Archive Page 2
Let’s talk about being happy. Let’s talk about bliss. Let’s talk about roommates who make you sit through Aa ab laut chale with excellent side commentary. Let’s talk about the fun of watching Khosla ka Ghosla with the same people and singing inane songs. Let’s talk about the joys of shopping for other people. Let’s talk about the fun in planning a birthday surprise. Let’s talk about the wonder that is Farhaan Akhtar and how I want to bring him home and keep him there. Let’s talk about sleeping under two razais, and getting up at twelve only to go snuggle under another one in the living room. Let’s talk about how much I love winter in Delhi. Let’s talk about food, really let’s, because there’s kheer and keema curry and parathas and chowmein and fried rice in the future. Let’s talk about peace unlimited because people you don’t like have gone home. Let’s talk about the excitement of going to Calcutta in ten more days! Let’s talk about butterflies in the stomach, about chocolate and books and warmth and friends who make your day.
And now, having talked so much about me, let’s talk about you and how you are this Monday.
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Year end epistles
Dear Job and Finances,
I hope that we shall be on better terms next year; I hope that I shall move above the poverty line. Right now, I’m about five feet below the poverty line.
Dear Parents,
The last six months have made me a trillion times more grateful for you: that you taught me to make do with what was, and not throw tantrums at every step. Also, how to share. I’m blessed to have people like you around. Don’t bring up the ridiculous M word and you shall continue to be the best-est ever.
Dear girlfriends,
You’ve kept me sane. Love you all.
Dear toxicity of 2008,
All gone, and if you dare come back again, what’s to say but, ’lemme at em!’ Scrobby Doo ishtyle.
Dear blog,
I think I want to switch to blogspot to my old blog now. Yes, as indecisive as ever. And indeed there will be time, so worry not now.
Dear me,
Take it easy Urvashi, as they say. 2009 will be a great year. Because it has to 
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This year
# I lived alone and found out how much tolerance I have. Loads and loads.
# Got a job, and kept it for six months. Not so difficult these job things. Yeah, just wait till I write one of those work-crib posts again:P Not as difficult as I had thought though.
# Had enough Maggi to last me a lifetime.
# My find of the year : AB. Meeting her was like recognising another kindred spirit.
# I have swung in my chair (officewala) and gone ‘wheee’ and pretended that nothing happened when my manager walked in.
# Found out that you have to peel lauki before you cook it. Also pondered on whether it would be a good idea to toast bread on a hanger.
# I got 45 brand new beautiful books for Rs. 1200. Muahahahahaha!
# The roomies and I have Plan B figured out if we get kicked out of our jobs. It is sicrit so I can’t tell you right now.
# Missed convocation. I’m still sad about that.
# Went home in October. It was the best vacation ever.
# Your own bed is quite simply the best place in the world.
# I have mistaken muchly senior colleague as dustbinman.
# All you people who do not blog and whose blogs I keep visiting in vain, post. Give me lots to read next year. And Rajat has said he shall have an year-end blog post. Wait and watch:P
# I discovered the joys of Sarojini and CP. And retail therapy using my own money.
# Been to Goa, and maybe, maybe next year when they sing Auld Lang Syne, I’ll be there with SA. *fingers crossed*
Love muchly.
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New people are invigorating because there’s always something fresh to talk about; there are opinions to share, things to explore, nuances to discover, habits to predict. It’s not so much as whether the discovery is exhilarating or a nasty shock, but that it’s an excavation, that there are a thousand new possibilities. You set out on a journey together; no one knows where you’ll end up, whether the fork in the road will take a sharp turn, whether you’ll form something precious.
The rush of someone new is a bit like a adrenalin shot, and if you’re lucky you come away from it touched with some of the stardust that surrounds them.
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Musings
I cannot get these lines out of my head:
Tauba tera jalwa
Tauba tera pyar
Tera emotional atyachar
Sheer brilliance and I adore the way they say, emosional atyaaachar:D
…
Last evening, tired of sleeping all day long, we decided to go out for dinner. Observation: people can slap on insane amounts of makeup and bling for a night out at CP. So dinner was had, and money was spent, but it was a good night to be out. I have no money. I have no savings. I know these sentences are not exactly related with the last three ones, but I had to write this. I was better off as a poor student.
…
I might be in Dharamsala for New Years. However, I have no money. Hence, I don’t know how I’m going to end up there. But one hopes.
…
Nice-boy and I have been talking long hours late into the night and exercising the keypads on our phones greatly. I’m in denial that I don’t like him, says SA. Oh sure he’s damn smart, and thank the lord he doesn’t know I have a blog, and he’s sarky and well-read, and all those important things, but he’s nice-boy if that elucidates anything. Also he’s Bong. And don’t get me wrong, I’m Bong myself, and therefore have many, many wonderful people in my life who are Bengali and of the male species. And I adore and love them. But I have never even had a crush on a single one of them. With the exception of Jehangir Choudhury of course who does not count. Not a single one of those monkey-cap wearing, intellectual, culturally aware, snobbish, attached to their mother’s (ok most, not all), intelligent creatures. There’s been an Oriya boy, and a Maharashtrian boy, a Tamil one and a Punjabi one, but no Bongs. Aren’t I terribly biased? What to do. And nice-boy is well, bhalo Bangali chele. Do I make ANY sense? Perhaps not.
