Resolution.

I am pathetic at making these and horrible at keeping them. I make one neverthless.
One sentence a day, if not more!

Day had been long. The owl is on vacation for a while and she does things the opposite way. The non-traditional way (traditional way for humans. LOL)

Early to bed, early to rise makes an owl want to go early to bed the day early to rise happens!

Late to bed , early to rise makes even owls, foxes, badgers, bats and moles to want to go early to bed to compensate.

It's a wee bit short of midnight. That still makes moi an owl? Doesn't it?

Okay, the owl has an identity crisis now. She'll probably re-christen herself as...hmm... The hen???
Woah....I am way past my one sentence a day. I better 'over and out'! :-DD

Re-view.

Watched Jodhaa Akbar a couple of days ago.
The reaction is very complicated to go straight in words.
My love for Hrithik, Soft spot of Ashutosh and indifference for Ash doesn't seem to fall in place here. Utterly confused whether I liked it or loved it or did'nt care for it.

A period film that was an amalgamation of a "kitchen-politics" soap, lust for power and a true-love back drop to make things rosy. Ash is not horrible. Something great to come of a Ash non-lover (hate is too strong a word and I avoid using it) However, yes, I am not complementing her. There is a however.
So, however, I think it is the director's greatness !!!

Hrithik looked a bit stiff. But was eye candy none the less.

The painfully long movie was tolerable for Rehman's music and background score. The movie is okay. I should probably not go ahead and say I didn't like it. But I am still yearning for more form Ashutosh. Lagaan should happen again. Yes, it should!

I should post a detailed review once I sort out my thoughts:-)

Change.

Jealousy,
Procrastiantions,
Lies,
Deceptions.

Vanity,
Pretentions,
Lazyness
Pride.

Ego,
Judgements,
Grudges,
vengance.

Indulgence,
Gluttony,
Selfishness,
Boastfulness.

Self-love,
Self-sympathy,
Self-admiration,
Escapism.

Blended into a being -
Viscous,
Volatile.
You.
Me.

Effort,
Truth.
Love.


Let's change
The Image.

Recap

Here's something that I'd churned out exactly a decade ago. A time when rhyming was big and bold on my writing agenda.

Moments crawl like lazy long years,
Pain flows like limpid warm tears,
Missing you seems to be a world full of worries
When my heart is filled with the past memories.

Buried in the bliss of joyous yesterdays,
My heart remembers your sweet loving ways,
The shining smile which lights up my world.
The promises you've made, the sweet nothings you've told
When my heart remembers these lovely sweet things
It flies to you with memories as wings.

Drowned in the dullness of paining todays,
My thoughts are gloom and depressed always.
The fact that we are scattered apart
Pierces, pokes and rips up my heart.
And in that gloom pain flows like streams
And my thoughts revive themselves by hugging you in dreams.

Lost in the trance of pretty tommorrows,
My dreams dance in joy away form sorrows.
The lovely hope that we'd soon be together,
Colors my dreams and my hopes I gather.
And with gathered hopes my soul gaily flutters
And prompts me to write lengthy love letters!!

So, this is what it is. A poem as original as it could get. I wrote this in a break during my work. I was very young and I see my youth reflect in the awkward sentence formations and repetetion of words. I am amused though, about the way I incorporated yesterdays, todays and tommorrows into the poem even though the words like heart and thoughts sound like a broken record. I remember I'd written this effortlessly. I did not grapple to make it rhyme. I thought I'd written a masterpiece. This was like my swan song! I have a treasure of many such poems that reflect how I evolved as a person more than my writing talent. I hope to record them all here whenever I am not able to create something on the go :-))).

Grinning ear to ear, the owl signs off for tonight. The days ahead are very very busy. The owl hopes that she can afford to be nocturnal and creative.

Attempt again.

I thought I'll just ignore the block and go ahead with an attempt to write a short story of sorts. Have to see how it turns out :-0

He looks at her, the lanky girl probably in her tip teens. Tall, slim and a face that sports many a zit. Acne accents her face the way makeup might, highlighting her cheeks and bringing her forehead to focus. Bright eyes, with a disinterest for the things around her, austre face that suits a teacher or perhaps a preacher better than a teenager. He looks at her again and it comes to him in a flash - distant laughter in a vast school ground. A little girl aged 10 chasing a boy eight years old. They squeal in excitement as she chases him and he triumphantly runs around sporting a look of pride. She never takes him or his pride seriously. He is her junior - a kid that needs to grow out of believing that he is an olympic goldmedalist in athletics.

Time takes him away to an unknown town that comes to life in geography texts. Packed bags, mushy farewells and a train lumbering out of the platform of childhood taking with it a cargo of memories. Memories fresh as flowers that will wither and fall in no time. Childhood bids adieu too, and a new day dawns.

He comes back form that fairy-tale town, back to where he lived as a child. He sees her again this time while she is waiting for a bus to get to her college. Pink zits stand out in her pale face. Their eyes meet and she looks away in a nano second not caring to register the face that looks longingly at her, in anticipation that a furnace of memory might ignite itself with their eye-lock.

