tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63474882012-02-16T20:36:56.401-08:00Moral indignation is jealousy with a haloXarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.comBlogger1521100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-34469106564119265652007-09-16T05:27:00.000-07:002007-09-16T05:28:16.232-07:00

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-53153066260912832022007-08-17T07:28:00.000-07:002007-08-17T07:30:41.886-07:00

Vintage Gaping Void

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-65426608001999140352007-08-10T09:25:00.000-07:002007-08-10T09:36:40.696-07:00

After my VisualDNA (in the box on the right), here's my PersonalDNA, telling you about the kind of person I am, i.e. a Faithful Inventor (why does that term throw up the image of a kindly, old cobbler in my head?!?! Pah!) (Link via Sim, who tried it first.)

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-41387071749553238042007-08-10T06:49:00.000-07:002007-08-10T07:02:41.361-07:00

Here's a thought-provoking article by Shernaaz Engineer in Afternoon, that succintly puts into perspective the drama over Sanjay Dutt's six-year jail sentence in the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts case. It tells us, for instance, that we are a desperately, miserably, and irrevocably Bollywood-obsessed lot if we can reduce an entire terror conspiracy that killed hundreds and hijacked all of our lives

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-48035701899542674072007-08-03T07:21:00.000-07:002007-08-03T07:39:40.594-07:00

Taking a cue from Amit Verma's post, I've added my signature to this online protest. He writes:While it’s a matter of great satisfaction that the perpetrators on the 1993 blasts have finally been sentenced, it is also a matter of great shame that the wrongdoers of the riots just before that, which killed three times as many people, remain unpunished. Naresh (Fernandes) from Time Out points me to

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-83805904465133748042007-07-26T04:56:00.000-07:002007-07-26T05:02:41.953-07:00

"You know, we had Lindsay Lohan booked for our show tonight, but apparently she was ALREADY 'booked'. I thought our competition was Letterman and Nightline, but it turns out its Cops and America's Most Wanted!"~ Jay Leno on The Tonight Show on Tuesday***Why aren't Indian celebrities (or for that matter talk show hosts) so entertaining? LOL!

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-91046920762485102482007-07-20T07:46:00.000-07:002007-07-20T07:48:14.351-07:00

It's time, I believe, for a lurid confession.I won't presume there will be devastation. You might be relieved by this regression.Disenchantment has replaced my obsession.Bah.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-24493733695178940242007-07-20T03:34:00.000-07:002007-07-20T04:23:37.526-07:00

Hard to thrill,Nothing really moves me anymore.There is nothing you can show me,That I haven't seen before...I've got time to kill,Keeping to myself inside this room,Time to kill,Keeping to myself inside this room...Over forty years of fridaysYou would give up trying too...Hard to thrillNothing really moves me anymoreI'm hardly thrilledNothing really moves me anymore...From Eric Clapton's Road to

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-45221779804424375952007-06-20T07:05:00.000-07:002007-06-20T07:26:54.570-07:00

For more cartoons, check out Gaping Void

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-31692647996176512392007-06-14T04:39:00.000-07:002007-06-14T05:17:04.257-07:00

I must learn to love the fool in me — the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbour and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-72759202288113203932007-06-04T07:05:00.000-07:002007-06-04T07:17:23.290-07:00

I have yet to meet a man who thinks like that!***From the always delightful, sometimes disturbing, world of PostSecret. Check it out (thanks to Sim for showing me the light :-D).

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-22562950959942407772007-05-21T07:17:00.000-07:002007-05-21T07:32:46.300-07:00

Was surfing through my usual quota of blogs when I chanced upon this telling poem by Anne Sexton over at India Uncut, called The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator. Just like Amit, I found these lines quite compelling.The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-46713907926692281382007-05-09T05:38:00.000-07:002007-05-09T05:52:26.791-07:00

I'll sucker-punch your face. Or maybe, with all my Gandhian instincts intact, I'll answer them like this.What does that red dot on a woman's forehead mean?Well, in ancient times Indian men used to practice archery by target practicing on their wife's red dot. In fact, that is one reason why they had many wives. You see, once they mastered the art of archery and hit the target...You're from India,

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-89119053260130573172007-05-03T08:23:00.000-07:002007-05-03T08:27:02.907-07:00

From Amit Varma's blog (who got this humouruous piece of insight from an unknown source):In USA you can kiss in public places but cannot shit; in India you can shit in public places but cannot kiss.Come to think of it, this really isn't a laughing matter, no?

