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A Fine Imbalance
...that leads to catharsis
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1st-Oct-2006 09:20 am - Moved Again!
Well LJ was better than blogger but wordpress seems like the best free blogging service for my requirements. So I've moved there for good.

http://asuph.wordpress.com

The rest -- the name, the tone, the shallow intellectualism -- all's the same. Please visit me there. Oh, yeah, the template's mucho bettero. And due to worpress's import facility, ALL my previous blogs (well almost) are there.

cheers,
asuph.
19th-Jul-2006 07:37 am - Poem of the Day (Jun 19)
Octopusses

I don't know what the fuss is,
Cooking's easy if you try.
Just take two octopusses
And you've got an octopi.

-- Simon Goodway
14th-Jul-2006 11:10 am - Poem of the Day (Jul 14)
Dream Song 14

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no

Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

-- John Berryman

PS: 14 in the title is just a conincidence.
13th-Jul-2006 06:42 pm - Crossing Paths
[Note: Title needs to be changed. Placeholder. Slightly R-Rated language/situations -- not enough to keep anyone interested ;-)]

"You don't understand... Some guys, they have enemies. Some guys like me, they are just their own enemies. You wouldn't understand the kind of battles I have to fight with myself every single day ... It's like, you know you're gifted, and special and all that. But at the end of the day, you look at the day, or days that have passed, months, years, and you try to remember something that made you feel good about yourself... you know... one thing... and you know what? you can't remember it. and you know it's not a memory problem. the problem is, that there isn't anything to remember... nothing. zilch..."

"Calm down... just calm down..."

"And why does everyone tell me to calm down? I *am* calm. This is no rage... not even passion. Passion would be amazing. I don't feel it though. I feel death. You know ... not *the* death ... I wouldn't mind that ... that I wouldn't be there to mind it is irrelevant really ... but there is a finality in death. end of all hope. and end of all chances. you know... no more chances to waste, and that would be a relief, actually... it's this death of, how do I say it... for feeling is an insipid word... bland bland... I feel as if the world is moving away from me... not geographically, you know... but away. I feel like I can never get back to it... that it will never embrace me again ... like those old days, when people were excommunicated ... only I've not sinned ... I've just turned into a zombie ... and as if my lifelessness is contagious, they've just quarantined me... But the truth is, I've quarantined myself"

******

His hand moved further up, hesitating and yet bold. Tasting the limits. I shuddered at his touch. Then I thought of Ravi, and it hit me that I think of Ravi only in such times. It's almost a reflex thinking, not guilt. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist his advances. So I lean back, closing the distance between us. He gets the signal. The hand is now remarkably sure of itself as it finds its destination. It had taken a full hour, this game of willing seduction -- we knew and yet we didn't. Who dares first. Who calls the bluff? I had waited for him to show some initiative, just for a change. Normally I hate teasing. I don't have patience for it.

"Let's get some fresh air", he says.

"I'm tired of fresh air. Let's finish what we started"

Silently we move to his room. Once there, he's a changed man. Assured that I'm
all his for the night.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

I don't answer, and just push him onto the bed.

"No, I mean, what about Ravi?"

He's Ravi's friend, and friendship can be a real bitch. But I know this is not friendship, it's the guilt. He wants me to tell him it's alright. I'm not into charity.

"Want to call him?" I ask, tired of this duplicity.

"I was just ..."

"You just what? You just wanted me to take the responsibility of it all? But, you know, I didn't seduce you"

That was a lie. Partly I did. Seduction is never a one way street. But I didn't start it. It's just that when I saw he was flirting with me -- very innocently, never believing he had a chance, and keeping an exit open all the time -- I took him up on the offer. And now he wants to make it look like I'm the seductress. Normally, I wouldn't even mind that. But then there are days when a streak of honesty clouds my otherwise reliable lust.

He looked at me and then looked away. He thought for a moment, and found nothing to say.

"Tell me, do you want it or not?" I persisted.

