tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-196453782011-12-21T01:06:53.645-05:00She speaks what you don't hearAcehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.comBlogger1591100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-70993257339376017802011-12-21T00:34:00.004-05:002011-12-21T01:06:53.937-05:00

Cobbled streets and dusty ornate black lamp posts. Crisp morning with a delightful hint of softness from the dawn dew. The fresh blue skies and the air.Filled with the scent of Your presence. Boundless Hope. Breaking at the seams Desire.Her heart hammers hard with each whiff.So tantalizing. This unspoken promise. Waiting, gift wrapped, without any tags. You're back.Elusive one. Strangers. For how

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-21105495133438574232011-11-29T01:52:00.001-05:002011-11-29T01:54:17.764-05:00

How is she to dreamIf not by aiming high?How can it be a dreamIf there aren't any castles in the sky?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-46830601216250207122011-04-08T17:33:00.004-04:002011-04-08T17:39:47.100-04:00

Do we keep you?Or plant thoughts elsewhere?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-72238501137724192010-09-20T17:39:00.003-04:002010-09-20T17:50:39.120-04:00

Years later I'm back to where it all started. Where you can finally begin. Our story.Not just as fervent wishes, day dreams, blog posts and calls. But with friends, cafes marked with our conversations, late night drives, favourite songs. Turn this city in to one of landmarks for the story you wanted all to know. I'm here. Wishing you'd find your way back to my heart. So please. Won't you hurry

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-3796269280301476992010-07-10T12:45:00.002-04:002010-07-10T12:49:30.882-04:00

Will they ever feel differently?She bet more than she could afford to lose. With nothing left to pay off the debts was it a wonder she was imprisoned?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-6464991518372896712010-04-19T11:26:00.005-04:002010-04-19T11:52:59.605-04:00

What is there to walk in if not in circles? When the Past and Future are a pair of identical twins.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-82839937918052466562010-03-15T11:30:00.002-04:002010-03-15T11:33:01.709-04:00

Somehow no amount of words seem enough. Yet the ones found. Remain so few.Even for a fifty five haiku.Will there ever be words that belong to this story?Even as its ghosts greet her silently from every corner of this city. It lies still this story.As though only imaginary.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-34948335376815604742010-02-25T09:56:00.001-05:002010-02-25T09:56:39.295-05:00

Imaginary stories don't have anywhere to be heard. If only the feelings they brought were also imaginary.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-66183070336823670382010-02-14T13:22:00.002-05:002010-02-14T13:25:30.454-05:00

Surely it must be a sin to grieve for a man who still breathes just as well as her?She's wearing colour tonight. And it's only for you.Happy New Year.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-8869425875752009682010-01-28T12:12:00.002-05:002010-01-28T12:14:57.139-05:00

Must the sun not ever shine again?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-53314385201275873702009-12-14T02:23:00.004-05:002010-01-06T22:58:51.256-05:00

Yes it need not be complicated. Nor as entangled.Thank You. I loved how You showed it to me.And how You are trying to compile my resolution list.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-11223742584727480362009-11-15T17:16:00.000-05:002009-11-15T17:17:12.842-05:00

Running through wheat fieldsPedalling under sloping treesArms spread outCircling with wild glee.Monsoon rainsThe first so sweetAs swinging bodiesLooped arms meetCountryside spotted cowsAnd terraced vineyardsThis silenceYour calloused hands in my palmsHow long have they dancedThese eyes so youngAs they traced countless starsUnder the bright yellow sunSomeday,There shall be oneTo make this

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-42874495172191771132009-09-28T11:41:00.000-04:002009-09-28T11:42:13.338-04:00

I called you but there wasn't much to say. What would I say?That I know loneliness is when I stand facing my window eyes desperately seeking the moon for comfort.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-66922475835277070342009-08-15T21:24:00.002-04:002009-08-15T21:55:26.015-04:00

Swim against the tide for once. It is not as easy as sinking in. Surely another life is worth the fight? For how many await their whole lives and die without even a mere glance from Fate and Good Fortune.Your chances have been laid on gold platters time and again. But this may very well be the last one out there. So swim this once before it is pulled out of sight.Your reward awaits you on the

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-5905470190679804732009-08-14T04:53:00.008-04:002009-08-15T19:38:47.608-04:00

I hope that you remain eternally happy with your Beloved.I've never been good with goodbyes. I get that from you.That and the auburn locks.You'll always be missed. But I hope to remember you with less pain.Happy Birthday

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-85827735928203034642009-08-10T16:17:00.002-04:002009-08-10T16:35:32.853-04:00

It isn't so much as whether or not these doors should remain open or be closed and sealed. It isn't so much that as it is if one doesn't look at these doors then where?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-47035085547666887782009-07-26T18:27:00.003-04:002009-07-26T18:35:17.395-04:00

