Us Still.

Underneath it all

Hand in Hand,

we 'live' blindly.

Falsely. People

laugh. Underneath it

Along with it

hand in hand

I glide along.

Real life bones

to teeth in an urn.

In tandem we fly.

You died years ago

I died too

except I live still.

Rosh Posh

Pearls (‘o wisdom)

Drop

From your palms (rough)

From your lips (strangely white)

Your skin smell of melons (bodyshop)

Your hair smooth and curling (dove)

Pearls (aforementioned)

You drop carelessly (as careless s you are with money and..tax)

I pretend not to notice (cos you loved more those who loved you less)

I have a wooden box (mahogany)

Filled with your mouth, your brain, your heart and soul (as for your body.....)

Along with your pearls.

My wooden box is heavy and aches with posthumous love ( you know I am just kidding myself)

Your pearls (of love, caresses and unconditional affection)

Pink and grey (like the salt water ones you loved)

Rest within my melancholic box.

This Sunday

Rolling in the dark
has its own joys,
thought the lil boy of 17.
marijuana dice fall free,
the room starts smelling of
winter nights; men and their
wood fires, burning rubbish
in my ignoble city. Rolling in
her dark room, with a sliver
beneath the door, has its own joys,
Sundays finish up my new freedoms,
and the cup now tilts; she clucks
like the mother hen, admonishes me.
The lil boy of 17 in me chuckles in glee.

To Rita a.k.a L.T

I wanted to let you know that I miss you. You were a part of my blog when I was more carefree and happy without a reason and untouched mostly by grief and my faith on friends and friendship was unwavering. I love even thinking of you and how good you were to me and my friends. Please email me sometimes at sureamugly@yahoo.com so we can tell each other about our lives!

Munchkins

The previous makes me out to be a Smob (SmartSnob). I confess (re-confess) that it’s True. I love the smarts. I crave the high IQs clashing and mashing and creating snobbish, narcissistic, mostly exclusionary ideas. But I love you my Non-Smob friends. I love you for your sweetness, and honesty, your loyalty and your utter nicenesses.

I don’t know where I would be without you guys!

And if you knew me, (and you Do!) you would know,

That that’s true too!

My life (for my premankur)

And what kind of dream is that

Purple turtles

Turning into a rich lady’s wrinkles

Crows tapping a tune on her face

My summertime quilt freezing me

And before I wake up I dream a dream

And what kind of dream is that.

My happier friends back home

Happier, gaier, Caffeine-addicted.

Defy age and march on

And what kind of dream is that

The young yet cynical insides

Turn out to the first wrinkle

and wake up to a middleage.

And what kind of dream is that

Silly girls play with helium still

And love turns into ‘Ok’

Passion into nonchalance

And what kind of dream is that

Life carries on step by step

Soul-mate turns to cinder

July turns into autumn

And what kind of dream is that

And what kind of dream is this?

 

 

 

Pearls (‘o wisdom)

Drop

From your palms (rough)

From your lips (strangely white)

Your skin smell of melons (bodyshop)

Your hair smooth and curling (dove)

Pearls (aforementioned)

You drop carelessly (as careless s you are with money and..tax)

I pretend not to notice (cos you love more those who loved you less)

I have a wooden box (mahogany)

Filled with your mouth, your brain, your heart and soul (as for your body.....)

Along with your pearls.

My wooden box is heavy and aches with the posthumous love ( you know I am just kidding myself)

Your pearls (of love, caresses and unconditional affection)

Pink and grey (like the salt water ones you loved)

Rest within my melancholic box. 

My Morrison

Rebound

let me

lie on that piece of your skin tonight,
the rest of the world seem so bright.
dark skin, dark hair.
let me lie with you tonight.

will you refuse,
if i let my mouth linger
on your breasts.
will you pull at my hair,
will you urge me on,
or will you push me away?

will you cringe?
if my ungainly broken heart
calls your name out.
will you reply.
will you shut the door.
will you.....will you..
lie with me tonight?

let me seek refuge tonight.
in your hard soft mouth,
lover be mine
once tonight
and morning we can breathe again.

let me seek refuge in your
cold warm island tonight.
shelter be mine.
once tonight.
and morning we can be friends again.

