Got Magnetic Poetry's Happiness kit from my University store since they had a Valentines day sale going on. I've wanted it for a year now 'coz it makes me feel all writer-ish. Anyway that was what I came up with after the first half hour of making dirty sentences with different permutations of feel, vibration, glow and warmth. And before somebody else says it, I'll go ahead and say it is inspired by and an homage to e.e.cummings. I came up with it while my roommate was making fried rice on the side. Makes me wonder if e.e.cummings wrote all his poems from magnetic poet. Anyway, its quite fun. I had my doubts but I guess it really is helpful if you are stuck for words. So, this is what my freezer looks like now from the point of view of a crappy Samsung 1.3 megapixel camera mobile.
Clichéd Indian in America, 20-something, liberated woman coming to terms with and writing about clichéd Indian in America, 20-something, liberated woman stuff.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Playing with Magnetic Poetry
Got Magnetic Poetry's Happiness kit from my University store since they had a Valentines day sale going on. I've wanted it for a year now 'coz it makes me feel all writer-ish. Anyway that was what I came up with after the first half hour of making dirty sentences with different permutations of feel, vibration, glow and warmth. And before somebody else says it, I'll go ahead and say it is inspired by and an homage to e.e.cummings. I came up with it while my roommate was making fried rice on the side. Makes me wonder if e.e.cummings wrote all his poems from magnetic poet. Anyway, its quite fun. I had my doubts but I guess it really is helpful if you are stuck for words. So, this is what my freezer looks like now from the point of view of a crappy Samsung 1.3 megapixel camera mobile.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
How has life been with you old friend?
Have you changed a lot? I sometimes wonder what it would be
like if you walked in through the door. Would I still see the person I last
saw? How is your family? I never understood them when I knew them and was
always convinced they hated me. How are your roommates? The last I remember,
you had your issues with them. How is school? How are things with your
girlfriend? How is your house? How are things in general on your end of
paradise?
The last we spoke, life was just beginning to get rough. I
got jostled around a lot. I burst out one evening and that was the end for us.
Since then, a lot of things have changed. I finished my course requirements for
my Masters. Some friends graduated. Yet another phase of goodbyes has begun
with packing and moving and sending friends off to richer pastures. I shifted
homes. When I moved the last box out of my house, I stood at the threshold and
stared at the tiny bubble of universe that I’d found and furnished and fought
for and about and called home the last year and a half. And remembering how it
felt to come back to it every day, make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the
edge of my bed and talk on the phone, I called Maya to talk to one final time
from the then empty space. I would have liked to call you. That place holds
memories of you too. Most of them are colored sad though. I made new friends in
my new home. We travelled together, celebrated the New Year together. We went
to Vegas, like we’d once planned to go. I stood at the edge of the pool at
Bellagio while waiting for the fountain show to start, threw in a penny and
made a wish. I danced till my feet hurt. I went to Tucson for Srivi’s
graduation. We walked around the empty campus and spoke about life. I cried
when she was conferred her degree. I gave, I don’t know how many, interviews. I
got the job I’d always wanted. I signed the offer a couple of days back. I got
my Driver’s license the same day. It’s like 2012 is being extra nice to make up
for the last year. Life is good.
Life, now, is racing towards a phase shift. And I am tying
up a lot of loose ends and racing along with it. And sometimes it makes me
think of you. You’ve always been the one loose end that I’ve never been able to
fix. I've given up wondering why or trying to set it right and just accepted it
as one of those quirks of life. If that doesn't come from a place of wisdom, I don’t
know what does.
I hear people talk of you sometimes and I itch to ask them
what’s up with you. And I talk of you sometimes too. In parties after the
celebrating is done and we are a little tipsy and somebody asks what was up
with you and that person, and I laugh and say we were a little mad and I laugh
again. I’ve always wondered if we’d meet again or rather when. Our world is too
small to break it down into two completely disjoint sets. So I wonder when we’d
meet again and as whom. And when we do, I will write another blog with all the
answers.
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