The years pass by.But a dreamer remains a dreamer no matter how far she runs away.Maybe it is time for you all to embrace her as she is too. She's tired of hiding.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-90012486455719081502009-03-30T13:08:00.002-04:002009-03-30T13:18:07.798-04:00

I'd like to thank the Innernet, Lhr, MSN, Visa, Vaio, Wi-fi, DSL, Kleenex. I can't forget my advisory board: See see, RP, AJ, Ellie this wasn't possible without you.And of course it goes without saying: Mummy Papa. You may not know this as yet but really this wouldn't have been possible without your bank account.I love you all! *draws hearts*

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-20529107187120641862009-03-28T22:04:00.007-04:002009-05-02T06:45:31.127-04:00

I write not of that house.Of red terracotta tiles and black iron bars. Of 10 bedrooms and a library. Of two swings and a mango tree. Of 4 loyal dogs and a lawn. Of chhui muui and a lily pond.I write not for I fear. I fear these anxieties once brought alive. Shall seal the fate of that house.And yours with it.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-65487979245530155032009-01-16T15:44:00.004-05:002009-05-15T04:12:57.577-04:00

" Romeo save me I've been feeling so aloneI keep waiting for you but you never comeIs this in my head, I don't know what to think "

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-46244813649039238132009-01-09T03:15:00.004-05:002009-01-09T03:38:44.759-05:00

The skies over a fog invested island have become dotted with pink snorts. And if you follow the placid river. Past the towering bridge and the glittering loot. Past where the tin man now sits in spray-can copper. Past where the wigs are flung in arguments. Where the river slims. You shall see. You shall see. That her feet have finally grown wings.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-39163237519011224852008-12-22T04:36:00.003-05:002008-12-22T04:45:38.753-05:00

There is sadness in the slow movement of her limbs. Much more than when her heart had been subjected to the unaffected.Sometimes she wishes to slash the intermittent pages that led her to this lonely walk. Mostly she just wishes to strangle what remains of her voice.Today you helped her put that pillow over the feeble chords till they were muffled into silence.Don't let it hurt you too much. If

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-18299464532405297672008-06-18T01:18:00.003-04:002008-06-18T01:28:58.938-04:00

It's a happy hour here again. I feel like a hindi movie funky song with you. Won't you ever learn to dance?Or woo my heart?

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-13279082119311773162008-04-23T21:05:00.004-04:002008-06-18T01:45:07.153-04:00

Tha tumhara andekha, khule dhule humare yeh kuch dhagePhir phir baarish ko dekhe mann mein tumhari yaad sataye.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-12097431034873988782008-04-21T21:27:00.006-04:002008-04-21T21:40:57.420-04:00

Prolonged indecision sits in you like a monsoon bug.Your stomach is turned empty. Your mouth feels foul with bile clinging to your taste buds. Long after you've washed down two glasses of water and Gravol.The bug rejoices somewhere deep in your intestines. While you lay weak on your bed hair matted on your forehead. Sweat creasing your back. Nausea making you hate having tasted the Veggie burger.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-91774382316541569692008-04-12T11:58:00.003-04:002008-04-12T12:11:12.333-04:00

To perch upon a cherry blossomAnd coo to her heart's content.Rows of fluffy pinksDispersed with blotches of magenta ink.Her heart does a danceSo little so wee.She laughs she whirlsLike honey pots and a bearSo full with glee.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-46338034152237458702008-02-06T12:37:00.000-05:002008-02-06T16:20:13.362-05:00

Skies in winter blues and white cottonball clouds.Streets from all their home cities and vendors in browns.A leap into outstretched arms and two flying feet.A tingling nerve and disquieting calm.The mysterious man and her marriage to Peace.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-45590479512274755602007-12-12T19:56:00.000-05:002007-12-12T20:04:24.477-05:00

She opened her new black leather journal. A fresh pad of lined paper gleamed with chemical clarity. She stared at her unmoving hand . When the lanky headboy had done it, it had hurt. A lot. She took to the track field while he busied himself spreading vicious untruths. She had run back to the track field that morning. The red clay lay clean like blackboard on first day of school. The white lines

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-75843237991144472012007-12-04T14:04:00.000-05:002007-12-04T14:05:35.713-05:00

She pulled up her black halter before stepping out from the black 350i. Could he tell this was her first visit? She collected herself and began walking.Past the bouncers, she took in the sight before her. It was everything she expected. Sans the layers of smoke.She began to fiddle nervously with her mangalsutra.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-56564203887607437272007-12-03T01:26:00.000-05:002007-12-03T01:29:59.942-05:00

I'd rather let Karma weigh their deeds if I were you.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-58007340382397840522007-11-07T08:20:00.000-05:002007-12-05T01:09:08.215-05:00

I cried as I saw the boy's photos.I saw him with a goofy grin. I saw his pictures from the night he won the bhangra contest.I saw him with ten different bottles of beer, whiskey and soda. Molson's, Blue Label and Cola. Never in a drunken stupor.I saw him at Indian formals. 15 different silk ties.I saw his eyes were wide set, large and thickly fringed. That they always laughed. I saw he went to

