Week 3 weigh in

Slowly but surely
Will win this race hopefully
Even karela feels good
TC tempts, will I be wooed?
Behind target, so think not
Gymming in full swing
Triple time spent there
Next week the alarm's ring
Must be heeded.
A change of work refreshes
Albeit for a while, destresses.

Week 3

this weight loss business is Sisyphean
Yo yo like, bounce off the walls lean
In dreams alone. Minor aberrations
Leave their accusing mark in lamination
On scales that weigh, assign justice blind
This Spartan existence, I myself remind
Will lead to better things, but as fruit appeals
Chocolate truffle cake, pizza and garlic bread repel,
My social life shrinks, with water alone to drink
The end seems far, far away. Gym feels good
Getting up's a pain, but I like the bed of wood.

WAR

It goes on, it will go on
Like life. Worth living?
Some argue otherwise.
Lighter in body, if not in mind
Gram by gram, try to rewind
To a slimmer waist, now a waste
memories of bhujiya downed
Invisible masses piled up
To inch towards unhealthy.
Hiking homewards, only to rebound
It is to be hoped I stay mentally sound.
Amen.

Week 1

Double dose of dal
Double effort low cal
No fruit so far
The acid test- the weekend
Is near.

Day 3

Lost one and a quarter
So far. May not show garter
Wise but gives hope
To trudge on, cope
Am actually liking the fruit
Specially when it bears fruit.
Week one of mental exercise too
Begun, coupled with gym to blue
Drive away. Work wise redrawing
Shapes too. Let's see what the better half
Of this year has in store for this calf.
or should it be these calves?

Day Two

Fruit so far
Scales later
In the week
Mountains of flesh to melt
Gym in this heat swelt
Not happening. Bus did
the needful. await lunch now
the ways meals were and how.

Why Diet is spelt with a Die

Day One

Fruit so far
Hollow inside
Aar ya paar
Gym beside
Woe betide
Flesh, melt already
Am tired of teddy
Type face,
Also body.
Water, zero calories
Is my companion
rotis, begone! Wary
Am I of carbs. When
My diet plan
Has sprouts, veggies
With elan
A spanner in the works
Are spices, choc lurks
In my fridge to combat it.
Distributed to combat
Temptation. Half a kilo
Down, many more to go.
The journey of a sixty five kilos
Begins with a single gram.
Ram Ram.

Taramandal had good acting and direction but the script was a series of skits. Music was great.

Right turn

Ranjit Kapoor's Wring Turn at NSD was excellent. Perhaps an adaption of an English play, it was contemporary in lingo. The acting was natural. The stage was well used, the poster design was professional and the music was brilliant.

Behind every great love story, is a great lie

I quite liked LSD- very different. It has the Blair Witch home video feel. One character was Delhi to the core. The three stories were also interwoven well. The music was great. The hattrick!

Dilli Ka Shayarana Andaaz

Truly a magical evening. The dramatised readings from a new novel had us riveted. An Urdu translation of The Last Mughal followed. It sounded much better than the original English version. 1852 Delhi was not much different from the Delhi we know and still love today. Sweltering summers, hookah wallahs who emerge in the evening..." Hum Dilli wale chatpate khane ke liye hi to yahan rehte hein."
Agreed.
Ghazals in a melodious voice followed- Yeh na thi hamari kismat by Ghalib, followed by Zafar, Daag et al.
I promptly bought the novel and am waiting for the Hindustani translation of The Last Mughal to be on sale.

Teddy

http://www.ted.com/talks/srikumar_rao_plug_i

Up in the air

I quite liked the movie, with it's wit, dark humour and action. Realistic, relatable and different.

Gorgeous Giraffes

The Giraffes at Select City Walk as part of Bon Jour India was wow. 18 feet tall pink giraffes, with one person being the back legs on stilts and one in the front. The front person manipulated the neck with strings. The clown said में दुनिया में सबसे महान हूँ with great glee. The opera singer sang Tintin style:) Fireworks, confetti, hoops of fire, cranes added to the carnival effect.

Junked on the book fair this Sunday. Bought six books, two of which are non fiction. Can't wait to read them, but have to:)

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.