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-89564247726402392042007-05-01T07:19:00.000-07:002007-05-01T07:31:37.369-07:00

Was reading Sonia Faleiro's blog when I came upon this post about a poetry professor of Indian origin, who was harassed at his university in America because he was... well... leaving a box of poetry manuscripts by the trashcan for recycling!The university president appreciated my distress about the situation but denied that the (police) call had anything to do with my race or ethnic background.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-22283311900471135762007-05-01T05:46:00.000-07:002007-05-01T06:29:43.585-07:00

In an extremely erudite column for the Mumbai Mirror, writer Kiran Nagarkar aptly dissects the phenomena that is the "House of Bachchan" and the supposed low-key celebrations for Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai's wedding. In my opinion, there was nothing low-key about the three-day extravaganza, and the bride and groom were decked out in jewels that would put the Nizam of Hyderabad to shame,

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-2240391289987227322007-04-20T08:38:00.000-07:002007-04-20T08:52:20.422-07:00

It's been disturbing me ever since I read two particular articles in the Mumbai Mirror recently, but for some reason I couldn't quite articulate my thoughts on them. Maybe it was because I was just so damn angry. While the first story is about how 2,000 police officers spent a good part of Sunday night tracking down a stolen mobile phone belonging to actor and MP Vinod Khanna's son, the other is

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-89249704086851084492007-04-20T07:21:00.000-07:002007-04-20T08:11:21.416-07:00

In my new quest to profile bloggers I love to read, here's one by Mumbai-based writer Sonia Faleiro. Apart from her own journalistic pieces, she often posts humourous observations on pop culture as well as interesting articles picked up from local and international publications. Worth a dekho, IMO.Did I mention that her darling dog Zoey has a blog too? :-)

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-24483246746528865412007-04-10T07:01:00.000-07:002007-04-10T07:33:01.287-07:00

I think I have a crush on Hugh MacLeod. No, he's not a movie star, but in my books he certainly is a rockstar. It's been some months since I've been visiting his blog, Gaping Void, to get my daily fix of his cartoons and sardonic sense of humour, and I proudly admit I'm an addict.For those of you who don't know, Hugh draws cartoons "on the back of business cards". When he's not busy doodling, he

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-64034540529703746172007-03-28T03:48:00.000-07:002007-03-28T03:54:10.964-07:00

An AFP report says that alcohol and tobacco are more harmful than drugs like Ecstasy. Read it here. Now why am I grinning from ear to ear, like I just ate a banana sideways? :-D

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-7921834499714858422007-03-27T06:01:00.000-07:002007-03-27T06:19:34.174-07:00

From the March 23 issue of TimeOut, in the 'Intimacy' section:Q: What do you make of this SMS response that I got from a friend I was trying to hit on? I quote: "I care for you very deeply, but I don't want to hurt you. I think we shouldn't see each other at all. I think we should stay friends. I enjoy your company and don't want to lose you." Why can't he just tell it like it is?A: Here goes: "I

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-62882707140072907082007-03-25T08:34:00.000-07:002007-03-27T06:20:48.295-07:00

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-21876032185436511082007-03-25T08:26:00.000-07:002007-03-25T08:28:35.519-07:00

Love is a fictional emotion brought on by pheromones and fear of abandonment.LOL.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-85504374433736998532007-03-19T02:08:00.000-07:002007-03-19T02:35:02.224-07:00

After five years as a journalist, I'm finally throwing in the towel. Five years is a rather short time to be disillusioned by a profession, but I've pretty much 'been there, done that' and there's little left to explore.There are several reasons why I'm quitting, but the most significant one is that I don't enjoy doing this anymore. It started with not being interested in writing, so I moved to

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1168261692118146232007-01-08T05:07:00.000-08:002007-01-08T05:08:12.133-08:00

It was but yesterday I thought myself a fragment quivering without rhythm in the sphere of life.Now I know that I am the sphere, and all life in rhythmic fragments moves within me.~ Khalil Gibran

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1167917194670969822007-01-04T05:25:00.000-08:002007-01-04T05:26:34.683-08:00

My palms are big enough to contain a palmful of beautiful flowers, and that is ALL I ask: a palmful of beautiful flowers.But even fresh flowers will decay if they remain too long in my palms; so I pray for the strength to sacrifice 'my' flowers to they who have none.And lo, these flowers are so divine! Each time I sacrifice a few, more beautiful ones fill mine palms. And, that is ALL I ask: a

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1166706227600335352006-12-21T05:03:00.000-08:002006-12-21T05:03:47.613-08:00

I have nothing to say. I have no conversation.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1164031035459260062006-11-20T04:23:00.000-08:002006-12-20T06:27:11.656-08:00