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-88483117313576040762007-11-06T20:52:00.000-05:002007-11-06T21:06:47.732-05:00

Whenever the house of cards collapses there is time to write. To fill the air with words where rooms with neatly laid desires lay in bed sleeping contently for the morning would soon come to awaken them. Then the cards quickly flew through the air. Whistling by like lost feathers from a bird's hind. When your homes burned in an arsonist's fire it left behind cinders for you to clench in your

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-14909262305043796372007-10-29T13:23:00.000-04:002007-10-29T13:27:25.982-04:00

May you continue to bring happiness into the lives of your beloved family and your countless friends *touchwood* May you continue to touch the lives of countless strangers for whom you give so selflessly.May you claim the success, the glory and the prosperity which is righfully yours. May you find your year ahead blessed with closer relationships, peace and contentment. May the past not linger

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-44372517977455271922007-10-28T01:51:00.001-04:002007-10-28T01:59:38.045-04:00

There is so much that remains to be asked. To be heard. To be shared. Your agony haunts me. I need new memories.It's all unfair. Come back. Please.We never said goodbye.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-11151437115251886372007-09-23T17:27:00.001-04:002007-09-23T17:34:53.717-04:00

The pen writes smoothly only when the ink is filled with the waters of your heart.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-51679258959919785102007-09-12T21:13:00.000-04:002007-09-13T00:19:32.075-04:00

She lay motionless in the dark room. Outside the winds wailed like a crowd of banshees and clobbered the large window panes. It pushed people off the sidewalks into their secluded large homes and gas fireplaces. The trees bent helplessly and quaked as their delicate quivering branches were raped off their leaves.The popcorn ceiling turned unexpectedly high into the slant of the roof. It felt too

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-23345234133239239542007-09-08T14:44:00.000-04:002007-09-08T15:00:43.050-04:00

The aqua blue walls mocked her ability to make wise decisions. The disarray had become a new habit she couldn't live with. It was easier to live elsewhere.She stood to inspect what had been taken out of cardboard boxes and sighed. The piles stood messily beside the carton. She had wanted to avoid opening them till she had time. Or had 'cleared a little space in the corners of her mind'. She had

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-68781501609522987342007-08-31T19:09:00.001-04:002007-08-31T19:12:23.803-04:00

I wish to sprawl out on a white deck chair by the rooftop pool. Of luminous blues rippling softly with the scarce lazy breeze.And close my eyes as my skin feels like it is expanding under the glare of the sun. Then dream of soft poems of why the summer delights me to a slight tingle in my toes. But sometimes there are no words because what is, is just as it is. And that's really, that.

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-74296375736933313562007-08-18T10:13:00.000-04:002007-08-18T10:13:24.751-04:00

When Happy comes back to sit not on your head nor your lips. But to sit in the pit of your stomach, you know...You know that the songs that you sing are now from the bottom of your stomach and not throat. And your songs are all happy too.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-33612791110565618172007-08-14T10:25:00.000-04:002007-08-14T10:36:12.454-04:00

Her brown hair a mess of waves framing her face and hunched shoulders. A light feeling makes her giddy in stomach and tingles down to her toes. Her pencil pauses as she smiles at the familiar rush of delightful excitement. It may not be the same as the night of limelight at terraced gardens. Of a dance of jumps, linked arms and waists wrapped in red satin sashes.Or of the embarrassment at the

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-33488072792912224932007-08-06T16:16:00.000-04:002007-08-07T09:23:14.822-04:00

Quietly, the phone is placed on the darkly stained pinewood desk. There's a sudden calm in the air, even as her hands shake with the tremors within. A silent acceptance of the turn of events. Of her doing. Of another large reservoir of 'what ifs' to carry around for her lifetime. Of helplessness. A quick glance to the dull gold book cover etched with a peaceful face holdng up a flute.And

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-62398672181398199702007-08-03T01:08:00.000-04:002007-08-03T14:27:16.123-04:00

Floor to high ceiling glass panelled windows encased in a room of three quarters wooden panels in the clean lines of contemporary design. Franctic studying alternates with exchange of whispers of childhood chance encounters in the hallways and buses [the joys of school buses]. Of innocence in reasons and logic. Combined laughter after sudden bouts of [one-sided] embarrassment hidden behind long

Acehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03295311056376254842noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-3567264922715738042007-07-08T21:25:00.000-04:002007-07-08T21:33:02.350-04:00

I wish you could hear what I hear. Even if you aren't here, I shall think of you. I know you would feel the song if you'd let yourself. Hear how youthful it makes you feel - because you are. There's so much for you out there not because it is for everyone. But because your lines are special, as I've always known. As all those who could read them, always knew. There's all this for you to conquer,

