the day there is nothing left to take away.

the little sadness that remains in my life comes from chasing after this elusive perfection.
spend a good part of my waking hours scheming and orchestrating bloody coups against every single thing about me that he hates. and every other minute a brand new flaw pops up.
pop.
pop.
pop.
swat.
swat.
squash.
pop again.
hell, anybody would love me for what I am - I am quite something.
want him to love me what I can be, at least trying to be.
damn.
why is it so friggin easy to be imperfect?

and morning found my Breeze a hundred miles away(...)

Being together has come to mean the act of ignoring (trying to ignore, if you’re the male half of this arrangement) the fact that we’re about half a planet apart and hanging onto the headfones long after the jaws’ve given out, in hope of getting across, drinking in, another moment of the day we cannot share. With this blog, doing something together now means channelizing all the energy that goes into alternately tearing your hair out and damaging friendships four years old(again, the male version) while the other sleeps. Alright, not entirely true, it was also supposed to mean writing vile things instead of doing vile things while the other, who, by the way, can’t be awoken by anything as simple as a phone ringing 16 times, sleeps.

He paints a very romantic picture of me. Before I’m etched forever in the memories of our non-existent readers as Amazonian, I must say that I am quite terrified. of everything. by habit. We live in this picturesque misery and I just happen to be the one getting to sleep when the rest of (my part of) the world sleeps and without interruption and hence would seem more unruffled. He’s the hero of this piece, knows it and is very hero-like in being so unhero-like. Trust me, ladies; this is what we’ve been looking for all these years. Oh, I forget. Buhahahahaha, he’s taken!
Alright, that he’s taken doesn’t mean we’ve to stop discussing him, does it?
Besides being such a delicious treat to famished Indian eyes, he’s the only person I know who can offend at least two people he knows, three that he doesn’t, a coupla different nations and ethnic groups, certain types of tropical insects and all types of women with almost everything he writes. He’s passionate about defeating the entire purpose of language with every sentence he writes.
A proud flag-bearer of Nasty Nation.
A zealous music spelunker who discovered an entire generation of alt-rock bands that appears to have conspired to make songs just for us.
A devout, sometimes militant, fan of movies that leave me sobbing till an hour after they’ve ended.

My love, of exquisite taste and spectacular talent yet grand follies.

Perfect.

Perfect coated in chocolate.

Alright, this was supposed to be the last lap in the tribute to the Holy Trinity of the internet - social networking, IM and blogging, but is turning into a fawn fest. Now, that won’t do, will it?
So,I declare this blog open, enriched by my presence and ready for some bad ass mudslinging.
Aw, honey, don’t be like that.

Splattt.

and thus spoke robert frost

whose woods these are I think I know.
his house is in the village, though;
he will not see me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow.

my little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near
between the woods and frozen lake
the darkest evening of the year.

he gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake.
the only other sound's the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake.
the woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

- robert frost

i see sparkles.lots of them.each one of them calling out the one name i wish i cud freeze for prosperity. and hold it in my arms.like a baby holds a dear old ragged toy, when its havin nightmares. nobody else knows hobbes is alive. nobody else knows how much i love her. we met and the rest is history.we met and there's just no rest of it. perpetual motion. unhinged and continuous.sometimes stopping for breath.too much activity.always short of what's necessary. too much promise. always more than whats sufficient. waiting with our fingers uncrossed. a sunlit evening on the porch. with the water running in the shower. her back needs rest, and my chest needs her back. and forth. and back.and forth.

a jog in the park, this is not. a cry in the dark, just falls short. we are at work. painting our own future. li'l ants carrying even smaller pixels.tirelessly. absent-minded conversations with non-ant people. gluing together self-titled images of a carefully selected imagery. shaking hands and deep-set eyes. lack of sleep and an overworked jawline. spelling out beauty is not a 6 letter job. she is away. temporarily unavailable. and we wait. she is in the the united states. and we wait. for a united state. of being and nothing. of wonderous amazement at how it all happened. she thinks i am superman. i know she is wonderwoman. a satisfying struggle for satisfaction. end of desperately seeking desperation. nobody else knows what it means. nobody else knows how much i love her.

am stuck in india. my own making. should have freed myself. of make-believe hell. and faceless people. a deaf ear to the sirens call. was too busy fastening the noose. joinin dots to be starin back at obscurity. blowing away potential. trying to walk. on deserted railway tracks. a step down was death. to keep going was suicide. it was the end both ways. talking to myself. that i talked to myself. scared of attention. of stupid people. lying down on one-tree hills. waiting for a rustle. shapin up into my name. put up calls for help. and she answered. nobody else knows it was divine intervention. nobody else knows how much i love her. took to her like rain and the ground. kissed her kissin back. held on for life. to life. she was adamant at saving me. she handed out union. serene and seamless.love on my lips. life at my hand. we knew. and kept the secret to ourselves. that we are the best. yeah, we are.


the earth moved. and she had to go. a good life.and good sense. an year of starin into the night and wishing it was dawn soon. an year of adding an hour and a half, and turning the clock around. she is in minnesota. and i deep in thought. deep inside india. been eight months.eight months into managing the impossible. making love outta nothing at all? thought it was just another song too. we talk across continents.about distant universes. we live on a straight line island.and internet's man friday. everything figures. nothing's outta place. we hoist each other up. onto imaginary parapets. looking down as the world passes by. i hear more than what she says. she knows more than what i tell. we make us cry. we make us mad. we make us smile. and she begs me to stop. noone knows how we do it. noone knows how much i love her. we live a lifetime each day. only to live again, the next. we are a long way from sleeping together. but we are dreaming in sepia. already.