All around me are familiar faceswout out places, worn out faces.Bright and early for the daily racesgoing nowhere.Their tears are filling up their glassesno expression.Hide my head I want to drownmy sorrowNo tomorrow, no tomorrow.And I find it kind of funnyI find it kind of sadThe dreams in which I'm dyingare the best I've ever had.I find it hard to tell youcause I find it hard to talkwhen people

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1159452750641648622006-09-28T06:40:00.001-07:002006-09-28T07:12:30.643-07:00

Too cool for comfortThere was a time when I was intensely rooting for Abhishek Bachchan’s success. He was a talented actor living in his father’s shadow and most industry people had already written him off. He was the quintessential underdog. And I thought he made a spectacular debut in Refugee. Five years and 14 flops later, he’s one of the hottest stars around. But now, I find myself actually

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1157462716226038322006-09-05T06:24:00.000-07:002006-09-05T06:28:26.743-07:00

Your tight movements,So smooth and sleekMay make other girls go weak in the knees...But not me.You see,For the efficient grace With which you dominate the spaceAround youPuts me off.I longTo belongTo Random Gestures.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1157381756836962712006-09-04T07:54:00.000-07:002006-09-04T07:55:56.853-07:00

a lovely haiku on Life.Life life, like a commaa brief subtle pause for breathbetween birth and deathLoved it. More on this writer, go here

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1157291882921184502006-09-03T06:46:00.000-07:002006-09-03T06:58:02.936-07:00

So I lost my pet cat last Friday. My mom was returning to Mumbai from Pune when she stopped on the highway to let my cat poop. The poor thing got frightened out of his wits thanks to the strange sights and sounds and ran away.Been going back to that spot nearly everyday since then but there's no sign of him (it's a two-hour drive from my home in Mumbai, a village called Pimploli). The village is

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1156497645072612392006-08-25T02:16:00.000-07:002006-08-25T02:20:45.093-07:00

Cruise control“As much as we like him personally, we thought it wrong to renew his deal... we don’t think someone who effectuates creative suicide and costs the company revenue should be on the lot.”Strong words from Sumner Redstrone of Paramout Pictures, referring to his company’s split with Tom Cruise after a very productive 14 years. The reason? Cruise’s infamous couch jumping on Oprah, his

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1155737845427953132006-08-16T06:48:00.001-07:002006-08-16T07:17:25.430-07:00

So I quit my job last month. After barely a year as a television journalist (don't have much regard for that breed now), I put in my papers and returned to my old job in print. And I happily add that I'm a happier person now.No more excessive hours, late nights, squabbles with co-workers, bitching and "I can't get no satisfaction..." on repeat mode. On a break between jobs, I thought of all the

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1146062524448134022006-04-26T07:38:00.000-07:002006-04-26T07:42:04.473-07:00

I love getting away from all points of familiarity and taking off to a different plane; metaphysically, mentally, physically, emotionally - carrying away all of these aspects elsewhere is the glue that holds all these different pieces together. Wanderlust, in short, is what keeps me sane.I like that term 'wanderlust'. The need to explore is a basic necessity that needs to be fulfilled. Even more

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1145205187989018702006-04-16T09:28:00.000-07:002006-04-16T09:33:09.310-07:00

An excerpt from Lynne Truss' hilarious book "Making the Cat Laugh":Fish have rights you know.Personally, I could never love a fish. It is something to do with their short memories. Call me anthropocentric, but I refuse to lavish affection on a creature that, every few seconds, can't remember where it's seen you before. All aquarium owners will gladly tell you that the extremely short memory span

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1140456451996468122006-02-20T09:21:00.000-08:002006-02-20T09:27:32.006-08:00

SmokescreenSometimes I wonder if my thoughts,Would stand up as decorations of sorts,Or if they’d work as a big smoke screen,Through which I’d look quite serene.Maybe I’ll pile them up and paint them red,Fashion them into posters for my four-poster bed,Or grind them into pulp so fine,They’d make for heady intoxicating wine.If I stuck some wicks and little handles,I’d have myself a gazillion

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1135418655850658432005-12-24T01:54:00.001-08:002005-12-24T02:04:15.863-08:00

"He's glamorous, promiscuous and clearly has underworld connections" - so true of my darling black cat, lovingly called Kalu. (Hehe... lack of imagination, I know...) But this one's for cat lovers... I thoroughly enjoyed reading it!*********In "A Dream of a Thousand Cats", Neil Gaiman wrote that cats ruled the worlds before humans did, and could dream themselves back into power – if only a

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1132669301573694192005-11-22T06:20:00.000-08:002005-11-22T06:21:41.583-08:00

Point break.Burrow deeper, further into the rich blackness of the Earth. Does it comfort you? To cocoon yourself? To hide? From the sun? From the Red Fox? From the world that is waiting for you?Silly, silly Rabbit.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1132467508427643562005-11-19T22:16:00.000-08:002005-11-19T22:18:28.436-08:00

I wonder if I've outgrown Blogspot. Or perhaps, Blogspot has outgrown me. I'm not sure. What I am sure about is that it used to be effortless... to write, that is. It isn't now. The blinking cursor mocks me...

