Friday, March 31, 2006

Scoring out shoppers' eyes - those in favour of euthanasia would agree to this too

Chennai City Centre, apparently the fourth largest mall in Asia. Well, I went there yesterday. Umm my eyes were beyond repair when I came out.

Buildings here is a motley of twisted history, impersonation, glory and art classes from kindergarten that went so wrong. They all suffer from an identity crisis.

This huge vanilla cake sitting in the middle of the 'centre' seems like some weird-ass baker's PR tactic. On a closer look the icing looked ghastly...hellish in fact, like the vines you find in Jumanji. To the builders - You ran outta paint for these twistys??? It wouldn't have looked half as bad if it hadn't been staring me in my face pretending to be this snoozing, unassuming, harmless lil bit of supposed creativity as I tripped myself eager to get away from it asap.

The inside of the cake is another uhh what to say...experience (?) altogether. Signs of the impending mpd were outside but quite inconspicous I must say - pista green (methinks) vertical strip on one side and violet on the other. And then palm trees! This Victorian wannabe has palm trees! Dubai Shoppin mall feel I guess. Anyway, then there are these round mirrors in ornate frames way way above the height of the average Indian. Now...for what joy?

Btw the walls on either side of this oasis look (pthooo!) are peach and black currant. Adds flavour to all the vanilla you see. Amble along and there's another fetish - the Sistine Chapel! Well, this Michaelangelo or Os taken on contract by the bakers of City Centre have added some blue tones the with birds. This brings back memories of kindergarten, scrapbooks, crayons, polythene covers with extra undies just in case. Yeah, the birds look so like those 'r' birdies we drew. Sigh!

What on earth is this place?!!! Shopping experience and all ok but why the splotches of colours, the big heart for artists who can't even doodle right, and the palm trees! What the hell are they doing there!

Somebody know architecture? Spell aesthetic? Difficult? Ok, can you try and spell 'Easy on the eye'?

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

It's all about the majority and the one word I hate and addicted to fearing it is conditioning. Standing alone even in the most insignificant situation invites glares and collective silence. Apart from betrayal tis a lesion in the herden mentality, unity and all that bledy jazz when ultimately and everyone knows tis one for ones own self. Hypocracy is like that lock and key games we play in LKG...maybe that's why we play inculcate it and imbibe it real quick! And then there's no escape cause every time you stand alone, you'll be second guessing yourself, stepping on toes, getting trampled, shoved, and then when you're out it feels like nothing on earth! That you were right are right is a feeling lot like your heads cleared the clouds and you can feel every breath sear through your head like mint.

Hmmm the one thing that I would take from eyecandy..."how bad do you want it?"

Monday, March 27, 2006


The heights of optimism is when you're haappy tis your left side of your tummy that's achin and not your right cause well, ya know for sure that it aint appendicitis!

Ideas are fabulous things...absolutely breathtaking when you find them and then your breath doesn't come back till it's art directed well.

Anticipation smells of dried fish - Hidden Arsonist

Here's something I went a lil goldfish over yesterday! As in blinking wide eyed with a small O...

I taste your blood
Rust on my tongue
Beneath the thin substance
Your lips engorged
Slip over me

Your cheek exfoliates mine
Nibble my chin
The scar will be my smile
In dark rooms
And dim mirrors
A layer of me to pick at absently

The peel, caramel-coloured
Shows in photographs

I search for your cavities
Your tongue strains to find my wisdom
Dental excavations tickle

Your fingers trail over my navel
I giggle convulsively
Pull away, pulling you closer

My stomach freezes
You forgot your hand there
My breath is stuck
The familiar free-fall
I feel when you stare too long
Or I think of you staring too long

There is intimacy in anticipation
In your weight anchoring me
In my sleep lost to your breathing
In the freedom to

Salt everywhere
Your hand holds a breast
The one without latte-brown predictions of foolish love

Memories mock

She brilliant!!

Sunday, March 26, 2006


sod off!!!

Monday, March 13, 2006


A dedication to Hidden Arsonist from the narcissist pinstripe of MF who embraces loserdom in all its splendour and pomposity.

Mangled Foetus is as her mom calls her a paradevathai, in mortal terms a weirdo. The things that happen to her are things that happen to everybody but with a slight twist. A lil background into the mangledness of Mangled Foetus…she’s a royal liar, lies only to get things her way, lies for survival. But all these are harmless lies and restricted to the 2 loves of her life who can’t comprehend her mangledness in its sweet entirety. MF aint a doofus, drinks sensibly, abhors tobacco, can’t party even if she tried. Not that she can’t/doesn’t have a good time but she’s the arcanus types ;-) meaning sits in a corner, drinks up and observes. Very arcane indeed! Pretty boring…? No. You aint been inside her head! Anyway, getting back to the goodness of this confounded soul…she isn’t gullible, skeptical bordering on practical.