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-7449012836729191132007-07-08T17:06:00.000-04:002007-07-08T17:14:26.592-04:00

Wet grey stone steps flanked by overflowing pots of red flowers swayed with the gentle wind. The corners of her eyes creased with a smile at this sight. She couldn't help but feel happy with such a simple picture postcard perfect sight that she didn't have to travel out of the country for. She thought of what a luxury it was to vacation so often.She could write a coffee-table book on what makes

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-76762753972537260532007-06-28T15:41:00.000-04:002007-06-29T09:39:18.166-04:00

The fizz is dying out in the air in the coke can. It rapidly rises to the surface. Then dies echoing in the half-empty aluminium can. I hope I regain the strength to crush these cans to flat sheets of metal as they say you should for recycling. If it is only a myth, then I've been had and publically so. Except this isn't a public space frequent by public.I shall live without being disgraced. Ha!

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-50927669896871844102007-06-26T22:58:00.000-04:002007-06-26T23:07:11.782-04:00

I wish my mind was preoccupied with summer sales. But no keen interest was ever taken in adding clothing to the closet as a function of hobby or summer. There is a big fat book to be balanced on my head and I must learn to walk with it gracefully. But I stumble and poise is out of the question much like piano lessons are to the street-squatter. Why isn't summer an absolute of warmth, sunshine and

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-75462182172845249682007-06-24T22:15:00.000-04:002007-06-24T22:24:58.208-04:00

Is there something wrong with someone if they make separate notebooks/journals for mundane things like 'daily to do list' or 'why my life is more interesting than yours'? I suppose I'm only asking to dispell this nagging doubt that this may be a problem that manifests into something that leads people to collect garbage because their liking for owning different kinds of stationery blossomed into

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-47731104125258602612007-06-19T20:46:00.000-04:002007-06-19T21:40:19.701-04:00

"You missed out", she said without looking away from the window she was staring out from."And that would be because?", said Mimi as she collapsed on the day bed." It rained endlessly with wild sharp splashes against the windows.The clouds grumbled and steadily moved in their large bulky selves. Over our picturesque little neighbourhood perched upon a hill, above the rest of the city.It felt like

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-16848779227227760922007-06-15T00:30:00.000-04:002007-06-15T00:37:14.262-04:00

It is a queer time.Had it been a musical, it might have been the moment Julie Andrews breaks into a comforting song about "brown paper packages tied up with strings".It is difficult- to wish to be honest with yourself and yet not be vulnerable to the eye of the reader. It is alarmingly difficult to write this and work the nerve to not censor or delete this thought.But it's ok to be human

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-63384606317352411972007-06-09T00:34:00.000-04:002007-06-09T12:47:55.276-04:00

As is usually the case with a blog post, it is an unearthly hour in this part of the world.The back is whining and not being paid attention to only makes it scream. It's a bit unbearable and shall be shushed up soon.But right now, a cool breeze blows bringing relief into the night of a hot humid day. We're not very far from being Delhi right now (of course I am exaggerating ).Iit makes me wish

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-16438301431028395352007-06-02T00:51:00.000-04:002007-06-02T01:00:58.557-04:00

Your eyes sparkle while your face looks soft with a shy smile. The french beard suits you.You look relaxed stretched out like so. This new space seems to have been grown for you.A brief pause as I wonder if I had been wrong about you.A shake of head, a dull thud within.Memories don't die like that.No. We couldn't have been friends afterall.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-7425549090581135242007-05-31T12:30:00.000-04:002007-05-31T12:32:12.062-04:00

Huddled in a corner - like the walls have her mother’s arms- until sunrise.“2 hours then the lamp goes off. Sleep can settle on fraught nerves.”The comfort of daylight.Lawns mowed, children running through water sprinklers, cars honking , joggers gulping water with loud gasps.When their bustling ways can drown out other voices.originally written on: 29.07.2006

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-412035656937598142007-05-26T21:58:00.000-04:002007-05-26T22:17:10.289-04:00

I feel like writing. I don't know if it was the movie that left me smiling. Or the journal whose pages are nearly used up and my intention to not wait until the last few run out. I think its time is up to descend up in the heavens that lies in the corner of my closet in a vaguely french-themed wine and cheese against a lemon background shoe-box [Just in case you were wondering what heaven might

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-56469509067287427872007-05-20T16:04:00.000-04:002007-05-20T18:00:02.552-04:00

It is a quiet afternoon around this bend.The roads glistens with the white glare of the over-zealous sun to swiftly set the summer ablaze. Even the songbirds snore at this hour of cocoon-like warmth. The air molecules expand, as full as birthday balloons, floating uncomfortably outside. The white bay window frames the slight quivers of the fresh green leaves. Lying on a fainting couch, cool in

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-16181832464728805142007-05-08T17:28:00.000-04:002007-05-08T18:10:42.393-04:00

She took a turn and landed onto the hidden driveway of an opulent house. The place had become chaotic without a visible mess. Was it the quiet of the now correctly aligned pieces? Or was it that the rearrangement couldn't undo the atmosphere?It was May already and spring cleaning was long past. Then what were these sticky little cobwebs doing looming about where it wasn't their business to do so?

