Whenever I need inspiration I go take a peek at Junu's blog- a shot in the arm of euphoria and plain happy- makes me gleeful, clap my hands and think of the Magic Wall in the university grounds and bumpy bike rides- full khatara!
Grab that journal, Day- the sketch and scribble pad and doodle some inspiration back at the universe.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
What's for words today?
A whole year later! Can't believe it!!! One year and 6 days to be precise.
Where did all that energy and will fritter away? The resolution to write undeterred by the day,with standing all sorts of weather conditions, moods, non-happenings which push for centre-stage on a permanant basis specially when you decide to pick up old threads and spin new cloth?
Here I am .
So what's new? Nothing. Met Mini. Splurged on a surprise Oxford sale. Steal, is the word! Practically 30-40 % off! I owe Mini one! Here's what I got- Mini's picked up ' Frangipani' which I'd like to read sometime- some mother -daughter relationship in Tahiti!
Esther David's The Walled City ( the Prologue grabbed me- a disgruntled but gifted art critic and an ambling artist not quite satisfied with her chosen medium sets out to write out her life...), Victoria & Albert Museums The Shamiana Project fantastically conjured and orchestrated over several Common Wealth Nations and two dusty worn out diamonds -in-the-rock, hardbound, roughly 350 pages of pure inspiration for any artist/e Ambai/ CS Lakshmi's interviews with women musicians and dancers.
Sadly, the one where she interviews women painters was bought by some kindred soul ! Sigh!Should I go hunting for it when next in Bombay? SPARROW hunting or straight from the SPARROW's heart?
Need to go. Home.Lunch. Rest and then ferry books across to SM.
Where did all that energy and will fritter away? The resolution to write undeterred by the day,with standing all sorts of weather conditions, moods, non-happenings which push for centre-stage on a permanant basis specially when you decide to pick up old threads and spin new cloth?
Here I am .
So what's new? Nothing. Met Mini. Splurged on a surprise Oxford sale. Steal, is the word! Practically 30-40 % off! I owe Mini one! Here's what I got- Mini's picked up ' Frangipani' which I'd like to read sometime- some mother -daughter relationship in Tahiti!
Esther David's The Walled City ( the Prologue grabbed me- a disgruntled but gifted art critic and an ambling artist not quite satisfied with her chosen medium sets out to write out her life...), Victoria & Albert Museums The Shamiana Project fantastically conjured and orchestrated over several Common Wealth Nations and two dusty worn out diamonds -in-the-rock, hardbound, roughly 350 pages of pure inspiration for any artist/e Ambai/ CS Lakshmi's interviews with women musicians and dancers.
Sadly, the one where she interviews women painters was bought by some kindred soul ! Sigh!Should I go hunting for it when next in Bombay? SPARROW hunting or straight from the SPARROW's heart?
Need to go. Home.Lunch. Rest and then ferry books across to SM.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
It's a while now but I feel like it again!
The feel for words , the need to feel them in my head,
then twirl them like a dervish in my mouth and let them fall.
Somehow... anyhow...
And I am confident that they won't come up with bruised knees!
I am confident they won't fritter away like the ice candy fallen from a
sticky hand into the dust, vaporizing in a blink of the eye moistening over
at its loss and then watch fascinated as the dark orange liquid makes a richer
puddle and draws in the ants , the passing mutt and the tch tch of strangers...
I simply want to stretch out between the head-post and the sunset at my feet
I want to stretch and scribble something.
There is a standing fan gurgling incessantly in it's wired mechanical head
facing no one in particular while I sweat over the words- fragrant powder laden
words with some of the lemon drink from the afternoon and green printers ink pressed
between the pauses ever so lightly that one just might pass them by- like so many
water marks of the day gone by...
The feel for words , the need to feel them in my head,
then twirl them like a dervish in my mouth and let them fall.
Somehow... anyhow...
And I am confident that they won't come up with bruised knees!
I am confident they won't fritter away like the ice candy fallen from a
sticky hand into the dust, vaporizing in a blink of the eye moistening over
at its loss and then watch fascinated as the dark orange liquid makes a richer
puddle and draws in the ants , the passing mutt and the tch tch of strangers...
