2+7<->9+2<->11

J'ai vingt sept ans

Yes, yes this is the ritual post for 9th Feb every year. Yeah yeah I know, today is the 10th and I am late by a day. But that's not my fault. Blame it on the old age :P.

Anyway, this appearance today is just to remind you all, but mainly my poor blog that it hasn't been forgotten. Just that it did not figure in my things to do in the previous few weeks. But from now, it shall be different. Or so I hope :) There shall be more posts-- more stories, more ramblings and maybe even more genres!

Okay let me start now .....

Hmm .. aah well .. maybe some other day .. not in the mood today :P

Amsterdam - Copenhagen - Hannover !!

Yes, three cities-- visited Amsterdam in August, Copenhagen in October and Hanover in November. Also went to India in September, and a couple of other trips too in these months but those have nothing much to write about :P. So let me talk about each of these three cities in turn. Yeah, my travelogueing skills are depleting by the day and hence I need to have travelled to at least three different places to be able to produce one substantial post :P.

AMSTERDAM: Hmm, let me see, what do I remember about this city? It was the city with the most canals/streams that I have ever been to. And if you are asking- no, I haven't been to Venice yet. Boating around on those canals seemed to be the favourite activity of tourists. With most roads neighbouring the canals, and innumerable bridges criss-crossing them, it is quite pretty in the central city area. And that is also where you will find the famous 'coffee shops'. Some of them, especially those on the main roads, are obviously set up for tourists. However, those in the back alleys seem to be the proper ones, having a genuine feel to them, and the stuff you get there is pretty strong too ;). Also if you are strolling around in the city-centre, you will at some point, find yourself in the centre of the other notorious attraction, the red-light district, having no clue how you got there. And it is literally, a 'red light' area.

As Amsterdam is reputed for its art museums, we had to visit some. Van Gogh museum had unnecessarily long queues, so we didn't go in. The other museum next to it, the main one- Rijksmuseum, is mostly under renovation. But we did manage to see some really nice and grand paintings in the little area open to visitors. The public transport system, mainly based on trams is decent. Finally, have I mentioned the bicycles? Biking is the first nature of the Dutch, walking might be second :P. There are bikes everywhere, and at the parking areas, there are such huge piles of bikes, chained and locked, that I really wonder how one would manage to find his/her bike among the hundreds and hundreds of bikes mashed together.

COPENHAGEN: If bicycles form the image of Amsterdam, cycle-paths are the lasting memory of this city. They are unique because they are not just the usual coloured strip at the edge of the road that no one cares much about. Rather, the cycle-paths in Copenhagen are raised platforms on the side of the road, much like footpaths/pavements. So yeah, the roads appear really wide. They contain the traffic lanes, then a raised platform for the bikes, and then a proper pavement for the pedestrians. And if that is not enough, at the bus-stops there is an additional raised platform to wait and board the buses! Of course in some places, exiting the bus might leave you standing on the bike path and before you realise it, there will be cyclists whistling past you, silently cursing at these tourists who can't step away quick enough :P

Actually, it is a wonder why people even bother to use bicycles here. The transport system is pretty convenient and cheap, though a bit confusing. They have the metro, a non-metro train system, and buses and more. A ticket is valid on any many of these within its validity period. Okay enough about the transport. The city is really neat and well-maintained. Architecture is a mix of both old and new. There don't seem to be any cheap places to hang out though, only posh restaurants. Did I mention how expensive the city is? Well, it's Denmark after all.

HANOVER: What's special about Hannover you might ask. Well, I don't know apart from the fact that it has cheap and convenient flights from Southampton. Actually, it didn't end up being that convenient for me anyway, as the flight was delayed by 3 hours, and when it finally reached Hanover, I was held up at the immigration for an additional hour as the immigration officer found me, my visa, and my reasons for coming to the city suspicious! So the highlight of my trip might have very well been in the first hour of landing in the city, as I was escorted out of the arrivals by two machine-gun totting, tall, hefty, bullet-proofed security personnel ;).

The central market area of the city, containing the railway station, the cathedral and big shopping malls is nice to walk around. Oh, and it has an area, marked by a statue which acts as the commonly recognised meeting point in the city-centre. You can find quite a few people standing there waiting. The 'Rathaus' contains four miniature depictions of Hanover- one showing Hanover as it was in 1689, one showing the 1939 version, one the 1945 version, and finally the current one. The 1945, post World War II depiction, is stark and disquieting; all of the city is just debris with only a couple of buildings left standing here and there. When we were there, there was one marriage party exiting the building, and another preparing to enter. A procession of weddings ;).

Well, that's all about these three cities. Who knows where I will go next. And when!

PS- did you expect some mention of the advent of the new year, the new decade, the new era blah and blah? Well.....

Glimpses of a day

Another day, the sun wakes up a little later than yesterday, the air exerts a bit more chill today, but the clock is still adamant to alarm at the same time. She curses as she bolts right up on the bed. The covers slide down the smoothness of her skin and she shivers with cold, the coldness of her dreams. Also the thermostat might need to be turned higher. She looks around to locate the source of that annoying screaming buzz of the alarm and brings down her hand swiftly to end it. Of course the ritual will be repeated again tomorrow. But for now, there is silence. Aah, the silence! How easy is it to just grab the pillow and wander back into sleep. Resist the temptation! She bends forward and holds her feet, her legs still stretched out. Hence the curve of her back is now almost horizontal, pressed tightly against her legs, the lower spine pushing against the skin accentuates its presence while the upper half is hidden by the curls of her hair.

