A new moon has begun to wax today. 0% of Full.
Spattered already with the spray that rose up in surprise at CST, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, The Taj, The Trident [Which NDTV took a moment amid mayhem to explain was once Oberoi, but now Trident] interrupted by stray bullets tearing through skin and life. Painted in the helpless horror of shrapnel and anger smashing through the heart of a scarred city.
And I might as well write for a tabloid. Soak in the horror of death and pain and terror [which, even as I write this, I thank God a million times, hasn’t affected me – this mix of love for people and places and thoughts and moments, once defined by Bombay] and squeeze it here, in the hope that some of my sentimental dribble – this saved up trickle of indignation and unease and helpless rage will somehow infect you. Desert my gut and inhabit this stealthy corner, so that your incidental acknowledgement of it might absolve me of any residual guilt I feel for being unaffected. Because this time, it threatens not to dissipate by the next tea-break.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Slowly softly sweetly
A name is uttered. Light as a whisper.
A single syllable sung silently with the swish of a graceful hand. It means all sorts of things. It is for the girl that Zeus seduced who bore him three sons and flew up to become a doting moon around his crown. It is for the prime element of singleness that every moment implodes with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Okay maybe not a thousand. May even not quite be one. It is for the first tremor of a dragonfly’s wings that hum and hover in harmony. It is for all the horrid miles in between. Your lips. My ears. And yet, it’s here now. Home, finally.
Thank you for this heart warming, sweet collage my dear, beloved friend.
A single syllable sung silently with the swish of a graceful hand. It means all sorts of things. It is for the girl that Zeus seduced who bore him three sons and flew up to become a doting moon around his crown. It is for the prime element of singleness that every moment implodes with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Okay maybe not a thousand. May even not quite be one. It is for the first tremor of a dragonfly’s wings that hum and hover in harmony. It is for all the horrid miles in between. Your lips. My ears. And yet, it’s here now. Home, finally.
Thank you for this heart warming, sweet collage my dear, beloved friend.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Butt you MUST
Today a two year old child poked me in my bottom and I didn’t find it cute.
No.
Today, I was standing at the OPD counter at a hospital, sounding all businesslike and haughty [my hairdo makes me think I can get things done faster], when I felt a half poke half pat on my bottom that made me whirl around in a temper only to see this startled little child at the bottom, still holding up its palm wondering what it had set in motion. It clearly had no idea this big bouncy blue bum belonged to someone. More specifically a pissy looking auntie who was mouthing very scary spank shaped words at him.
I cannot blame the child.
I need to effing exercise.
And now, since I’ve got your attention, in support across the seven seas, you must, MUST vote for Obama.
No.
Today, I was standing at the OPD counter at a hospital, sounding all businesslike and haughty [my hairdo makes me think I can get things done faster], when I felt a half poke half pat on my bottom that made me whirl around in a temper only to see this startled little child at the bottom, still holding up its palm wondering what it had set in motion. It clearly had no idea this big bouncy blue bum belonged to someone. More specifically a pissy looking auntie who was mouthing very scary spank shaped words at him.
I cannot blame the child.
I need to effing exercise.
And now, since I’ve got your attention, in support across the seven seas, you must, MUST vote for Obama.
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