deja vu

I am frustrated by my attempts at writing. I can't write without over-analysing, without embellishing my thoughts with useless words. I wonder why i bothered to keep this space at all. It is full of humbug nonsense. I cannot write honestly and may be that's because i'm fooling myself. The grand conspiracy is to hide from the truth of my own guilt-ridden, passive-aggressive existence. A lot of this mental torturing is self-inflicted, stifling honest self-expression. Censure my words, project a social demeanour and suffer in silence. Storyoflife.

all in a day

beedis make me high; portishead makes me depressed; gay talese eggs me on to write; DTDC 440 tests my patience; IHC is stuffy; autumn evenings are lovely; having a room of one's own is a luxury.

ode to autumn

autumn is here, ripe and mellow. the sun's rays are tempered gently through the soft, fluffy clouds that fill the sky. the evenings are cool and inviting. there is a slight nip in the air, reminding one of the approaching winter. the trees smell faintly of blooming flowers, whose names elude me. the half-eaten moon stands lonely against the raven coloured night. the boxed-in houses stand silhouetted against the faintly-visible twinkling stars. the scaffolding of the pujo pandals lie half-erected in the public parks. there is a quiet clam, a general sense of peace. durga pujo will be celebrated in a few weeks. calcutta, the city of eternal return will be amok with festivities. i will be here, walking these vague streets, unable to return. trailing me everywhere is this sinking feeling of melancholy and of bidding adieu. the only hope of a welcome is the warm winter of reunited lovers. 

when i see this blank page, i stop and think too deeply about what to write. the act of writing is like a burden that i must unload. writing, for me, entails a heftiness of being and a committment to pure thought and emotion. it becomes an exercise of the mind and of cool detachment. i want to be freed from the language of implied meaning and interpretative thought. i'd rather levitate in space than be grounded on paper.  how do i capture that lightness, that floating and fleeting quality of life? i do not think that this overly rational and calculated state of mind is any cause of hope but, no, i will write. let me defy the loss of words, let me claim this little blogspace, let me free my mind. endofstory.

bhabchi

i often find myself in the position of an armchair activist, comfortably dabbling with 'issues' that are distant from my social reality. i also find myself at unease with the sort of moral righteousness that comes with working on such issues. it is hypocritical and shambolic. the professionalisation of philanthropic/social work  has unwittingly led to a detachment of human empathy. we have become observers, purveyors and role-players. i am uncomfortable with the sort of proselytising and grand-posturing that comes with the baggage of 'development' and yes, jaded by the jargonising. the sense of deja vu that accompanies 'i've heard it all before' hits me hard in the face. five years into my professional life, i want to take a break and renew my thoughts, instead i find myself stuck.

Pinoo da lover is waiting outside, while i sit inside my new office. there is a pin-drop silence here with few words exchanged. my phone is loud and disturbing to the point i am embarrassed every time i receive or take a call. i could put it on silent but i prefer not to. the atmosphere is a bit sedate. i miss the buzz, the lively banter of my past office spaces. too much peace and quiet makes me even more restless. the full rhythm of work is yet to ensue instead there is a wait. the long journey ahead beckons and i wearily walk the line.

why read?

I am currently reading Pamuk's Other Colours where he discusses the acts of reading/ writing. In continuation of his thoughts, i am jotting down some of my reasons for reading:

I read for completeness of being, for clarity of thought, for peace of mind. I read to overcome my insecurities and fears. I read to be happy, in the moment of reading. I read to give myself some time. I read to find solace and solitude. I read out of a sense of inadequacy, to fill my mindspace with words that i hope will be my own. I read to understand my place in humanity. I read for pleasure and pain. I read to overcome boredom and drudgery. I read to be honest about life...

to call my own

The constant affliction of being "never at ease" (not restless, mind you) stems from both my partitioned selves, of being Punjabi and Bengali, residing uncomfortably within me. Neither Punjabiyat nor Sonar Bangla resonate with me. Such cultural references remains fragmented and distant in my consciousness. There is a pervading lack of rootedness and attachment in who i am. Instead there is a lingering sense of loss, of being a foreigner in one's own skin. In a certain sense, i am a cultural orphan--the freak of history. This is the blackhole of my life. I cannot undo my multicultural personhood but neither am i completely at ease with what it means. If identities are tightropes on which we delicately balance our being, then i am struggling to walk the line. So who am i? where do i belong? The tirade of questioning never ceases to confuse me. If what i identify with is purloined or borrowed, then is my insaniyat cultural theft? In that case, what a wretched fate.