...

She is jogging to the tram stop. The pavements are being stocked up by the fresh produce of the day, dripping water all around as they are moved out from the trucks. She sidesteps the workers, the boxes and the puddles with equal ease, without any visible slowing of her pace. The smell wafting from a bakery reminds her of the buttered toast lying abandoned in her kitchenette as she dashed out of the house. As she approaches the junction, she manages to catch sight of the approaching tram. Instantly, the jog turns to a run, and a flash of beautiful mass rushes up the street, coming to a halt just as the tram also does.

...

She looks at the watch. It's just been 20 minutes since she last looked. 3 more hours left to the end of the shift. She glances at the two kids fussing about in the store. Their mother is outside having a puff, perhaps to snatch away a few minutes of relief from her kids. They do seem to be troublesome. They had already picked up a whole lot of packets from the shelves and after giving a glance or two, placed them haphazardly at the nearest available space; only coincidentally would the new shelf belong to the same category as the packet. They had also knocked off a part of one of the displays. Her favourite display, the one that took her a whole shift to build from the basic blocks. Yet she has been sitting there passively, nevertheless, observing them continuously. Hopefully remembering all their actions, because once they leave, she will have to go about and re-shelve all the toys in their rightful places and also restore her master display. For now, though, she is just watching. And hearing her rumbling stomach, complaining about its neglect. Not a morsel today and it is already past lunch-time. Have to wait until the shift ends to get hold of any food. And now, she is just half-way through it. Why am I even doing this? Yeah, it is the usual time of the day for the introspective thoughts. Is it worth it? She gets up to dust away these nagging doubts and busies herself by righting the wrongs, of the kids at least.

...

Her tram is winding its way through the bustling streets. With the shops starting to down the shutters, more people are emerging onto the roads. Despite it being quite dark, there is no sign of any stars appearing in the sky. Maybe some clouds, maybe the bright street lights. She occasionally looks at this scene through the window, as a necessary change from sifting through the library book and her notes, preparing for the assignment tomorrow. She also thinks back to the afternoon. She had to rush to her class directly from the store because the manager delayed her after the shift, discussing his plans for the forthcoming Christmas sale. As a result, she didn't have the luxury to go home or freshen up. She looks at her clothes, crumpled slightly, and aches to be home soon and be able to relax in the shower. Nevertheless, she would have been an artist's delight, especially those dabbling in portraits. Her beautifully-cut face is complemented by the studious look given out by the glasses and the concentration-filled eyes behind them.

...

On the bed, staring at some youtube video, her hand is mechanically feeding her the rice from the little bowl in her lap. Plain rice with a dash of salt and lemon. She was drained of all energy to have been able to cook anything else. Quite a catch-22 this is, sometimes- you need the energy to cook food, but you need the food to gain the energy. She reaches out for the clock to ascertain that the alarm is set, just to be safe in case she dozes off, as she oft does, with the laptop running, the half-empty bowl on the bed, the glasses astray, and the dreams abound.

Just another day after all.

I write because I can't !!

Lost track of life.
It's running away from me.
I chase it, I gasp behind it.
It appears, it teases and it hides,
tempting yet beyond reach.
Why don't I take control?
Why don't I bend it to my wishes?
That may be possible, but what are my wishes?
What if I bend it one way and turns out, other side they lay?

There is a lake that shines,
It glitters but it is shallow.
Inviting the beauty around,
it glows with an enchanting halo.
Drawn to it are all of us,
but we reach and muddle it
only to be caught in its whirlpool of unhappiness!

Those beyond capture might grin,
and even ridicule the apparent silliness
Yet someday, caught up in the same quagmire,
they seek help from the same mocked
and expect to be saved and delivered
because all they did was laugh and yet somehow, apparently, admire!

Once dry and on firm ground,
they might act as if all sound
and justify their actions and the eventual resolutions.
But we all know and so do they,
what happened is not causal or explanatory
Fate and destiny are but mere words for incomprehensibility!

A world in white

The world has transformed. And it is all running in slow motion. The bus is moving forward slowly, slow with circumspection, even though it is not obstructed by the usual traffic. The long queues of cars at the traffic junction are now replaced by just a couple of them. Even those few don't rush through the green light as in regular 'rush hour', but cross gently, as if strolling on a leisurely afternoon. The absence of the usual cacophony of speeding cars is almost unsettling.

A few huddled figures in dark coats can be observed, bent slightly forward, tiptoeing despite their hurry. Dark dots against a vast white background. Seems like everyone else has relented to the serenity and made themselves scarce, so as not to disturb it. All at the same time. Those left behind are trying to be inconspicuous with their quietness and restrained movement.