MF knows how to get out of skirmishes but when there aint enough she creates some to whet her dodginess. And every time she believes that she must leave the unbeaten path and tries to, she is picked up by the scruff and tossed back onto it, and left to continue in her wrangled ways (aint no second chance in reality). For instance, the one time she needn’t necessarily have been honest to the 2 loves at home about the turtle walk, she decided to tell the truth. And instead, she was washed away and smacked back on to her prior belief of ‘what you don’t know can’t hurt’, by the tsunami fears.

Everybody loses their first phone due to slips of z mind blamed on fate or filched by kleptos again blamed on fate. Mangled foetus too lost her first phone. It was filched. Flicked by kleptos. Pretty much the same plot. But, this was an eunuch invasion. She blames it on fate.

This ‘bunch of neurons’ is also a physically intelligent species likened to those of Schumacher. She doesn’t know how she gets from one place to another half the time. Dodging bumps, pits, wobbly cyclists, psycho letches, she studies break lights from a distance, weaves in hairline curves and all impressive riding on her kinetic whose alter ego, a motor boat, beats her dad’s late lambretta hollow. This fascinating creature also has patriotically tuned epidermis which breaks out into goosebumps on cue to Vande Maataram and Acham Illai taking her complacent inner being by surprise at the ferocity of the bristles.

And thus rolls on the life of Mangled Foetus…

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Confounded mangled foetus

Wonder if conditioning is a tool to zap one into the vicious cycle. And the darn vicious cycle seems to be happiness. The bledy flock of happiness for every occassion...its presence felt in its existence and its lack. Happiness is a fat lump of drugged bubblegum stuck up in cloud 9. Sadness has a heart. It breaches the gap and keeps egging us on towards happiness...closer, closer.

Is to want what a lot of other people want conditioning or normal? Or is normal conditioning or vice versa?

I want to travel the world, want to belong, write travelogues, work on my autobiography trashing all those nincompoops I let trot over me at one vulnerable point of time, want to do whatever cause I want to do whatever. Wanna be a bar tender, a broadway dancer, a corporation school teacher. Wanna start a school, a wildlife reserve, get madras corporation to mix rubber into tar while laying roads. Wanna save tigers, sharks and olive ridley turtles, get stung by a harmless jellyfish. Wanna play the bass guitar, play the veena, and sing! sing! sing! Wanna make chocolates and desserts like Vianne Rocher from Chocolat. Wanna crack knuckles of those who litter and throw stones at otters, thwack apathetic people, yell gibberish at my dean. Wanna dream, catch them lil pixies and move on. Wanna a real awesome romance, with wedding at a church in the lake district, a daughter, adopt a son, a dozen dogs, an awesome library, lots of love and cuddles and contentment that makes it all so atwood like "I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary" and of course with a smattering of squabbles...friction makes life interesting.

I have an estranged relationship with the last wanna. There's this constant doubt if that's conditioning. Sometimes I can't justify my phobia of conditioning but then it's a phobia. The other thing that plagues me is whether I'll be able to do all the above wannas and more if the last wanna happens. Being a total sucker for love, happiness and One fine day movies (this is a serious problem...addicted to the drasted bubble gum of a drug and this is such a clever ploy of the creators play...there is no AA no Ataraxia Annonymous to run to) I am worried that I'd turn out to be a Violet Beauregarde and chew on it and chew on it and chew on it. And never move on. Never live my dreams unless the jelly fish incident happens by default when we're off on vacation. oh fie!

Singular, alone-liker, unfettered dreamer is gonna have some serious issues with moma and papa and the bledy hordes (relatives who swarm you at every family get together and rattle of questions about getting kicked out of your very own home asap!)

Is there a love that can let you be? Aah well, or else p'dner we could stick to our plan ;-)

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

United Colors of de Gerrymander

Feel like a work of fevicol. Having been passed through a shredder seems like I've been glued back together. So many mes! Each one comes upfront puts forth its portion of the grey and then recedes, vanishes, blanks out or is usurped. Another comes up. Like multiple needles on a sewing machine. One at time and sometimes switch so fast that one seems continuous.

Apart from the known Joplin wannabe, mama freak, gloop foody, spacer-outer on bent out of shape spock, there are more pinstripes. For instance, the karuvad lover who sniffs at anything that smells even remotely close and goes on a trip about central station with marina wafting through its pungency.

Hmmm who decides what? It's all a majority. Inky pinky ponky...

Been trippin on this revelation for the past one week. Guess I saw tell-tale signs of shrivelling glue giving way to hariline cracks on the face in the mirror. And no I do not have mpd. I'm aware of each and every strip. And I'm harmless.