He pulled me on top of him, and started fondling my breast through my clothes.

"Is that a yes?" like I said, it was one of those days.

"You know it was a yes, you knew it all along"

"Then why did you have to bring Ravi into this"

He pulled his hand away from my breast. He pushed me away, slightly, involuntarily.

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"Well you started it"

"You know, given our situation, I had to ask"

But why was I supposed to have the answer? Why should I be asked that question? Did he ask himself the question? And what made him believe I'd have the answer if he couldn't find it?

"Isn't it too late to ask it?"

"What is it that you want?"

"Honesty"

He looked at me with disbelief.

"You're one screwed lady. I think this all was a wrong idea"

He started to get up. I didn't move for a while. Then I realized it was his room. That I had to get out, not he. My whole body was crying out for a good fuck and my mind was crying for a fucking honesty! And then, I was the one cheating Ravi...

I got up and kissed him on the cheeks tenderly. I really felt bad for him. He must have been amazingly unlucky to meet that version of me. He looked at me coldly and opened the door for me. I walked out quickly, as he slammed the door after me.

******

"Sir, I think you should stop now", the waiter said to me. Is he crazy? Isn't he supposed to be selling me stuff!

"Huh? I've enough money, don't worry", I snapped. He started to say something but stopped. I guess he's used to creeps like me. He brought another drink for me, and turned to entertain another customer.

"What can I get you?", he asked in the same polite voice, a bit too polite if you ask me.

"Whatever the gentleman is having", said a women's voice. That explained the change of tone.

I turned to look at her. I wasn't disappointed. I was too drunk to care about she noticing me taking in her body piece by piece. Her hair were disorganized. She probably wore no wakeup, and was dressed in simple clothes. Her eyes held my gaze with a curious expression. Then she smiled a disarming smile. I smiled back at her.

"Like what you see?", she asked.

"Undoubtedly. I'm sure there is more to it than meets the eye"

Was that me? I thought of Mridu. The last thing I needed at this moment was a fling. Mridu was my last link to the world.

"I like direct men"

"Good for you", I said as I gulped some more Vodka.

"I'm Suchi... Suchitra. Mind if I joined you?"

It was hard enough to ignore her, and she was making it more difficult. Not that she was extremely beautiful or anything, just above average, and yet there was something irresistible about her.

"No, not really. I'm Ashwin", I said extending my hand. Her hand was soft, but her handshake was quite firm.

"On business here?"

For a moment I wanted to ask her the same thing, but then that would have been extremely rude.

"Yes. A stupid conference. What about you?"

"Oh I am was here to meet a friend. It was a bad idea"

"Why? I mean, if you don't mind telling that is"

What was wrong with me? What did I care, really? I attributed that to the over-drinking again. That's the best thing about being high. You can blame everything you do on the drink.

"Well there isn't too much to tell. It's one of those weird things that happen to you, you know. You are about to get what you want, and then suddenly you don't want it. You want something else..."

"Tell me about it. But you're lucky. You still want something"

"You don't?"

"No. It's like, these days it doesn't occur to me at all -- that I could want something"

"No kidding!"

I silently took another sip of Vodka.

"So you're beyond desire?" she asked.

"Not beyond desire -- that's when you've conquered desire, not lost it"

"Let's say if I offered to sleep with you, you wouldn't desire that?"

"Is there a point in hypothetical questions?"

"Oh no, I'm serious. If you want to find out, I'm game"

Things are not supposed happen like that. Not to me. Not now of all the times!

"There is a difference between lust and desire, you know"

"No I don't. And I don't believe there is. Tell me what's the difference?"

"Lust is carnal. Desire is mental"

"Crap. You mean our bodies think for us in lust? It's all a romanticized bullshit. Lust or desire, it starts in the mind, and ends in the mind -- when, and if, it's fulfilled"

"Lust is momentary -- and even if it's fulfilled, the satisfaction is as momentary"

"So is desire"

"But when its fulfilled, it stays with you. You don't forget it. You can't forget it"

"So all you feel for me, if anything, is lust?"