sab kala

filling blank spaces with songs

dotting time with non-sequitur thoughts

living vicariously like in the movies

listening to Operator Love

sleeping on an half-empty belly

reading in-between moments

awakening to the spinning fan

surrounding silence 

there is the waiting, waiting, waiting...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fR8u4VAcis&feature=related

happy together

with you,  i have come to appreciate moments drawn from that long time-space continuum in which we ration our life. those little vignettes of me chasing you along the seashore; of that embrace when we both collapsed onto the bed, delirious at having discovered the joys of our bodies together; of the train journey when i pleasurably watched you sketch our erotic fantasies on paper...will these mindscapes vividly remembered with the passion of a bursting flames dissolve our pain? will they be our first gasping breath as we emerge from the drowning cesspool of our shared misery? will these pregnant moments consummated in the womb of our love overcome my self-delusional doubt? That i have no doubt.

state of mind

"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."- Jack Kerouac

Old Boy

This movie is brutal, devastating and painfully unforgiving in its portrayal of vengeance and human suffering. It takes you into the darkest depths of the human psyche, leaving you uncomfortably numbed with raging emotions of loss, retribution and sadistic pleasure. It would be no mean exaggeration to say that it has left me as a scarred, emotionally maimed viewer. Old Boy is undoubtedly an Oh Boy! movie experience, torturing your very soul.

everybody hurts, all the time...

in this age of sensitivity, is taking offence an alibi for complicity?

in this age of morality, is sexuality a weapon of choice to enslave and murder thee?

in this age of reason, is the power of eloquent argument the new decree?
in this age of hipster coolness, is being different the crucifix of identity?
in this age of modernity, is tradition the whipping boy who bleeds?
in this age of materiality, is the Spirit bound or free?
in this age of maya, is truth even a possibility?

seeking answered questions, finding an unanswered life....

minto-mashi-memories

memories of death//death of memories: what is death but the memory of living; the final resting place of our memories, tempering what can never be. 

a vocabulary of possibility

i come across these two words through friends. i did not know their meanings, so i looked up the dictionary and learnt of them. what stuck to me was the thought that words are beautiful, that they are the gatekeepers to our consciousness. words stitch our thoughts, texture our feelings, layer our understanding, embroider our emotions, cloth our life. it's simply incredible, this world of words that we inhabit and call our own. i cannot begin to tell you how excited i am.

• petrichor-a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather
• aposiopesis- the device of suddenly breaking off in speech

i don't want love

i don't want longing but your presence instead;
i don't want the desperation of what is left unsaid.

i want happiness and the thoughts we sacredly held.

i don't want comfort and company;
i don't want its mundane drudgery.

i want the moment and what it can be.

are you  even listening to me?

a common suffering made separate with distance; pinudas without free-flowing water and me without regular electricity. divided in neatly drawn lives, reaching out for the only succour we know. cruel summers, cold-hearted winters--braving years, weather and time. desires drowned in the waiting, restless at being awakened. chipping away fragments of memories to remind us of ourselves. the ticking heart clocks its motions, finally it lays to rest.

i could cry

Put your trust in me

I'm not gonna die alone

Put your trust in me

I'm not gonna die alone

I don't think so

As i type this, AnoB is on the train to Calcutta with her life in Delhi bundled up in little boxes to carry home with her. She will have no idea that i'm writing this and that i will miss the comfort of her company, her infectious laughter and her reassuring presence. That we might not live together was known but that she would eventually leave this city was not. I avoided this thought till it struck me like lightening this morning. All the people i love are far away from me, making it awfully hard to cope with.  I know that while we will all grow and branch out separately, our roots shall remain deep and unshakeable. This is the faith i have come to rely on from good friends, past and present. AnoB i hope you feel it too.

the beginner's playlist: indie electro love

Desire- Don't Call

Kavinsky- Nightcall

Chromatics- Back From the Grave

Grimes-Oblivion

College- A Real Hero

Charli XCX- Nuclear Seasons

Hot Chip-Flutes

Au Revoir Simone- Shadows

War Paint- Undertow

thought control

I read Kafka's parable 'Before the Law' (http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/kafka/beforethelaw.htm) last night before i slept and i was terribly unsettled by the tale. This small piece of writing evokes so many emotions of frustration, absurdity, helplessness that it is an altogether mindfucking read. I mean what a fucken existence is this? Strangely, i have no answer and this is making me slightly angsty right now. But making peace, sometimes, involves accepting a body of lies as life's truth. 

