The words that follow on this page are a little glimpse into my mind. My very own private reverie. Each of these were conceived in only the time it took to actually pen them down. I am not attempting to be technically perfect here- with grammar or anything else. This is an attempt to be true to myself and my thoughts at a given moment in time.
I want to document where I am right now. My journey as an artist would be incomplete if I can not be true to my thoughts. I hope you can connect to the words that follow on this page. They are a mix of what I go through, what my closest friends feel… They are in most part a very fine mix of thought, metaphor, dream, desire, faith and reality.
If you have anything to say, send me an email on email@example.com or leave a comment at the bottom of this page.
When did it happen ?
( 1 September 2012)
I am feeling awful.
I know that there is nothing that can’t be fixed but still….
People are hurtful and selfish.
They are fighting their own demons.
I was just collateral damage.
But, I don’t expect it from those that make up my core.
My presence in your life should be something that enriches you.
And yours in mine is something I cherish.
But lately I feel like a chore that you need to get done.
Something that is best avoided,
till it can’t be anymore.
It’s a huge leap from waiting to catch a glimpse of me everyday,
to pitying the person who has no choice but to see my face everyday.
When did I become a millstone around your neck?
When did the enthusiasm fade?
The passion turn fleeting?
The love gone cold.
When did I become like the rest?
Unworthy and not to be trusted.
Just the two of us…
( 1 September 2012)
I hate that you walk away, for what ever reason it may be.
That you hurt me, however inadvertently.
That I don’t have more time with you, for the given situation.
That you seem unruffled, when I feel like an unmade bed.
I hate that I am not a mind reader, and you won’t share.
That I don’t have your mind share, and you seem to have no tender feelings to spare.
I hate that I did not listen when you said you don’t have time.
That our unbroken melodies are hard to live by.
I hate that I am trying to pull it together for me, and yet can’t.
That you see that struggle and still appear nonchalant.
I absolutely hate that you are so fucking sure of me.
I love that I am equally sure of you.
That you are as screwed up in your head about this as I am.
That this is something you will never get over, like me.
That every time you even try to go the distance without me, I am always in your thoughts.
That your most private space will never be free of me…
as mine will never be free of you.
That no matter what, both of us are fucked for life.
Together or apart..
( 7 November 2012)
It’s all been said and done before.
There’s nothing new to add.
Just when I think I turned the corner to a new beginning,
I find myself at the same place again.
It’s time to turn a different corner.
To find anew what drove me to you.
To look for ways to get back to you.
As I grow old I find solitude and calm more thrilling than the excitement of a million merry go rounds.
I got on one with you while letting a sleeping river gently flow…
I get off one now to be with you as you slowly wake from slumber.
Let me be…
( 25 July 2012)
I feel old and alone.
Older than my years,
an old soul maybe.
Torn between what could have been and should have been.
What is and must be.
The question is – Who am I?
A daughter to my parents or a parent to mine…
A mother trying her best or a daughter still looking to rest.
Did I fulfill what I set out to be,
or did I fall by the way side with so much to do and see.
If I were to leave you tomorrow,
would you remember me with kindness and indulgence,
or will you feel sad for a life unfulfilled?
I did not do what I set out to do,
but I did a lot along the way.
I fought with my demons,
and conquered my soul.
I sold my soul to the devil and yet made peace with god.
I am me in everything I choose to be…
Friend or foe,
goddess or temptress,
I be the woman that I most want to be…
Question is – Will you let be?
To be or not to be…
( 25 July 2012)
There is a wild child in me.
Sometimes I wonder if I should set her free.
What do you see when you look at me?
Sunshine and bubbles of happiness,
or colours in a bursting mind.
Do you see life and fire,
or do you see dark desire.
Do you see the battle to stay the course,
or do you see the formidable force.
Do you see green eyes that seek to bewitch,
or a questioning gaze, that little twitch.
I see the mirror and everyday it shows me a lie.
For everyday I stay the course, I feel the hunger.
I feed the needy,
but I still go hungry.
There is a wild child in me….
Set me free.
Let me be.