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1130261554906674862005-10-25T10:28:00.000-07:002005-10-25T10:32:34.910-07:00

Ever had one of those weekends that you've spent with people you absolutely adore? ... that you can talk to about anything, non-stop. And the only reason why conversation would stop would be because everyone is just laughing so hard!... when you've watched your favourite movies, declared why you love them so and violently disagreed with someone else's reasons for not liking something that you

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1129138939369384282005-10-12T10:42:00.000-07:002005-10-12T10:52:28.506-07:00

Muse cannot be controlled. Free spirited, she comes and goes as she wills. Sometimes, she is particularly generous and the words come to you effortlessly as you weave your tale. Sometimes, she chides you into writing, hinting at something but never being explicit. And you never know where you're heading until, of course, you get there. This is one of those less explicit times.***She is sitting at

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1126101810727434162005-09-07T07:01:00.000-07:002005-09-07T07:08:15.016-07:00

There are some things that you remember, and some things that you don't.Then there are those things that you think that you've forgotten, when actually they're right there in your head. Carefully wrapped, corners neatly folded in, cellotaped and tucked away in a corner. You keep them there maybe because you're a hoarder, or perhaps to use as a later-date reference. What ever the reason may be,

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1125584243787437772005-09-01T07:14:00.000-07:002005-09-01T07:23:36.193-07:00

Has every published poet in the world written a poem titled Love Song or A Love Song for...? Has anyone wanted to jump off a terrace simply because it's the most boring party they've ever been to?When the stray dogs finally sleep at night, do all the bikes on the roads do a slow dance on their way home?If you're left home alone one night for what you think is the most ridiculous reason, would it

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1125312054677453222005-08-29T03:37:00.000-07:002005-08-29T03:40:55.356-07:00

It's unbelievably easy to build walls.Once you start building them, you just carry on. On and on and on and on. And then you get accustomed to living behind them, in your own little bubble-world. You build these walls higher, thicker and stronger. No one can see you, hear you, listen in on the conversations that you're having in your head and possibly judge you. You're untouchable.You don't have

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1125056747671596642005-08-26T04:44:00.000-07:002005-08-26T04:54:57.116-07:00

WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME?Puff the Magic Dragon or Wicked Witch of the East depending on which side of the week we're on. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?The voices in my head. THE LAST THING YOU ATEWas definitely not good for my tummy! IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?Nothing you'd want on your walls, believe me! HOW IS THE WEATHER RIGHT NOWIt's clear and bright and sunny with nice nip in

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1122117177845584352005-07-23T04:09:00.000-07:002005-07-23T04:12:57.850-07:00

My name is Xara and I'm a Sudoku addict.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1121502685622747542005-07-16T01:29:00.000-07:002005-07-16T01:31:25.686-07:00

Scaling up those walls she thinksI could climb on foreverEven if I never reach the topIt's the going down that scares meMarching down the road she thinksI could walk on foreverEven if I never get to the endIt's the turning back that haunts meChipping at the wood she thinksI could wield this axe foreverEven if the wood runs outIt's the putting down that numbs mePunching at the keys she thinksI

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1120487207357727582005-07-04T07:25:00.000-07:002005-07-04T07:26:47.360-07:00

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1120482913161558962005-07-04T06:12:00.000-07:002005-07-04T06:15:13.166-07:00

Once I sat down to write about this period in my life that seemed like an overstuffed bag of goodies — too much to contain, too little to give up. And out came everything I had felt and gone through, and everything I had imagined and everything that was true.I'm shit scared of rollercoasters, but I guess once you get off happily scared and crazily controlled it would be nice to remember the ups

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1120388302260758242005-07-03T03:57:00.000-07:002005-07-03T04:33:13.723-07:00

Am I being naive, or will a humungous show like yesterday's Live8 actually help make a difference to thousands of lives? I want so badly to believe that it will.I've always been a big fan of U2, not only for their music but for how strongly the band has supported causes they believe in. There was a time when people sniggered that this was just a ploy for them to gain mileage for their music. May

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1120049989042648132005-06-29T05:53:00.000-07:002005-06-29T06:11:56.390-07:00

In one of the funniest posts I've ever read, Sidin Vadukut writes about The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing or Why we don't get any...Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1120046923053173942005-06-29T05:07:00.000-07:002005-06-29T05:11:04.490-07:00

