WOM – Write Only Memory
And who cares about morning trucks, except me. But its ok as this blog is turning more and more into a memory space inside my head. For no one to read. Just for me to jot some notes and memories in.
The darker recesses of memory remain unblogged and locked in the vault though. We keep the real stuff from the world and just tell them what they already know.
Morning
The morning sounds are the same everywhere
Ok maybe NOt
But its just past sunrise in Toronto
And I can hear clanking trucks
As if they have just unloaded morning wares somewhere and are returning
Empty and clanky with the day's job done at 7 a.m
Life at 7:47 a.m on 31st October 07
Very well behaved beta
A scream from nowhere
Very wary of Purple Prose
Never going in there
Until Life is Purple
And prosy
And convoluted and sleepless.
No unconquerable shit
Nothing that breaks me
But generally quite quite gnarly
And gargoyle like
And dead ended
And not begun
And over-lived
And too long
And under-lived, wasted on the couch.
And smeared with mustard
And weird unpredictable sentences for the heck of it.
And a well laid out neat life
School, then College
Just one messy Principal.
And insomnia ridden.
Stared at the skylight when I was a kid
Then i stared at Yahoo Chat rooms
Now I stare at TV
In between stared at Harry Potter
And morning is here
Fresh beautiful morning
So they would say
But its just a mess in pink
No longer in black
Just shaded in dawn.
Two lil ducks – 22
I turned 22 on 22nd October 2007.
Now I feel old. When I was 21, I still felt 14, but at 22 you gotta take stock.
So it feels like going from 14 to 22. Suddenly.
The new singers on TV are definitely younger to me. People who are singing about sensitivity in bed (J.Holiday) and about being No Good (Amy Winehouse) are just 1 or 2 years older than me. And they have been through rehab or denied it. Lindsay Lohan, born in 1986 is a year younger.
Fergie is 32 years old, born in 1975. But does she look like that ?
I have witnessed Britney Spears enter the music scene, mess it up for herself, get married, have kids, fight custody battles and make a comeback. Either I have been around for a long time or she is crossing milestomes really fast. Or maybe both.
New slang like Shawty is not something I see myself inserting in my sentences and sprinkling around. It sounds juvenile. And when that happens you are OLLDD.
I have been interested in acquiring financial education of late. Another sign ?
And I no longer want to be an astronaut.
But clubbing is kickass. Better than before. I guess thats a thing for people in their twenties really. So, I am my age.
I could be doing anything now and not even breaking rules. How pointless. The funny part is that my Mom still treats me like I am supposed to return home before night and kiss guys on the cheek.
So what have I achieved ? The building up, preparing for a career is over. It has to be now. I must be in a career in the next year or so. It was so long ago when I was competing with young boys with fresh moustaches in engineering exams. The concept of Older men is vanishing.
Worst of all, my younger sister's friend is getting married. When the world starts getting married and you can see yourself pinching thier children's cheeks a few years down, its very reality-acquainting.
Sites like Shaadi.com and BharatMatrimony somehow track you down and suddenly my inbox gets spam offering me both homely brides and NRI guys.
And nothing has come full circle. I do not look back at my childhood and laugh at how naive I was. I still hate my school Principal and think that she was a pompous bitch. Maybe not mean, but certainly someone who did not know better.
I still want to go on family holidays and be the kid who curls up on the cane chair to read a book on the porch, not required to be part of the grown-ups' conversation. I want to go to aunty-uncle parties and watch TV and only emerge at food time.
Adolescence is supposed to be a tough time. Was it tough for me ? I dont know. Seems to have been smooth sailing. It evaporated while playing badminton. Yeah, but now that I look back, the internet chatting and crushes and school dances and physics chapters were a long time ago.
So here I am now. Thud! Suddenly 22. I hate this.
Rihanna, born in 1988, is 18 years old. Dont wait to grow up. Do what you have to do RIGHT NOW ! -Advice from an elder.
My belief in this Life
I had a long long phase of Anything Goes, Anything is fine.
Suddenly it led to numbness and I guess one should have some shoulds and should nots after all, some rules and beliefs to live by.
I still find those 'I dont like hypocrites' kinda lines cheesy and cliched.