"Yes. There is something about you that turns me on. But I know even if we pursued this lust, I will forget you soon. Not completely, but you'd never hang around. And I'm sure you'll forget me too"

"But then how much of what you've desired in the past do you remember? I desired my husband. Then I had him. But then over the years, I neither desire him, nor remember him, not in any meaningful way that is, although we stay together. And I assure you, I loved him, deeply. It wasn't lust, according to your definition. That's why I can't believe that there is a difference there. Everything is a lust, some last a little bit longer"

I thought of Mridu again. She would be waiting for my call. I had promised I'd call after dinner. My cell phone's roaming wasn't enabled by the idiots despite calling them up couple of times to confirm it. She couldn't reach me.

Mridu wanted us to get engaged. What could engagement change, I wanted to know.

"You know, it's taking the relationship to the next level", she said.

"Next level of what?"

"Commitment", she said exasperated.

"And would the diamond ring take us there?"

"You're impossible"

What did she see in me? When your life is nothing but a series of conscious run away choices, you don't expect to be loved. Why did Mridu, who could have got a much better guy (and deserved!) chose to love me? Did she love me?

"What are you thinking?"

"About my girlfriend. She will be expecting my call"

"Why don't you call?"

"My cell phone's not working"

"Here, use mine"

"Nah, that's okay. I'll call her from my room, later"

We talked for a while. We were interrupted by the waiter, after a while.

"Sir, we're closing down the bar. These days we get into trouble if we overshoot the deadline"

"Aw shucks. And here I was having nice time with the lady"

She smiled, "We can continue this conversation in your room. There is no deadline for drinking in the rooms, is it?"

The waiter shook his head, politely. God, these guys have to be polite all the time, even to drunkards.
"I'll arrange for it, Sir"

******

It was at two in the night that I remembered that I had to call up Mridu.

"Oh Shit!", I said, "I had to make that call!"

She looked at me curiously.

"You really love her, don't you. Shit, I'm sorry. I've been a bad bad girl today"

"The thing is", I said, before I could think, "I don't know"

How is it that the things that we don't even acknowledge to ourselves, we end up thinking out loud in front of total strangers? She looked at me as if telling me she understood. Her eyes that had mesmerized me all the while looked even prettier.

"You don't desire her...", she said softly, matter-of-factly.

Her eyes were knowing and sad. And if there is one thing I don't want to blame on the Vodka, it's the desire I felt for her, at that moment. And the next moment as I kissed her. And the next, when she kissed me back. And the next ...

The next morning she was gone. I searched in vain if she had left any contact number. Well she hadn't but she had left a chit of paper, that bore a small message, with hurried handwriting:
Sometimes we need to live one moment for all it's worth, and then the next
moments live all by themselves. I know there is no going back for both of us, nor
can we go forward. But I think we set each other free.

Love,
Suchi
Sometimes you get something just to lose it. And that's why it's precious.

I severed my last link with the world when I broke of with Mridu. The world didn't embrace me, but I embraced it. I had to sin to end the quarantine. I never met Suchi again. All I know about her is what she told me that night. Essentially all that you know now. I don't know what I'd have to say to her if we ever meet again. I guess I'll thank her, wish her well and walk off. And yet she'll hang around.

Living is a messy affair.
12th-Jul-2006 10:14 am - Salaam Bombay
Another heinous attack on the city, where although I could never live, I can never stop loving either. It's the city of my birth, and where lot of my relatives live. So everytime something like this happens, we frantically start calling our near and dear ones. The phones, they don't work. The tension mounts. Then, one by one you get to them, or get news about them from others who have been trying equally frantically. Sigh of relief is the first reaction, almost involuntary. Yes we're all selfish. We want to make sure, even in such tragedies, that our loved ones are safe.

