leftovers

This is a has-been.

Some inordinate

Computer written leftovers.

 

Pathetic, really

When you recall how

on the very same day

I ran my fingers

across the screen

pretending that this was Braille

and if I couldn’t stand up

the poem could.

(What else? Where else can I write now that I know for sure how much a Waterman costs? Unless you’ve been to Paris, of course.)

 

The very same day

You were lying down

to look at the ceiling

imagining your

stoic circles and ellipses

raining down heavily.

So I thought I’d ask

whether you needed

help

with distending

your grungy little story-plots?

Smile.

(While your over-pumped muscles fail to straighten out the lines in your head, lines you have read, someday, somewhere)

 

yes, I trail my fingers

on the monitor

 

the other hand

uncurling its fingers
and balloons

escape.

 

(Pathetic, really, even though we knew the rules of the game. Now, you cry cheater.)

Where do I get nice templates from?

*wonders*

tag

Tagged by Mandy.

first name: Anurima

single or taken: sin...ken.

sex: female

birthday: feb, 21st

siblings: one.

hair colour: black.

shoe size: 5

height: 5'4".

innie or outie: ?

what are you wearing right now: teeshirt, checked pajamas. :-|

righty or lefty: right(y)

can you make a dollar in change right now: no, not really.

------------------------------------------------------------
relationships
------------------------------------------------------------

who are your closest friends? different people at different points of time. :D

do you have a BF or GF? bee-F


best place to go for a date: walk on a nice evening. near parkstreet, camac-street, free schoolstreet, newmarket.

---------------------------------------------------------------
favourites...
---------------------------------------------------------------

favourite place to shop: erm... citycentre?

favourite kind of pants: plain bloo jeans.

favourite colour: everything barring the fluorescent neon types.

number(s): 21, 12, 8747738391912877282828...

animal: do fishes qualify?

drink: coffee, rum, appy.

sport(s): suck at it. used to play basketball.

fast food place(s): grub-club, hangout, tibetan delight.

month: pujo'r maash, whenever.

current movie: as in, currently seen? then, Fashion. Didn't like.

juice: pineapple.

finger: ?5 on each hand. each foot too.

breakfast: I don't eat breakfast. I get brunch, which is usually rice and dal.

favourite cartoon character(s): CAPTAIN PLANET!!!! Peter (of Ghostbusters)
**moony-eyed crush-look**

----------------------------------------------------------
have you ever:
----------------------------------------------------------

given anyone a bath? no.

smoked? yes.

bungee-jumped? no.

made yourself throw up? yes.

gone skinny dipping? no.

eaten a hot dog? YES! monginis.

put your tongue on a frozen pole? NO.

loved someone so much it made you cry? yes.

broken a bone? nah.

played truth-or-dare? yes yes, got beaten up too. :]

been in a police car? no.

been on a plane? yes.

been in a sauna? no.

been in a hot tub? no.

gone swimming in the ocean? snorkelled. does that count? (Arabian Sea)

fallen asleep in school? eeeeeyes. Chemistry classes during +2.

ran away? never.

broken someone's heart? I don't know.

cried when someone died? yes.

cried in school? yes (as a direct consequence of an ill-timed dare-execution).

fallen off your chair? I sprang up on my feet when the chair crumbled into pieces. That was during a mathematics tuition. Sir was in awe. 'Bah tumi toh besh agile', he said.

sat by the phone all night waiting for someone to call? kept the phone beside me, yes.

saved e-mails? starred them i guess :P

fallen for one of your best friends? nah

made out with JUST a friend? nope

used someone? maybe

been cheated on? nope

----------------------------------------------------------------
what is...
----------------------------------------------------------------

your good luck charm? nervousness. no, really.

the best song you ever heard? Not the best song ever, but one of my best, Take this Waltz by Cohen.

the stupidest thing you have ever done? fallen for my brother's best friend and fed him food i bought etc. very stupid.

what's your room like? shared with dada. red and blue. ordinary.

the last thing you said? 'I am studying, you sleep' to dada. :P

what is beside you? Mrs. Dalloway

the last thing you ate? BadBad biyebari food.

what kind of shampoo do you use? dove.

the best thing that has happened to you this year? Lao :P


the worst thing that has happened to you this year?

----------------------------------------
have you had..
----------------------------------------

chicken pox? yes.

sore throat? everyone has sore throats. hah.

stitches? no.

broken nose? no.

-------------------------------------
do you
-------------------------------------

believe in love at first sight? nope.

like picnics? building-picnics. :D

like school? YESSSS. not all the teachers though.

--------------------------------------
would you/what is
---------------------------------------

eat a live hamster for $1,000,000 : what?!

if you were stuck on an island, what people would you want with you? Friday

who was the last person that called you? Subhayu. See, we don't have a life. We call each other and amuse ourselves. 24x7.

who was the last person you slow-danced with? I cannot dance. CANNOT. childhood trauma :|

what makes you laugh the most? Welltimed jokes? pranks? the usual khilli.

what makes you smile? poetry. music. friends.

--------------------------------------
who is the last person
--------------------------------------

you yelled at? I can't yell.

who broke your heart? Erm.

who told you they loved you? :D

who is your loudest friend? PRIAAAAA.

------------------------------------------------------------
do you/are you:
------------------------------------------------------------

do you like filling these out? Nope

do you wear glasses or contacts? none.

do you like yourself? Yes, I am in awe.

do you get along with your family? Immediate family? YES. branches? only if i keep my mouth shut.

stolen anything over $50? i stole stickers once. returned them too. :P

obsessive? sometimes.

compulsive? sometimes.

anorexic? no.

suicidal? no.

schizophrenic? no.

