Things that remain unsaid

Corrode from the inside.

Hi dear!

The monsoon has hit Colombo in full force, all rain and gloom and slush. I actually took a break from the (exciting not!) work space and stared at the rain for a while, it was so romantic. Even my counterpart in Sinhala writing agrees, " athi wenne neha" he says, a poetic soul by nature, he says you can't enough of it. It makes you think drippy thoughts and miss people who might be there to share the moment.

Then, I had to step out in to the romance. Rain, slush, mud, whizzing mud whirls vis a vis vehicles, and not a damn tuk in sight. Then,oOne guy actually slowed down next to me...but only to leer "Hi dear!" and whizz off.

Dude, I could have given you business. Fuck you man. That's what I told him too.

The trouble with love

The trouble with it, is that it whether at its best or worst, it tends to overcome you, to the extent that you lose sight of yourself. Your whole vista of thought and perspective fills up with one person, one idea and *bang* you've lost them: ideals, goals, self-motivational-guru-type quotes by Successful People, even, possibly your very carefully preserved mental restraint. Suddenly you're willing to imagine anything, fancy anything, hope for anything that will enhance that sweeping feeling, or just, make it all go away.

At times like this, one of my favourite quotes from possibly my favourite novel springs at me from nowhere, invariably, like a prayer;
" He stood between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for his creature, of whom I had made an idol"
-Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte-

Dangerous at the best of times.

Why you should not necessarily write when angry/depressed

1. Names might come out.
2. It might result in a completely uninteresting-for-anyone-else rant on how much people suck and why the world just needs to die off in general.
3. It might be unnecessary.
4. You could do better.
5. It may result in pure, unadulterated drivel designed to take your mind off your problems, thereby resulting in it being a piece of no literary worth, whatsoever.

Hmm :) Always one to take my own advice :)

Weighty expectations much?

The Big Guy says today that I'm trusted like no one else before. Ideally, I THINK this should pressurize me but also make find some way of furthering my position here but strangely, I feel like someone put a damn paper bag over my head. Air cut off, HOLY SHIT! Aiyo, I just want to write and be loved for it. I'm thankful that I have the chance to do so in some way. Eh?
We had a conversation on writing today, too. It was interesting, Somehow what I feel slipped out, I generally try to keep it reined it, I'm safe like that. I told him that the spiel I generate on a daily basis is not me, that's not personal. What I write here, my poetry, the mumbling that go on in my head as I scrub my feet, that is real. That is me. Everything else is just the smart part of my brain, honed with the help of countless books and thesaurus.com

Write write write!

Like you've never written before!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Discovered a new love for all things written :D

People so many people!

The one thing I think I'll always remember about the crazy "taxi" ride through Kolkata-known as Cal to all "Real" Indians-would probably be all the people carrying things on their head. Everyone, everywhere amongst the brightly coloured buses, the children begging on the road, the trams and the people riding on the backs of trucks, is carrying something on their heads.

but maybe I'll also remember the pavement which we got a chance to stare at, seeing as to how the traffic was at a complete standstill. Through the space between the two vehicles next to us, I could see, bananas. Now I come from Sri Lanka, I've seen bananas. I know the quaint image of the bananas hanging in the shop front. But this many bananas! How many bananas! It was an entire pavement covered with a 3-4 foot high mound of bananas and right next to it was a man carrying more bananas on his head!

Or maybe I'll remember the little boy who came to our taxi while stuck in another jam. He was bare-chested and could not have been anywhere above 8 years of age. "Eh didi...Eh didi" he kept saying with a beseeching look that was very,very good. But, we don't give them money right because we know it's wrong and that this is all an organized scheme.

But, Tina had cheese sticks! Sow e gave it to him and off he walked off happy. Looking back we saw him break out into a huge smile as he tasted the first cheese stick! :D

The old building, crumbling and dilapidated, the shouting people, the garish posters of the goddess Durga, the blue buses which look held-together by mere wires, the coolies, the bicycle ricksha-walla, the ACTUAL rickshas, the back of the taxi guys head, the fellow yello ambasador cars next to us, the throng of humanity...all of it is a blur of colour.

I'm glad we didn't take the Volvo from the airport!