Music washes away
The dirt of the day.

Darling Pudding

The Maharajah of Gaipajama
Little knew of a girl named Nora.
Quiet looking, crabby Cancerian
Happiest when solo aquatican
Whether washing clothes, self or home
Cooking too, watching cells grow, roam
Guitar girl, threatens to flash a Chink churi
Incommunicado often, but does jadugiri
Knowing problems before they arise.
Is it science or is it art?
I just know she’s smart.
Babe with brains, Catholic queen
Hail Mary! I’m glad she’s ever been.

The F People

Friends are gifts from above
Unwrapped with years, love.
They view us with unjaundiced eyes
Ever ready with solutions, spies
Who divine problems we hide
Artfully from ourselves. Beside
Forcing us to confront scary things
Which once spoken, demand enactings.
Work too, so long live old friends.

Nine Months

When we first met you were another's

I didn't want to share, bothers

But when I heard you're cheap

I took you without a peep.

We met in the dark

When I told others, they barked.

Questions that should've come to mind

How much you were of a bind.

You seemed welcoming, you felt right.

I liked the envy you attracted on sight.

Played hard to get, although not

I wanted you to be my scene, i got.

Moving in, moving on

Just us two, the sun

Learning how I liked you to look

Though getting there, a while took

You brought out parts of me

Good ones, that were latent, see

I basked in the sun, the surprise

Of friends who thought we'd never cruise.

Sometimes you get on my nerves

But that's so as we stay long curves

The hours on the clock. I always

Return to you, so I can hear nays

Yeas in my head, drown the days.

Weekends are ours. In day's many moods

I travel though you, cleansed of falsehoods

I make you up when friends come

So you're praised, so me, hon bun.

When I think of leaving you

When you cold shoulder me, dew

Returning to one that I shared

We are no longer me and you. Bared

New clothes I can be myself

You're hot when needed, cool help

Entertaining friends when they stay

When I must share you, for days.

Now that you're part of me

I don't resent the care you need. Identity

Ours is fused. You'd be different

Without me as I would. No lament

For the missing link. We have each

other. Flat you may be, teach

You have to give. You suit me just

Fine. I look in you now, lust

Imbibed, expelled. You know me inside

Out, just as I do you, house wife bride.

Sometimes when I'm too tired to move

I let my marks on you stay, remove

Them later, although only my eye

Falls on them. I please myself by

Keeping you neat- even if I am not.

A bientot.

Writing down my bones

There is bright, warm light streaming in through my window. It falls in a rectangular, sectioned pool on my marbled floor, warming me while I sit on my bed. It merges with my yellow bedspread.Like a shy bride, I cannot look directly at the sun.
Today there is light. The light coming through my door has no such grid. It falls freely, a rectangle big enough to cover me as I write. It doesn’t come everyday and when it comes it is not warm always.
I can cross the grid on the shadow of the window easily; it’s the other way round with real life problems. My mind magnifies them, when in reality they can be crossed.
The window light is about six feet by three feet. It cuts up the tiles even more. I saw a section of light in my kitchen, as if it was being carried by an invisible pipe.
The window’s the vessel through which the sun pours in, filtering, sieving it before it hits me. As I look at it through my hair, I see strands of my hair too seem lighter. The light moves, forcing me to move my bed too, like a sunflower I too am a sun follower, I flow where the sun flows.

Plotting

I am so excited about my WIP! Holly Lisle's tips on plotting worked like a charm- for the first time ever, I have a plot! Yay! I read the tip, think it sounds too complicated, do it like she shows me, and it works. Last night I wrote for 45 minutes, probably the longest I've done prose for. Didn't bore myself either, in fact surprised myself. Not knowing where I was going had led to dead ends in the past. This way, I wrote 400 words- one scene. This DIY author is highly reccomended. I used her free ebook on plotting.

Media

Also watched Medea in Italian at the same venue yesterday. There was a three floor tall construction on stage, from where some of the actors declaimed their lines. Cloth fluttered from the sides to give a ship like effect. The shadow play on the back wall of the stage brought the tragedy to life, as the actor hung from her harness. Another death had the actor standing on a white sheet, the corners of which actors pulled while he moved. A smaller sheet of red on this sheet was pulled out gradually, so that he seemed to be drowning in a pool of blood. Indian music, dance added to the innovation of this production.

Kamaal

Watched Habib Tanvir's Kamdev Ka Apna, Basant Ritu Ka Sapna at the NSD Theatre Festival on Saturday. From the title to the script, Tanvir has done a marvellous job of adapting Shakespeare's A Midsumer Night's Dream in Hindi, with lines in verse. The actors of Pyramus and Thisbe spoke in Chattisgarhi but the music and dancing kept us riveted. The Wall stole the show, keeping us in splits.

Period Piece

I liked Sherlock Holmes, although it was more a Guy Ritchie version of Holmes than a Doyle version. Was surprised to see how much I've forgotten about the stories. Ritchie's got London of that time to a T. The supernatural elements reminded me of Doyle's interest in the occult. Holmes and Watson are action heroes, twisting in the superbly weird convolutions of plot Ritchie's known for. The cinematography stayed in my head long after the credits ( written beautifully in parchment with sketches) had rolled.

Took a chance at the NSD theatre festival- Bharat Rang Mahotsav and got tickets for Johnny's Midnight Goggles on Sunday. Although the performance began half an hour late due to a technical snag, it was well executed. The story was a little thin. The celloist put up a one man show, singing too. In the open forum after the performance, a lady pointed out that the imaginary land connoting evil in the play, ended in stan. The actor promised to change it for the 9 o' clock show to something ending in shire or ham:)
Also managed a ticket for Naseeruddin Shah directed The Caine Mutiny Court Martial, which had a twist at the end.
Yesterday, I saw Strange Lines, which was...strange. The Indian spoke about India, the Swiss about Switzerland, while images danced on screens behind them.
Capped it off by walky talky from NSD to AIIMS. Google Maps says that's 9.3 km. Wouldn't have believed I could do that on such a cold night.