He comes to her house one day, with a bar of chocolate in his hand and lots of doubts in his mind. "What if she's forgotten me?" ' what if?"
She opens the door for him and looks at him questioningly. A string of words later she lets out an amused laugh. A laugh that sounds like the bells in the nearby temple. " You have changed so much" she exclaims. "Into quiet a young man".

His journey begins - his journey of love. He comes to her at every conceviable occasion. His b'day once, her's once or sometimes his success in exams or his sister's friend's birthday party next door! The excuses keep coming like the rising sun, except not in that frequency. His thoughts wander around the premisis of her house and college. He lives a whole new life craving for more of her, his childhood friend that becomes his unexpected love at first sight!

The love blooms into a full-fledged adoration on his side of the world. On her side, it is reluctant to even take him seriously, let alone falling in love. He is to her, one of those children that needs to grow up.

A new Year dawns. He comes to her with a card heaped with countless caresses from his lips, unseen, unfelt, just like his love. "Happy new year" The card reads camoflouging the countless kisses and his selfless love for her.

"Thanks!" she replies grabbing the card and a flower and gently throwing it on the coffee table before her. " Look at this!" She shows him something that she wants him to see before she opens the card.

He face seems to gather more color than the zits provde her. Her lips bloom into a vivid smile. Her eyes shine with a light that he has never seen before. He cannot mistake that look. She is in love.

He looks at the picture she shows him. Broken pieces of his heart blur his vision.
He looks through the agony at the image that colors her zit accented face a bright hue, the hue of love. "What do you think?" She asks him?
"I am happy for you" His words fumble" genuine but miserable.

He walks back home, half dead - wounded. He decides to tell her about his love one day.

The platform bustles with family and friends. Her henna stained hands sport an array of glass bangles tingling in unision and accenting her temple bell like laughter. "Ting, ting" it goes. Her eyes flirting with the eyes of her husband, obliviously conscious about the crowd they are in. He comes with a bar of coloclate and a card drenched in tears. Tears that are as invisible as his feelings.
" I am in love" he tells her, handing over the card and shaking her hand with a longing to never let it go. She gently slides her hand out of his and exclaims in a child like excitement "When did you grow somuch?"
He answers without moving his lips, without molding his feelings into words -"when I saw you again."

She smiles at him, ruffles his hair and gives him a quick hug. "You are a darling, some young lady is lucky out there I tell ya."

He forces an empty smile.

The train lumbers out of the platform to a distant town, taking away with it a cargo of the one most precious thing he longed for. He looks in the direction of the disappearing train with a heapful of memories hard as rocks that will weigh on his heart forever.

Block again.

Every image that takes form in the grey cells looks like something I'd seen before. Every idea that crosses my mind seems to have been said or talked about before a hundred million times.
Blame it on lethargy or plain lack of inspiration, it is not happening today. The owl is wide awake. Looking at a hazy image of itself in the mirror at the other corner of a vast expanse. The bed light gleams in depressing blue, the same blue that looked like a source for the revival of senses just last week. The spacebar gives trouble functioning and my thumb thumps it after every word. Wish I had the power to change this futile brain as quickly as I could think of changing this out-dated machine. A Mac. A Viao may be, in avacado green. I am partial to green be it the deepest bordering on black or the palest leaning towards off white. Green - the color of life! Which gets me back to a lifeless state of mind.
A book, a short story, a little passage or just a sentence may be?
Why oh why?
Block - something that happens to non-writers as well, I realise!

Repeat.

I thought I'd blog about something that can flirt with your mood. Cajole it to change colors when it sprinkles a heap of melodious notes on your state of mind. Make your heart twich with pain or flutter with pleasure. So instead of stringing blah words that fail to grasp the magic of eternal music, I'll try capturing the soul of some of those melodies (I may fail, but shall do it neverthless) that repeat on an electronic device. More importantly on my senses.

Five for fighting - superman (it's not easy)
Something about John Ondrasik's vocals is brutally addictive. To believe me, run don't walk to youtube and listen to one of his songs. This is the kind of voice that can make the pressure cooker burst because you place it on the stove and foget to turn it off after two dozen whistles (nope, did'nt happen to me. I never risk pressure-cooking while listening to him - LOL) The keys on the piano in this song makes one feel the God-consciousness in oneself.

In Lamhon Ke Daman Mein - by the one and only Rehman bhayya sung by Nigam Bhayya. A combination conspired in heaven to bestow upon the human kind, the magic of a good compisition paired with a voice that can vibrate to capture the conscience of the composition. The lyrics sound like most of those bollywood lyrics but the melody is like never before. Just when you are in a state of euphoria Madhushree's voice breaks in like maple syrup on a hot fluffy pancake and your tastebuds pine for more. The song has Rehman written all over it with traditional 'tillana' kind of chorus and delicate drum beats. I think I hear something like a Jal tarangani in the orchestra. Pure joy. Nothing less!

Sami Ninne - Sankara Bharanam set to adi tala, composed by veenai Kuppaiyer.