I simply want to stretch out between the head-post and the sunset at my feet
I want to stretch and scribble something.
There is a standing fan gurgling incessantly in it's wired mechanical head
facing no one in particular while I sweat over the words- fragrant powder laden
words with some of the lemon drink from the afternoon and green printers ink pressed
between the pauses ever so lightly that one just might pass them by- like so many
water marks of the day gone by...
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Trying to outstare the dinner things
While sitting up for the UNICEF project -nothing would come-
except for the crockery, after dinner debris and very accusatory looking
forks and knives making some very pointed statements!:)
ET asleep on M's bed
ET passed away peacefully last year.we've been seeing her since our college days
in JU...Mauri found this dirty cat bundle somewhere along the way ( the fish market?)and then let her follow her home mewing and puzzled...god bless ET...
I grew to like cats post-ET and then Octo(puss)happened. Aneesh's black and white acquisition was found shivering one rainy evening, forlorn and very wet, trying to draw solace from the steaming engine of his bike.
He looks quite the prosperous, shy bachelor (Octo not Aneesh)- oversensitive and now effete thanks to being neutered!
Happy No More
Drew this on my floor rug with some ink and pencil colours-
later found out that Bobby's friend Happy had died earlier
that day and was found after a day...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Something Like A Flying Kiss
Life is a person sitting up there on high
scrunching up these silver paper balls
from mint new cigarette packs and
half-finished chocolate wraps
then throws it down on me when
I least expect-
it's anyone's guess
And I then pelt right back
like this and this and this
something like a flying kiss!
Or else Life scatters crushed confetti
itsy bits of mindless paper or sudden showers
of honey coated ice flakes or simply just
a wake of this and that and other stuff
and then I pick up these arms full of
half-baked fluff and carefully take some
on my open palm and blow it back again
from where it came and in the harmless charming
game-in the bliss of hit and miss- it seems so
like a flying kiss!
scrunching up these silver paper balls
from mint new cigarette packs and
half-finished chocolate wraps
then throws it down on me when
I least expect-
it's anyone's guess
And I then pelt right back
like this and this and this
something like a flying kiss!
Or else Life scatters crushed confetti
itsy bits of mindless paper or sudden showers
of honey coated ice flakes or simply just
a wake of this and that and other stuff
and then I pick up these arms full of
half-baked fluff and carefully take some
on my open palm and blow it back again
from where it came and in the harmless charming
game-in the bliss of hit and miss- it seems so
like a flying kiss!
Here's to all of us....
If James is pure and James is true
He will be fine and so will you
For James is not just James alone
No more is he a lonely Stone
For far and wide the Net has spread
To all who've heard and seen and read
And The One behind the sprouting seeds?
Of health and hope and happy deeds
Must Sing and clap and dance and breed!
No longer swamped and cramped by greed
Of petty minds and pettier deeds
She shyly seeks her Tribe and Creed-
The Voiceless Weed has now been freed!
( For Lawrence, Jasmeen, Vinod R, Vinod S, Chandni, Juhi, Reshma , Maureen, Ian, Amit, Sumit,Tanya, Vasudha, Vandana, Chetna,Biswadip, Pradumn, Nandini, Deepti C, Deepti S, Aneesh, Habu, Baba, Ma, Max,Nino, Mimi, Avi, Aparajita, Aditi, Shruti and Prasad,Rahul and Shaila, Shailja, Junu, Chaitanya, Bobby, Barnalee, Shyama mama, Apu, Iti, Khushu, Ron Dads, Abhijit, Bodhmayanandaji, Aspi, Yasmin,( their son and daughter!) Mahua, Priyatosh, Toon, Peter the Griff, Samta,Mananjit, Bharath M.,Prasad (early champion of James),Oinky,Shirish, ...may the tribe increase!)
He will be fine and so will you
For James is not just James alone
No more is he a lonely Stone
For far and wide the Net has spread
To all who've heard and seen and read
And The One behind the sprouting seeds?
Of health and hope and happy deeds
Must Sing and clap and dance and breed!
