Novembers from years past

Desire to write, nothing to write about. So, I did the next best thing – I put together posts from the last 5 years (with very minor edits). Little changes in 5 years, it turns out.
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It’s magical seeing your dreams for the future change shape in front of you.
Change shape, change colour.
How your Dream changes out of a flared gypsy skirt into a sombre suit and steps into a street bubbling over with a thousand other similar Dreams. Walking, running, smiling, crossing paths till it bumps into you.
“Oh my God, how you have changed!”
“Yes, but then…so have you!”
(November 2004)

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I tried to be a forest fire, when all I wanted to be was a Spark!
(November 2004)

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There was a phase in my life when I believed in anagrams. Actually believed in them. Anagrams as alternative tarot cards. As fortune cookies. As tea-leaves, soothsayers and the works. Oddly enough, I chose to ignore the biggest portent of eternal damnation: I’m a rat.

That’s right. I am Art is pure unadulterated BS. There is no art. Just rats. A whole army of rats pushing-racing-running-crawling-biting towards that distant cliff. The Pied Piper is on vacation. There’s no music. We are rats doing the only thing we were programmed to do. Or maybe there’s a Giant Mouse somewhere playing a strange game: Push the damn rats off the cliff. Push. Push. Faster. How brilliantly orgasmic!
Congratulations! New Record! High Score!

Some do it in style. Some cheat. Some go first. Some falter. But they all jump.

But I don’t want to be a rat. The veins in my head throb. I am not a rat. I am more. Throb. Thump. I am… I am art.
And Then.
Epiphany.
Silence.

Fate has read the jury’s verdict. All in favour of Rat. Applause.
I am sorry art. You never stood a chance. It’s just the circle of life. Circles of Lives. Stacked one after the other.

(November 2005)

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You too shall wake up someday, my Sleeping Beauty.
Till then, why not pull out some rabbits from your hat?

(November 2006)

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In the words of Günter Grass, to be human is to be curious, childlike, complex and immoral.

Having come to terms with my humanness, I am back.

(November 2007)

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Yes, I am back. Expect real posts soon! And time to do away with all this angst, no?

Confessions, catharsis

I am back.

The worst is over, and behind me. I walk away making no attempt to hide my tracks. Smooth criminal indeed. Yes, I have pulled out of a very troubled period. It took some effort and a lot of work. Literally. The only thing that can fill the Void is being occupied. Emptiness and Emptiness mate and multiply faster than rabbits.

Just being conscious of the fact that I have no control gives me so much more control, I told her.
She smiled, we are good then.

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I have spent a lifetime making mistakes and living by them. I guess it’s high time that I broke out of the cycle. Alright fine, I care two hoots about engineering. Hell I don’t even think I am an engineer. Yet, it stings when people point that out. Because I would love to believe that I am a good impressionist. Yes, I prefer impressionist to impostor.

But you loved Aero, didn’t you?
I thought I did, but what I loved was the idea of flight, of wresting free of gravity, of Icarus and of melting wax, of fragility and freedom.
It’s like becoming a gynaecologist because you enjoy watching porn, I told a friend.
It cracked him up.
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The last few weeks have been fantastic. The miracle I had prayed for forever was granted: I saw snowfall. How was it? Hmm, let’s just say I wish I had prayed for a plate of pani puris instead. I have also discovered a sport (?) I don’t naturally suck at – skiing. That is probably because I am already pigeon-toed and walk with a slouch too. Just strap some skis on and go down a slope. That’s easy.

Started working part-time at an early stage start-up too. Will publicize it shamelessly once the product launches. As of now, I am happy working with some amazing energetic people, taking an idea to fruition. That’s my career goal of the month: become an entrepreneur. I think Silicon Valley is rubbing off on me (am I the only one or does that sound incredibly lesbo?). Anyway, last month it was venture capital. Non-profit the month before. Let’s see how long this lasts.

And Margaret Atwood. Her writing brings me to life. If someone could assure me that I could write half as well as she does, I would drop everything and pick up a pen.

I miss

I was going through my LJ blog archives today. Went as far back as 2005. That blog was different. Posts were shorter, fresher, sometimes unintentionally pompous, sometimes intentionally cryptic, more honest, more me.

I miss being younger, being naive (though I would have never admitted it then), being busy, being surrounded by friends I could crib to. I miss anagrams. I miss Sam, PPS, pc.  Lazy monsoon afternoons spent wordlessly in bed.  I miss being wide-eyed with wonder, like I was when I visited NYC for the first time or wore my first LBD to Olive.  I miss the time when being clueless was still cool.

I don’t miss the acne though.
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“Chronic dissatisfaction. That is what you suffer from. You will never be happy anywhere you go”

This is what the (smouldering hot) Penelope Cruz says to (I-related-to-her-in-spirit-not-in-action) Scarlett Johansson in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Lovely movie.

Hmm, so what was I saying?