Friday, December 2, 2011


Day after Mahatma Gandhi died.

The chief immersion ceremony took place at Allahabad , in the United Provinces, at the confluence of the sacred Ganges, the Jumna and the Saraswati. A special train of 5 third class carriages left Delhi at 4 A.M. on 11 February; Gandhi always traveled third.

Reading Louis Fischer, The life of Mahatma Gandhi. After being stung by Agha Shahid Ali's poetry, which gave me the poetry fever and in the heat of which I bought myself Shakespeare and Modern Critical interpretations- A mid summer night's dream by Harold Bloom. I now regret for not having enough time to read, but definitely on my list of books to read in 2012 and if the world decides on not coming to an end I might have a chance of getting rid of my regret/s and feel a hollow sense of accomplishment. I now spend  my free time by drinking a couple of pages of this superb Biography before going to bed. Really.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

And in French

Still life- Red flowers and poppies, Gogh, 1890

                                                           Them, you and me
When we talk of love,
Why do we do?
Flowers and a crazy dove.

It got dull and boring
Hostel room, on a regular day
You and me, sat reading
in a dirty, rusting, sack of hay.

You thought it funny if
were awful smelly feet,
abruptly thrown in my lap
and gruff my read
swear I, you were to get a slap.

Smelled the reek of fish
Stale and fried
A surgeon’s pressure stockings
Never washed and dried.

Smiled sheepishly, you
folded them away.
Cooling my anger 
I minded my own way

On a day as today
I remember fondly
And if I look astray
its  cuz’ I miss you so badly.

I don't know
When they talk of love
Why do they do?
Flowers and an albino dove.

They have tried,
tried and tried again,
to fit it right. Unending quench.
in paintings, plays, songs,
and in French.

Nothing is more romantic
than a simple memory of you.
Now, that you’re across Atlantic
Don’t know how better to say,
I love you.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Easy, without drama.

Nino- Y-Gato, Joan Miro.
And simple.
Like afternoon tea. 
A day without T.V.
Lemonade from life's handpicked sour lemons. 
An ant swimming for the edge of a leaf, and crawling away to life again. 

 A quiet morning.

Going around a Gulmohar tree looking for flowers on the ground.
Looking for a buzz kill when you have to act sober, 
and not being able to find one.
Much like listening to Sting and trying to sleep.
First pair of eye glasses and the world wasn't blurry anymore.

Like Rain.

When you picked that flower from the ground and held it in your hands, it's colours so bright and new that everything else became non-descript. 
That moment.
But you didn't know what to do with it so, you tucked it in the back pocket of your rugged jeans. 
It now makes every place you go, look Beautiful. 
Like Love.

Monday, February 14, 2011


In a land of icons and tag lines Cupid isn't very happy. Blake tries to figure out why but his POV turns into a totally different yet refreshingly sane set of questions. Yes, even after  184 years of being dead he is still making sense. From the one who gave this blog it's name here's an amusing take on the icon of love.

A man tries to capture
“Jeune fille s’evadant”(Girl escaping) 
by Joan Miro.
Why was cupid a boy ?

Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.

And to make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan;
For a boy can't interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.

And then he's so pierc'd with cares,
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.

'Twas the Greeks' love of war
Turn'd Love into a boy,
And woman into a statue of stone--
And away fled every joy. 
 - William Blake, 1793.

Monday, February 7, 2011

FOB. (the film)

I wish it were spelt FAB.

From Apu to Aloo there's little that has changed for fobs and more importantly there's little they can do to change it. Here's a brilliant attempt (posted below), a 4 minute long film by Arati Misro

P.S.-I would've never posted a Youtube video here but I think this one qualifies as an exception. Or maybe because I was requested/suggested by the uploader to do so. It brings me to ask a rather unrelated question that why does it have a mocking 375 views? It's a decent film. I mean, definitely way better than those remotely funny rants which funnily though, for no proper reason known to mankind, get a million views (seriously, they make me wanna go back and check the dictionary for what really defines "funny"). But then we have superbly expressive uploads such as this one. Well, I guess it takes all kinds!

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Eat sound, sleep little.

For those who know the correct proverb, the title might sound silly or even cheeky. But, have to admit, it does make (some?) sense. Folks, this could very well be my last post about food on a decent and very bookish blog and I've decided that I'll not let it turn into a food diary. So, no more posts about food. I mean after this one ;p.

Here's a  picture of oatmeal Sponge cookies I made a while ago. The cookies didn't turn out to be very delicious but hey, they weren't bad. In fact totally edible. Anyway, I was looking for something in my chaotic/unorganized/eccentric/fitful/has-a-mind-of-it's-own  laptop and stumbled upon this picture. And oh ! I can't remember the recipe. For those interested in making it two words for you "Google it".

Monday, January 17, 2011

Where were you..

What is it like to fall in love with your favorite rock band all over again? I now know.
Coming back to life was, is and will remain my best liked song from Pink Floyd.
The lyrics get to me every time. Don't have the slightest idea why. Maybe because they're strikingly simple. Discounting the fact that simplicity IS the utmost sophistication.

There's something about the English musicians. They have so much soul. When Sting, endowed with an unprecedented talent for understanding the beauty of human vocals, topped the list of worst lyricists I can't possibly hint that they're the best. I am not even getting into a debate of the sorts. Not that I am afraid of it (avoidant maybe), definitely not offended by criticism, non-worshiping approach to my favorite artist, or opinions that do not match mine but still, the idea of scrolling down on a youtube video of my much loved band fills me with contempt. I mean what kind of a person dislikes this song!!
While I certainly cannot call Floyd the most talented band in rock history, they were certainly the greatest experimentators esp. with philosophical lyrics and engineered sounds.

An accidental encounter with my "once upon a time" most liked song has got me singing it night and day. Again.