hello monday

Period crrrrramps ensured that i had a sleepless night. Besides constantly tossing and turning on the bed, i went to the toilet at least six times to relieve myself. Finally, i collapsed in the wee hours of the morning after forcing myself to vomit. The heat and dust woke me up and i find myself in an uneasy state; my stomach's woozy, my eyes strained, my lips dry and my body drained. An inglorious beginning to the working week. oooffffffffffff!

photo-op

Shantiniketan Express; en route to Calcutta; circa April 2012

start me up

I feel A L I V E after listening to this song.

Life overwhelms; it is all a rush against time, of defying fate and destiny. There is so much to be said, to be done, to be felt, to be responsible for, to be lived, to be loved, to be thought over...Just thinking about it makes me dizzy, like a top spinning out of control. It's all so confusing when it gets lost in a web of existence.  In this mad frenzy, the circles get rounder and loopier, wider and faster, till it all stops in a moment of stasis. I want to freed of this inexorable march of the mind, to let it rest in peace, to give it solace in silence. But it rages on like a lone solider in the battlefields of time.

chillout

http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/If+You+Please/3Ghh8N?src=5

Chinese Man are a French tri-hop band whose style of music is funky, groovy and altogether unmistakable. They make for ideal listening on these hot summer nights when sleep eludes me and midnight dancing beckons.

In money's clout, how do i salvage my soul without being strangled with doubt? I doubt, i doubt...

Happy May Day

Like our arm-chair and pacified activists, i am quietly rebelling against today being a working labour day by blogging. What the F***!

current state of mind

"I want to feel what i feel; even if it is not happiness"-Toni Morrison

kanua+nidhi=the house of <3

believe the hype

Susheela Raman's debut album 'Salt Rain' is a revelation. Her soulful voice is perfect for the post-midnight hours when you want to be alone with your thoughts and mull over silence.

go read

There is good reason why this book is genre-defying and the benchmark for crime fiction/true crime non-fiction.    It is gripping, racy and nearly impossible to put down; a complete thriller. Capote is unmatched, never letting his  voice come in the way of an objective narration of the macabre massacre that rocked the bible-belt of Amercia. He draws you into the lives of all those you were involved and affected by the killings-from the townsfolk, the detectives, the killers, the ill-fated family, the killers' families. No detail has been overlooked, no character portrait that's overdone. Here is a detailed account of a crime and its aftermath that can be written only by a true master. 

Goddammit

Okay, the two words that i am going to get rid off from my vocabulary are 'thing' and 'stuff'. Both drive me up the wall and both i am guilty of using in common parlance. What is stuff? What is thing? They really mean nothing and yet are randomly used in our daily conversations to denote almost anything. But anything is not a thing and stuff is not anything we cannot take care to describe or understand. It is so much easier to call fashion 'stuff' or  art 'stuff'. We're just to lazy to bother, to make an effort to go into the depth of a particular subject. We like to condemn ourselves to ignorance rather than opening up to natural-born curiosity. All-too-familiar words provide comfort from the strange and the unknown within our minds. They become a little safety-valve to protect us from the overwhelming complexity that surrounds our world. If i am to live deliberately, then vocabulary must become my medium of self-expression and self-understanding. I don't want to find myself stuck with 'things' and 'stuff' that are devoid of meaning and substance. I want them to signify a concrete reality that i am a embedded in, not some vague notion of life and living.

I have bought my HYD air tickets for July and a mutli-purpose mixy-grinder-juicer for the kitchen. Both were unplanned purchases and will be paid in installments. Usually i would have fretted endlessly over the money expended but this time i am not worried, for i know i can manage my financial commitments. I'm just happy that the day unfolded spontaneously. Cheers to the small joys of living!

I so want to cuddle you and have you curled up at my feet. I miss the warmth of your tiny body and your blood-hot ears jutting out of the blanket, tracking my every movement in the room. When i close my eyes, i can still trace the tender contours of your body. If only, i could watch you dream while sleeping. Every dog i see on the road reminds me of you and as each day slips by, i find myself digging up memories always to remember you. Filled with an emptiness so cruel, lest i forget you, i am guilty of loving you. 

weekend movie bonanza

I

Post-work, i attended a Dastangoi performance at campus, which was based on Tagore's Ghare Baire novel. Have seen Ray's movie and now this Urdu narration, my interest in the book is piqued. I personally like the stream of consciousness literary style and when deftly interwoven with socio-political issues, it is bound to be a engaging read. The only damper is the fact that i can't read Bengali and i have to make do with an English translation.