No longer swamped and cramped by greed
Of petty minds and pettier deeds
She shyly seeks her Tribe and Creed-
The Voiceless Weed has now been freed!
( For Lawrence, Jasmeen, Vinod R, Vinod S, Chandni, Juhi, Reshma , Maureen, Ian, Amit, Sumit,Tanya, Vasudha, Vandana, Chetna,Biswadip, Pradumn, Nandini, Deepti C, Deepti S, Aneesh, Habu, Baba, Ma, Max,Nino, Mimi, Avi, Aparajita, Aditi, Shruti and Prasad,Rahul and Shaila, Shailja, Junu, Chaitanya, Bobby, Barnalee, Shyama mama, Apu, Iti, Khushu, Ron Dads, Abhijit, Bodhmayanandaji, Aspi, Yasmin,( their son and daughter!) Mahua, Priyatosh, Toon, Peter the Griff, Samta,Mananjit, Bharath M.,Prasad (early champion of James),Oinky,Shirish, ...may the tribe increase!)
Tis strange/How somethings NEVER change/ Here I am sitting/ Waiting for this THING to move/ And yet/I have nothing AT ALL to prove/ Except this growing feeling/ That tis ALL VERY STRANGE...
(Waiting in those 6 seater thingies which refuse to budge when you want them to..)
Written behind a business card...inspiration Hugh McCleod!)
(Waiting in those 6 seater thingies which refuse to budge when you want them to..)
Written behind a business card...inspiration Hugh McCleod!)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
To...responding to Junu and La Vie Boheme!!!
To nights of uncertainty
Of instant gain and no pain
To crushed coffee in my mind
And Nescafe in my usual cup
To reach out and unfurl
plucked picked cut torn curled
To riding in the wind
and treading rain
not touching it
not touching me
not touching grounds
To no grounds
no end in mind
To filtered tips
small tiny sips
nips pecks and buds
To a rough bare browned foot
placed perfectly on a
Too perfect cold Buddha feet
To badly made first films
To poems made unmade love
with the last man mannequin
who knows who cares to care
to dare to devour to simply stare
To this and that
To made up make ups fights
To the longest lasting pimple
To the dimple on your chin
To the simple sin of Chantille
To the grass under my nose
and the nose under my eyes
and all thats unpretty
and unfettered uncombed
ungroomed and undone
To wisdom, utter utter stupidity
To hard wins and softer than
a babies bottom- losses
To flossing nicotine and cheese
To triple tums and morning runs
which end and begin in bed
To you to me
To everybody we ever knew will know or never know
to everyone out there and in here
To back there where we left them
and how they never left us in turn
To turn take turns out of turn
Ever turning never still
To those still standing
To those who have been brought to their knees
through age through life's expectations ever running dry
through holding too still for too long
to the same slow disease called time
To time and when time's up and it's time to go
To simply go back home
To going home
To Ma and some Ba to Chotomama and Didabhai
and Habu up their and Bhai who's not too far
But never ever really sure how far away
To the family I was born in but will die without
someday
To phoney old laughing gangster grannies
To picking noses to bleeding roses
To Fanny and Alexander's Fanny
To every passing geese and all that dander
To nannies in the park with nowhere to park their wards
or their dreams or to even pick a covert flower without
their watchman lover looking on in lust
To lust,to a 34 bust straining to be 36...
To letting it rising to the crust but not letting it spill
Or flood or overflow to swim swim swim to the brim
To turqoise pools chlorine drenched in the rain
To faking interest to not listening
but taking it all in through my eyes nose mouth open
To the last shout to the Big Shout
To the small gains ,
To smaller losses the ones which stopped counting
to tree-walking and stopping to breathe underneath
To mulch carpets and rain tree shadows
To canopies which never cover and never hold still
Like life, to life, this last next all the lives
To listening to Marwa and Gaur geet
To second besting, never resting ever resting
To pause
To breathe
To smile
To end
To you
To me
To us
My friend...