Shah Rukh Khan speaks out in favour of the government ban on smoking in films. He says:Actually, the more liberal a society becomes, the more stringent the laws are bound to be. In the US, you can buy a gun off the shelf, and then someone starts shooting down kids in a school. So they need strict laws to make guns accessible to people. With air travel being so easy now -- you can book tickets by

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1119352767884168992005-06-21T04:57:00.000-07:002005-06-21T05:11:38.346-07:00

Thanks for tagging me Saint.I love reading. Snuggled up on the couch, on a rainy afternoon with a big fat mug of coffee and some great music in the background is my idea of heaven. I don’t read so much when I’m in stress mode though. This basically means that I haven’t really read more than 10 books in the last 8 months that I've lived in Bombay, which totally sucks. But here goes anyway... Total

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1118747504680919442005-06-14T04:03:00.000-07:002005-06-14T04:11:44.686-07:00

I haven't done too badly in my life, but I've always felt like either it was pure chance or that someone is going to realise that I don't belong and I'm really no good at what I do. Not such a great feeling that. I underestimate myself and I don't know why. Somewhere deep inside, I have this feeling that I don't really have a clue as to what I'm doing or talking about; that I never have or will

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1117381514986802282005-05-29T08:43:00.000-07:002005-05-29T08:45:14.990-07:00

The futility of it all strikes us now...When distance yawns between breaksAnd closeness sleeps all week longThe absurdity of it all strikes us now...When things said didn’t exist to begin withAnd things done still haven’t happenedThe triviality of it all strikes us now...When time spent still defies reasonAnd time saved can never be usedThe incongruity of it all strikes us now...When misgivings

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1115048861051023502005-05-02T08:41:00.001-07:002005-05-02T08:47:41.053-07:00

What does one do when a relationship becomes complicated? He's driving me crazy and I'm pretty sure I'm doing the same to him. I've never discussed and dissected a relationship so much, that I'm now beginning to wonder whether it's worth it. Is anything worth it?Being with him should be effortless. Especially after all these years. But things are far from idyllic. I don't want to keep feeling bad

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1114945151895544832005-05-01T03:58:00.000-07:002005-05-01T04:02:33.736-07:00

It could have remained the piece of paper that it was. Clean, smooth, lifeless, blank.It could have lain there till someone came along and claimed it as his own. Or till someone crumpled it up, crushed it into a ball and threw it into a bin. Either after filling it up with the story of his life or using it to clean up bird droppings from the floor. But the conversations that we created and the

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1113752389024973182005-04-17T08:31:00.000-07:002005-04-17T08:42:53.886-07:00

I rarely talk about what's going on in my personal life or inside my head, even to close friends. I can spend hours with them — watching movies, dining out or experimenting inside the kitchen, sharing philosophies and ideals, discussing and dissecting books and movies, sharing a few drinks, sharing a joint even — but I will always leave without revealing too much. "What's wrong?" is a question I

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1113490027303256312005-04-14T07:45:00.000-07:002005-04-14T07:47:07.303-07:00

How readily our thoughts swarm upon a new object, lifting it a little way, as ants carry a blade of straw so feverishly, and then leave it...- From The Mark on the Wall by Virginia WoolfI can think about filling the spaces in between. Crossing the t's and dotting the i's. But it's getting increasingly difficult to define that point of origin. To make a start and find a beginning. To just make

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1112796017579711862005-04-06T06:58:00.000-07:002005-04-06T07:28:02.606-07:00

I think John Mayer's Daughters is an amazing piece of poetry...DaughtersI know a girlShe puts the color inside of my worldBut she's just like a mazeWhere all of the walls all continually changeAnd I've done all I canTo stand on her steps with my heart in my handsNow I'm starting to seeMaybe it's got nothing to do with me...Fathers, be good to your daughtersDaughters will love like you doGirls

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1111946129661259222005-03-27T09:51:00.000-08:002005-03-27T09:55:29.663-08:00

To know how it feels... to live inside a fractured mind to nurse a wound that has long since healed to kick a sky that doesn't move to wait inside a vacant dreamto lick the salt off sweetened tears to open up the unlocked calm to push the hardest when there’s ease to know how it feelsjust to knowhow it feels...