But I am developing my own lines suddenly, like I did when I was a teenager.
I wrote a line two posts earlier and Here is another original one....
......Ahhh sorry I forgot it. It was earth-shattering and was goin to shape my life from now onwards. But , Oh well.... (As Jonny Selvaraj would say)
Quotable Quote by MJ
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The world sees you as you see yourself.
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How do you see yourself ?
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Film-makers and the madness
Today I went to another studio, one called EyePost on King STreet East in Toronto, along with the students of the Film classes I am attending.
We went to a studio called Technicolor, 2 weeks ago.
Once a guest lecturer came to college and spoke to us about film-making. He appeared casual and not like a cabbage professor. Cabbage-Prof, I just made up the term. You get the idea right ?
In going to these studios and meeting all these people, the noticeable thing is that they are all so crazy and passionate, totally in love with film tapes and editing boxes. They can spend whole weekends sitting and tweaking video for post production in a dark room with two computers, editing equipment, a large screen in front while surviving on beer and cold pizza.
Wrappings
This is too funny. Shifting from India to Canada and writing applications, emails and letters in a tone that suits each country.
India is full of - I would be highly obliged if, Please give your kind attention, Your prestigious instituition.
Canada is more direct, repectful but to the point. I began writing a mail and as soon as I got too polite, it sounded sarcastic and suspicious! For example, in a letter to a faculty member, saying 'Could you please let me know my marks ?' sounded very huffy and angry and this-is-the-least-you-could-do.
Lol. In India it would be just the right thing. Canada is like - I was wondering if, Would it be possible to, I would prefer, Please accept.
Canada is - I want to know my marks please.
India- I wantED to know my marks please.
As if its not a pressing issue. I dont really want to know my marks. I just wanted to. And if you have the kind time to kindly go through the files and let me know my marks then it would be wonderful and I would be highly obliged. But if you don't have the kind time, then I will just have to ask you for my marks using a polite Plan B.
Toronto street nights
Nights crawl and I get depressed. A day wasted. I must sleep now. I could use these hours, not use but enjoy with sketching, graphics or music. But I feel like I was slumping all day. Slumping in a couch and it sank down and down and down. And this night I have again reached the depths of the couch. Depths beyond the couch. An underworld, the real Bottom. I could take a deep breath, grab that escaping oxygen and walk around the room. I cant go out and stand head to chest with black guys in baggy jeans and oversize jackets.
They stand one in front and one at the back and say "Sexy gurrl". There is something dangerous about this. He says "Whats your problem I'm just saying hello. Why r you like Don't touch me and all". I never said that but he can sense it. I dont budge. Ego. He may grab my ass or push me back. But I dont give in. Stubborn that I am.
And then he could be right. Whats all this in my head? Cant I be civil to a fella on the street? But I am not answerable to him. I dont have to be nice. Reading my body and defensiveness, he could be my Dr Phil on the street. Sorting out my issues as I stand, waiting to step on the zebra crossing. But I can smell alcohol on his breath. And he is standing too close. And I feel I cant beat him up like I can handle guys in India. Maybe not win in India, but give it a good try. Here I would pound and he could laugh.
I am scared. But like the time the cop at the concert thought I was a guy and was about to lathi-charge me and I just wanted to talk sense and say ' Excuse me you cannot do this', I now say to the guy 'You are being weird. This is not normal.' As if he did not know. So he is the brat on road. I cannot be the screechy female. Why not? It's not me. Me is dumb. Thats all that is proven.
Anyway, so I cant go out. I will sometime. Maybe with a cycle to bang right into the front of a swerving car on an empty street and walk home with a bleeding knee and a cycle tire in one hand. But no cycle with me just now. And no enthusiasm to step out. No reason. I dont want to talk to chests just now. I dont want to be called sexy girl in my grey slippers and greasy hair hanging down to my shoulders.
So I slump back in my couch and watch 'So you think you can dance'. Sexy people. Sexy stuff. Just what I love. Talent, samba, fox trot, hip hop, break. It makes something leap out of my heart. But the rest of me slumps deeper. Rhinestone studded dresses. A curvy exposed back. Swan-like grace. A guy dancing fantastically in a waistcoat and hat. TV show over. OK..Now what?