If Only We Were Human...

This species is a dear, hateful, sweet, barbaric, tender, vile, intelligent, confused, virtuous, evil, thoughtful, perverted, generous, greedy species. In short, great entertainment. 

As I said before, humans are the only species that systematically tortures and murders its own for pleasure and personal gain. In fact, we are the only species that systematically tortures and murders its own, period. 

We are serial killers. All our poems and symphonies and oils on canvas will never change that. Man's noble aspect is the abberation.

Those who argue that art and philosophy are proof of human worth neglect to mention that, in the scheme we have devised, artists and philosophers are completely powerless and largely without prestige. Art, music and philosophy are merely poignant examples of what we might have been had not the high priests and traders gotten hold of us. 

Most animals, when fighting one of their own, will show aggressive behavior, but very little hostility or intention to harm. And when the outcome of the struggle is inevitable, the losing animal will signal its defeat by exposing its most vunerable part to the victor, affording it the opportunity to finish the kill. The victor then walks away without inflicting further harm. These are the creatures we feel superior to. - George Carlin

Safe Distances...

If there was someone who had to be shown what lay beneath, I always knew it had to be you. I don't know why I chose you, I have tried to reason with myself. You don't even care any more, and if I told you this, you'd expect me to come up with a brilliantly convincing answer. But I can not. I am not clever, I have no sense of occasion and specially to you, I say the most stupid things. I wonder if this is one of those stupid things I am better off not saying. But even as I try to articulate everything I want to say, I feel you already know. You already know me, don't you? Your knowing scares me, but I know if I don't get out now, I'll choke. 

Baby, It's Cold Outside...

A Thousand Kisses Deep...

Don't matter if the road is long

Don't matter if it's steep

Don't matter if the moon is gone

And the darkness is complete

Don't matter if we lose our way

It's written that we'll meet

At least, that's what I heard you say

A thousand kisses deep

I loved you when you opened

Like a lily to the heat

You see, I'm just another snowman

Standing in the rain and sleet

Who loved you with his frozen love

His second hand physique

With all he is and all he was

A thousand kisses deep

I know you had to lie to me

I know you had to cheat

You learned it on your father's knee

And at your mother's feet

But did you have to fight your way

Across the burning street

When all our vital interests lay

A thousand kisses deep

I'm turning tricks

I'm getting fixed

I'm back on boogie street

I'd like to quit the business

But I'm in it, so to speak

The thought of you is peaceful

And the file on you complete

Except what I forgot to do

A thousand kisses deep

Don't matter if you're rich and strong

Don't matter if you're weak

Don't matter if you write a song

The nightingales repeat

Don't matter if it's nine to five

Or timeless and unique

You ditch your life to stay alive

A thousand kisses deep

The ponies run

The girls are young

The odds are there to beat

You win a while, and then it's done

Your little winning streak

And summon now to deal with your invincible defeat

You live your life as if it's real

A thousand kisses deep

I hear their voices in the wine

That sometimes did me seek

The band is playing Auld Lang Syne

But the heart will not retreat

There's no forsaking what you love

No existential leap

As witnessed here in time and blood

A thousand kisses deep

- Leonard Cohen

Broken Glass And Light...

Ask not "when will I find love?". Ask, instead, "when will I find someone who forgives me?" --Via Twitter

I think that's all you need to know about love. Ever.

Curl Under My Hairy Toes...

I know there is a heart inside me.

This is a love poem I sent to Hallmark. I said Fill me

with your papered mush. I was so excited to talk

to you, I put on the wrong lips. I said My other lips

mean business. I said Did you see the sky get angry

this morning? I was trying to impress you

with my ability to look up. I said Polka Dots, get off

the floor when you sneeze. I never want you to catch

a cold. There is a snow globe at the end

of this poem. Inside the snow globe: fake snow,

my skin I have rolled up for you, hello.

-Gregory Sherl

Living The Wrong Story...

There has been a battle going on inside me for years and I never realised, till now.


I still remember the summer holidays when mom took me along to her needlework/stitching class cause there was no one to take care of me at home. I played with the lady's daughter who was perhaps two years younger than me. I remember the flowery, dark leafed, perfumed garden and the corner under the guava trees where we sat and played house. We made tea that afternoon in little ceramic teapots and drank from little teacups. And I had never done that before. I never played "ghar-ghar" like all girls did. All sister's toys, dolls, were given away when we moved houses. When I finally met R and girls in 6th standard, I played with dolls for the first time. Being an asthmatic, I was never allowed to play like other kids, so I would end up spending all time alone, with my imaginary friends, talking to myself, reading, playing with trucks and lorries that dad would get, or fiddling in the kitchen and getting yelled at by mom.


I can't dance. And I am always wondering how dancing comes so effortlessly to most Indian women. So many women can dance so beautifully without ever having received any formal instruction. I realised why the other day while I was leading another girl in the Rumba class. I am not comfortable expressing myself. The "aada" that is such an instrinsic part of every Indian woman, it is so alien to me, it's there somewhere, just that I have never let it out. I have never allowed myself to feel womanly. Being the second daughter, I was raised like a boy. So while all girls played with dolls, I played with jeeps and trucks. While sister was flirting with guys in school, dad was teaching me how to repair a broken fuse. While all girlfriends danced on stage, I wasn't allowed to, so I stayed backstage and looked and wished I could dance like them.


Last year when I joined ballroom dance class, I hated it. I didn't realise what I was doing wrong but I was really bad at it. I would come home and write down steps in a notebook, 4-3-2-slow-1. Everytime I faltered, Shelly would say, "A, you dance well, but just feel the music, don't concentrate on the steps." I didn't understand what she meant. How could I not concentrate on steps? Wasn't that how you learnt to dance? But I see now what she meant. I am finally enjoying dance. I am finally letting myself go and feel. And I am loving it :)


Dance is such a direct extension of who you really are, it's an expression of your soul. You can't dance, if you aren't comfortable with yourself.

"Raat ko jab chaand chamake, jal uthhe tan meraa

mai kahoo mat kar o chandaa, is galee kaa feraa

aanaa moraa saiyaa jab aaye..."

I love this song. I love Waheeda Rehman. She has been my idol for so many years. She is my definition of a woman. Ins't she so lovely? So womanly, so graceful and so very beautiful! There are nicer songs featuring her, but I don't know why I love this song. Even when she's sad and yearning for her love, she's so beautiful and womanly, you can't take our eyes off her. You want to love her.


I think heartbreaks are good :) They serve as a good wake up call. Shake you up from my la-la land and force you to introspect and change and for good.


Sigh, I have such a long road ahead of me.