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1110979609204531732005-03-16T03:52:00.000-08:002005-03-16T06:04:01.136-08:00

When you let someone out the door, no matter how gently you do it, you're still letting them 'out'. Sometimes, it seems like the only thing to do. Or rather, it's the only thing you're able to do. Letting people out can be tricky business. You have to make sure they don't get in again. But they might...and that's because you let them in again. That's the whole point. We let people in and out of

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1110460115678610652005-03-10T05:05:00.000-08:002005-03-10T05:08:35.680-08:00

He was there waiting, waitingwaiting for the first leaf to grow.She was there watching, watchingwatching time from the death row.He was there watching, seeingher being the glow that dulled.His reach was there beckoning, calling,but the need had lulled.No more my love you must move onI hear the purple meadows call.Do go, please go. don't step forward,for there's none to offer withal.I challenged

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1109931837424460492005-03-04T02:22:00.000-08:002005-03-04T02:23:57.426-08:00

Don’t crush the sweet kernel of our thoughtsAnd push me to the back of your mind.Don’t walk our love down the streetAnd not introduce me to everyone we meet.Don’t lift the lids off my sleeping eyesAnd fill my insides with unsipped wineDon’t undo the stitches that run down my spineAnd put me away for another lonely time.Don’t crush the sweet kernel of our thoughtsUntil you’re sure we’ll never grow

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1108981768306454942005-02-21T01:35:00.000-08:002005-02-21T02:29:28.306-08:00

Sometimes, she'd sit by the window and wait. Sometimes, she'd lean against the wall and wait. Sometimes, she'd look into the mirror and wait. And sometimes in summer, when the earth was drying up and the warmth from the sun soothed her skin like a lullaby, he would finally call to say, "Remember where we are now. This is where your life begins."

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1107955439210875272005-02-09T05:17:00.001-08:002005-02-09T05:23:59.210-08:00

Don't you just hate that in-between time when you're not sure of where you stand? When not much is said and even less implied. When you're not sure whether to walk or run, sit or lie down. When the clothes are not dirty but still unclean, damp but not dry. When the wound is covered but not healed. When the song begins to play but the end is a long way off. When the clouds linger heavy in the

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1107955195568104862005-02-09T05:17:00.000-08:002005-02-09T05:19:55.570-08:00

Leave Can you leave now? Open that door you came in through And walk out of it. Don't look around for the key. The door is open. It always has been. Just get up And leave. Empty Spaces What shall we use to fill the empty Spaces where we used to talk How shall I fill the final places How shall I complete the wall From The Wall by Pink Floyd

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1107417806111934582005-02-02T23:57:00.000-08:002005-02-03T00:03:26.110-08:00

I think the most frightening thing in the world might be waking up one day and finding out that everything you've ever wanted is never going to come to you for whatever reason. That all your dreams and hopes and aspirations are going to crumble. It doesn't matter how ambitious you were, whether you wanted to conquer the world or just live happily ever after with a suburban house and 2.1 children.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1107338799973947852005-02-02T02:02:00.000-08:002005-02-02T02:06:39.973-08:00

Here you are now, a sudden important fixture in my life. Wasn't it just yesterday when I had no clue about how the smile on your face began or where it ended? And tomorrow it wouldn't matter if the smile were no longer there. It wouldn't matter that you were no longer there. But for now it's the surface of your eyes and the truth under your skin that I want to feel the most. It's the stain of

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1107269434462891342005-02-01T06:47:00.000-08:002005-02-01T06:50:34.463-08:00

Do you know what it's like to have your entire spine surgically removed and replaced by a heaving, tingling mass of emotions? Do you know what it's like to have a basketball-sized ball of butterflies in your stomach that have just consumed 2,000 litres of coffee and are chasing the coffee with numerous Red Bull and vodka? Do you know what it's like to have your brain filled with 10 million

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1106036099750056502005-01-18T00:01:00.000-08:002005-01-18T00:14:59.750-08:00

Voyeurism At It’s Best I spent a good part of yesterday reading somebody's blog. I went through the archives and read each and every post the blogger had ever written (assuming, of course, it was the only blog the blogger ever had). I read about this blogger's love life, work life, pet peeves, dreams and desires. Basically everything one would find in a personal blog. So I read and read and read

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1105470135949365692005-01-11T11:48:00.000-08:002005-01-11T11:02:15.950-08:00

I was walking along the other day, when all of a sudden I got lost ... just lost. One moment I was, and the next moment, I wasn't. It was a dilemma I didn't know how to recover from. Ladies and Gentlemen, my head has officially become too full. I can't think anymore. I have no space in which to store further thoughts and musings. But I can't stop thinking and I tried. How I tried. I hate

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1105468794895594992005-01-11T11:34:00.000-08:002005-01-11T10:39:54.896-08:00

I recently had the misfortune of figuring out that I'm clairvoyant, very much in a way I’d rather I was not. You know, predicting what people might do in a "situation" has become somewhat of an addiction for me. I call it an addiction because it gives me a pseudo self-loathsome high — that of not being gullible or vulnerable and other such words that amount to being falsely safe. And yet the

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1102769525009046662004-12-11T04:41:00.001-08:002004-12-11T04:52:05.010-08:00

Not having what you want or Having what you don't want?

