Left —
To me what is important is class. One’s got to have it. But then there are those that think it crucial that there not be any and i cannot agree with them more. They are the left. To leave is also left. B is leftist.
Centre —
In my opinion everyone should have some aim. You know a central target. And then there are those that aim for the centre. I’m aiming for the centre. To centre is also to cross. I have a mountain to cross, but just now i'm a little low.
Do a left and a centre make a right then
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
driving me daisy
Flowers explode
in the gutters
and come down
in a shower
springs bubble
in the sewers
and the light
shimmers in the water
purely as a spectacle
this city can
do no better
than have you
as the lover
to whom it
opens its heart
All my attempts at writing have been offset by my experiments with streamlined thought. Notwithstanding which I would have churned out a bloody substantial body of work had it not been for the fact that all my experiments are thought experiments. Although a digression on the armchair would have been apposite I am quick to realize that that would have as little to do with streamlined writing as, without taking names, a psycho on pills.
But there come certain such periods of intense focus during which one becomes pathologically hooked to the moments that make up a day. Those are the sad times. These are the sad times.
Streamlined right now is a natural disinclination to speech; three parts reluctance, one part reticence and another pain. But coming back to the point, I have taken up the pen once more to record the minutes of each day.
Like that day when I went northwards. To College St. to buy textbooks. Which was simple. And easy enough. Then I roamed about a little confused, even a little frustrated, with location and timing. Location of Publications Division shop. Timings of selfsame shop. Found the shop. Found it closed. Then went off to Nakhoda Mosque area, and, there, in the shadow of the great prayerhouse, had Royaler biriyani. And, like the cabbieguy said, Royaler chaap. Packed some for home. Tipped modestly. Came out, found a tram and hopped in. Got off at Mullick Bazaar and took a cab home.
That above is all of a magical five hours. Streamlining, exercise I; Female voiceover, editing of.
in the gutters
and come down
in a shower
springs bubble
in the sewers
and the light
shimmers in the water
purely as a spectacle
this city can
do no better
than have you
as the lover
to whom it
opens its heart
All my attempts at writing have been offset by my experiments with streamlined thought. Notwithstanding which I would have churned out a bloody substantial body of work had it not been for the fact that all my experiments are thought experiments. Although a digression on the armchair would have been apposite I am quick to realize that that would have as little to do with streamlined writing as, without taking names, a psycho on pills.
But there come certain such periods of intense focus during which one becomes pathologically hooked to the moments that make up a day. Those are the sad times. These are the sad times.
Streamlined right now is a natural disinclination to speech; three parts reluctance, one part reticence and another pain. But coming back to the point, I have taken up the pen once more to record the minutes of each day.
Like that day when I went northwards. To College St. to buy textbooks. Which was simple. And easy enough. Then I roamed about a little confused, even a little frustrated, with location and timing. Location of Publications Division shop. Timings of selfsame shop. Found the shop. Found it closed. Then went off to Nakhoda Mosque area, and, there, in the shadow of the great prayerhouse, had Royaler biriyani. And, like the cabbieguy said, Royaler chaap. Packed some for home. Tipped modestly. Came out, found a tram and hopped in. Got off at Mullick Bazaar and took a cab home.
That above is all of a magical five hours. Streamlining, exercise I; Female voiceover, editing of.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
going pains
Yes we have memories
But we also have scurvy.
At partings I’m nervy
Worried what binds
And what is it that frees
But we also have scurvy.
At partings I’m nervy
Worried what binds
And what is it that frees
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
there and back again
had bewitching love
and bewitched i stayed
drunk, daring not to ask
whither untrained heart
but patient or restless
here i am
clutching at what
of the day remains
we travel far
and further till
we know
that ha the world is round after all
for even those that move sideways
i'll make sure that on the spoon
the lemon stays
when you see me at our meeting place
and bewitched i stayed
drunk, daring not to ask
whither untrained heart
but patient or restless
here i am
clutching at what
of the day remains
we travel far
and further till
we know
that ha the world is round after all
for even those that move sideways
i'll make sure that on the spoon
the lemon stays
when you see me at our meeting place
Sunday, October 17, 2010
sperits
Let me remember
How it is
To hug ma frens
My lovers and my knights my dames
My dusky husky sweetie pies
My heroes in the skies
My people my element
My primer and the cutting edge
The burning sensation
The thirst insatiable
The deep breath
The life force
Maa aamar maa
The more I chant
The more I want
Elo elo elo
Elo vee ee
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a41s4IMyamQ&ob=av2e
How it is
To hug ma frens
My lovers and my knights my dames
My dusky husky sweetie pies
My heroes in the skies
My people my element
My primer and the cutting edge
The burning sensation
The thirst insatiable
The deep breath
The life force
Maa aamar maa
The more I chant
The more I want
Elo elo elo
Elo vee ee
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a41s4IMyamQ&ob=av2e
Monday, October 4, 2010
seabitch
The sea is warm at sundown
And cool by the day
If you swallow seawater
You have hell to pay