Of instant gain and no pain
To crushed coffee in my mind
And Nescafe in my usual cup
To reach out and unfurl
plucked picked cut torn curled
To riding in the wind
and treading rain
not touching it
not touching me
not touching grounds
To no grounds
no end in mind
To filtered tips
small tiny sips
nips pecks and buds
To a rough bare browned foot
placed perfectly on a
Too perfect cold Buddha feet
To badly made first films
To poems made unmade love
with the last man mannequin
who knows who cares to care
to dare to devour to simply stare
To this and that
To made up make ups fights
To the longest lasting pimple
To the dimple on your chin
To the simple sin of Chantille
To the grass under my nose
and the nose under my eyes
and all thats unpretty
and unfettered uncombed
ungroomed and undone
To wisdom, utter utter stupidity
To hard wins and softer than
a babies bottom- losses
To flossing nicotine and cheese
To triple tums and morning runs
which end and begin in bed
To you to me
To everybody we ever knew will know or never know
to everyone out there and in here
To back there where we left them
and how they never left us in turn
To turn take turns out of turn
Ever turning never still
To those still standing
To those who have been brought to their knees
through age through life's expectations ever running dry
through holding too still for too long
to the same slow disease called time
To time and when time's up and it's time to go
To simply go back home
To going home
To Ma and some Ba to Chotomama and Didabhai
and Habu up their and Bhai who's not too far
But never ever really sure how far away
To the family I was born in but will die without
someday
To phoney old laughing gangster grannies
To picking noses to bleeding roses
To Fanny and Alexander's Fanny
To every passing geese and all that dander
To nannies in the park with nowhere to park their wards
or their dreams or to even pick a covert flower without
their watchman lover looking on in lust
To lust,to a 34 bust straining to be 36...
To letting it rising to the crust but not letting it spill
Or flood or overflow to swim swim swim to the brim
To turqoise pools chlorine drenched in the rain
To faking interest to not listening
but taking it all in through my eyes nose mouth open
To the last shout to the Big Shout
To the small gains ,
To smaller losses the ones which stopped counting
to tree-walking and stopping to breathe underneath
To mulch carpets and rain tree shadows
To canopies which never cover and never hold still
Like life, to life, this last next all the lives
To listening to Marwa and Gaur geet
To second besting, never resting ever resting
To pause
To breathe
To smile
To end
To you
To me
To us
My friend...
Use
We use each others bodies thoughts minds ideas -just as so much of fodder for our art and our lives. Each and every one of us- the mother the wife the farmer cleaner businessman beggar dog stone on the road and weed- am not beginning where Whitman left off -thank you!
If we look from afar or very closely we'll see the links and how we are connected.
It's only to nod in acknowledgment as we pass each by -if that's enough- well and good. It's we who decide what a nod defines encloses and comes to mean. Truly. Or should it be just a smile or a casual calculated brush aside or a handshake or a hug a fifteen minute lasting forever kiss or a lifetime spent together doing special and ordinary things sometimes together and sometimes apart in the comfort of knowing that there is an invisible cord that binds and which finds you even if you forget or lose your way.
When do we stop? And say- ok yes. This guy will do.
Often we don't. We move on.But move as we do it comes to dawn more and more that the more we move in there is more space more time more meaning. Ah yes somethings simply fall away-they lose charm and value without ceasing to bother.
Because the Spirit is endless and it's there we truly draw from -it's that deep tube-well of dreams drawings uncertainty and the perfectly phrased poem as complete as a crown jewel.
So even if one commits to someone for this life it is in utter certainty that it's only for now- be it a man a job or a child.To commit with an open palm- to commit without clutching - to understand and understand some more. Ear on the earth- ear on the heart - ear on the soul- listening deeply. All else is utterly useless.
If we look from afar or very closely we'll see the links and how we are connected.
It's only to nod in acknowledgment as we pass each by -if that's enough- well and good. It's we who decide what a nod defines encloses and comes to mean. Truly. Or should it be just a smile or a casual calculated brush aside or a handshake or a hug a fifteen minute lasting forever kiss or a lifetime spent together doing special and ordinary things sometimes together and sometimes apart in the comfort of knowing that there is an invisible cord that binds and which finds you even if you forget or lose your way.
When do we stop? And say- ok yes. This guy will do.
