Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Muzayun the Cook :)

Cooked food
Pressure cooker
Floor mat
Jeera; well actually Saunf :)
Dum aalo
Rice for us and all our future generations...
Toor dal
Missing dessert :)
Pots and Pans
Latest addition - "Lots and lots of Love"

Loved every bit of it!

p.s. found this old from Bhavin's birthday last year showing our footwear, taken at exactly at the same place where we had our dinner :)

Monday, July 27, 2009

The Inevitable...

Why is it so difficult to accept the inevitable?

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Kohl eyes

She swayed like a princess, a swan,
on a road so filthy, you could hardly even walk.
Her anklets had a rhythm,
a music so soft, impossible to miss, impossible to ignore.

There was little I could see on her face from far,
but her deep old sorrowful eyes, smudged with kohl, worn out with age.
I couldn't help but imagine the life she must've led!

No one looked her away, their attention only on the tea in her hand.
The dark brown concoction to relieve them of their stupor,
on a dark, gloomy, moisture laden Ahmedabad monsoon afternoon.

Her eyes looked away too,
or maybe it was only in my imagination.
She hurried back as the drizzle started,
I still stared at her, she never looked my way.
Her eyes looked afar,
maybe at her own past, maybe the future - the few years left

I could sense her presence, long after she had left.
The constant noise at the workshop,
adding to the music in my thoughts.
My trance broken suddenly,
by a dark, almost surreal rain.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Can I?

It actually hurts to read any further. I know why am getting so involved with the book now, and that is scary...

I want it to end differently, for it to be a little less painful. But I only see it getting darker ahead...

Can I stop reading it now? Will that stop things, that are already set in motion?


Not something one desires, not something one aches for,
Its an infection that you get, and live with it forever...

Like a deep pond, so deep you could almost drown,
But somehow you don't.
Dense like a forest, but you don't get lost.
You are almost saved, but only almost...

It drenches you, but doesn't always soak you wet.
And its the dryness that torments you.
But you keep coming back for more, keep asking for more.
Isn't that senseless? But sense is the first thing you lose...

Sunday, July 12, 2009


"With so much to discuss, he knew she would be there soon, but still it wasn't long before he fell prey to a dark pessimism. First, he imagined that she had been delayed because she'd run into her father; then he began to worry that she didn't want to be with him. The old ache returned, spreading from his stomach like poison. If this was what other called love pangs, they held no promise of happiness. As his love for her deepened, these dark panics seemed to descend on him even faster. He was well aware of this, but he was right to assume that these attacks, these fearsome fantasies of deception and heartbreak, had anything to do with what others called 'love'? He seemed alone in describing the experience in terms of misery and defeat. Being unable to imagine bragging about it, as everyone else bragged of love, he could only suppose that his own brand of it was abnormal, and this bothered him more than anything else."

You are Not Really going to Die, Sir, Are You?
Several Rounds of Bargaining in Which Life Vies with the Theatre, and Art with Politics

SNOW, Orhan Pamuk

nothing, almost everything...

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