Sunday, 3 January 2010

Where?


That silver streak cutting across azure yonder flutters my heart; lingers your smile
The faraway avion disappears into oblivion
Bright dawn - only a figment of my illusion
Soft as snow the dusk falls
But I freeze.

I fumble in darkness, grope in vain; my handle of icicles - it stings in pain
This delicate thread of thorns, invisible, yet so potent
Purple shimmer, sweet orange; my resistance slain
Why force-feed me your poison ivy?
Bury me. Leave.

Painting: Blade, 2005, Julius Macwan, Acrylic on canvas

Monday, 28 December 2009

Sunday, 27 December 2009

The Block



Has lost the ability to vomit. Has lost the ability to swell vibrant. Has lost the ability to kill with grey eyes. Has lost the ability to disco fingertips. Has lost the ability to tear open; to touch blood. Has lost the ability to smile. The ink is dry. Has lost the ability to sway with pride. Has lost the ability to devour. Has lost the ability to sing lullaby to the lorn lovers. Has lost the ability to blink. Has lost the ability to flow mercury. Has lost the ability to speak. Has cut the tongue. Is bleeding. Is blood. Is touch. Is carnal. Is good. Is horrific. Is blasphemous. Is comfort. Is brimming ego. Is whipping self. Is not slashing wrists. Is gold-polished nails. Is orange fire. Is singing in the wind. Wind through her hair. It blows. It blows. I scream. It blows. It feels faint. It feels fatal. It feels like tears. It feels like dagger. Is cold. Is not grey. Is black. Love black. Black love. Real. Mirage. Mirage be life. life be where? Be alcohol. Be restraint. Be alive. Be alive. Don't give up. Keep head up. Be alive. Tickle. Be alive. Try. Be alive. Invisible. Hidden. Lost. Smile. Smile. Laugh. Go on don't be afraid. Be afraid.

Afraid. So afraid. So scared. Coiling in corner. Heart shrivels. Shrinks. Mind numbs. Hides. Will not smile. Will hide. Inside the closet. Safe. Dark. Happy. It is warm. It is comfortable. Where are your arms? I cut them away. I thew them away. It smells foul. It smells like rage. It smells like scream. It smells like slap. Your severed eye. My severed smile. It feels like deceit. It feels like a slut. It feels like trash sex. It feels not divine. It feels like rapture. To spit raw. To caress. To seduce. To stamp. To kiss poison. Chewing. Smelling. Swallowing. Swallowing your agony. To drink your spite. Revulsion. Repulsive. You. Yes, Repulsive. Hatred. Too easy? hatred. hatred. No? Not easy? Disgust. Loath. Loathe. Slash. Affirmative. Swallow your angry. Lap up your pride. Kick it. Slice it. Glare and roast. It flames like the furnace. It is beautiful. It is elegant. She is. She is divine. Angel of lust.

Painting: de*, 2006, Anu Agarwal, Oil on canvas

Monday, 9 February 2009


So I still can't believe I am goin' to LSE! Whew! I still remember the day I wrote my TNPCEE exams. My mom's expression bordered between sad and cynical when I told her that I was the first one to finish the test. Nope, wasn't that smart. I just inky-pink-ponkied it.

Considering that I am not 'the type' who could've actually aced the IIT-JEE, I was 'atleast' expected to go to Anna University. With your dad's younger brother being the HOD of the textile engineering department and all, you'd be totally insane to even be considering anything else. Unless and of course, if it was the elusive BITS, Pilani.

The day I signed up for the Maths, Physics, Chemistry and Computer Science group as a naive teenager because 'pakkathaathu maami's son' took the same group and was now with IBM after finishing his BE Computer Science, as my mom seriously explained over a bowl of thayir saadham with beans poriyal, was the day that I was brainwashed into thinking that software professionals were god's gift to planet earth and that my very prospect of getting a 'panakaara ivy league maapilai' (and later settling in the US) heavily depended on this singlur decision that I was about to make! Yes I was petrified. And rightfully so. And for reasons unknown to me until date, I applied for the highly competitive second group and unfortunately got in too.

But then, everytime I finished a chapter of Fountainhead and wondered why Roark did the things he did, I'd wonder aloud about wanting to consider the commerce group instead. But, that of course, was abacharam! Afterall, if Prasanna (the pakathaathu maami's son) could go to the US after studying in 'some local college', then, someone like me who was supposed to be 'so intelligent' and possessed 'so much potential' could definitely get into Anna. I only had to work a bit harder.

Yeah right! And so they fooled me into it. Until I realised that Math wasn't as easy anymore and I couldn't really score the 198 I was trained to score in 10th boards. Misery followed with more Ayn Rand. Then came the TNPCEE and also the vis com entrance test. I flunked the former (I think, didn't go back to check the score) and aced the latter. Three years of MOP later, I dread to think what would've happened to my life had I chosen to go to SRM Engineering college instead. haha! What a joke it'd have been!

Anyway, so for all those maamis who whispered to each other during the gollus and the varalakshmi nombus that Latha's daughter is 'only doing a B.Sc.' and it wasn't even in Maths or Physics, but some random alberquerquesque course called Electronic Media, well, here's one. I am going to LSE and I am going not because I am stupid and 'could'nt get in'. But, because, I refuse to conform to mediocrity. I follow my heart and go behind my dream. Because, like Robert Frost, I choose to take the road less travelled.

eh? Robert Frost who? No he has nothing to do with the late Kunnakudi Vaidhyanadhan. :)

Sunday, 1 February 2009

Tuesday, 27 January 2009

:-o

is going to LSE?

En Iniya Pon Nilaave

பனீரை தூவும் மழை... சில்லென்ற காற்றின் அலை... சேர்ந்தாடும் இன்னேரமே...