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-86248782940270038642007-05-01T22:43:00.000-04:002007-05-01T22:54:53.901-04:00

Sometimes when my little wooden speedboat zooms ahead smoothly, I unplug the leaks myself. Look at the yachts bobbing by in the distance. It grows more and more distant and my boat won't stop. I can't go back and hop onto a yacht instead of this one seater. How did I miss the party? I hear the clinks of glass, the mixed bubbles of chatty voices and laughter. Little black dresses and sparkles

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-68946925972297501102007-04-30T01:15:00.000-04:002007-04-30T01:17:17.133-04:00

"Isn't it selfish of you to turn to God everytime you're in need" " I don't do it everytime I'm in need." "Only when you're trying to claw your way out of the net when you see sharks circling around you baring their teeth which glint with the evil that is just their nature to consume to sustain their own livelihood." "Uh. If they're that helpless why don't you sleep with them." "Because...... I'm

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-36448202672835462902007-04-12T12:57:00.000-04:002007-04-12T15:32:46.348-04:00

A strange liberation in cutting off the strings slowly and making an exit.Temoporarily.Without joy.But it was a moment where curtains were to be pulled open.When shutters were to be closed tightly. And sunlight was to be pushed out of every molecule of air within.You could laugh that there wasn't enough light in this musty corner to begin with.You could point this isn't darkness. This is pitch

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-75364045275064756932007-04-06T14:41:00.000-04:002007-04-06T15:40:01.773-04:00

I dream. Of being 13. The age where our Friend from above sprinkles copious amounts of awkwardness and uncertainity. Chocolate sprinkles over our vanilla selves. An age so delicious on a plate of memory. When sweetness was a natural course of life from within. Even when the world seemed all but that. When being alive was an absurd question. As if anyone could want not to be.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-49789588220896020082007-04-06T03:30:00.000-04:002007-04-06T03:35:56.319-04:00

My words left me when I shamed them with my behaviour. Now even when my karma finds me back they will not return. My little babies jumped out of their nest before they grew wings. I was too bad a mother and now they're dead. Like my feet.I feel no inclination to blog anymore. kim bahuna?

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-73704307571154858062007-04-04T03:54:00.000-04:002007-04-04T03:58:59.364-04:00

The template must be changed. In my defense I tried several others which didn't work once I had completed working on them.I must also relocate my blogroll which a layout accident shoved aside. I haven't forgotten you guys [the few who read this!] but haven't found the time to manually redo the entire tedious process as yet. After exams!Hopefully :)

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-71026759039324101132007-04-03T15:37:00.000-04:002007-04-03T15:38:29.418-04:00

My mummy is being unwrapped. The mistake was just noticed. By me.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-64613788893541263672007-03-27T17:39:00.000-04:002007-03-27T17:54:41.017-04:00

The sadness of mute isn't the silence. No actually the silence hasn't been factual as it has been imagined. One can imagine silence by pretending the air didn't just resonate with words. Or tune out. So if the silence hasn't existed, how can there be a mute? What if I told you: The greatest tragedy is not that mute is without words. You can see it like so. But that the tragedy is Mute really

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-74418482564671721992007-03-25T23:27:00.000-04:002007-03-25T23:41:09.391-04:00

A time once existed of abundance. When 55 words seemed frugal. But here I am. Your penniless beggar. Walk past me now as I mouth empty air. To remember the songs I'd once known.A film black and white.Where is the box of colours?Messy bed poor houseA nightmare, so subtle

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-54785430963086680232007-03-10T03:04:00.000-05:002007-03-10T03:07:03.024-05:00

A trip had been taken and the passenger was unknown.A Greek star across the sky.A French blank expanse for a ground.Two women got down gracefully. As phone calls went unanswered, waiting was paid no heed.A director of Importance.Who watched movies to further the skill of appealing to the public.Even when sleep was scarce.His routine he didn't skip on.Even if phones went unanswered.Even if wishes

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-74975909491604403772007-03-08T22:58:00.000-05:002007-03-08T23:53:43.291-05:00

I used to wonder how it was done.Night after night. A slippery limestone cradling a person. Feet in floaters.How could someone?An incredible a thought. For the Immature.A distant Pajero throwing up cooling sand.Streetlights a safe walk away.Gleaming glass doors sliding open a relaxing whiff of dampness where the cool air hugs the humid one in slow joyous tears.I'd told you I liked the fragrance

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-40985765851612897702007-02-22T14:43:00.000-05:002007-02-22T14:59:43.277-05:00