II

I sat in Ganga dhaba on one of the many rocks reminiscing of my years on campus and how i used to be. Nostalgia makes for perfect daydreaming. Though familiar with the surroundings and the faces, there was an uneasy feeling. Like i never belonged there; that this place remains so strange, so remote in my mind. Campus has always evoked extreme emotions in me; may be it has to do with the knowledge that it challenged me fundamentally. From the people, the food, the experience of living of my own, making new friends, of adjusting with a roommate, the rigour of academics, the constant craving to be home with family, friends and lover-- I was like a fish out of water. My world, the cocoon of my existence was undone on this very campus, unwrapping me in curious ways. I was overwhelmed and unprepared for the changes that i experienced. It was like a shock was being administered on me in doses over the span of two years. By the end of my studies, my unsure self was ready to leave, determined to make a new beginning outside campus. Looking back, I don't ever regret my years on compus; it has been the site of my learning and unlearning. Two years of challenging myself in the little ways of life gave me the strength and resilience to move on. And the beauty about visits like this is that you know that this was where it all began.

life: struggle

Those big protruding eyes of Ramu babu forsee the impending doom of unfulfilled dreams buried within the city's labyrinths. They see the dusted hopes of the migrant masses engulfed in a rising tide of human despair. They know the fear of insecurity, of rejection, of dashed promises. They portend the daily struggle for existence. They depict the reality, the truth about living.

Thus Spoke Matarani

When you live deliberately, there is no guilt or fear, no alibi to cover up your action or inaction. You become responsible for your every deed and you feel in command of life's situations. There is no external validation but inner peace in the knowledge that life's purpose, solely happiness, is yours alone. To be driven by this requires courage, empathy and most of all integrity. For in staying true to oneself we affirm our deepest being, the conciousness that always seeks the Beautiful Truth. It lies at the heart of reality, found in sudden moments of clarity. To be aware of this awakened self and to channelise one's energy towards its actualisation is our only true vocation. Therein, lies the intent in living deliberately.

not an original thought but profound nonetheless

Our only true purpose is to live with the knowledge that we are going to die. End of drama.

got the blues

There is a big difference between being alone and feeling lonely; for the most part, i am anonymous.

all dogs go to heaven

i am blessed to have loved in varying degrees, each one of them.
minto
rocky
greyu
collar
dushtu
floyd
zappy
daina
bobo
don
candy
mustafa
pebbles
blondel
nero
elsa

Fondness

Whenever i listen to this song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgM3r8xKfGE), i remember that Tantra Khamta Dance Night years ago, when you and i danced so freely, for what others considered as lascivious and inappropriate that we were asked to vacate the dancefloor. And left we did, laughing our way out onto the streets, delirious at the night's events.

Currently struggling with

Pinoodas makes for a happy companion but Calcutta is a perfect lover.

Clarity eludes me; confusion confronts me.

It's a rut, i'm telling you. Like the Deepsea Challenger, i have got to get at the bottom of it.

Delhi: Nor'wester

Yesterday, the smell of the wet earth, the rush of the gusty winds, the thundering orange skies, the electric turbulence of lightening, the big raindrops splattering on the ground all reminded me of Calcutta and home, of  love and longing, of beauty and innocence, of a sepia-tinged frame of life, of an unspoken loss and a free-spirited restlessness, of emotional churning and ineffable feelings.

Life-oh-Life

Going home tomorrow; but to a home without Minto.

a month since you have been gone

I can't write about Minto, without not feeling a groundswell of emotion rising within me. I don't know what to say. His death marks the loss of an irretrievable part of ourselves; experienced everyday, in the mundane nitty-gritty of our daily life. What he means to our family is a pure indescribable love that i don't think we have found in ourselves or in the relationships we have kept or continue to keep. He remains the soul of family that will never die; at least i can live with the hope that it won't. And when he ceases to be, i know that our time to perish has come.

rant

Truth be lies; lies feed life; life sucking existence; existence crushing man, man fighting time; time stuck in space; space emitting light; light ending darkness; darkness casting a void; void flowing endless; endless streaming emotions; emotions killing being; being dying always; always forever lost

fuck you

You have your truth and i have mine; squaring our existence in parallel lines?
You have your truth and i have mine; playing ping-pong with the human mind?
You have your truth and i have mine; always seeking the perfect alibi?
If this is truth, then so be mine; surviving each other wrecked in time.

