong. My head changed reverie to run away. Wonder why?

The words are:

If I were a painter
I would paint my reverie
If that's the only way for you to be with me

We'd be there together
Just like we used to be
Underneath the swirling skies for all to see

And I'm dreaming of a place
Where I could see your face
And I think my brush would take me there
But only...

If I were a painter
And could paint a memory
I'd climb inside the swirling skies to be with you
I'd climb inside the skies to be with you

A face from the magazine I cut up earlier this morning.
If you know who she is and what she does please tell me.
In return I shall make a drawing of you.
I could google, but thats too easy.

this is what happens when you have bugs in the software

PS: I think I need a bumbi

junk food for the soul

Todays morning collage. Anything makes a story doesn't it? Didn't notice the words till I put it here.
To gain access -Look- hunk - stylish- lust - of course must love-you, you , you - Age : 25 Birthday: 20th September - hot - am that i not a - with just the - one big open person - everything of it, I'm all - pleasures banish your blues today.

Algiers makes it to the Indian newspaper right when I was listening to the song~
Coincidence? I think not. Today marks the beginning of a special celestial alignment.

Chamki exits stage right singing~
See the market place
In old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs
Just remember
When a dream appears
You belong to me

Blaah conversation with the Steamroller

Chamki : morons and hormones
there must be a link somewhere
why they look they look so similar

Steamroller: uhuh

guys of today

hahaa

i dunno

seriously

its pissing offf.very veryvery.

aaj kal ke ladke

Chamki : we were younger and more sure of what we wanted from our dealings with people, as in we were just jumping into things

now~ its this I-Dont-Know-what-we-are. We didn't know then either but that didn't stop us, eventually we figured it out.

Steamroller: which used to be a lot better

Chamki : Guys! We are not asking you these things just stick to the good things of now.

Steamroller: i know i know , youre telling me, and im nodding away

Steamroller: so is this how it is ? they have all the right in the world to shoot personal questions towards us

Steamroller: an dthe minute we ask them anything remotely close/personal , they flip ?

and then , its our fault?

and then , never mind?

chamki: and then we feel stupid about not shutting our traps or having a smart reply available

Steamroller: F*****

EXACTLY MY POINT

i feel like such a jackass

Steamroller: and then I tell meself, "shut up, how can you be so melodramatic? "

chamki: we are these drama queens who need to have a statuary warning before we say what we REALly want to say

like you know this is going to be silly but I was just thinking....

WHy!

why do we even care ! Why the ribbon and lace,
Get to the point and be strict with the guys you want around

Steamroller: why??

and why do we have to apologise?

all the time?

Steamroller: we dont have to

chamki: but we do!

obsessive compulsive disorder

A little while later

Steamroller : I'm becoming a manhater and no one cares.

Chamki: i think half the time guys approach women because well hormones, and admit it , any woman is pretty then sometimes there is some interesting conversation and they think, wow thats a nice side order with my coffee

Steamroller: hormones

which is why i doubt men

now and then

I'm stealing time to make one drawing for today and rushing back to study. There is so much I wanted to say that I thought on my way home in the train.
Quickly I'll list it. Nandan has successfully convinced me that I'm not funny and that nothing I ever write, say or think is funny. I'm thinking about this day and night, I notice it every time I say something and I can't sleep. I'm NOT FUNNY! Oh! The pain in my heart!
Something I came up with at bath time in front of the mirror : "What begins with uncertainty, certainly ends" said Chamki when asked what she learnt from her past relationship (In some celebrity magazine years later) :P Another thing at bath time was: Isn't it sexy to wear your jewellery to bath? Earrings, bangles, anklets, nose ring and toe ring. Its like bathing in a pond, all princess style. I think its a MUST-DO. There should be a mirror in your bathroom. Yes there must be.
There was something more, but I can't remember so ...

Never again shall I do this.

Don't ask me why I decided to draw Uddhav Thackeray. This morning I thought I would sketch the first face I saw in the newspaper. Unfortunately it was....