Experiments with ‘my truth’…
( 14 June 2012)
I met with an artist today, whose work is based on narrative story telling.
As narratives go…what would mine be?
If a house is to reflect the lives of the people who live in it, does mine?
If a studio is my private domain…what should it look like?
How many times have I heard that you don’t only live for you…. who do I live for?
My mind is bursting to capacity..
it’s madness in there,
a riot of colors,
a truck full of ideas,
music that is deafening to listen to
…yet it soothes the soul and calms the mind…
I am slowly going crazy with my world in there.
I want to bring every thought,
every idea ,
every note ,
every desire ,
every sensation to life.
… yet I still lack the ability to get it all done.
I feel like I am looking at an hour glass with the sand rushing out….
I don’t really know if I will have the time to turn over, and start again.
Damn! I am going insane.
Is this what they talk off? Am I a mad artist?
I don’t really want to be.
The demons in my head won’t let me rest.
I am tired… how do you switch off?
When I am awake, my mind is processing the color I see around me.
At sleep, it’s turning into shapes and ideas that are stretching my brain to capacity.
Every artist is trying to tell a story, through words, images, sound…
Their work is based in a narrative of their life. A single shot or a long series of images. A single mood or a saga unfolding.
So, isn’t everybody’s work based in narrative story telling in some way, you may ask?
Mine is. That little bit up there is mine everyday…
…but I realized, my work does not truly reflect who I am.
It only shows you the sterile and sanitized version of it. Something that is acceptable to everyone’s palette…including those, that are the closest to me.
Today and for a while now, I find myself grappling with many questions.
..about life and work,
about children and their future,
about my country and its basis,
about morality and happiness,
about legality and consequences,
about success and giving back,
about acceptability and individuality.
They’re fine lines…it’s always about walking a tight rope. I am learning to be good at it.
So does that make me a tight rope artist?
An open book…
( 30 April 2012)
Some people are a like a closed book…
you can read nothing about them.
Just that little bit of information that the dust jacket offers.
… are like a library’s worth of them.
No matter how much I might wish to read you,
there will always be titles still unread.
Pockets of your mind that you hold so dear,
that they lie forgotten in the back rows,
covered in dust, undisturbed.
Only you know those pages.
There are those, who just read the concluding chapters,
… and think they know you.
The pages that are dog eared and torn…
the ones, that have so frequently been thumbed through,
that they lie dirty and grubby from fingers that did not care enough.
I am not one of them.
I want to read the preface,
the prologue, the genesis of you.
I want to open those pages,
that have thus far rarely been opened,
the ones that they lie stuck together with mildew.
I want to save those crumbling old pages,
before they disintegrate into nothingness.
I want to understand the story that is you.
I want the key to that library.
I want to open the book that is you.
Will you open up to me,
or are we now a closed chapter?
(2nd April 2012 – 11.38 am)
Some days I walk around the house,
avoiding land mines of memories,
too vivid recollections of all that has gone on in the past.
Looking to find that little space,
that is as yet, not stamped by your presence
…just so I can begin afresh.
The very essence of your life,
the fabric of your DNA,
stamped all over my heart,
all over my body, all over the place.
In the random synapses of my brain,
I feel the laughter of my soul,
in the expressions of ecstasy,
the heartbreak of regret and the joy of fulfillment…
I see the potential,
I see the journey as yet untraveled.
The story, yet untold.
I want to see that potential unfold,
into reams of poetry and sheets of white,
in a million colors on bright flowers as yet unfurled.
(8th October 2009)
Yaad hain woh din?
Jab tum saath nahi they, toh intezaar tha,
Aur jab saath they, toh bahut pyaar,
Kahan gaye woh din?
Aab intezaar bhi hai or pyaar bhi,
bas tumara saath nahi.
Yaad hain woh din?
Tum scooter pe they,
Tapti dhoop mein,
Aab gaadi hain,
bas hum saath nahin.
Yaad hain woh din?
Ek tum they or ek main.
Duniya se ladh ne ko taiyaar.
Aab hum do hain aur hamaare do.
Bas ab ladaai hum may hoti hai.
Yaad hain woh din?