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Forever young, forever young
I could have said this in myriad ways, brought in a couple more languages, and a dozen idiolects, but what’s to gloss over? Damn, I miss you. You, you, you and you.
And what would I give to be there with you all today.
If I were there today, sunrise would have been like morning in my eyes.
I remember in technicolour now. Five wondrous years. Next year maybe, it’ll be tinged with sepia. Still, may you all stay forever young.
Filed under: Hey Jude, yesterday | 8 Comments
What hunger will do to you…
I’m suffering from sweet deprivation.
and I want the following though not all together:
mishti doi, anything chocolatey from Kookie Jar, payesh – pretty much all kinds and made by Ma, my grandmother’s kheer, fruit salad like Ma makes it, kaju barfi,pineapple georgette from Shillong,chocolate fantasy,Swiss chocolate, plum cake from Nauhom’s, chocolate souffle,brownies with chocolate sauce, malai kulfi, blueberry muffins,Ferrero Rocher flavour ice cream, cookie dough, Rocky road – pretty much most ice cream, my brother-in-law’s cake, lassi topped with dry fruits and nuts for 15 bucks from a shop behind K.C. Das near New Market, apple pie with ice cream,pera, churros con chocolate from Spain, khejurer chutney made by my aunt,Hagen Dazs Belgian chocolate ice cream, mango and passionfruit cake, creeme brulee,nolen gurer sandesh, chocolate truffles,blueberry pie with whipped cream, Shrewbury biscuits from Pune, hot chocolate from the chocolate factory in Granada, tiramisu from Vanilla Bean, ras malai, kalakand,strawberry pie made by my sister’s mother-in-law, chocolate souffle, shrikhand made by me, swiss chocolate gelato, rosogollas and pantuas,piping hot, chocolate chip cookies.
Did I ever mention that I have a sweet jaw?
So, what are your favourites? If you claim you don’t like desserts at all, I hereby ban you from this blog.
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Love like flowers do, one spell at a time, unlike what Rilke said.Or like bees, two or three at a time. Go get swayed by the tender fire of stars in someone’s eyes, or be hypnotized in the texture of the darkness, and one fourth of a moon. And then let go. Because no one stays, because you own no one.
Don’t go dreaming that you loved too much, the wrong people, and too less, the right Sometimes, you say something and its understood without any elucidation. You hold them sway for a while, they hold you in the recesses of your mind, they play catch with your thought, and send another one back deftly. And you wonder at how neatly you caught it. And if that moment existed at all. Don’t go consigning it all to the Lethe.
Don’t lose the refracted sunbeams of your thoughts, the laughter woven with moon-threads,the touch that raised hairs, engorged, and drew blood. Embalm, so you can sink into a cushion on a rainy afternoon and remember.Later you can ponder on how sharply it hits, that the acid the other moments exuded in the struggle for the fittest in the mind did nothing to wither the intensity.
People, they will come and go, you can keep the memories.
And so what if time’s alchemy makes you indifferent strangers. You have your hoard.
*Old post which surfaced when I was searching for something in gmail. For AB and SA*
Filed under: Diamonds and Rust, whimsy | 20 Comments
It used to be that I was here, and you were there, and even then, we could make our thoughts meet. You are here, and I am here, and the world’s getting smaller, and we’re moving farther. It’s a small world, but its not a perfect circle.
I want out, I want deaths and cremations and burials. I’m sure you’ve done that too, go through the rituals, the killing, the stabbing, the keeping away. Did you ever embalm any memories? Inadvertently, even?
It’s slow, but I’m doing it. And each day, some fragment passes into the outbox, and drifts away. Hopefully, forever. Sometimes, forever lasts only a short time, you know.
However, irrespective of the differences in our rituals – you prefer a quick and instant death, and I believe in storing, and throwing away , death of old age, maybe, it all goes to the same place. Dust. Metaphorically, I guess. But even then, you know, I don’t want them to meet, my memory of that afternoon thrown away reluctantly, and your remembrance of that day, used and thrown, I don’t want them ever to meet.
With you, I wouldn’t want even our memories to meet as dust.
Filed under: Memories, Mera kuch samaan | 8 Comments
On a very boring work day, when I complained I was sleepy, a friend challenged me to name my favourite characters from literature in alphabetical order in five minutes! I took ten, and could only come up with these. No names with X and Z. And all the frantic thinking made me wide awake. Here’s the list :
Atticus Finch/Anne Shirley/ Antionette Cosway/Asterix/ Anne Elliot, Bertie Wooster/Betsy Trotwood/ Barney Livingstone, Calvin/Captain Haddock, Darcy/ Don Juan/ Death (from The Sandman), Eilzabeth Bennet, Florentino Ariza/Feluda, Gatsby, Holden Caulfield/Haroun/Hobbes, Iris Chase, Jeeves/ Jo March, Kate (The Taming of the Shrew), Labanya (from Shesher Kobita), Madam Bovary/Maggie Tulliver Nandini (from Raktakarabi), Oliver Twist, Poirot/Pip, Quasimodo, Rhett Butler/Rebecca, Scarlett o Hara/Sherlock Holmes/Snoopy/Satan, Tintin, Uriah Heep, Viola (Twelfth Night),Winnie the Pooh, Yossarian
Filed under: Books, Literature | 9 Comments
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