The flakes are dropping from the sky with the assurance of being preserved after the fall, buffered by those colleagues who have fallen before them. Without any need for urgency, each one is managing to have a decent look around and marvel at how together they have managed to transform this usually drab place into some kind of a pristine beauty. The snow flakes come down gently, perhaps in allegory to the slow moving world around them. Or is it the other way round? Has the world slowed down to mirror the unhurried fall of this snow?

"why art are you?"

This is a desperate attempt to placate the blog and persuade it not to abandon me. Yes, I am referring to Mythalez's blog. Given the recent inactivity, it has been feeling neglected and was making threatening remarks about moving out. I, of course, ridiculed her threats, mocking her by asking where she was intending to go. I even pointed out that if she did move away from me, Mythalez, to another author, would she still be called Mythalez's blog? I was thus, so arrogantly complacent. Of course, on one relatively calm day, she informed me that she had started planning our separation and has been actively browsing the blog-world for a suitable replacement of me. Before I could start off on another of my mocking rants, she calmly informed me that even after our separation, she would still be called Mythalez's blog, and therefore, her new author would be ordained Mythalez. That's when it hit me! With this separation, I would not only become blogless but also nameless! Whoever owned Mythalez's blog would be called Mythalez. I would just vanish. Much like Doctor Who, you know! The new guy becomes the doctor, and the old one turns into a mere question- who? Okay, I apologise for the trite attempt at humour, but coming back to point, I have decided to act before it is too late. Hence this post.

Now, coming to the actual content of the post rather than the motivation, I could have written about Amsterdam or even Copenhagen. In fact, I do need to write about them. But instead of making the effort of writing an articulate personalised description of these two famous cities in Northern Europe, I have plumped for a much easier genre-- an abstract post that outwits itself in its abstractness. Without this confession, it would seem that a great deal of thought and philosophy went into this post, and that it is open to great deal of interpretations, the best of which would be the author's. All that, my dear reader friends, is just a myth. Every abstract post is abstract because it essentially has no substance :P. No, I didn't mean that, that way. Let us just say that abstract posts are like neutron stars-- you know they are there; they aren't pretty or bright, but they are dense and heavy. More importantly, you do get gravitated towards them, quite strongly ;). So here we go-->

Indulgence you are. Exquisite indulgence. The outer clothing with the smooth combination of colours and the slight glitter tries its best to compliment the beauty it is veiling. With gentle persuasion, slowly emerges the elegance personification with the finely cut features emphasizing the slimness and the delicious delight contained. The multiple layers are snugly fit together, their differences imperceptible unless a part is broken off rudely. Perhaps the layers allude to the taste, the way the sweet and the bitter flirt in the mouth? Only if one is fortunate enough to experience, that is. And the other layer, the mysterious flavour, intangible and indescribable, yet, or maybe hence, holds the most attraction. Every intimacy, reintroduces one to ecstasy but also leaves with a nostalgic bitter after-taste. Something that would turn to melancholy if not for the reappearance and the re-indulgence another day.

Can never get enough of you, my generous slice of 85% cocoa! ... Hmm .. well .. finally, I seem to have used an actual metaphor, I guess? ;)

My name is Red

I was walking swiftly. I don't know why though; there was no reason to hurry. The appointment with the doctor was after an hour and that's just the minimum you know. I was also starving, but I walked past the fast-food counters and kept walking. Aah, the irony. They have fast-food centres with the greasy burgers and oily chips in a hospital, where the original cause behind most of the illnesses of its patients is obesity.

Anyway, I was walking, my pace throttled by the crowds in the corridors, when my shirt's sleeve felt wet. Yeah, it was full-sleeves but folded a bit. I looked at it there was a big wet blob. Strange, did the ceilings leak in this hospital too? But then, at that moment, even my arm felt wet. I slowed down and rolled up my sleeve to check. Most of the lower arm was red. Almost dripping. An unusual sort of red really. Almost like a bright red paint that's been diluted. Watery. Damn. What was the cotton doing? Oh, I also had to be careful while moving my hand so as to not let the liquid slip off and mar the squeaky clean floor. Back to the cotton, it had absorbed enough to become a dark red. The surrounding tape, holding it in place, was still there. I had stopped completely by now. I turned around abruptly. The busy people, hurrying behind me had to suddenly stop; they almost bumped into me. They stared at me, I guess expecting me to say something on the lines of 'sorry' or 'excuse me'. But I just stared back defiantly. Then they noticed the bloody hand. With rising levels of alarm, they parted and gave me way.

I started briskly walking back to the blood test centre at the pathology department. Obviously, the nurse didn't do the best job ever and it's only fair that I give her a chance to rectify. The streaming groups of people in the corridors, walking in all possible directions, noticed me coming towards them, noticed the red, and politely got out of my way. I went past the fast-food counters, the main reception area and onto the other side of the hospital. At this moment, I wasn't even bothering to go around the people. I was brazenly jogging and expecting them to get out of the way, which they did. Of course, I still had to go around stretchers on wheels and patients on wheel-chairs.