But mostly, I desired a change in season.So here's a breath of tulip petals strewn across the path. Then, in a circle, I plant white hydrangeas.Here, I gently shake pink cherry blossoms. Now this. Where I can breathe the fresh giddy fragrance of Spring. Into a scrunched up laughter, which will tickle my face pink.This.Is the bed I shall now lie in.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-43509783580276580492007-02-16T00:12:00.000-05:002007-02-16T00:12:14.435-05:00

Blow! Gentle windUpon the right sideLay a feather on the hand you touchKiss the softnessof the full cheekLay a calmOh Gentle wind!Upon the right sideHereLet me swallowall that brings swirls of violenceI standWith wide open arms embracing the agitated windsBe gentle windOh be gentle!Upon the right sideHereI hold you tenseBut there?Keep your promiseUsher in tranquilDeliver my prayersin the breathof

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-61723130652253966262007-02-14T02:30:00.000-05:002007-02-14T13:52:36.668-05:00

She leapt one day into my path. It was an autumn month, the chill was hard to bear. I asked her not to hurt me.The chill was already perched on my toes and was flying in circles ready to nest there for the season. In haste, thus, I said "Whatever you want, take". And she did. She came in a canvas of creamy white and flowing tresses. A dreamy mist that jumped into my shadow. I'd tell the artist,

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1163274164223952682007-02-13T14:29:00.000-05:002007-02-13T10:37:02.281-05:00

How old am I ?There's a song heavy with a voice laden with nostalgia.Like honey, it flows slowly off my tongue. It's sticky, hard to roll off, and swallow but sweet. So I let it sit on the back of my throat slowly dissolving its saccharine down my mouth.Guess.Funny how much it means now. This pattern, I live.But it was a song when I was 16. Whispered to me in my dreams. And it follows me through

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-69502547945089838472007-02-06T14:27:00.000-05:002007-02-11T18:46:06.007-05:00

The soft crystals of snow coated with frozen water. See how the day melted it into a shiny silk of ice.The icicles that shiver at the wind's light caresses. This crispy night like a new page turned over. Which shall find us.Solitary.Come. Let's take our places.In my cream chiffon knee length delight. In your silent black veil.Will you look at me and sing? With your voice breezing over the sheets

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-50532314057967812752007-01-14T04:24:00.000-05:002007-01-14T05:12:38.910-05:00

*melody tiptoes softly out of reedy bagpipes and summer dawns momentarily*" You should sing this song and come to my house""Do you know what it means?""But of course!I can listen to your sweet voice for hours as it charms my heart beats to move faster. I can .."" You know, even I know enough punjabi to know you fabricated 90% of that""Well so what! That's what it means to me""If you were to say

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-29004865921738412682007-01-07T04:38:00.000-05:002007-01-07T04:40:11.970-05:00

The cries of the cuckoos are mangled with the cacophony of the ugly native black birds.There is an uneasiness in the ground as sequined white slippers tread softly on the clean roads of an officer’s colony.There is a path that meanders out sans sprawling bungalows overflowing with potted plants.it is a narrow path lined with dust laden trees. A few pieces of broken chalk lay scattered near the

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1165979689454867752006-12-12T21:52:00.000-05:002006-12-14T15:32:46.201-05:00

It's a play,of broken kites,and ill-fitted dreamsIn the park,where alone,night runsIn two pigtails,and ribbons,of red satinThe swings,they clap,oh so emptyThe streetlightso dim,but night glistensToothy giggles,sneakered feet,six years oldShe runs,a game of catch,in circles of dustThe kite falls,out stretches night,its tiny armsBut the night,to die,it must growStill it plays,this night,so youngSo

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1161452605712740792006-10-22T19:31:00.000-04:002006-10-22T19:38:42.150-04:00

Good conquered evil that we celebrate today. So we're told to remember. Remember to begin this new year, not just with lights around but within.But sometimes there is good and nothing else. Does nothingness become evil?Does it matter to know?When the Good just stood by patiently. When they wrapped brambles around themselves and left petals for your feet. When they blew the cold winds that break

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1160714390666227412006-10-13T00:08:00.000-04:002006-12-14T15:33:03.020-05:00

You would know.The softness of the snow as it plops on the ground withsuch gentleness.Stretch out your arm and it tingles on your palm. Before it disappears like soap bubbles. Do you smile?And yet snow too turns ice.All there is, is a chill. A chill. Suddenly.Because the Snow Queen had sent her messengers knocking at your door. Do you hear it?It hits you as you look around for the softness that

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1160197242663420922006-10-07T00:36:00.000-04:002006-10-07T01:57:51.860-04:00

Waterdrops oval elongated. Pure, musical. Vibrating, resonating around us.Sit by my side right here.Soak in your feet.At the edge where I sit.Where my naked feet gently ripple the calm river.It's a story book illustration isn't it?What story would you like to be today? Take this easel.Paint me relief.Charcoal me in.Use your fingertips.Smooth the lines.But you say you can't draw. It's a storybook

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1159569646622463232006-09-29T18:34:00.000-04:002006-12-14T15:33:12.906-05:00