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1102769018717952322004-12-11T04:41:00.000-08:002004-12-11T04:43:38.716-08:00

There's a downside to having a job that'll brings you loads of fame and the opportunity to use it to your advantage; loads of money and the opportunity to spend it; loads of freedom and the opportunity to exploit it... At some point you actually have to work!

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1101042449060159852004-11-21T05:06:00.000-08:002004-11-21T05:07:29.060-08:00

No cream in the cooler Or sugar in the souffle No oil in the pan Or salt in the salad No frost in the lipstick Or shadow under the eyes No wires in the box Or keys on the chain No creases on the sheets Or cobwebs on the ceiling No sparks in the plug Or sprinkles on the floor No spring in the steps Or blue on the horizon No locks on the gate Or ashes in the tray Just a flicker on the

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1101041464086203202004-11-21T04:51:00.000-08:002004-11-21T04:56:42.096-08:00

On the Fringe by Nell Whatmore While opportunities resurface, I wallow in a sense of interminable loss. When will the pain really end? I grasp for that glimmer of profundity but it escapes into an all encompassing chasm of emptiness and sorrow. Was I really better off without the stake lodged deep in my heart? Was my blood not poisoned before it all? The memory of the present that is gone is

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1099126251586858932004-10-30T01:32:00.000-07:002004-11-04T04:49:03.020-08:00

Sometimes, everything stops making sense. And sometimes, it doesn't matter if it does. Sometimes, the nights go on and on. And on. And sometimes sleep is just an escape. Sometimes time seems like such a waste. And sometimes time is all you have. Sometimes an embrace can be so cold. And sometimes everything else seems much colder. Sometimes everything seems like a sham. And sometimes, you’re

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1099124466404358282004-10-30T01:11:00.000-07:002004-10-30T01:21:06.403-07:00

The last bag is loaded into the car and as it rumbles heavily I can’t help but feel this pungent bereavement. I turn around to look at the magic house that stands before me. As I walk back down that beaten path, all my senses seem to take on a life of their own; they must know that things are about to change. With a gentle shove the door nods open. Its brass handle has only slightly dulled ever

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1098256997098179752004-10-20T01:21:00.000-07:002004-10-20T00:23:17.096-07:00

My neighbourhood grocer walla Manoj Kumar doesn’t even know he’s become a direct threat to America. He doesn’t know another scarier fact: Manoj Kumar faces elimination if President Bush is re-elected. And all this is according to President Bush. The debates have happened, in some slow states like Florida people have even begun voting to choose the next President of America and the Station House

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1097873694424139442004-10-15T13:54:00.000-07:002004-10-15T14:00:13.636-07:00

Untitled by Mark Rothko Stepping out of one puddle into another, I wonder how long it's going to be before I finally start walking on the road. I'm now being offered things I used to crave for, but it seems like I just don't want them anymore. It's like I'm being given the entire candy store, but all I really want is to stick my nose to the glass with the other kids and point to the things we

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1097524014171176492004-10-11T12:40:00.000-07:002004-10-11T12:46:54.170-07:00

* The first thing I read in the papers a few days ago is that a cop charged a guy for talking on his mobile phone while driving. Fair enough. But this guy on the phone happened to be the Governor's Aide de farking Camp. So? So, the policeman was punished and made to stand in the hot sun for three days. For doing his job. * Our PM, who was hailed to have ushered in reforms into the country,

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096911693026570752004-10-04T10:40:00.000-07:002004-10-04T10:41:33.026-07:00

In the crowded confines of my being I look for spaces filled with silence In the crusty corners of my mind I look for spotlit memories And in the chaotic circles that surround me I search for rivulets of peace Apparently the Tai Chi ain't working! And neither is this blog! Why are my lines appearing without any breaks in them!!!

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096829785637663952004-10-03T12:56:00.000-07:002004-10-03T11:57:29.006-07:00

Hidden Depths by Nell Whatmore

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096826407137337492004-10-03T10:54:00.000-07:002004-10-03T11:00:07.136-07:00

The first of the US Presidential debates was aired on CNN early on October 1. This is where both presidential candidates go head to head and show prospective voters what they're really made of. Except, this time they have a 32 page set of rules, with the primary intention of wimping down the entire process. Both these dweebs and their backers were so scared of their man fucking up badly, that

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096143681814773002004-09-25T13:20:00.000-07:002004-09-25T13:21:21.813-07:00

I'm bleeding. Cut by shards of glass, through where you broke through my wall. My fortress of mental weakness, now scarred and weak lost and bleak fragile and broken.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096143300830316632004-09-25T13:06:00.000-07:002004-10-03T11:47:45.736-07:00