I turned left. Then right. Left again. The corridors were flying past me now. Thankfully, the direction signs were abundant. Otherwise, people in a hurry like me, would end up going in enough circles to faint. Finally, I reached what I remembered to be the second last corridor to reach the pathology dept. I pushed open the door blocking my way and faced an elderly patient in a wheel chair being pushed by an orderly. But I didn't even hold the door open for them. I rushed around them and turned the final right. Now, I slowed my pace to quick strides and entered the blood test centre. It was just as full as when I had left some minutes ago. But this time, I didn't take a token and wait. That would have been silly. I strode confidently past the waiting room towards the room where the booths are; where the nurses take the blood samples. I could hear murmurs from the other waiting patients. The corner of my eye even gathered a girl nudging her boyfriend/husband/brother/friend-whoever and pointing me out. The couple standing next to the entrance to the other room quickly moved aside on seeing me. As I stepped inside, the nurse standing close to the entrance, presumably the supervisor, looked over at me calmly and made her remarkable observation- "You are bleeding". I grinned. That's what I do when I am somewhat embarrassed. She then looked over her shoulder and shouted, "Angie! Can you please re-bandage this gentleman?" Without waiting for approval from Angie, she pointed me to a chair, with a nurse standing next to it. I guess her name was Angie. I went over. She asked me to keep my arm raised and then proceeded to wipe and clean my arm. She removed the soaked bloody cotton and tapes and wiped more, now around the area from where all the liquid was coming out. The place where another nurse had just poked me a few minutes ago and drawn out bucket-loads of blood. Anyway, this second time, the nurse stuck much larger cotton balls and tapes, and quite firmly too.

With all that done, I was asked to wash my other hand which had also been reddened as I was using it to hold this arm away from people on my way here. The nurses then enquired whether I had also left my bloody marks on the floor anywhere. Anyway, soon after, with my freshly bandaged arm, very clean, smelling of that familiar hospital odour, and with the stained sleeves rolled up, I walked out of there. On my way past the waiting room, I noticed a few more murmurs and 'pointings' towards me by the other waiting patients. Aah, I was the highlight of their morning!

Update on books read

Thought that it is time to post an update about the latest books read. So this is it.

Snow by Orhan Pamuk: I wanted to read 'My Name is Red' but I found this one. As it seemed big enough and deep enough to keep me occupied for some weeks, I picked it up. Well, it took more like a couple of months to finish actually. No, it wasn't bad. Far from it. The writing is filled with beautiful imagery, very evocative and compelling. The description of the snow especially and the snow filled city especially, doing justice to the title. Of course, a lot more justification is uncovered as one progresses through the story. Based in a border town of Turkey called Kars (I guess it exists?) and mostly about the protagonist's trip to it. The protagonist, called 'K' is a famous poet, a friend of Pamuk, the main narrator, though the story is from the point of view of K. It places his personal tryst with love, caught up in the clash between the Islamic population, the staunchly secular military and the confusion of the coup led by a previously-famous theatre personality. Yeah, it all happens in the novel.

The Golden Gate by Vikram Seth: The reason I wanted to read this is because I admire Vikram Seth's poetry. And because this is so unique- written in verse! And because it is about 20-something adults, with jobs and stuff, trying to make sense of their loves, desires and hates while struggling against the irrationality in the minds. Initially, it is great fun to read the story in the perfectly rhyming verse but as one progresses deep into the story and identifies too much with the characters, one concentrates more on the story and less on the style ;). Before, reading I wondered how the author would be able to fit in dialogues (it would have seemed unnatural to find the characters rhyme their speech right :P), but he did it expertly. Normal sentences, break across the lines of the stanza such that the rhyming scheme is maintained immaculately. A book definitely worth reading.

e: A Novel by Matt Beaumont: On the topic of unconventional novels, here is another one. Quite a unique one at that. It is composed entirely in the form of office emails exchanged between some employees of an advertising firm in London. Set in a 2 week period coinciding with a major bid for a Coke campaign, the book is hilarious from the first page. The bitchiness, the absurdity and the false-sincerity that goes on in an office is aptly captured. In short, it is a book one cannot put down and wishes that the story would go on forever. Kudos to the author's ingenuity and style. If you do get to read this, I am sure you would agree that the most hilarious mails are from the Finnish CEO who isn't even supposed to feature in the story ;).

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig: A mostly non-fictional book about philosophy and stuff. I heard a lot about it for far too long but resisted reading it. Eventually, it has been forced down my throat and I had no other choice but to read it. As it says after the dedication page of the book, it is not very factual about Zen, and not very factual about motorcycles either ;). It is told in the form of the narrator talking to us while on a bike trip across US with his son and a long-time friend couple. But the trip description is only a facade for launching into the philosophy of the author about 'Quality'. These vignettes of wisdom are called 'Chautauquas' (the main new word I learnt from this). And there is another stream that runs in between these two, giving us insight about the past of the narrator, who is actually the author of course. No, it is not at all confusing :). And composed this way, the book is much easier to read than had it been all talk about philosophy only. Anyway, the book will definitely make you think.

Johnny Gone Down by Karan Bajaj: On my recent trip to a book store in Hyderabad, I was amazed to see how 'popular Indian literature' has exploded over the past couple of years. There seem to be hundreds of books written by young Indian authors for young Indians. I guess these books fill in the long-existing gap of Indian English novels for pure pleasure reading. To get a taste of it, I picked up this one because it was the cheapest (50% discount on a MRP of 100!) and I had read good reviews about it. It is a fast, gripping story on the lines of Shantaram and Forrest Gump. But being very short, it is not convincing enough. Nevertheless, good enough to pass time on a lazy afternoon :).