Listen.Pour all your poison into blotches on this skin.Press it on hard push it through your pores.Let this black and brown line you more.Look. You now have a a distinct pattern.Let Coach purchase it for their Limited Edition.But now, pay heed, for this is important.Shed this skin when you've finished, I caution.For feet to trample, they need a hide For this skin they shall have, even if to skin

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1159406862025232192006-09-27T21:18:00.000-04:002006-09-27T21:30:33.556-04:00

" I believe Mute had died a few days ago""What do you mean?"" It died a few days ago but it is only now that I see. I don't write much anymore. It's gone. Used up.I poured it all into one big yellow balloon and now it has floated away from me.Out of sight. Beyond what I can see.The Wind just came and tugged away my child. Lured to it the open skies. Showed it all the freedom I couldn't give.My

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1158444712254254062006-09-16T18:04:00.000-04:002006-09-17T22:54:29.536-04:00

There's a thought that circles her where she sits with her legs under her and hair messily around her face.It is a frightening thought. Which circles up and down around her. She doesn't see it. But the closer it gets the less she breathes. It's whizzing by close, so close it raises up a slight rush of air on her skin from where it races by. And she breathes more erratically. Words don't form.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1157874398776972412006-09-10T03:22:00.000-04:002006-12-14T15:35:01.510-05:00

There had been calm for a while. P'haps too long.So the fire alarms were rung where no smoke arose. Panic -was necessary.The shrill sounds mercilessly twang against metal. Pounding eardrums. Sending the heartbeat into an erratic frenzy.She thought drinking from the yellow pool was a good excuse. To be deceitful.To contemplate the forbidden. To feign, the yellow instead of the clear, hazed up

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1157216946424006832006-09-02T13:01:00.000-04:002006-09-02T13:09:06.456-04:00

There's a lonely cloud stuck in the midst of this spruce studded mountain. There's a horde of clouds migrating to the North. Towards the Arctic Circle ready to envelope the sun to bring in the winter of 10 months. But there is this lonely cloud stuck right above a crowd of spruce as though the baby wandered for a few minutes and got stuck in the centre of a circle of prickly bullies. And there it

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1156720812344435532006-08-27T19:11:00.000-04:002006-08-27T19:23:47.713-04:00

There's a place where I've hidden from Them All all of what you've given me.In the closet, under the stacks of many cards and photo albums, is a more precious pile of memory. Safely locked in the treasure chest. Your many kindnesses.I started cynically. Too many pebbles were needed to bring water up. Water-That seemed to not exist.For one thirsty summer morning, at the unfortunate hour of 9, it

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1156393557752268772006-08-24T00:11:00.000-04:002006-08-24T00:25:57.776-04:00

Here. Take some water paints and colour me a wish.Bring alive tufts of mossy leaves. And then step aside as I part. Part these soft fragile bursts of summer. To let the mists pour through. And sink right into them, lost from where you are.And whence you wish-spill a bottle of oceans. And I'll rise yet again from canvas.But oh look! Look above. Sneak a peek at the clouds.Today, these shifting

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1155758012186661432006-08-18T17:42:00.000-04:002006-08-18T17:59:39.936-04:00

Maybe you wouldn't believe me if I were to tell you so but my insides stretch within as they fit in a smile too big for my lips.There's a laugh that's low and deep. It's silent and yet joyous in it's amused delight.And I strain to hear it- this unusual wave that I want to see before it crashes down again and melts into the sea. I don't want to know who you are stranger. But I wish I could tell

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1155666875424105862006-08-15T14:14:00.000-04:002006-08-15T14:34:37.156-04:00

Not too long ago, on an Independence Day, a white sequined salwar kurta was worn. How many ironies, you will not know.P'haps the thronging crowds and countless netas with their even more countless chelas may have been a nuisance. In public spaces that didn't need more dirt or paan stains- their commemoration for our svatantrata. Freedom to be a pain.P'haps the squished, the torn, the held, the

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1155578208930902462006-08-14T13:54:00.000-04:002006-08-14T13:56:48.980-04:00

kaid aise rahen kyun,ki chaabi humari jeb meinkaid aise rahen kyun, ki chaabi humari jeb meinghuma diya woh baksa, theen jismein tumhari yaadein

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1155063366786907642006-08-09T19:14:00.000-04:002006-08-18T14:13:46.456-04:00

Let me show This tree of red brickIt oozes slowlyBut layers thickIt was MapleIn a summer greenNow of this expanseIt's the Bandit QueenI seek a time when it wasn't soWill these bangles show meI must knowPick and hunt 'emWipe to seeWill they bring What I threw carelesslyThese bangles Once of colourRemain redDespite the rubbing fervourBut you must believeSo come let's seeThere's a red Covering a

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1155056840447756422006-08-08T13:04:00.000-04:002006-08-08T13:30:09.416-04:00

