I was going for a jog the other morning and I saw these bunch of street dogs barking away at a German Sheppard tagging along with its owner. They kept barking and edging towards it. Here I was getting all worked about the whole thing while the subject in question just did not seem to be perturbed at all.. Our world of boundaries and those that skip across!
The other day I was at the signal. There was this svelte woman walking with her back to me, swaying her long braid of hair to match her gait. Of course it was an Eunuch and she was doing it with purpose. For a minute I burst out laughing, a pathetic bid to ensnare! But then the more I looked the more I was drawn. To live off a body that did not qualify as one of the sexes and yet had the potential of both. Maybe she is more free than I can ever be.
We walked into our favorite haunt, my friend and I. Headed straight for our regular table. And there he was, an acquaintance of mine who had been eyeing her for a while now. He saw his chance, when we asked him why he frequented the place. He worked it out like a movie shot. Led her to his table and got us into a conversation on wine, what most women want and then, unceremoniously asked us to leave, promising another session later. So beautiful, this whole urge to muster up your courage and go for something you think is right, atleast for a while!
I was driving back home one night and my eyes chanced upon this frail old man gleefully smacking his lips. He was sitting outside his tiny hovel with his plate of rice and curry. Don't know why, I felt party to his joy of the most basic need of a being, plain hunger and its offering to satiate!
Then there was this balloon guy on the road, selling them in all shapes and sizes. He had this racous voice, imploring people to buy. If not for the lovely sight it proved for a child, it would be a miracle if he sold anything at all!
While the huge long snake crawls along with unending twists and turns, dips and climbs and miraculous finds, the traveller in me skips along, hungry for more. Eager to keep a score!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Stuffed Toys, Shaitans and Syntacto
Well I do not remember being fond of stuffed toys as a child. Infact loved this toy dog which looked so very real. It was made out of very hard wood with a thin line of fur, just like a real dog with a pretty golden collar. That was the closest I got to furry things...
But then I was crazy about dolls, doll houses, experimenting with pigments from flowers and leaves like any other little girl.
But then the other side of me liked the spooky, weird unknowns. Remember my grandpa telling me those amazing ghost stories. And that little girl in school, guess I was in my second standard. She fed me stories about shaitans, the ones that would rise out of tombs in the form of black swallows, the glass eating tribe that she belonged to, she even ate a piece to prove her point. I was so fascinated, I remember trying it myself.
And then I was mean, I remember giving this horrid potion, the contents I cannot reveal to some girl as a welcome drink to my party. This was when I was maybe 5 years old.
I remember playing with ants, drowning and rescuing them all at once.
I was a rambunctious little punk, stealing mangoes from the trees of my neighbours, pulling away kites that touched my terrace walls, playing the fool with eunuchs on their begging juants if I may call it. You should see them, they would do anything for attention and money, even strip.
I remember going up to those tiny Hanuman temples where people would stick coins onto the sticky saffron colored walls only to be pulled off by the likes of me to buy Haajmola like candies.
And then there was the dancer in me, totally in love with Kathak and just about pleasing people with my half hearted efforts in Bharathnatyam
It was high school and pilching fruits from hawkers, jumping walls during inspections was in.
And college when I remember my friend and me chasing a guy during a loadshedding. It was funny because he tried to eve-tease the wrong girls. We whistled, cat-called and started following him till he started running for his dear life.
And today I stand, strangely sobered. Yet I cannot deny, there are moments still when that gayyali erupts like a volcano, dormant but very much alive!
I love you Syntacto.
But then I was crazy about dolls, doll houses, experimenting with pigments from flowers and leaves like any other little girl.
But then the other side of me liked the spooky, weird unknowns. Remember my grandpa telling me those amazing ghost stories. And that little girl in school, guess I was in my second standard. She fed me stories about shaitans, the ones that would rise out of tombs in the form of black swallows, the glass eating tribe that she belonged to, she even ate a piece to prove her point. I was so fascinated, I remember trying it myself.
And then I was mean, I remember giving this horrid potion, the contents I cannot reveal to some girl as a welcome drink to my party. This was when I was maybe 5 years old.
I remember playing with ants, drowning and rescuing them all at once.
I was a rambunctious little punk, stealing mangoes from the trees of my neighbours, pulling away kites that touched my terrace walls, playing the fool with eunuchs on their begging juants if I may call it. You should see them, they would do anything for attention and money, even strip.
I remember going up to those tiny Hanuman temples where people would stick coins onto the sticky saffron colored walls only to be pulled off by the likes of me to buy Haajmola like candies.
And then there was the dancer in me, totally in love with Kathak and just about pleasing people with my half hearted efforts in Bharathnatyam
It was high school and pilching fruits from hawkers, jumping walls during inspections was in.
And college when I remember my friend and me chasing a guy during a loadshedding. It was funny because he tried to eve-tease the wrong girls. We whistled, cat-called and started following him till he started running for his dear life.
And today I stand, strangely sobered. Yet I cannot deny, there are moments still when that gayyali erupts like a volcano, dormant but very much alive!
I love you Syntacto.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Curiously interesting Mr Button
Just watched the movie yesterday. Liked it, managed to depress me though. Not sure whether it because it was an absolutely weird love story between Button and Daisy or whether it was an interesting depiction of babyhood and old age.
On the exterior he was a baby, but within he was dying. Guess that's how it feels when you grow old, your urges are that of the young, but the system just does not function.
Refreshing in concept as in what if we were born old and only got younger, just seems that eitherways there is only a phase in the middle when you can enjoy!
Both Blanchet and Brad did an excellent job.
So wanted to learn ballet as a child. well if she could cross the English Channel!
On the exterior he was a baby, but within he was dying. Guess that's how it feels when you grow old, your urges are that of the young, but the system just does not function.
Refreshing in concept as in what if we were born old and only got younger, just seems that eitherways there is only a phase in the middle when you can enjoy!
Both Blanchet and Brad did an excellent job.
So wanted to learn ballet as a child. well if she could cross the English Channel!
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