I have also recently read compendiums of short stories - both fiction and non-fiction - but one cannot really talk about them in the form of a summary. All I can say is that they were fun, usually more fun than a novel. :)

"Lashing"

Dejected is not what she would have called her state of mind. Dejection suggests a cause. Hers is deeper. Doldrums would suit the description of her condition but she didn't like that. The metaphor about a stagnant ship in the middle of the Atlantic somehow did not reflect the despair and melancholy that has been pervading everything about her in these times.

She was in another of her endless supply of pensive moods but the irritation in her eye was distracting her. Finally gathering enough energy she rose, walked over to the mirror and looked at herself. Not really, she avoided looking at all of her face and so moved closer to focus on her mischievous eye. The problem was pretty obvious- a single miscreant black eye-lash had escaped from its position and was poking her eye instead. She carefully pulled it aside. The dissident eye-lash now calmly lay on her thumb. Just then she remembered. It is obviously silly but why deny an opportunity for hope? So she closed her eyes, wished, opened them to look at the gentle eye-lash and softly blew at it. It didn't budge. She was about to try harder when she suddenly recollected that the eye-lash is supposed to be blown away from the palm for the wish to take effect.

Slightly relieved, she placed it on the her palm and repeated the process of wishing with eyes closed. Then she blew at it to send it away into the realms of magic. But again it did not budge. She blew harder. And harder. And even harder. Every attempt increased her anger manifolds. After 4 attempts, she was disgusted with the whole affair and vigorously shook her hand to escape from the clutches of this vicious betrayer. But the eye-lash clung on obstinately. She threw up her hands in anguish and walked off in a huff.

Apparently, it isn't so easy to regain hope ... ;)

a rolling stone feels no mass

I forgot to post my cursory post here that I am going home to Hyderabad. Okay okay, I know I keep doing too often to even mention it in the blog anymore. Still, here it is: I am at home now and will be in this 'state' for the next 3 weeks! Today also marks the day I first went to UK .. so completed 4 years now! A bit of an irony that I am in India while announcing this :P.

Oh and by the way, don't appear friendly and knowledgeable on flights and airports .. otherwise, you will be besieged and not allowed to use the free wifi in peace! Now that this is done .. what else do I write about? How about that post I thought I could try?

\begin{abstract}
How long was I staring at it? And how did I manage to hold my gaze and that posture, without any support, for so long? Or was it long? After all, normally it doesn't take more than a minute to figure out a bus route from a clearly delineated map even in a strange city. Perhaps the person sitting nearby and giving us that look of disdain would know how long it's been. Obviously, I can't ask. So I try to sit down without making my state too apparent. But how will I know?
....

Wait, wasn't I just involved in an lucid discourse about what's wrong with .... uh oh .. what was the topic of the discussion? And what was my take on it? He doesn't seem to have been talking at all. So who was I discussing with? The only thing I can think of now is to conduct the 'time-test' again. I ask him what he thinks the time now might be. The last time we checked it was 1am. "2am? 2:30 perhaps?" he guesses. I check and it is 1:05am. He is as nonplussed as I am. I should conduct this test again after say, 10 mins or maybe an hour. If I can tell which is which.
....

I can see them. I can feel them. They can feel them too. But they can't feel them and hence, so can't I. Too many pronouns in there? The hands, they are clearly holding onto the legs. I can see that. And the hands, they can feel the legs. So that's what they are doing- holding onto my legs. And my legs, they are nicely bent at the knees, around the bench. The feet are pleasantly planted on the ground and I can feel that. But the legs, they are oblivious to the hands that are visibly and tangibly on them. So where is the disconnect? Is this the 'out of body' experience people keep expounding about? If so, it's nothing fancy really, just kind of lame :P.
\end{abstract}

at the front of my mind...

£ Celtic radio in the background ... why? no idea .. I was browsing through the options and this caught my fancy ... sounds very pleasant too!

£ Spent the whole day today feeling lost. Attempted to do many tasks. Mainly because I was in the office during the 'regular hours' and several different long pending works pleading for attention. But I couldn't stick to any of them. Tried to start each of them and failed at each of them. So left them all for another day ... a better day.

£ Thought I will watch a movie in the evening, perhaps 'Atonement', perhaps 'There will be blood' (those are two of the movies on my pc yet to be watched, waiting patiently for more than a year now). In the end, didn't watch either of those.

£ Will I be able to complete this post before the laptop runs out of juice? Just a few minutes left. Yes, the power cord is a bit far away from the sofa and am too lazy to get up now.

£ Just realised that I should savour tomorrow as it will be the last weekend I will be spending at home in Southampton for a while. The next such Saturday will mostly be the last one in September.

£ No more thoughts left. At least no more that could be extracted, dusted off and polished to coherence.

Letters struggle in places,
Words grudgingly together
Forming, deforming phrases
But meaning? Whither? Wither.

Strange Acquaintances!