It was to be the small bang before the bigger bang. It ended in a near mortal whimper for me. I am like that I’ve seen. A pussy when sick and here I think that my resistance is pretty high. Well here we was on the beach and all oiled up (twenty buck massage by a mobile masseuse; he was no good, especially since he wanted the entire custom of the group, five in all and so while the others grew restless waiting for me to finish after I’d gone first, he made haste with me and to no relief) and we jumped right in without much ado. I speak for me because I realized I should have weighed the pros and cons of so recklessly hitting the sea. It is salty water and in Digha, a dull brown tepid ditchwater. Jumped in I did and soon was gulping the shite by the mouthfuls. Was half full of that bile by the time we was out I’d say. On the second day I was slightly glitchy in the morning and had a sour stale burp but more of that in the post mortem report. Dinner was murgir jhol and thick bullet rice. I wolfed down great quantities of it and then some more after I got served more than I wanted. Upbringing and the ancient sense of duty not to mention immediate reproach in the cartel made me cram some. But there is no sense of foreboding where folly is riding the crest of a wave. Thereafter liquid diet in hotel room till well past. Good boy said good night and went off to sleep in non aircon. Fucked woe be to. First crap: 5 am. Shit #2: 6:20. #3: 7ish. In my current line of business I’m getting to know about AP/GP and frankly, a man gets to thinking what it all means and he gets to watching hisself and finding a meaning. My loose tummy situation was just insane. And how can I ever forget advice from the coterie — strongly advise lunch, have lunch, you’ll be hungry, ’tis a long way, a light lunch never did no harm. Lunch, Parijat hotel, flower of heaven garden. Strongly recommend shukto, have shukto, roughage. What! Had shukto, made from milk, tssk tssk, have charchari, roughage. Charchari then. I was with a plan too at mention of lunch and had dal and aloo bhaja by my own genius. A sachet of eno had preceded lunch. The clouds had gathered but nothing was rumbling yet. Kolaghat in safar sans suhana. Dry and prostrate, sprawled on the back seats, ready if it was time. Ah, someone mentioned tea, petrol pump. What are friends for! Just before Kolaghat, when the cronies had alighted for a quick bite, between puffs, Pintu, the guy at the wheels, confided that he thought the charchari funny. Them wasn’t good vegetables he said. I coughed up some yellow phlegm and spat, you boys finished, let’s go on now. Petrol pump, God bless Pintu. He rushes first thing to the loo. I opt for a drag to begin with and he has the start on me. He is out before long. A little relief is all I get although I had expected more from the nearly three hours of discipline showed by the tummy. On the second morning my stomach was already a tight drum stretched across my chest by the time we went down to the beach. There was football happening and an old tug got pulled inside being for a sudden second, but verve was in me by then a little rat’s tail sticking out under the cupboard for a brief second after the light came on. I was relying on smoke and went along in the water, it was bloody crowded and all everyone was shouting was beer; one was even shrieking holi hai holi hai, aste bachar abar hobe. I looked in the water. It appeared to me as shimmering. I looked closely, let the sun fill my palms below the surface and brought it up slowly. Fine specks of sand caught the sun and danced in it but that was all a fleeting glimpse; very soon the water was the same brown liquid. The water was dirty all right.
And grapes sour.
And cool by the day
If you swallow seawater
You have hell to pay
It was to be the small bang before the bigger bang. It ended in a near mortal whimper for me. I am like that I’ve seen. A pussy when sick and here I think that my resistance is pretty high. Well here we was on the beach and all oiled up (twenty buck massage by a mobile masseuse; he was no good, especially since he wanted the entire custom of the group, five in all and so while the others grew restless waiting for me to finish after I’d gone first, he made haste with me and to no relief) and we jumped right in without much ado. I speak for me because I realized I should have weighed the pros and cons of so recklessly hitting the sea. It is salty water and in Digha, a dull brown tepid ditchwater. Jumped in I did and soon was gulping the shite by the mouthfuls. Was half full of that bile by the time we was out I’d say. On the second day I was slightly glitchy in the morning and had a sour stale burp but more of that in the post mortem report. Dinner was murgir jhol and thick bullet rice. I wolfed down great quantities of it and then some more after I got served more than I wanted. Upbringing and the ancient sense of duty not to mention immediate reproach in the cartel made me cram some. But there is no sense of foreboding where folly is riding the crest of a wave. Thereafter liquid diet in hotel room till well past. Good boy said good night and went off to sleep in non aircon. Fucked woe be to. First crap: 5 am. Shit #2: 6:20. #3: 7ish. In my current line of business I’m getting to know about AP/GP and frankly, a man gets to thinking what it all means and he gets to watching hisself and finding a meaning. My loose tummy situation was just insane. And how can I ever forget advice from the coterie — strongly advise lunch, have lunch, you’ll be hungry, ’tis a long way, a light lunch never did no harm. Lunch, Parijat hotel, flower of heaven garden. Strongly recommend shukto, have shukto, roughage. What! Had shukto, made from milk, tssk tssk, have charchari, roughage. Charchari then. I was with a plan too at mention of lunch and had dal and aloo bhaja by my own genius. A sachet of eno had preceded lunch. The clouds had gathered but nothing was rumbling yet. Kolaghat in safar sans suhana. Dry and prostrate, sprawled on the back seats, ready if it was time. Ah, someone mentioned tea, petrol pump. What are friends for! Just before Kolaghat, when the cronies had alighted for a quick bite, between puffs, Pintu, the guy at the wheels, confided that he thought the charchari funny. Them wasn’t good vegetables he said. I coughed up some yellow phlegm and spat, you boys finished, let’s go on now. Petrol pump, God bless Pintu. He rushes first thing to the loo. I opt for a drag to begin with and he has the start on me. He is out before long. A little relief is all I get although I had expected more from the nearly three hours of discipline showed by the tummy. On the second morning my stomach was already a tight drum stretched across my chest by the time we went down to the beach. There was football happening and an old tug got pulled inside being for a sudden second, but verve was in me by then a little rat’s tail sticking out under the cupboard for a brief second after the light came on. I was relying on smoke and went along in the water, it was bloody crowded and all everyone was shouting was beer; one was even shrieking holi hai holi hai, aste bachar abar hobe. I looked in the water. It appeared to me as shimmering. I looked closely, let the sun fill my palms below the surface and brought it up slowly. Fine specks of sand caught the sun and danced in it but that was all a fleeting glimpse; very soon the water was the same brown liquid. The water was dirty all right.