Tumhare mere ek sapne they,
Main unhey sochti thi,
tum unhey pura karne ka vishwas deteh they.
Ab, shakti hai, vishwas bhi hain,
Bas sapne alag hain
Yaad hain woh din?
Ek dusre se alag nahi reh paate they,
rona aata tha tumhare bina,
Rona ab bhi aata hain.
Hamare alag hone ka.
Phir mere saath yaad karoge woh din?
Mujhe bahut yaad aate hain, woh din.
It happens every time
I always almost, vow to myself that I will remain cool, aloof, detached.
But when your lips brush against mine,
and your hand caresses my back…
… when your fingers dance along my spine in gestures meant to soothe even as they seek to arouse.
detachment quickly turns into longing,
denial into need,
as all sensations,
arousal and a lifetime of passion…
become centered on that one point that you touch.
I want to devour you almost as much as I want to savour you.
I want to tear you to shreds and be torn in return…
Unfinished without you
I’ve loved you a long time,
even when ‘we’ didn’t exist.
I’ve ached for you,
with a gut wrenching need.
I’ve dreamed of you,
thru many a long night.
I have tasted you,
in many a dream.
I have felt you,
from the core of my being.
I have wanted you,
like no other.
There is chaos without you.
There is darkness when you’re not near.
There is pain when I can’t touch you.
There is denial at the thought of you leaving.
There is infinite sadness as I watch you walk away.
And there is mind numbing ecstasy when you touch me again.
…somehow I can’t reach you.
I am unfinished and incomplete without you.
There are some wounds
Have you ever wondered what my lips would taste like?
Or if the skin on the nape of my neck is as soft as it looks?
If my blemished face would actually end up being coarse to the touch?
Or whether the stretch marks on my tummy would hold you back?
If my dimpled behind would be off putting.
Or if the blue tracery of veins on my white thighs be maddening.
Can I hope that you be so driven by your need for me…that whether my skin be fine like gossamer silk or rough like sand paper…it doesn’t really matter…
I have to say…it is all me.
They are my battle scars of life,
my little victories against the angst of adolescence.
My right of passage in to womanhood.
My rebirth as a mother.
My farewell to all that was innocent in me.
I think I wear them well, these battle scars.
Have you noticed, there are scars and then there are scars.
Some don’t seem to be anything to write home about, no matter how grotesque they may outwardly appear.
And then there are others that barely even show on the surface and yet….
… sometimes I feel like an animal that has been deliberately shot and wounded.
But just enough to severely traumatise but not enough to inflict a mortal blow.
There are some wounds like that.
All I want
All I want is that room.
Stark. Sunlit. Open.
With white walls.
A tall mirror against a wall.
Comfortable old couch.
A huge table. Solid wood.
…just the right height.
And paint. Gallons of it.
Every colour. Everywhere.
I want to paint me and you.
I want to paint just you.
On canvas. On paper.
But I also want to paint you with chocolate…
I want a bed.
Low. Wide. Huge.
With crisp white sheets.
I want music.
Soft. Soulful. Sultry.
And then I want it to get loud.
With a tempo that matches the beat of our hearts.
Matching rhythms that wont let us rest.
A beat that vibrates to my very core.
I WANT YOU.
But I want you on my terms.
Care to join me in my white stark sunlit room?
I’d kill for a hug right now.
I’d sell my soul for a kiss.
The texture of your skin…
The smell of your body…
The touch of your palm…
The feel of your lips…
I miss you.
When did you become so important in the scheme of things?
Damn! but I never saw it coming.
When I am with you, my chest is bursting to capacity.
When I am without you, I can hardly draw breath.
I feel like someone is wringing the life out of me.
What I have gained from being with you, I cannot say.
But, any need to know anyone else but you is what I have lost.
When I am with you.
I start to loose time
Time seems to stand still and yet it flies.
I keep hoping to stop time altogether
Its becoming harder to watch you walk away.
I want to subsume you into me.
I want to breathe you.
I want to feel your breath on me.
I want to wrap you around me like a warm fuzzy blanket.
I want to watch you sleep.
But, most of all… I want to wake up next to you.