People generally complain about their inability to remember names or being unable to associate names to known faces. I think I suffer from the reverse. Names are not a problem but I don’t seem to remember faces! Or the other explanation can be that people find my face very memorable ;) while I dont find their’s so :P. Often it happens, that I am walking (mostly around the university), not really lost in my musings, and I find someone coming towards me and staring at me. Just as our eyes meet, the person lets out a “hi” or simply that ‘smile of recognition’. And no, I am not confusing it with that ‘smile of courtesy’ that strangers may occasionally deign to bestow upon each other. Anyone slightly familiar with the British politeness can easily tell them apart :P. Anyway, even if I am caught unawares, I tend to instinctively respond with the ‘hi’ or smile respectively. And we cross each other and continue on our paths.

Having assured them falsely that I do reciprocate their recognition, my mind immediately embarks upon the challenging journey into the recess of its memory to uncover the facts. Did I actually meet this person before? If I did, when? where? Who is this person? And so on. More often than not, after the tough mental expedition, I manage to remember the details.

Like that one occasion when I realised that the girl who smiled and hi’ed as she walked past had met me only once before, that too almost a year ago! Or that other guy, who I come across often, waving, hello’ing or just smiling, to which I respond of course. Evidently, we knew each other. But I couldn’t remember how. After 4-5 such incidents, in which I also acted as if I was in a hurry lest he attempted to make conversation too (oh the horror! :P), I realised that I had indeed met him a couple of times, 3 years ago in my first few months at Southampton, during induction sessions etc. But not always do I manage to recollect. There was this other girl a few weeks ago, whose face first registered recognition, then transformed into a smile. Just before we crossed each other, she even let out a “hey”. I was very certain I didn’t see her before. I actually contemplated turning around and enquiring how she knew me, even at the risk of appearing rude. However, my bus arrived and I chose the conservative option and got in instead. Despite racking my brains over and over, I haven’t been able to place her. But then, her’s wasn’t an easily forgettable face either-- lip piercings are not that common still. Or maybe, the piercing was a new addition, thus making recognition tougher ... who knows! :)

Sense

Gliding in light, end to end

Vast expanse of wasted stage

Oblivious of those in attend

He swirled and swung in rage

She watched in fright and awe

Discovering emotions raw

Her eyes followed him in capture

Rest of them only listened in rapture

His brilliance easily perceived

String and tune he deftly weaved

Lifting them to bliss ephemeral

And then glimpsing sorrow eternal

Music, the violin and he were one

Deaf she, absorbed all though heard none

with this, the month long voluntary hiatus of the blog ends ... an 8+6 poem on 'request' is here! :P

2191 days = Bloggie Birthday!

6 years gone ... yes .. 6 .. and the blog is still alive .. it's active! When Mythalez started on this day in 2004, he was pretty sure it would die out in a couple of months, if not weeks. So join together and celebrate the birthday of the longest running blog that I read .... yep, that's this! ;)

Customary details [to indulge in some narcissism :D]:
- 6 years.
- 72 months but only 2 out of those do not contain even one post. Maximum number of posts in a month is 17 (Sep 04 and Jul 09)
- 365 posts [coincidence?] = 349 published, 16 drafts [including this one].
- innumerable comments. Innumerable because I never counted them, not because they are infinite :P. But I notice that almost all of the comments in the earlier years have disappeared, until mid 2006 :-ss . A terrible blogger bug? [anyone who wise-cracks saying there were no comments until mid 2006 will be duly punished in unimaginable fashion!]

This blog has perhaps seen 3 template design changes over this period of 6 years. But no URL or title changes unlike most of other such long running blogs. A stolid blog :P.

not a ps: last month was quite eventful for my first ever two blog-friends (though, we were friends even before we started blogging :P). Argentyne got married 10 days ago, and SKP got engaged 25 days ago.

See ye all again next year .......

./mythalez

not worth the time :P

He had been ignoring it. He realised it as soon as he paid attention to it. The sound had been faintly audible, in short bursts, for a while now. But he had subconsciously chosen to ignore it. Not any more, though mostly drowned out by the general noise of music, traffic et al., this faint jarring noise annoyed him the most. So he set down to investigate.
---
They both were like two 16th century armies facing each other, ready for attack from either side of a vast field. His artillery was just waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The other side had a different kind of weapon, a hidden one.
---
What a load of rubbish .. what was I even trying to write! If I was writing on paper like in olden times instead of typing on this laptop, I would have torn off the sheet, crumpled it into the tiniest ball possible and thrown it as far as possible, even hoping that it hit and annoy someone on its way to oblivion. That's because, whatever words and sentences I manage to manufacture seem pathetic. Ironically, I am writing this post to complain that I am not able to come up with even one decent sentence for the whole day today! Writing a small 4-sentences mail, whose content was somewhat clear, whose importance was questionable anyway, took me a good part of an hour. I just seemed unable to start a sentence, leave alone be able to reach the period aka full-stop in the end. And now tried to start writing a post to compensate for the failures haunting me for the whole day, and guess what, it just proves that I haven't been in any illusion ... I just can't come up with anything worth-while today ...

Yet, I post .. the audacity!

when you can't sleep tonight ...

