Life in Boxes

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8th July 2019

Life in boxes

one house to another

Life in boxes

One home to another

Some stuff were broken

Some things were abandoned

Somethings we acquired new

But I was me and you were you

Life in boxes

One house to another

Life in boxes

One home to another

Where are my books?

Where is that yellow pan?

My diary, my pen – there they are

But something’s missing, where you are?

This one thing is not here

This one thing is not found

This one thing, I need, I must,

This one thing got lost in the round

Life in boxes

one house to another

Life in boxes

One home to another

Where is that boo to my bibiddi bobidi?

Where is that thing that turns my key?

Where is that?

Where is that?

It’s in a box

Wrapped in bubble

Travelling the abyss of time

Time travellers. Ahoy!

Mom’s the word

20th May '2016

Yes that’s all I’m gonna write about, coz that’s all that I am today.

I’m seriously deliberating between writing this or maybe catching a wink for 15 minutes or as long as all is quiet.  Latter’s not playing it fair: pushing my eyelids down already.

Learnings:

1. I realized I could pass out too (that too without alchohol). My body too has limits.

2. I nap best with my dog. I used to nap best with my husband, but not anymore.

3. I actually like silence. There are times I prefer that there be no talking. (really me? I’m the most talkative person I know)

4. It’s only my mom that I love and hate with equal high intensity. She’s also the only person left in my life I have expectations from (barring, Kev)

5. There is a thing such as too much multitasking. Three is the max. If you go for four, there's a serious high chance of tipping the balance unfavourably. Eg. (i) Pumping, (ii) Singing to the baby and (iii) using the phone (whatsapp, grofers, firstcry) is already a lot. If you go for (iv) slight stretch to put the pacifier back into the baby's mouth - my advice, don't but if you do you're bound to spill milk (literally) 

6. It's the small things in life that moves you. always. small things. always. 

:P Gotta go. I just heard someone stir.

Traversing spirits

15th April '2014

Traversing spirits sometimes reside in me

Bits of Conversations
In sentences, in words, in gestures, in meaning
Still remain in me.

How to forget?
How to remember?
How to? Exactly.

Let me love.
Oh! Love I do.
Oh! Let me love.
Love I do.
But then the spirits awaken. 

pass the pickle

31st January '14

Sometimes it’s tough to be yourself

And live your life like you used too..

I can’t hear the world anymore

The seas are calling out to me

In the day

The whales scream

The dolphins spin in the air

In the night

I see the turtles crawling up to me..

I can’t see the people around me anymore

They’re all but a haze

The colours are drugging me

Playing with my consciousness

Tugging me into dreams

I spend the day trying to keep my eyes open..

I feel too much..

The cold pierces in

The warmth hisses

I taste too much..

The pickle I took a fortnight ago

The water I’ll sip in a while

I sense the bewilderment trying to drown me..

You think it’s a phase, just a day

Tomorrow would be different

But will it?

Fragmented I live. Whole I'd die.

16th February '13

bits of soul.
bits of emotions.
bits of persons one's been.
bits of experiences.
bits of hopes.
bits of expectations.
bits of the bits of the lots of thing.
scattered.

these scattered bits come together.
these scattered bits make groups.
these scattered bits get into conflicts with each other.
these scattered bits discuss.
these scattered bits have engaging conversations.
these scattered bits co-exist.
these scattered bits can't co-exist.
these scattered bits morph into personalities.
split-personality

Being 'n' Believing

June'12

monoprints, ink

oil pastels, water colours, dry pastels (incomplete)

ink on acrylic

where's my Julia?

17th October '10

Since when have I started to do with yellow light?

I’m a white light person.

But still my light bothers me now.

Maybe I need darkness, to see light.

Switch off.

Some moments were all I was creating

Before time flew the dust away

But the moments flew away

Even before the wind arrived.

Can’t stop time

Can’t even stop myself from trying to stop it

Now the trying is stopped

And that hurts even more.

Need to rekindle the spirit

Where’s my ‘Julia’ flame for me?

Or do I need to wait till 30 too?

one of those day

6th June '10

She was in the dark, amidst clouds, wet with tears in a chaotic space.

The day changed colour : orange, yellow, grey, white, blue, indigo, black.

She was trying to figure out how to forgive someone who'd apologized for a thought. a thought?

The day was hungry, without any laughter, companionship, ale or bread.

She was sitting and wondering where was she now. Wasn't it all figured?

The day rolled out impossible, dubious with a lot of warnings.

She breathed fire onto all those who trespassed, even remotely.

The day shall come to an end, but not soon enough. There are tasks at hand.

another day

5th June '10

'don't you ever stop writing!' ...someone had told me..

I wish i'd never

But 'they' left me

the spirits, the writing spirits..

no frenzy grips me now

no words come to caress my soul

nothing

in a bubble but not blind

in a pool but the heat gets to me still

an elemental change is happening..

or has it happened already?

splintered sentiments about one's home

19th January '10

It’s a weird mixed feeling about ‘home’ in my head (mainly it’s the heart, I guess).

I don’t know where my real home is, anymore! At least I don’t have it in total anywhere. It’s fragmented and is all over the place.

I get a little feel of it as I open the door to our apartment of some months. I get a little feel of it when I sip the morning tea, prepared exactly (almost) as always.
I get a little feel of it when I know exactly where to put what, and where what is.
I get a little feel of it when I lie in his arms and lull into sleep. And then it seems almost complete.

But I also call Cal my home, where now I don’t live anymore.
It’s I guess a sense of familiarity, knowing where what is, there which makes it home.
It’s also a sense of tuning into a system consciously and unconsciously, over the years.
It’s also a sense of belonging to a city, so full of friends, family and closed ones. Not to forget the memories contained in every fore.

It’s also home where my mommy lives. It’s also home where my daddy lives. It’s also home where I grew up with my bro. It’s also home, where my wedded lived his growing years. It’s also home in all those places where some months I lived before. And in many ways it’s also not home there.

It’s home now where I live with my mate. But somehow, the feeling of toto seems to be fragmented and strewn about everywhere.

They say home is where the heart is. But my heart is in so many places, with so many people and so many memories.