I want to be your joy, your strength, your desire, your happiness,
I want to be your comfort, your island,
I want to right your world, to fix every wrong
I want to rock your world, to fill it with music
But, most of all… I want to be yours.
I want to walk to the ends of the earth
to touch the sky
to gaze into your eyes and know that I belong
I want you to feel my love, my desire
But, most of all… I want to know that you feel it too
… that I’m not alone…
( What I have gained ……is what I have lost.- these are not my words. I heard thm many moons ago and they have stayed with me ever since)
I love your beautiful brown eyes
Did you know your eyes smile when they look at me?
They turn from plain brown to gold.
I see affection most days.
I see question some days.
Some days, they are just warm and melting.
On days, I see anger and frustration too!!
But, they’re always alive when they look at me.
They can pull me together.
They can also tear me apart.
They shout out to me and then…
sometimes, they just whisper my name!!
But, they always light up when they look at me.
You can try and hide from me.
You can also stay away.
You can try and be merry with out me.
But, I thought I should let you know…
your eyes always always give you away!!
Desire is familiar.
Comfortable. Even normal.
…but what is disturbing is the depth of that desire.
Along with something new, almost alien;
Something that feels very uncomfortably like need.
Potent yet fleeting.
Seductive. Hypnotic. Recognizable.
…even as it is inescapable.
My mind is in a space where there is confusion.
But it was all predestined.
Incredibly right. Tempting.
Full of promise.
Hinting at never ending pleasure.
Surprisingly soft. Infinitely persuasive.
Patience finally forgotten…
…in swirling sensations thru blinding pleasure.
Random thoughts through experiences gained
Colour is all I see. It starts my day and sets course for it.
My mood is colour, my love is in technicolour, my sorrow is dark but my soul is white.
If joy and passion is red, then what is indecision?
If betrayal is black, then what is circumstance?
If guilt is deep blue, then what is need?
Is there a difference between need, want and desire- if they are all for the same thing?
Is it OK to be sad and happy at the same time?
Is it love if its dishonest?
And is it love even when it may not all be there?
Can you be homesick for a place you’ve never been?
Can you want to dream a dream, you’ve never had?
Is it wrong to covet something someone else has- a toffee, that great bag or dress, the wonderful children, the sexy car, the handsome man or the attractive woman? Is it all wrong? Or just the scale?
Is it wrong to compare? Two shoes, two bags, two jobs, two children, two people?
Life is not black and white, only full of grey.
Life is never about right and wrong, only about the best choice.
Choice is not about the correct choice, only right or wrong for that person, at that time.
Mistakes come in all shapes and sizes and many different styles. There is bound to be one in your fit. And trust me, you going to take it and make it.
Communication comes in many forms. It can elevate a dialogue to new heights or help it degenerate to a fight. It can cement a friendship, a relationship, a bond. It can also sever it so its all gone. Like it never was.
Learning comes from experience.
Experience is only that when it has been experienced!!
Have you ever lost control?
When your eyes glaze over,
when your heart is beating so loud,
that you can’t hear a thing.
When you can see my lips move but the words coming out don’t make sense.
When you don’t want to be gentle.
When you don’t want to be kind.
When all you can think of is that peak.
When your insides ache so hard,
that you want to hurt me.
But you don’t…
You will bruise me one day.
You know that, right?
…because you won’t be able to help yourself.
It’s in your eyes every time you look at me.
Each time you touch me.
Its in the way your fingers glide over my skin.
Its in the way you fist my hair.
Its in the way you kiss me.
There is so much need,
its akin to violence.
Did you think you were capable of it?
It scares you doesn’t it?
This incredible need.
It scares me.
Let me set you free….
…this untamed need is also in me.
It’s always you
I miss you.
The thought of you makes me smile.
The thought of you makes other thoughts well worth while.
To just see those eyes, to feel your strength.
I miss strange things about you…
the space between your teeth,
the twinkle in your eye,
the white in your hair,
the strength of your shoulders,
the pulse at your throat,
the sweat beads on your forehead,
the line of your jaw.
I know the instant when you get distracted.