On Skype, P and S were discussing about the hipster overload that dominates some quarters of our youth culture. I agree that 'coolness' has become the fashionable totem of our times. The dominant culture of today's youth is borrowed; the reference points are rarely local, and when they are, it is a hijacking of subaltern cultures for elite past-times. Fundamentally, it seems from the tenuous nature of our interaction with modernity itself. Somewhere there is a fundamental disconnect with the Indian reality and the hyper-reality of the imported consumerist cultures of the West. A creeping social tension that is played out in friendships, relationships, work-time, play-time. It affects our outward social self and inner being, in ways we do not fully comprehend. It's not psychobabble but in the dynamics of our banal social reality. Fundamentally, we are losing touch with our authentic selves, creating an identity that needs constant approbation in order to be socially relevant. To be judged or to judge lurks in our everyday interactions, creating inherent insecurity in our minds. Coolness is the symptom, uncoolness the crime.

sour times

After reading The Fall, i am feeling at a loss of words. The themes of loss of human innocence, judgement, vacuity of emotions, dominance of self-interest is disconcerting. Nothing is scared, not even life. Everything stands debased to the vigour of being judged. Than what is it that we are left with? Morsels
of truth to be gnawed and then rejected. It's all too nihilist, too hollow. May be there is no meaning to life after all, except the void we inhabit. Sucked in, we live in darkness, groping our way out. So let's just turn off the light.

Perfect music accompaniment:

dreaming paradise

 

modern love decoded

can live with, cannot live without

can live without, cannot live with

dilemma

confusion

independence

angst

crisis

intimacy

 longing

space

 independence

 madness

distance

listening to music on shuffle + cooking = Joyguru!

Katherine Boo's book 'Behind the Beautiful Forevers' are full of lifestories that i've encountered before but clearly i didn't find them worth writing about. That to me is a tragedy; that we (and i mean Indians) don't find ourselves worth writing about; that it takes a foreigner to intimately report on lives we see/hear all around us. I did start writing a piece on ghettoised Muslims in the forlorn parts of South Kolkata and filed it away. I should dig it out and share it. May be it will resonate with someone, somehwere and lead to a better understanding of lives less than ordinary

delhi darshan

Priti Sen Arora came visiting to the grand old city of Delhi and we did everything that food-loving, ill-tempered, travel-hungry siblings would do--namely, eating, drinking, bickering and whizzing around the city in a frenzy of sight-seeing. The four days blurred into a mix of technicolour delight with all the sights, sounds and smells filling our senses. The history bug bit us hard and after seeing so many forts, baolis, markets, tombs, mosques we were ready to collapse. We even managed to squeeze a movie in the midst of our whirlwind tour of all things Delli. By the end of her trip, we both agreed that this city is too big, too bloody expensive, too noveau-riche and too irresistible.

Praying for a miracle

Dear Minto baba,

You can power through this illness. Please don't give up. We love you more than we love ourselves.

Your sister Nidhi

live fast die young, bad girls do it well ;)

If i could always remain happy

Yeah i'm gonna get to see him play live this Friday at Blue Frog. Woohoo! Can't wait to end my weekday woes.

p.s.: I AM NOT GOING. ENTRY FEE IS Rs. 2000.

Current mood

Drifting through life towards an endless gaping hole;
Mindful of the steps taken unknown;
Scared of the horrors that swallow me whole;
I am just a prisoner of my soul

india art fair

the india art fair is a visual explosion (an implosion too), an overload of sensory perceptions. sculptures, photographs, lithographs, silk-screen prints, paintings all vying for one's attention. and there i was swimming in its immensity; floating along leisurely among the exhibits whilst stopping and staring, picking free artwork and generally people-watching. made a hurried exit after three and a half hours of the art attack.