Often we don't. We move on.But move as we do it comes to dawn more and more that the more we move in there is more space more time more meaning. Ah yes somethings simply fall away-they lose charm and value without ceasing to bother.
Because the Spirit is endless and it's there we truly draw from -it's that deep tube-well of dreams drawings uncertainty and the perfectly phrased poem as complete as a crown jewel.
So even if one commits to someone for this life it is in utter certainty that it's only for now- be it a man a job or a child.To commit with an open palm- to commit without clutching - to understand and understand some more. Ear on the earth- ear on the heart - ear on the soul- listening deeply. All else is utterly useless.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Easy poems for difficult men
WALL
What if, right now,
All the tall talks
You have built
Between us
Like a great big
Mighty wall
Crumbles and fall,
And every bragging brick
From your bag of tricks
Is taken away from you?
Whatever would you do?
Before you start to walk away
I'd go knee down, anyway
In the muddy water drag
And plunge my hand deep
Into that sticky swirling mortar,
Twine your fingers with mine,
And in all that fine mess
let our bones conjoin.
Slowly set to stone
I guess!
What if, right now,
All the tall talks
You have built
Between us
Like a great big
Mighty wall
Crumbles and fall,
And every bragging brick
From your bag of tricks
Is taken away from you?
Whatever would you do?
Before you start to walk away
I'd go knee down, anyway
In the muddy water drag
And plunge my hand deep
Into that sticky swirling mortar,
Twine your fingers with mine,
And in all that fine mess
let our bones conjoin.
Slowly set to stone
I guess!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
It seems so far away...
My Day
I stitch your torn buttons and my frayed sling bag.
I boil the water for morning tea
I wash your soiled socks and
Soak the dishcloths and rags for later,
I hang them out to dry and pick the ones
From yesterday.
I wipe the kitchen platform dry after filling
Mine and your bottle at the sink.
I catch the cobwebs from the window sill
Amma missed in the daytime cleaning drill.
I put the electric heater on for bath
Propped up on a precarious hanger.
I clip my nails too close and use your foot scrubber
And help myself to a clean kurta and some of your kajal.
I shop for fresh vegetables and spices
I don't recognize.
I dice I chop I grate.
I cook , clean , clear away and wait.
I check what needs replenishing
And make a long mental wish list.
I wish I could buy ten hands at the bazaar.
I sigh, light a cigarette which dies
sit down on the bare floor and
Write some poetry.
-At Rakhi's
Gachibowli
Hyderabad.
I stitch your torn buttons and my frayed sling bag.
I boil the water for morning tea
I wash your soiled socks and
Soak the dishcloths and rags for later,
I hang them out to dry and pick the ones
From yesterday.
I wipe the kitchen platform dry after filling
Mine and your bottle at the sink.
I catch the cobwebs from the window sill
Amma missed in the daytime cleaning drill.
I put the electric heater on for bath
Propped up on a precarious hanger.
I clip my nails too close and use your foot scrubber
And help myself to a clean kurta and some of your kajal.
I shop for fresh vegetables and spices
I don't recognize.
I dice I chop I grate.
I cook , clean , clear away and wait.
I check what needs replenishing
And make a long mental wish list.
I wish I could buy ten hands at the bazaar.
I sigh, light a cigarette which dies
sit down on the bare floor and
Write some poetry.
-At Rakhi's
Gachibowli
Hyderabad.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Lessons from a guru on a perpetual creative high!
1.Draw one spontaneous drawing every day.
2.Make everyday objects look unreal
3.Draw 1 remembered image from a dream
4. Leave out more than you put in.
(This was Lesson 1 via sms...followed by an offer for more!
With a visual reference thrown in! Wow!Thanks Randhir!)
Lots more. I'd be happy to do a few sessions sometimes.
Have you seen the work of Ralph Steadman?
2.Make everyday objects look unreal
3.Draw 1 remembered image from a dream
4. Leave out more than you put in.
(This was Lesson 1 via sms...followed by an offer for more!
With a visual reference thrown in! Wow!Thanks Randhir!)
Lots more. I'd be happy to do a few sessions sometimes.
Have you seen the work of Ralph Steadman?
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