Thursday 23 August, 2007


I am not typical.
I wax eloquent and shave fortnightly,
I weep alone and debate forthrightly.
And when I fall in love,
I do it with the kind of fervour
fit only for alcoholics and religious fanatics.
And that is not typical, because I am neither.

I am not typical.
I shave fortnightly and wax eloquent.
But I would, one day, like to try
to touch lightly upon the topic of your lips
and briefly trace the history of a kiss,
and touch and trace as typically
as anyone who has ever kissed
the unspeakable kiss.

House, warmed

Okay, I swear this is the last time I'm moving. Really. Not again,for a very long time, no. It's not fun. Moving. Not fun. It does things to your muscles, stamina and grammar that are not altogether encouraging.

But here are some pictures of the housewarming party, where, if you look carefully, you can also see glimpses of the house that was warmed.

All images courtesy Sabbah Haji, my ex. Flatmate. I'm straight as hell.

Aashi, DJ, Sharmon the Legend and me

Makhoos, Chits and the Bizarre Mr. Mallapur, with Jimi

Shro, DJ and Sharmon

Jaideep, Venky and their beeyatch, Gautam

Some guys have all the luck

Lovely Shreyashi

Wall, fridge

Friday 10 August, 2007

The Prodigal Goose-cat

I have reason to believe that Bonzo is having a relationship. A platonic one, of course, seeing that he has no balls (literally, for all those who are immediately experiencing the throes of kinship), but a relationship nonetheless. He now treats home like a bed and breakfast. Sometimes, it's only breakfast. The night before last, I was up till 6.30 am almost in tears because I thought he'd been run over somewhere, and he showed up for breakafast and a nuzzle.

At least I waited till I was an adult before I allowed my mother the pleasure of having sleepless nights on account of me. Bonzo is pre-pubescent. Children these days.

Here's a recent picture, featuring Bonzo and a new 'friend'. His father Sabbah keeps showering him with gifts. Visitation rights, you know.

Wednesday 8 August, 2007

The Silken Web

On 4th August, Saturday, I had myself a little piece of personal history. You know, just in case, for a hitherto inexplicable reason, I become iconic, and people write about me for decades to follow, this day will feature. Take notes, y'all.

The Silken Web, a collection featuring 25 contemporary Indian poets, was launched by Unisun Publications in association with the British Council.

A selection of my poems was published, which is why I was there in the first place. Besides having to be in the intellectually intimidating company of Shashi Deshpande, Teresa Bhattacharya and Girish Karnad among many many others, I had, in a weak moment, agreed to read my poetry. On stage. There was a podium and shit. I hate stages with a passion mitigated only marginally when I'm singing, so it was immensely daunting.

But I ended up having a memorable experience, sharing my first book launch with friends and family. The highlight of my evening was getting to shake Shashi Deshpande's hand and being told that she thoroughly enjoyed my reading.

Piece of history. In my pocket. Here's a picture. I'm pretending to be animated. Podium and shit.

For more information on Unisun Publications and the work they do, go here.