Happy B'day!

Happy b'day to you, dear '___'. I don't quite know what to call you. In common terms you would be a 'blog', but you could be a lot of other things too.

Here's to all these words!!

Mine, immaculate dream, made breath and skin,
Ive been waiting for you,
Signed, with a home tattoo,
happy birthday to you
was created for you.

(cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams)
(cant I believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces)

Ahh, itll take a little time, might take a little crime
to come undone
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry

Who do you need?
Who do you love?
When you come undone

Words, playing me deja vu,
like a radio tune I swear Ive heard before,
Chill, is it something real,
or the magic Im feeding off your fingers

(cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams)
(can I believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces)

Lost, in a snow filled sky, well make it alright,
to come undone,
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind -
And blow me in to cry...

- Come Undone
Duran Duran

Long years ago, I made a Tryst with Destiny

One Djinn to rule them all,
One Djinn to find them.
One Djinn to bring them all
and in the darkness bind them.

It will be one year in a few days. One year of the daily love affair with the autorickshaw. An year of wonder, angst, irritation and surprise at the winds. A place ensconsed in history as much as history ensconsed in India. Of Rajputs and of Sultans, of Nawabs and Mughals, of Britishers and of Punjabis. Of drunken brawls and khadi overcoats. Green'n'yellow buses, flashy Honda CRVs and Government Ambassadors. Of neem trees amidst paved footpaths, smooth gravel and golf courses. Kebabs and chaat, kachori subzi and HCF. Bazaars, behemoth malls and parking lots. Student protests and necrophiliacs. Dhaula Kuan, Mehrauli and Connaught Place. Medical, Safdarjang and Dilli Haat. One year of Delhi.

Haanji.

Coimbatore Diaries

It isnt time as yet for the sunset and yet the sun has gone into hiding. I can see the silhoutte of the Nilgiri range from the hotel room. It is a good room, with a big window, without any grills to obstruct the view. Somewhere, it is raining. I can sense it in the whiff of moist earth. I wish I could open the windows and let the fresh air in. But they're locked. I can hear nothing but the dull humm of the AC. There are a few birds flying around. The setting sun has cast an orange glow to the sky just above the line of the mountains. It feels like Ooty is calling me. I called my colleague up and asked if he was interested in making the three hour trip to the hillstation at night. We could get up early and explore the place at sunrise. The flight back from Coimbatore is at 230 pm. We would have a couple of hours of daylight before we will need to head back. It is alluring enough. I wish I had a camera, so I could share this view with somebody. I am hoping I can pick a good deal from the KL trip two weeks from now. Yes, this time and view wont repeat itself, but there will be others.

________________________

I asked Sis if she knew the names of our grandparents. Between the both of us, we know the name of only our paternal grandfather. I assume that is because Dad writes it with his name. I suppose that makes ours a dysfunctional family. I like that.

Go to Bed?

A tired you,
a tired me,
words strewn across
the bed of our Emotions

Changed every noon
fresh every evening
crumpled the next dawn,
the white sheets of Hope

Here now, gone again,
flitting conversations, varied experiences
Softened, over time,
the pillows of Companionship

Short and sweet
Long and hollow
Still there, every day,
the elixir of Sleep