But the death tole mounts, and we helplessly look at the numbers. The relief changes into infinite sadness. It's hard not to cry -- for the people and for a city that lives defying all odds, every single day. The city paralyzed by overcrowding, bad town planning, crumbling infrastructure, communal strives, a constant threat of terrorism, and so on. It's a wonder that it moves at all, but it moves. It moves and moves you in turn -- with all its passion for living, its resilience, and a plain ordinary humanity and courage that makes people come out, while there are blasts happening around them, and knowing that they could be the next. People come out to help strangers, in whichever way they can. People don't wait for the police, or local administrator, they just pick up the injured and put them into taxis and send them to nearby hospitals, saving god knows how many precious lives. Even near communally sensitive areas, the same people who could be at the receiving end of the retaliatory rage, come out and help. This is a defeat of terrorism, and of the divisive politics that we've seen in the last few days in Mumbai and around.

I watched the news channels yesterday, trying to hold back my tears -- tears of sadness, but more so of rage, a helpless rage. What kind of sick person thinks of this as a war? What kind of ends can these means ever justify? Through all this, if there is any hope, it's in the way the Mumbaikar has risen again, and stayed calm. I hope it stays the same in the coming days. For last thing Mumbai needs now is a communal strife.

It's cliched, but the spirit of Mumbai has always been the "jeena yahaan/ marnaa yahaan/ iske siva/ janna kahaan" attitude. And that's why it rises again and again, through anything and everything. And once more, I cannot help but salute the great city.
10th-Jul-2006 10:12 pm - Zizou...
As the world-cup mania ended in a match full of drama, L'Equipe's editorial was noted saying: "What should we tell our children and all those for whom you have become an example for ever," it asks. "How could that happen to a man like you?"

There are a lot of things to say, really. For instance, that not all fairy tales have happy endings, or that in sports, and in life, there is no certainty, no script ... But probably the biggest thing they can tell the children of France, and indeed of the world, is that football is not life, and life is surely more than football.

Maybe we'll never know why Zizou did what he did, or maybe we will. Maybe what he did is a suicide as far as sporting wisdom goes, and was a sheer stupidity as most of us would like to believe, and yet I don't know. After all who's to say what is legitimate sledging and what is not, and who's to decide what price is too high to pay for sporting greatness, or too low? Zizou has made his decision for himself. If he threw it all away, recklessly, maybe he is rich enough to throw it away.

There, then, is another lesson for the children -- that at times honor (in your own eyes) comes without a price tag (dishonour socially, or in other people's eyes). Some, or even most, are probably wired to be pragmatic, and to survive. Some are born reckless, and try taming themselves, in vain. Who're we to judge? Red card, fairenuff. Rest is between Zizou and life.
4th-Jul-2006 11:57 am - Poem of the Day (Jul 04)
When I Was Three

When I was three, I had a friend
Who asked me why bananas bend,
I told him why, but now I'm four
I'm not so sure...

--Richard Edwards
28th-Jun-2006 10:56 am(no subject)
I'm a cultural creative, whatever the hell that is!

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative

 
88%

Existentialist

 
75%

Postmodernist

 
75%

Materialist

 
63%

Idealist

 
63%

Modernist

 
38%

Romanticist

 
38%

Fundamentalist

 
25%

What is Your World View? (updated)
created with QuizFarm.com
19th-Jun-2006 10:27 am - Insepiated
when you look at me
you, with your naive eyes
the sepia memories
don't pain me

in fact i have started
to hate sepia
for god's sake
what happened
to all the colors?

and no
on friday evenings
when i am bored to death
i still don't
think of you
and of the days
we spent together
platonic lovers
fooled by
mass delusions

is there a point
in trying to recall
the colors we saw
while daydreaming?
a broad brush of sepia
would put to end
the vain search

sepia it is then
however much I hate
its banality
the next time
i want to work
with real colors


[Note: yeah i know there is no such word, but no one said I can't coin words! and if someone did say that, too bad]
8th-Jun-2006 06:48 am - Poem of the Day (Jun 08)
And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

-- Pablo Neruda
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