...is to write about myself, the world, strangers and Uncontrollable enemies, without reservation and with No trace of pity in my voice Learn to love (not only) all that I am (but) All that I am not. Let sweet, selfless adoration steep on my tongue Between my lips; I want people to watch as I do. I want to study myself and be surprised/ amused at what I find I want to cherish/remember/

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1096140994710147332004-09-25T12:32:00.000-07:002004-10-13T11:43:03.916-07:00

The dewdrop's dream How long before the dew on the rose fades away to make way for the sun's ray far more brilliant than the tiny drop which, with all it's heart believed in the dream to stay kissing the petal till doomsday... *** The missing footsteps A forced smile stands guard cages the tears within my heart but the fugitive eye lets out the ache of the goodbye. You've departed the place

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1095603198078284092004-09-19T06:59:00.000-07:002004-09-19T07:13:18.076-07:00

Listening to some music and thought I'd put up a list of my current favourites. 1. She Will Be Loved - Maroon 5 (A great song about loving two women) 2. Drive - Incubus (Though it's really old it's still a great listen) 3. Stupid - Sarah McLachlan ('Cuz I love her music!) 4. Everytime - Britney Spears (Yeah I know it's shocking, but it's actually the only decent song I've heard the woman sing

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1095367800710255742004-09-16T13:38:00.000-07:002004-09-17T11:59:50.380-07:00

High The bees make love to the flowers Get drunk on their nectar and high on fresh air I could lie next to you Hour after hour My lips on your lips And my fingers lost in your hair... *** Entangled We honour each other, Yet we all deceive. And falling out, Intriguing cobwebs weave. Whispering, Cheating, Lying, Hiding, behind glass shields. Each one hoping That the other finds out. Fall

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1095185404848558882004-09-14T10:51:00.000-07:002004-09-14T11:13:54.613-07:00

My Fix by Nell Whatmore I watched The Apartment for the second time last night and there's this bit of dialogue that's stuck with me: CC Baxter: The mirror...it's broken... Fran Kubelik: Yes, I know. I like it that way. Makes me look the way I feel.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1095104542910120902004-09-13T12:33:00.000-07:002004-09-14T11:21:25.716-07:00

So I have writer's block. Bite me. Person at Window by Salvador Dali

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094856227457096032004-09-10T15:43:00.000-07:002004-09-14T11:16:41.920-07:00

Sun Dance by Alfred Gockel

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094849506788715442004-09-10T13:49:00.000-07:002004-09-10T14:34:16.340-07:00

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094756294597666502004-09-09T12:51:00.000-07:002004-09-10T14:31:35.126-07:00

The Bombay International Airport (commonly referred to as Sahar Airport and officially known as Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport) has to be the most depressing place in the world. It’s big and monolithic, a bit fortlike in appearance, has very few doors and it’s always night there. That last bit actually doesn’t make much sense, but it pretty much only works at night because almost all

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094755666794601382004-09-09T12:42:00.000-07:002004-09-10T14:32:22.763-07:00

Was sipping a cold coffee this evening when the friend I was with pointed out how sad I looked. And I didn't have a clue what she was talking about. I was just looking at one of the Reliance personnel there, didn't even have anything on my mind. Was just looking...and apparently I looked sad. Maybe I am sad and just don't realise it. Things are not bad, but they're not great either and it's

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094244028318510572004-09-03T13:39:00.000-07:002004-09-03T13:48:11.096-07:00

"Being a non-conformist is conforming to non-conformity. Be an individual." Someone today said I'm full of corny lines. Come to think of it, I actually am. And I love it! :-D

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1094241770483445012004-09-03T13:00:00.000-07:002004-09-03T13:49:44.610-07:00

Trojans in your inbox, adware trying to call home, mortgage and viagra offers from perfect strangers concerned about your financial and sexual well being, possessed chat clients that kick you off at the best possible time to cause misunderstandings, retarded MTNL software, dud files on P2P clients, non-functioning web services, sadass mobile networks, comatose alarm clocks, diabolical cellphones.

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6347488.post-1093817763226879462004-08-29T15:14:00.000-07:002004-08-29T15:17:50.083-07:00

I sit, pen and paper In the pretence of a poet. Words fall around. Drunk Humpty-dumpties that will never Be on pedestal. Clichéd emotions sluice Through tired cerebral grey. Demonic shapes saunter tempting Behind heavy velvet curtains. Poetry freezes. Like a cockroach caught In a 100 watt bulb, She scurries away. I watch her feelers flee Into some obscure dark recess. All I asked was three

Xarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11799221272298557894noreply@blogger.com0