Soldier On The Streets Of No Return (Ashwini Ailawadi)

Once you were a soldier and you walked with your head held high,
You knew the secrets that would expose the universal lie,
In one hand was your guitar, and in the other a flower,
You looked so beautiful as you challenged the prophets of power,
They called you a fool and burnt your songs,

continue...

I didn't comment on Caferati. The title led me to think it was about war. But no, it's about no-return streets of drugs.
I read it, enjoyed it. I didn't want to say anything. Some of it is beyond cavil, and there are also some well-worn phrases. But it's hard sometimes to come up with a balanced comment - something that gives due praise and also criticize whatever could be better. One or the other side usually overwhelms and makes it seem like either you didn't like it, or that you liked it entirely.

Symphony for monsoon and plastic roof (Peter Griffin)

As I write this, it is sweltering.

My shirt is drenched, my skin prickles and the tiles outside my window are radiating even more heat. There is an expectant stillness in the air, a quiet, breathless anticipation. Clouds scud across a bright blue sky; they're coming from the right direction, but there are too few of them, and they're fluffy and white, practically all silver lining.

Damn. It's still summer.

continue..

The Griffin has painted monsoon in its vivid joyous colors, while mine remain a defiant shade of bleak. Several of the images are so familiar from repeated usage, they have now ceased to move. I tried to summon up the enthusiasm for paper boats from General Science notebooks, and while my head says "Yes, yes, I remember", the feeling for it did not return. What will still appeal has to be more obscure ..has to be able to sneak around the back of my watchful cynical brain and bean it with a POW! forgotten sensation.

So my bleak monsoon- The sudden darkening and cooling before the rain; the gray mist that blurs horizon and earth and sky and seems permanent, eternal. Coconut trees like one possessed by the wind, flogged into painful shapes, unable to die. People walking bent forward against the wind, holding up umbrellas flying inside out like flags of surrender. The abandoned beach, with its mutinous waves and impassive sand and redundant soft drink stand. Curtains of a hotel room turning into soggy sails, dank doormats and the gray vapor seeming to emerge from indoor lamps as afternoon gray turns into ashy evening and matte black night of power failures and groping to the bathroom in complete darkness.

Only the unexpected iced coolness of the bed and blanket seem to foretell a drugged unbroken night after the sweat-drenched breathless fitful lie-ins of summer.

Jaguar Lights (Rochelle Potkar)

You and me sitting a space apart
Resting our chins watching
Golden moments bashing against stone
Some flotsam and a boat coming home

...

Eyes like those of a hundred Jaguars
Open up
Guiding wheels going home
In the dark

continue

She always writes well, and I like to read. I rarely have anything better to say than "Well done, again." I have a feeling she doesn't need inane comments like that.

Humor

A lot of people have no sense of humor. They are well-read, but they have no sense of the absurd. They analyze it, they ponder it, they reflect on it. They don't laugh. A laugh is the only appropriate reaction to something funny.

If I tell you this joke..

After losing a breaststroke swimming competition, the blonde complained to the judges, "The others were all using their arms".

Sign that you get the joke - you laugh.
Sign that you don't get the joke - Your comments are about a) cheating in sports b) women in sports c) swimming competitions d) Judges biased for/against blondes e) philosophy of winning/losing.

If I don't label my writing as Humor, I tend to get comments from people who think I'm writing my views, not making up stories to get a laugh. I can't decide if that means I am not funny enough, or some people don't get that it is supposed to be funny.

I find this a big difference in Indian society v/s the West. Having lived in both places, I can see that some forms of conversational humor are not recognized as such over here (by some).

Check out the comments on Commenting (Or Not). See if you can spot the difference in the commenters - the ones who took it literally are the ones giving out advice on commenting/writing.

The Pun is mightier than the sword

I got a message from a person with a cool nickname - it was a pun, an original one. He read one of my Caferati comments, and said he could not agree with it more, and hoped the futility of becoming posterity's poster child it would take the pressure off writing (am just paraphrasing him here).

I love puns. I love people who think up great puns. I love 'punny' people who write in to say they could not agree with me more. What's not to love?

The mood has lightened considerably after this.

Old friend (Ramanathan Vaidyanathan)

At the restaurant

I am sitting at a table in an Irani restaurant and I see Parasu entering. He looks tired and
old. He walks over to me and we shake hands.

I: It’s a long time.

Parasu: Yes. It is.

We are silent for some time. We look at each other as if to stoke our memories of the past.

Parasu: What are you doing now?

(continue.. on till the end - there's a twist coming!!)

I liked his attempt at an unforeseen twist to the meeting. Maybe more can be written on this.

[Essay/Diary] - Barbie, I and small town morality

I grew up in army cantonments in many small towns of India, imbibing an entire system of morality. I thought fourteen years of subsequent residence and education in avant garde Goa and then Mumbai washed off all those old notions. Not quite. Yesterday I was rearranging my shelves, to allow space for new books. Our childhood toys were kicked upstairs to the topmost shelf. Those old building blocks, board games, cars...I sighed. And then came the problem of my sister's Barbie dolls. She has two Barbies, a Skipper and a Ken.

continued..

This is a cute story. Perhaps why I didn't have a comment. Some places, too cute.

I found a rose (ICONX)

I found a rose among thorns, but did not touch;
As I imagined the softness of its flesh
the hormonal buzz
of a honey bee
excited me
to thrust my hand into the spiked clutch;
I checked the desire
but, did drink in the view and it's aroma instead;
enjoying it's painful beauty with the fingers in my head..

Gorgeous, no?
The fingers are in my head, too.

When God Smiles (ICONX)

When God smiles the edges of a plasma cloud contract. The pulse of a fetal sun will have begun as the heavy elements and star dust interact; embracing and pulling tight, condensing down fusions spark, illuminates into the corners of the icy dark, spreading his passion, his joy, his warmth, his light. iconx

Did I say I like this techno poetry? I do.

Desperately Seeking...

Yesterday, I was watching the movie Desperately Seeking Susan - second time. Its a1985 movie about a bored straight-laced housewife who becomes fascinated with Susan, a mystery woman who regularly appears in the personal ads and leads what seems like life on the edge, and starts to follow her trail.

Have you ever been more fascinated by the title than the movie? This was one such. The title holds out so much promise that the movie failed to deliver.
The spell of fascination that exists for some people we've never met or know slightly. Leaving aside whether we ever really know anyone well enough, ever, some people definitely have more of that enduring puzzle-like quality, than others.

Some titles are almost like magic incantations in the effects they create. I don't know who's job it is to come up with these - the writer, the producer, the director or some lackey, but they deserve on-screen credits for them.