From Roshni to me. (7 days before she died)

Talking In Bed Talking in bed ought to be easiest, Lying together there goes back so far, An emblem of two people being honest. Yet more and more time passes silently. Outside, the wind's incomplete unrest Builds and disperses clouds in the sky, And dark towns heap up on the horizon. None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why At this unique distance from isolation It becomes still more difficult to find Words at once true and kind, Or not untrue and not unkind.  Philip Larkin

You touch the warmest marshmellow core of me and you and I eat it with glee

I love you too much too and I don't know what to do with it.

my friend is in love,

and the world

suddenly seems

so wonderful.

i love you guys.

sisters are no surprise at all sometimes.

This has taken long a time coming.
This piece is difficult to write
Feels me with discomfort.
Unlike many other siblings,
My sis and I are not all too comfortable being nice to each other.
We get embarrassed.
Hell! She could not call me didi cos it was too embarrassing for her…so Piya it is.
So why am I writing this about her.I don’t know if I want to,
She did not give me a samosa I really wanted.

But I am being the bigger person (elder sister)
And writing this for her anyway.

Ever since she learnt to keep her mouth shut,
She has been a cool sis and all.
She knows I smoke but doesnot tell mom.
She knows enough about me to blackmail,
But never really tries.
(well ofcourse! I know I lot about her too…ha ha ha ha ha ha *devilish laugh*)

But this post is about sisters.
My sis.
She was so cool when I came out to her
(Not that she hadn’t known anything but I am so manipulative,
I made all those girls sound like they were chasing me with a shovel)
Her reaction was “but piya, will you never get married? Then how will I flirt with my jijaji’s brother” (a long cherished dream of her….dont ask me why)

So I was a little apprehensive when I told her about S.
But she was really excited and curious.
Her sweetest statement was, ”haa? She is coming? Don’t worry you guys can stay in the room I will sleep somewhere else. Just don’t be too loud” ahem.
Anyway.

Since this is about sisters I cannot but talk about S’sis.
FASIONSIS and SCIENCIS, S and I went out for lunch and stuff,
And it was wonderful to see S and my sister talking and teasing each other.
And S’s sis confiding in me about her boyfriend.

I don’t know how my mom is going to react and all you know?
So it was gratifying (?) to see family with me.

Well many might say, well what did you expect?
but it meant so much to see these 2 people,
so away from the gay world,
being so ok with the gay world brought close to them.

Sisters can surprise you when you least expect.
That’s the primary function of a sister I guess.

But thank you both
For being this time around,
Just what we had in our heart
Thought you were.

So good
So nice

Here’s to nice sisters.

of tarkovsky and his weather.

This is more about yesterday than today.
We had a class from 2 to 5.
Search for self in contemporary European cinema. Yup that’s what the course is called.
We discussed tarkovsky’s ‘the mirror’.
We, prem and I realised as the discussion progressed that we had not understood anything of the film.
But both had agreed that the film was beautifully shot.
Especially the overcast weather in the movie, made me melancholic (as I guess it was supposed to)
I have a thing for monsoons.
I hate summer.
Even if I dream of sunny weather I am disturbed.
God alone knows how I manage Hyderabad in the summers.
So here we sit discussing Tarkovsky in this AC eed classroom, darkened by black curtains,
Watching rains somewhere in Russia, and wondering why it can’t rain a little right now, in Hyderabad.
After the three hours, we come out of the building and can almost smell the rains.
There is a yellow light all over.
My mother would say, “Mahakaashe jhor” as in there is a storm in space somewhere.
The willow in front of the admin block with its new yellow flowers is enough to bring a smile in my soul.
We go to Sagar (the on campus grocery shop) thirsting for some coffee and cigarettes, and
Lo behold! It begins to rain.
Big fat drops of rain fall from the still yellow sky.
And premankur and I become little kids trying to and then trying not to get wet.
Puddles Puddles everywhere,
Gay cowboys kissing with passion,
Strange tunes playing in the background as they kiss
Ting ting ting
And this tarkovskian rain.
Rain against the trees,
On the trees,
Dog barking somewhere,
Crows getting wet.
Tarkovsky is dead, someone said.
Long Live Tarkovsky.
.
.

.

A not so winter night

The lonely bed we share

will bring us together.

Together in dreams

and if we are alone in the morning,

let's wait again for night to begin.