--------------------------------
love life
-------------------------------

do you have a crush? used to.

if so, does he or she know? maybe.

have you truly told him or her how you feel, face to face? no.

how did he or she respond? -

what is so great about him or her? he was different. but yes, different is not always nice. ;)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
this or that
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

coffee or tea: tea.

phone or in person: both. add gtalk and smses too.

are you oldest, middle, youngest or only child: youngest.

indoor or outdoor: depends.

--------------------------------------------------
final questions
-----------------------------------------------------------

how many people are you sending this to: Pria, will you?

what are you listening to right now? Tori Amos, Caught a Light Sneeze

what did you do yesterday? SLEPT.

where do you want to get married? somewhere peaceful, without too many lights and people and cackle and hassle.

if you could change anything about yourself, what would it be? lethargylazinesssleepinessfatness

are you a good driver? can't drive.

are you a good singer? no.

what do you dream about? people i know, but i don't really think about much during the day. :S




Yes, I reviewed my answers. I did.
Please spare me the trauma of asking me to get a life.
Thank you.

For a change, turn away from the world of books and see reality for all it is worth. 

Please read This and This. 

Untitled

Untitled. 

Most of her poems remained so. There was no phrase that she found apt, nothing that could crystallize everything that had coursed through her entire frame while penning that bit of poetry. Her poetry, not most would understand. Poetry that was boring and interminable. Poetry, she remembered, that would not sell. The last book she had written for remained unpublished, in a dear old manuscript that she kept hidden in the drawers of her desk. Fondly, she took them out at times, shedding a tear or two at lines that reminded her of pain or pleasure, smudging those very lines with those moist droplets. As a result, during the next course of reading she knew- every phrase, every turn of word that really mattered would have been washed away. Such is life.

One morning, she picked up fresh flowers from the store nearby, wrapping those carnations carefully with a bit of some old newspaper. Back home, she proceeded to put them in a crystal vase, placing them in sunlight and snipping off a leaf or two. Something caught her eye. The yellow parched newspaper bore a photograph of a grimy looking young man dressed in military attire, resting his sweaty palms on his knees; his look was that of despair. Or hope, thought she. Or wonder? Or love? The article that had followed the photograph had been torn off. Now I wouldn’t ever know, she grumbled. He seemed to be sitting on some kind of a stone bench, one of those numerous benches that line the streets of a city. Beside him lay a piece of white cloth, and behind him- a smoke-ridden, broken-winged city. She would never know which city lay behind him, nor would she ever know the identity of the man with the white cloth. The picture, like her poems, would remain untitled. He could be bombing the city, and repenting. He could be protecting the rubble and surrendering. So much is left unaccounted for in the way we live, but does it matter?

...

Before Mr. B left for work very early one morning, he knocked on his wife’s door. She must be sleeping, he assumed. He left without disturbing her anymore. While driving to his office, his thoughts kept returning to the closed door and his mind replayed the soft knock again and again. ‘Are you sleeping?’ he had said to the mute brown door. ‘I’m going out now,’ he had added. 

So, he shifted gears, changed lanes and tuned in the radio. It played something that sounded like Are you sleeping? I’m going out now. Knock. Are you sleeping? I am going out now. Sleeping? Knock. Going now. Are you going out? I am sleeping. Out? Sleeping? You? I am out. Now. Knock. Mr. B could not clear his mind. The morning incident became indistinguishable and vague, almost as if it had not happened. She usually called out a muffled ‘goodbye’ before he left. She generally opened her door and stood on the top of the stairs, while he closed the front door behind him. She sometimes, only sometimes, kissed his forehead. Mr. B wiped his forehead now, and stepped up the gas. She might have left the house at night yesterday taking our boy with her. She might have left for me her poems. She might have rolled out her hair like Rapunzel in a bid to escape me. She did not answer the door this morning, and there must be a reason for that. She might be dead, or she might be living at last in some secret hideaway he had never seen and never heard of. The car swerved, and it would have been a beautifully formless death for the sake of a story, only that he did not die. His wife meanwhile woke up in her room at that instant. Her five-year old son clung to her body, cold and shivering. His face seemed pale and distant and twisted in horror. A nightmare again, thought Mrs. B. She laid his head on her chest and crooned a few lines to him with her mouth near his cold ear. She was soon enough wondering whether it would not be kinder to simply wake him up, than to hope that her soft lullaby would quell the horror of his nightmare. He stopped shivering. Her eyes traveled along the window frame and rested on the week-old carnations.

...

The winter chill seeped in through his shirt. He rolled up the car windows. It was dark and foggy, the way winter nights generally are. The streetlamps seemed to have merged with the pitch black air, rendering the gray upright columns almost formless… almost borderless. It was reminiscent of the edges of reality getting frayed and lovingly bruised, just like in daydreams. Quite like daydreams, he said aloud. 

Mrs. B turned towards her husband. “What?”

He shook his head and said, “Nothing.”

Conversation, as always, ceased. On the other side of the glass, the night road glistened as the fog clung to it desperately. He picked up the broken train of thoughts, and after awhile said, “Do you daydream?”

She remained impassive. He looked at the rear-view mirror, checking whether his son was still sleeping or awake. The boy had woken up and sat awkwardly, encompassing the entire seat, pressing his nose to the glass window. At last, Mrs. B told him about the unnamed soldier with his white flag.

 

…