Some days are meant to have a post written. The feeling does not leave you. The occasional restlessness, the frequent fidgeting, the rampant attention deficiency are all omens of such days. But because of the attention deficiency, you tend to not focus on it and try ignoring it for the whole day. And then you go to bed, an hour passes, and you realise you haven't fallen asleep yet. So you wake up and complete the movie that you had left midway because it wasn't good enough to deprive you of sleep, ironically. After staring blankly at the end credits, you try to go to sleep, again. This time it just takes a few minutes for you to realise that you are wide awake and staring at the tiny little green LED of the smoke detector attached to the roof. Wonder why it is green, shouldn't it be red instead? Anyway, this time you get up and switch on the laptop and not the TV like the previous time. Climb back into bed with it and start typing whatever comes to mind-- end up with this paragraph and whatever comes next!

Clear first drops fell
onto the cracked
mud; parched hell
of summer conquered |

Yellowing fruits snatched
and sold in bunches
at markets; devoured
at homes in lunches ||

While elsewhere,

Orange rays lingering
well past dinner to
constrict nights; limiting
sleep hours to very few |

Grey dark clouds gather
auguring drizzles that
bring back cold; rather
than those few days of warmth ||

Singles needn't starve on Valentine's!

Another story on the same lines as this and this, but with different protagonists. Perhaps better, perhaps worse, but definitely the last of this kind :P ...

All of a sudden, he found himself alone with her. Their mutual friend had deserted them somewhat abruptly. She, that is, the mutual friend, had looked at the time and was alarmed that she might be late for her dinner-date. It was 14th of February after all and she was quite a popular person. Unlike him. With these thoughts running through his head, he turned to her-- the one who was still there. They weren't exactly strangers, but hadn't known each other for the time needed to be called friends either. He looked at her, half expecting her to disappear in an instant as well. On the contrary, she smiled at him and asked, "I'm hungry, want to get something to eat?"

Though she had moved to this city a few weeks ago, she still wasn't completely at ease. Change is a complex thing. The transition from new to routine happens suddenly but imperceptibly. Anyway, right then, she was also being assailed by the hunger pangs. As she asked him the question, she looked around. They were in some unfamiliar part of the city-centre, unfamiliar to her at least. "Err, yeah okay," he stammered. They resumed walking. She assumed he knew where they were going. She considered specifying what kind of food she preferred and ask his choice as well. But she didn't have to.

"You don't eat at those kinds of places, do you?" he asked, pointing out the Burger King up ahead. They had just turned into a main street. Being February, it was a cold and dark evening, shops were closing and many people were scurrying home, or elsewhere. The apparent melancholy had no effect on him. Instead, walking along with her, he was slipping into a buoyant mood. "I try not to, too greasy, you want to?" she asked. "No, no! Just kidding, though I do eat at such places sometimes," he admitted. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about the fat," she reminded him. "And you would rather prefer some rice with lemon instead?" he attempted to tease her. "Definitely," she declared with a grin. He beamed, wanted to continue the talk, but nothing worth-while occurred to him. Suddenly, it did. "What about some Chinese?"

Is it a random suggestion or did he actually remember, she wondered. The answer was obvious when she looked at him. She replied in the affirmative, just to confirm. With that resolved, she expected them to change direction, or walk somewhere decidedly. But they seemed to continue rambling along. "It might be hard to find a decent place anywhere today," he remarked. "Uh oh," she mumbled though she thought of saying, Well, we can at least try!

She didn't seem pleased with his forecast, so he hoped they find a restaurant soon. He was the local among the two. He was supposed to know where to take her, but he wasn't sure. He recollected only that there were a few restaurants up ahead. And soon enough, they chanced upon one. "What about this," she asked. "Have never been here, haven't heard either," was all that he could say. They went in, only to be faced with a long flight of stairs and a longer queue of people waiting. With not even a pretence of hope there, they left immediately. He stepped outside and turned around, just in time to see her walking out of the door as well. The light might have played a part, or maybe the mood created by the ambience inside, he was struck by her looks. Of course he had considered her pretty and even hot, ever since he first saw her, but this time it was something more. That angular face with the heart-warming smile was enhanced by the playful curly hair; some of those dark brown curls were flirting with the forehead. He stood there, rooted for a few seconds, just staring at her. Or was it minutes?

That restaurant did look nice and well decked up, thinking so, she strode ahead with renewed purpose, wanting to find another one. But where was he? Not finding him next to her, she turned around, only to catch him hurrying up to her. She almost asked what had held him up. But the sparkle in his eye distracted her, or was it his glasses? She couldn't say. "There will be a few more ahead," he said reassuringly. But soon, his eyes were looking at something beyond her. Wondering what was so attractive there, she turned around and found an Italian restaurant with no visible waiting customers. With tacit consent, they entered. It looked quite romantic, all the tables were set up for two, with soft lit candles on them, populated by gently conversing couples. The crystal was glittering too. However, the somewhat Italian looking waiter who approached them, turned them away as soon as he learnt they didn't have any reservation. Perhaps it was time to reconcile to the fact that they won't be able to eat at any decent restaurant, she wondered. "These Valentine's day specials! Crazy eh? Every place seemed fully booked," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "Yeah and no one cares about poor single people like us," she complained too. Encouraged, he went on, "And they also pay such exorbitant prices for the same kind of food as any other day, this day is such a fad!" "Hmm," was all that she said in response. She didn't find Valentine's day annoying, at least not as annoying he was making it out to be.

