Wednesday, February 10, 2010

When he said “You’re weird…

And so is your definition of a ‘friend’ “, he couldn’t have been closer to the truth. He knows it for himself or does he not?



Deus-

He knows I might be mad at him tomorrow and again day after, and then once week or twice a day and in between there’ll be these moments when we’ll know for sure “We are GooooooooooooooD”




-ex-machina


And then there’s this mountain ‘that I’d like to climb/ not to conquer / but to share in the view”. Only I know it too well if and when he reads this, he’ll turn it into the age-old height-disparity joke. The ‘height’ being the absence of any kind of ‘disparity’, otherwise. The ‘joke’ being having nothing to say when you realize how something slipped right out of hands when you have been playing the truant with that clichéd tutor called Life. And then you look at your empty palms and wonder how they have been copiously endowed than ever. And we both know it too well that you never tell your right arm or your left eye “ I love you ”.


You mean it all the same.


You remain ensconced in my childhood. You remain.



~Oh its what you do to me

Oh its what you do to me

…what you do to me~




Trajectory


Seven years change a lot. For starters I’m not fourteen anymore.


‘Sweet fourteen’!!

(Oh yes it has changed …sixteen has passed down her crown)


And I do not have the privilege to throw those ‘no-one-understands-me’ tantrums anymore. They have known me for long enough to have understood my behavior pattern and are convinced that I would not commit suicide at a metro-station the morning after a brawl because I wouldn’t waste the remaining 27 rides.


I’m no longer aspiring to become the Head Girl, trying to pull my act together. I’m on the other side of it. I know it’s still a patriarchal society where the Head Boy carries the School flag, and the insignificant counterpart balances the banner, antagonizing a headstrong wind at Rabindra Sarobar Stadium. (Add to that he also gets to decide the menu on significant occasions. Not that I care about the food anyway)


I no longer believe men can be won or lost. They can only be understood or misunderstood. They can only be tormented in physical proximity or be preserved in silence.


I no longer fret over the general idea of humanities pursuant’s being considered as being equivalent to dumb blondes. It’s no myth. (I know I’m being poor man’s Chetan Bhagat with this attempt at kindling controversy. Consolation being only I read my blog and a few others because Facebook keeps promoting all sorts of shit in the name of Live feeds)


I know too well results mean nothing.

Review results are all that counts.


I know marks cannot earn you a spot at a desired university, for some of us we literally need to earn to get there before hypermetropia loses out to presbyopia .


It feels good to be a topper but its "no great matter/I’ve seen the moment of my greatness flicker".

And all in these seven years.


A toast to you Seven Years for being such a wonderful friend.



…to be continued



P.S- I've quoted people, poets and songs..and if you want to know who all...go google or go figure!



(N.B- while writing this post Microsoft Word has been bugging me too often with “Fragment. Consider revising”. Don’t know if this is a joke or a tragedy but seems like I’m misunderstood by humans and androids {strictly, my office assistant, an Einstein of two centimeters} alike)

5 comments:

jokerman! said...

some stupid child of god it took one to be to have waited for an insignificant smirk of an eye, or that passive grin that was so common in those days; or that unending desire to be waited for, even trying to compete with all those invisible suitors that followed your viciously sober soul... alas, I couldn't help.

Dejavu said...

yaikies!!! m stumped

Ritayan said...

intriguing and interesting. Your blog reveals a new side of your talent, creativity and personality everytime i visit it. kudos.

Arnab said...

Down the pavements of New York City
During the spring in North England
Through pages of Ayn Rand and lines by John Keats, through boyhood to manhood--- You've been there.

"you abide like a singing rib within my dreaming side

you always stay"

somak said...

loved it. :)