Aaaah..the internet

*giggle*

In London, November, 2006

you know (said in a gushy sort of voice)
when you're in 9th and 10th class
you write poems about
solitude and loneliness
twin binaries of one's life...
how they are different, one can be the other
but the other can't be one, and many other ways around

as if there weren't parents to catch every tear that
fell from your eyes
back you up, feed you every morsel they could
but nonetheless you scribble about solitude and its delicious pain
how you chose not to have friends
though you have about 5 or 6 close friends who
could see you get upset from the shape of your back
during an exam or in the chemistry practicals lab
inspite of hydrogen sulphide smell all over...
and sulphuric acid burning holes in lab coats

now you know that girl would have been moved by one of
those ipod ads you see these days..all
about finding oneself..being alone
'happy to miss the last bus home'

and now..when you could have missed the last flight home
the last tube home
the last person who is likely to come online that night...

it feels different from what you imagined
and yet you find yourself giggling
quietly into the open palms of your secret
when you write an email to an unsuspecting friend
your alibi (one of those friends who actually did
watch your back when in school, now married
grumpy mostly, much prettier, much less attractive)
and in that email...you say, stuck in a spanking new city

kilburn = ink blur

Reaching London, October, 2006


I reached London, first time like Howard, going along the same journey from the airport to Paddington (yes, I was on the wrong train and not on the tube, but one of those crazy expensive trains that have useless entertainment terminals and quiet zones but are profoundly useless otherwise)

I took Zadie Smith's word that London is actually not that cold, that only a close fitting coat (she says wool lined but even that wasn't necessary, atleast not in October-November). But unlike him, Paddington did sort of overwhelm me. I did look up and see the steel and glass interlaced hanging over my head. I understood suddenly why critiquing 'On Beauty' is easy because of the “dominant elite subculture” that it is about...laugh
Because Howard unthinkingly paid 14 pounds on the Heathrow express, which came as a total surprise to me and killed a substantial portion of my budget for London. And then he went to Kilburn where there are probably yards with large trees.
I didn't go to Kilburn, I went to Holburn ..
And from there to Bethanel Green...which is truly lovely.. close to Brick Lane (east London), where black people come to have kebab rolls with mayo and not yoghurt based mint chutney

After many rude, slurring and strange sounds-making Europeans
London with its old and young, asian and white, brown and black ..all saying..
so...pet
and
sorry...luv
and
where are you..luv

.... was warm

Ode to me, unwritten

you're made of jelly
some viscous vicious substance
i can divide you
into separate chunks
to swallow

you're laura mulvey's nightmare
you're every pornographer's dream

you're made of jelly
the way few things can be made
you twist, bend, break and submerge
in
water, but still hold on to your
outer edges
one transparency ending into another

i can see my hands touching you inside
i can see myself ... on the other
side of you..

you're made in water
the way few things can be