Walking ahead, they came across a vendor selling flowers on the side. They both were observing him and also looking at the flowers as they moved closer to the shack like stall. He latched onto another conversation starter, “Flowers are also a big business on this day, right?” “Yeah and I think I will end up eating some of them if we don’t find any food soon!” she replied. They halted right in front of the stall and gazed at the colourful scented display. She started off soon enough and he tried to keep up. But his looks lingered on the stall. His thoughts were racing, Damn! I should have bought some flowers for her! What was I thinking? In fact, why wasn't I thinking! He contemplated turning around and getting some. But then he feared it would be too deliberate. Perhaps even awkward? Send unintentionally strong signals? It would certainly be incongruous with his on going projection of being a guy who is not the ‘mushy-romantic’ types. While the debate raged on, they were moving farther and farther away from the stall. He wished that time would stand still for a moment and permit him the leisure to decide. Alas, he felt they were too far away now and he could only rue the missed opportunity. He vehemently and silently cursed his absence of mind. It’s no easy task to be all normal and attentive with the girl and, at the same time, come up with ideas and make these instantaneous decisions, he complained in his thoughts, justifying his inaction.

They tried a few more restaurants, mostly Chinese, as they went along. From every one of them, they were quickly thrown out, not literally of course, politely rather, intermingled with some pity sometimes. Finally they found one which seemed to have vacant tables. As they entered, they were greeted by a gust of perfume. The restaurant was going for some kind of a pink decor, everything was pink, various hues of pink. She was sure she even noticed a few pink heart-shaped balloons floating around! An overly grinning waitress came up to them and offered to show them to a table. He looked hesitant. Detecting some uneasiness in him, she asked, "Do you want to eat here?" "Err, can we go somewhere else?" he asked, in almost a pleading tone. She wasn't sure why but they left the restaurant anyway. Once outside, he took a deep breath and explained, "The scents were just too strong in there, almost suffocating!" She laughed and approved the observation, "It was a bit too tacky." "There should be some more on the street ahead," he told her. They continued their search. Meanwhile, she mentally replayed the incident, particularly his discomfort in there. It was amusing. But it also made him more real, and endearing. She barely knew anything about him, apart from what her friend had told her. From her, she had gathered that he was the nice guy types, but would he make interesting company? She hadn't managed to learn much about him on the few occasions they met previously either. Today might be different, she felt.

They were now onto a busy road with a few cars and even a couple of buses passing by. There were a lot more people on the street as well-- mostly couples. He wondered whether they did the right thing by leaving the previous restaurant. This quest for food was just taking too long. He glanced at her, maybe for the millionth time that evening. The cold had made the tip of her nose reddish, reminding him of Christmas and making her look cute at the same time. He tried to remember if he was ever out with anyone prettier than her in vain. They were walking along silently. He had to say something. He always found sustained periods of silence, absence of a continuing conversation, awkward, especially when with a girl. To remedy the situation, he began, "So, did you do anything special on previous few Valentine's?" She paused to think. He was surprised at himself, pleased too, for having veered the conversation towards her and her life rather than general inanity. "I don't know, nothing special last year, before that also, mostly at home," she answered before adding, "And you?" "Nothing spectacular with me either, generally stayed at home like a good sulking single," he answered with a sheepish grin. She smiled and continued, "Yeah, it's not a good day if one is single, like us." He agreed, "All these couply people make us singles feel awkward!" After a few paces, he resumed, "In fact, this might be the first occasion that I am having dinner outside on this day!" She laughed and then reminded him, "But only if we do manage to find some place!"

They continued the walk-talk. Quite a few minutes went by before they came across the next restaurant. It was Chinese again. She sensed this should be it and looked at him expectantly, wondering whether he had anything to say about this one. "I have been here before, it's a nice place," he stated, "Let's see if it's possible to find a table." They went in and, this time, stayed in for some 100 minutes. Despite being forced to follow the expensive Valentine's Day special set menu, they liked the food. During the dinner, though she had no such intention, she ended up talking about her country, the government, her political beliefs and then moved onto things related more directly to her life. Yes, their conversation was mostly about her than him. She wondered a few times whether she was boring him but he kept asking her questions. She easily identified that he was trying to employ the common technique, 'make it all about her so that she finds it interesting'. She didn't mind. Perhaps, he was actually listening. He was definitely looking at her, engrossed. Being showered with attention isn't such a bad thing after all, she reminded herself. Also, in spite of all the focus on her, she managed to learn a few things about him too.

Done with the dinner and the subsequent formalities (they split the bill, he knew she wouldn't let him pay all of it), they stepped outside, into the cold street. He turned to her, wanting to say something, worried that this might be the end of their evening. But say what? She broke through into these extensive discussions within his mind, using her faintly dimpled and slightly toothy smile, and asked, "I promised to meet some people at a nearby bar now, would you like to come?"