And grapes sour.
Friday, September 24, 2010
ju after ajus
She did not look
Because the boys did
All the looking for her
For when she passed
Under their feet
the earth shook
and in their veins
the flames burst
and they were all
fainthearted on mars
in my acquiescence
is implicit
the reason why
we do what we do
because even when you propose
im the one thinking for you
I am not you
And you are not me
What page
We are not even
On the same tree
The uni after to hell and back long. And what weather to be doing this in. For to do with football my best skies to visit the place under. The sun strained the colour of sugarcane juice under pale grey clouds. But no rain. That is important, JU like most places on earth is much better with a chance of rain than in rain itself. Although I prefer people to stick to the time it is not a perfect world and when I feel like indulging my friends in their innocence of the moving hand I look at dogs. I will look at dogs if any are around, at any rate, from now on, if I can remember that I should be doing it. It happened in a stream of consciousness sort of way when I picked up share-teen of yore yonder outside the library. It was a lazy time and poor old dogsbody was feeling lazy. I was sitting across from him on the other side of the road, past bachchan family. Share-teen was sniffing the air and casting desultory glances around, although all the while he kept his ears pricked. I observed another, this one much younger and on all fours approaching from the field side. A bitch, brown. This was seen by one of a similar coat that was idling near the statue. Male. He went forward to meet her. Share-teen was craning his neck. But what’s this? A car, stealing up behind haseena. She becomes aware of the vehicle and road romeo at same time. In a clever manoeuvre she stops and turns with the car, but in an anticlockwise direction. The boy had anticipated she would cross the car in front, or wait for it to pass before she came across. But suddenly she wasn’t there. He had an absolutely bewildered look on his face. But share-teen still wore a look of apprehension. The bitch did eventually go off 3 no. gate side with brownback in tow. Share-teen looked on like Snoopy all hurt for some time and then settled down again, to sniffing the air and looking around.
Because the boys did
All the looking for her
For when she passed
Under their feet
the earth shook
and in their veins
the flames burst
and they were all
fainthearted on mars
in my acquiescence
is implicit
the reason why
we do what we do
because even when you propose
im the one thinking for you
I am not you
And you are not me
What page
We are not even
On the same tree
The uni after to hell and back long. And what weather to be doing this in. For to do with football my best skies to visit the place under. The sun strained the colour of sugarcane juice under pale grey clouds. But no rain. That is important, JU like most places on earth is much better with a chance of rain than in rain itself. Although I prefer people to stick to the time it is not a perfect world and when I feel like indulging my friends in their innocence of the moving hand I look at dogs. I will look at dogs if any are around, at any rate, from now on, if I can remember that I should be doing it. It happened in a stream of consciousness sort of way when I picked up share-teen of yore yonder outside the library. It was a lazy time and poor old dogsbody was feeling lazy. I was sitting across from him on the other side of the road, past bachchan family. Share-teen was sniffing the air and casting desultory glances around, although all the while he kept his ears pricked. I observed another, this one much younger and on all fours approaching from the field side. A bitch, brown. This was seen by one of a similar coat that was idling near the statue. Male. He went forward to meet her. Share-teen was craning his neck. But what’s this? A car, stealing up behind haseena. She becomes aware of the vehicle and road romeo at same time. In a clever manoeuvre she stops and turns with the car, but in an anticlockwise direction. The boy had anticipated she would cross the car in front, or wait for it to pass before she came across. But suddenly she wasn’t there. He had an absolutely bewildered look on his face. But share-teen still wore a look of apprehension. The bitch did eventually go off 3 no. gate side with brownback in tow. Share-teen looked on like Snoopy all hurt for some time and then settled down again, to sniffing the air and looking around.
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