Art/Artists i liked (not genre specific):

• Lenticular prints- i like the 3D effect it creates
• Amit Pasricha- photographer
• Ranbir Kaleka- photographer
• Miro-painter
• Amitabh Kumar-ultra-violet painting on stainless steel
• Sachin Tekade- paper cuts
• Heri Dono-painter
• Ajay De- charcoal paintings
• Manu Prekh- silkscreen on  paper
• Laxman Goud-painter
• Uma Singh-sculpture
• Rimzon-painter
• Jyoti Bhatt- painter
• JMS Mani- painter
• Harshil Patel- painter

Art ideas:

Place sepia-coloured photographs on artpaper mounted or cloth mounted cardboard frames and then get these framed. Looks great on a wall when placed in a series.

Art do:

SAVE SAVE SAVE to buy original art prints by jogen chowdhury, m.f. hussian and the other grand daddies of indian art. Bottomline is that high art can be affordable.

Drive

This movie with its haunting sountrack and Ryan Gosling as the lead anonymous 'driver' in a LA heist gone ugly is one of the best films i've watched in a long time. I don't think Mr. Gosling utters more than a 100 lines in this film but the unspoken words and the haunting atmosphere which the director creates just adds to the layers of emotions you feel when you watch it. I, for one, have become a bonafide fan of Mr. Gosling and the director Mr. Nicolas Winding Refn.

Also, you must hear this song that appears in the opening credits of the film. Diggin' it xo

I'm tired of dog-earing the pages of this book.

Oh Steinbeck! you understand man, humanity, life with all its associated trials and tribulations better than anyone i know. You are a genuine human poet, giving meaning and character to troubled times. The bitter-sweet struggle for a better life resonates in every line of your book. My hope after reading this book is to be sensitive to the reality of life, to understand it with new eyes, to feel it creep between my fingers and finally to find myself a true human voice.

I don't want these foggy mornings to end; i don't want these icy winds to die away ; i don't want that i cannot wear my woollen socks and stay curled up in bed; i don't want that fresh sensation of washing my face with cold water to dissipate; i don't want that there will be no walks through the park covered in a misty haze; i don't want that i should shield myself from a raging bonfire; i don't want that i cannot soak up the last rays of a dying sun; i don't want that i cannot wear multiple layers of clothes that weigh me down; i don't want that my capacious paunch reduces in size; i don't want that my healthy appetite should die; i don't want that the open-air concerts will end; i don't want that i should fail to enjoy the last of winter's delights; i don't want that i should want what i want... 

Lohri celebrations

Went to Habitat Centre for their annual lohri festival. The stage was beautifully decked with marigold flowers, the seating was intimate with bamboo chairs and charpoys laid out with colourful cushions. There were bonfires raging at select spots to keep abay the chilly winter air. The music was sublime with Madan Mohan ji transporting us to the green fields of Punjab and its colourful people. Surrounded by Punjabis, young and old, who were dancing and singing along, i realised that their zest for life is truly infectious and in whose company you never feel alone.

Desire

songs// time

I watched Bridesmaids last night and it is easily one of the most lovable comedies i have seen in a while. But there was one song that gave me goosebumps. You know how you can relate to songs with different moments of time in your life; well this song takes me back to my childhood in Bangalore when it was a rage. I remember Priya swooning in delight whenever she played it on the tape and it's surprising that even know i can mouth the lyrics. So let me 'hold on' to those sweet sweet memories.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIbXvaE39wM

Nostalgia//Memory

"How small the cosmos (a kangaroo's pouch would hold it), how paltry and puny in comparison to human consciousness, to a single individual recollection, and its expression in words!"

"The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes."

"How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on, the fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life. Told to others, but - mainly - to ourselves."

to buy or not to buy

Discovering the joys of online shopping

1. Books: Flipkart

2. Jewellery: Shopo

Anek Designs

3. Shoes: Be Stylish

 

Carlton Shoes

resolution 2012

WILL TRY; WILL NOT CRY

Delhi 2012

Independence (not freedom) and responsibility is what 2011 bestowed on me. It was the turning point from the dead-end of my life. There were detours and instances of falling off-the-track but with every twist and turn, i have steered myself back on track. The ride has been akin to being on a rollercoaster- up and down, round and round. But i was firmly strapped to my seat, feeling the surge of life rise within me. Delirious in bouts of glee; whilst drowning in moments of self-inflicted misery. But this shall not be, for 2012 is the year to just be.

2012

Song in my head: Meri Marzi (Govinda rocks!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HnW7CGcFDw

Thoughts:

To reactivate this blog to make it a more engaging space for myself to grow and learn.  I do not want this blog to filled with leftover emotions, half-baked thoughts and any of that passive aggressive/depressive angst that i feel.