I've written 3 incomplete posts today and have maybe 5-6 other from the past week.Somehow my Ghostwriter has disappeared and suddenly all I can write is for my eyes only.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1154499817584783742006-08-06T15:20:00.000-04:002006-08-06T15:25:47.996-04:00

Another new post on the other blog

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1154445355558171312006-08-01T11:05:00.000-04:002006-08-01T11:15:55.596-04:00

For regular posts please scroll down. As you can all see, there has [finally!] been a change in template [after may hours phew]. I was told that my previous template was tricky on the eyes - so I hope this one reads better T! Many thanks to Isha of Achromatic Perspective for her help in photoshop.Hope you all like this new look.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1154279315128628352006-07-30T12:50:00.000-04:002006-07-30T13:08:35.216-04:00

"Ay! Can you take a printout of this link I'll just message you?""theek" ............"That was quick- thanks !" "Why are you tearing it apart?!""Why do you think I asked you to print it?""To tear it?!""Yes of course""Who even does that? Why?""Because this paper is filled with expectations""You know what you want. So what!""I know what I do not want. I know that this paper will remind me, should

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1141607932445335692006-07-27T11:03:00.000-04:002006-07-27T11:08:17.526-04:00

His father yelled at him, “I will not have you falling into such immorality”, refusing to take His name.The only option? Death, since He couldn’t be his.He looked around for the nearest weapon. He grabbed a pillow and suffocated Him.“I loved you. You’ll be missed”, he said.He had killed his dream.

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1152417219407728752006-07-21T12:35:00.000-04:002006-07-21T12:54:01.080-04:00

There's a sun set somewhere but it doesn't matter.There's a blue dress billowing out in the sultry air, trying to awaken an unmoving glossy head.She's young but bent grotesquely now. There isn't anyone to check why.A few gulls call out in their cacophony. Their shrill sounds move her. She longs to join their cries.There's a hint of silver that catches the sun's sinking rays. A cellphone lying in

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1152676484827347192006-07-11T23:54:00.000-04:002006-07-15T18:53:50.340-04:00

Droplets of sweat caress my brow, speckled with creamy white chandan*. Black sequins adorn the wine red lehenga*, sparkling in the inky fluid night. The mehendi* annoys me as it circles and flowers my hands and I remember..........We were young once again. Mehendi was mud meandering on my palms. Or so you'd said as you smashed my palms into each other and laughed. Boys can be like that.I cried.I

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1152164660137597462006-07-08T01:20:00.000-04:002006-07-08T23:54:26.393-04:00

Shiny locksheartbreakingly naiveoh what almond eyes !nay she isn't chinese?Pink pouty lil hearta sharp tip is such crowneda nose so delicateshe asked to be thrown aroundshe speaks softlythis japanese dolltiny petite - a shove,now see her fall!peals of laughteroh what glee!we pull her hairwe scrape her knee!Hold hands now!Circle around.She stands alone,As circles abound.Not a tear shed?For shame!

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1151706962557383932006-06-30T18:32:00.000-04:002006-06-30T18:36:02.653-04:00

Dear T, This is my first letter to you and long overdue. But I have been blind- in vision, in heart, in mind. I was looking over your snaps and I realized........ you aren't what I had thought of you all along. I should have given you a chance sooner than this. I should have met you with an open heart. I hope you don't hold it against one whose heart has been broken by others of your kind. That

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1150607278669608832006-06-24T12:39:00.000-04:002006-06-24T13:08:28.373-04:00

Her ankle length close fit denim skirt swished around her sharply cutting through the air as she ran.No! Don't ! Don't! , she screamed. No! Please, no!She stopped the butcher's hand in midair. Hoping to wrestle the instrument with the evil glint out of her hands , away from the delicate strings.The butcher pulled away her hands before she could wrench the knife.I've told you this must be done!,

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1149312741642729102006-06-14T13:06:00.000-04:002006-06-22T00:58:04.853-04:00

Dances and ice cream trucksBreeze through dandelionsBloodied cafeteria mealsMardi gras presentsFlowing tressesLifting up their wings.Living outTheir independence.Ironed, noodled.Double edged scissors.Living outPrisoned categoriesBut aren't we too old now, my friend?We're too old.Tears in my eyesAs a thorn pricks youAnger in my voiceAs another maims youPrickly hugsShrugged awayFor heavier loadsAre

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19645378.post-1149653782976999102006-06-08T14:52:00.000-04:002006-06-08T22:16:43.230-04:00

Clothed in black, we were brilliant.Skinny, lithe, unlucky teen- truly.Black shoes shining satin. Bony arms, muscles in the sprout. Midnight casually buttoned, loosely tucked in.Thick fringes over pools of mischief. 25% of the sugar backboned staircase hadn't been climbed, not yet.Our brilliance sparkled in the air. A snow globe- we were alone as backdrop dancers fell behind the curtains. The

Deepalinoreply@blogger.com6