The first one I'm getting to study. If classical music is not meditaion to seek the inner light, my knowledge fails me to understand what is. when the windows to the world close and give the ear drums a chance to do some seeing, the deepest emotions from the inmost of my being rise and gather like mist under the veils of my eyes. Believe me, It happens every time I listen to a well sung classical composition. And I mean every single time. Sankara Bharanam when sculpted in the voices of Bombay sisters floods the ambience of my soul, it gives me a glimpse of the cosmos in the form of a fluid melody. I try and fail, repeatedly to tread the twists and turns of this raga. Presently, I give up recreating the magic in my voice. I am probably way too impure to aspire so high. My limitaion notwithstanding, I am truly blessed to have an ear for divinity in the form of melody. Truly blessed!

Block.

Fruitlessly looking for inspiration around. My mind is dead tonight. The owl is almost asleep!
A few hours ago, the isles in Walmart showed off pink and red to me. Chocolates, candy, teddy bears, stickers, cards, trinkets, roses, tulips, bath gels, lip glosses, craft kits, prepackaged gifts, cello wrapped baskets with stuff toys, cute jammies, lingerie... all predominantly pink and red with heart motifs and cupid arrows. Love seems to be in the air like never before. Every corner of the humongous store was enitcing its patrons with bunches of fresh cut flowers and extra discounts on most of its wares. The store looked animated with men and women, boys and girls hunting around for thier tokens of love.
My half dead mind sifted through the clutter of those hearts and arrows. I did not find what I wanted. A half a dozen toddler spoons, a jar of play doh in fire engine red, A pack of thank you cards, A mini toy truck for a recepient that could hate it in most possibilities and a gallon of whole milk made it into the shopping cart and thru the check out line. I needed none of them, except may be the milk.
Pink and red, hearts and cupid arrows overwhelmed me and haunted me to my car and followed me till this very moment. I realise that I did not look twice at any of those things. Just one thought rotating in the clueless corners of my mind - An empty thought. As empty as this rambling.

Scribbles.

A jam of thoughts
Caught in confusion
Struggle to find a way
To their destination -
paranoid about missing
The much awaited metamorphosis
Of seeing themselves
In a feelable form.
Paranoid about
ending up in scribbles instead.

Mug shot.

She has a long, generous face and quiet a smile. It always makes one wonder what she is upto - sounds cliche, but it does. Her lips are usually pursed when her face blooms into that warm smile. She has perfect teeth. Something that people notice if she flashes that row of pearls, which she seldom does. He eyes are small. Curious and shining but small. They cringe slightly when she smiles making those eyes appear smaller. It somehow adds appeal to her face. He forehead is broad. Like the sky on the horizon over those straight, uncurved brows. Her pin straight hair falls gracefully to the sides where her generous earlobes sport understated stud earrings. Her nose makes her look very familiar and brings a De-javu kind of a feeling to the people who look at her. "You look like some one I know" is probably the sentence she hears the most number of times. Her complexion is warm - with strong yellow undertones creating an impression of candlelight focused on her face for special effect. Her chin is distinct and potrudes softly adding a cuteness to a girly face. A distince jawline adds the much needed character that strengthens and leaves a lasting impression when paired with that minnie-mouse kind of cheeks with high cheek bones. Her lower lip is fuller than the upper making us wonder if she is pouting in an exaggerated coyness. Hers is a common face with uncommon illusions. A face caught inbetween looking familiar and strangely mysterious.

Memories.

I somehow started prefering an abstract writing form to the solid prose which is too much of work for my lazy mind. It also lets me feign poetry. LOL. English being what it is and I being what I am, I stick to the easier way for now since it is already past midnight and the owl in me is kind of unusually asleep today:-)
So please look through spelling as I am almost sleep-typing now and as I'd said, the spell check doesn't work which forces me to add that I am a techno moron added to the many more morons I already am.

Greased, soft tresses,
Washed with Aveeno
A tiny bundle of joy
Turns two today.
Mom plays with her
Like she is her custom made
Version of 'Baby Alive'.
Mustard brown contrasted
with maroon accents her
Flawless skin.
Tiny bangles like circles of color
stack on those dainty hands
As if she is a christmas tree.
She amuses everyone saying
'Anemone" when asked where Nemo lives.
"Nemo Tucch the boath" she keeps
Repeating to all her friends.
An off pitch and off tune
Birthday song plays in full throated ease
When she sets her eyes on a
Tres Leche decorated with
Strawberry shortcake.
Now in a yoke frock
Made out of the softest cotton
Which makes her more cuddly,
She walks around
Almost in a dance like glide
Blowing kisses and offering hugs
To all her admirers.
Happy, bright
and quick to repeat words
that fall in her ear shot
Reminding people of a parrot,
She sprinkles "please"
On her every request
Like an extra helping of brown sugar
In the White chocolate mocha
Her mom craved for, when she
Carried her.
A dimpled cheek and and extra pinky toe,
Dextirity stronger on her left side,
She croons happy birthday
Off tune and off pitch
But nothing else can be more
Music to the blessed mom's
Ears, than that very sound!