Closure

It's been so long that Blogspot's changed her Dashboard, much like the Blue Lady - the rainbow colors, when the sun storms off like a Diva with all her light, plus the flexibility of 255 RGB component values so that you don't have to whine about not getting your mera wallah turquoise or whatever exotic color strokes your artistic ego. The Blue Lady has hit puberty - the 30K smear on her track record, and as if to exhibit her newfoundstatus, proudly juts out the scar on her rear end. Ahem...is this a family blog??

I am doing it. Tiptoeing behing the White Rabbit down the hole, past uneaten mushrooms of the corporate world and escaping from an evil Red Queen with a carnal love for voleyball, not chess. Did Gandhiji ever play chess, I mean it is war you know and does involve violence? I just don't want to end up like Alice one day and realize I had fallen asleep at some planning meeting and dreamt the whole thing up. So, after milking the mushroom making corporations off bittersweet honey, till the last possible date, the Blue Lady and I set out for the 'Promised' Land with stars in our eyes and a scholarship and a loan on our minds to be taught art by guys who have IMDB profiles.

The apartment's almost emtpy. The W's gone. So has 42 with her musicians. The slut's adorning the wall of some other least suspecting parsimonious technophile, but for how long? It's just me and this screen, where the dreams look smaller, and the black leather recliner that has the gait of a man beliegured by piles as it opens up its leg rest - one that is literally sticking to me with its leather skin in this heat with a severe but of Stockholm Syndrome. And Agastya! Yeah, he is back again. I carry him to work. Don't talk to him there, but I guess we are in that comfort zone now where we just don't need to talk. This sort of line and behaviour would probably piss the f!@# outta him. He would probably secretly nickname me Chipku or Sweaty Leather or something and avoid me like the Madna plague, but whattodo, I am the sole King of this unfurnished pad now! He has no choice but to lie next to me on a discomforter and a sleeping bag, and watch the bugs sample me for a late night snack and imagine watching my 72 mm dreams, projected onto the opposite wall where 42 used to be. Adios.

Pining for a Smoker

The space has its emptiness back again
Much like most corners of the heart.
The walls are bare white again
Devoid of your tobacco coated smile.
You can hear the hollow within again
Bouncing off into the light.

The sunlight is no match for you
And the fresh clean air only dampens my spirit.
Those obese white pillows in the sky
Only remind me of you blissfully chugging away
At a habit that is killing one of us
And saving the other a little bit every day.

I know you will be back soon,
That most goodbyes are never really that,
That there will be that familiar disgusting smell
To fill up my space and my world again.
But until then, I must wallow in this insipid cleanliness
With a sound body and a not so sound mind.

8/3/08

Mimicry

This was done a while back. The Ajit isn't that good, and this doesn't have my favorite one - Amol Palekar.