I know the instant when I have your full attention.
I know when you’re thinking of me even when I’m not there.
Your mind is scattered and distracted too…
ufffh… the possibilities.
…sinfully sexy. Unabashedly bold. Uninhibitedly decadent.
I know of the kind of love that leaves one weak in the knees,
I know of the kind that drives one wild with need,
I know of the kind that’s quiet and mellow,
and even the kind that’s hot and possessive.
A love that makes you more than you ever hoped to be…
I know that love.
I have felt it, lived it and loved it.
a love that leaves you weak in person,
one that bruises and belittles you?
A love that’s badgers and betrays you.
A love that survives and thrives on hate.
One that makes you less than you?
That I have never known.
she has… intimately.
She is like me, she is me.
And yet, her decisions are not mine,
Her reactions are not mine,
Her quiet servitude is not mine.
Mine would be…
Aggression, not indecision.
Judgement, never denial.
Mine would be to…
Combat and fight,
Yet she is so like me, she is me…
Why cant she be a little bit more like me?
I feel intoxicated with you…
It does not matter if I am in an inebriated state or not….
my muscles relax,
my mind starts to stray,
my body starts to hum with need.
I find that I can let go off aches,that I did not know I carried,
pains that were keeping me bent over.
I know we disagree,
that we are different,
that we don’t always think each others thoughts,
that there are days we are not even on the same page.
But inspite of all that…
you intoxicate me, you make me want to seduce you.
Not just with my body,
but with my thoughts,
with ideas that excite,
feelings that ignite,
references that bring back memories,
thoughts that are almost tangible,
belief that it is all possible and always so.
But you excite me, you intoxicate me, you arouse me…..
It’s amazing what alcohol will do.
It will heighten the senses.
It will numb the pain.
It will make every color seem brighter.
It will even make Salieri sound like Mozart (if that’s possible).
But it’s all make belief.
It’s the alcohol.
It’s always that.
The running away.
It’s not worth it.
Always face it sober.
Coz with alcohol…
it’s almost better than hurt,
the grief is insanely sane.
And yet it’s actually devastatingly insane.
Which is it?
When you wake up each morning, there’s a dreamy little interlude before reality slots into place. Right?
So when that happens and you remember me/us …do you groan, roll over and feel trapped.
Or is it a joyous burst of energy knowing I exist?
A beautiful lie
He said that my eyes reminded him of deep jade in shimmering candle light,
my luscious lips were ruby red,
and my skin glowed like pale alabaster…
he was lying of course…
But, it was certainly very romantic!!
Jack Vs. Black
( August 2011)
I have a confession to make…I’ve been two timing jack.
It’s been a while since I watched the sun go down.
Since I felt at peace.
Its been a while since I said hello to Jack.
Today I missed him…he was busy, otherwise occupied…so I had to make do with just a label.
A label that was not in shades of grey or even saturated colour…
…but that all consuming black.
It would be safe to say,
today I had an intimate relationship with black…
Where he consumes me while I consume him.
Where he seduces me while I subsume him
Where the heat fills my entire body.
It always starts as a slow burn…
and then slowly spreads like wild fire.
Where everything is possible,
it’s been a while since I felt this way.
Its a turbulent relationship to say the least.
It’s almost always on the rocks,
but sometimes, on very rare occasions its bubbles over with fizz.
Those are interesting times.
For a temperamental artist…. I did not realize- I quite like being labeled
Memories and settings…
( November 2011)
A night light,
a soft touch,
a kiss worth dying for.
a slide of your fingers,
I lost my heart.
( December 2011)
It’s raining outside.
Did I tell you? I have a visceral connection to rain. I love it.
It breathes new life into me- every time.
It’s also that one time when I want to be with that special someone with a kind of quiet desperation.
And every time it rains, I want to be with you.
But I also find, I want to experience bright sun shine with you, feel the blistering chill of a Delhi winter with you by my side.
I want to run along a beach and have sand in my hair, salt on my body…be itchy and scratchy and still have you there.
I bet you’ve never known another woman so hungry for you…
…not just for your body, but more so for your company- both in silence and in conversation.