I think the world’s out to get me.
That includes him, her and you.
I fear the things that I do,
Things that may be taboo.
I’m a coward, a liar,
A weakling, a two-faced bitch.
I care more about myself,
I’ll let go off you in a stitch.
A lying tongue, a heart
That devises wicked plots,
I bitch, I gossip,
About you and what not.
Sometimes I think
I’m not cool
Sometime I think
This world’s mine to rule.
I feel yellow, green, blue
Even red, but I never feel white
But why don’t I still care,
Even if I know it’s not right?
I lust for power and wealth,
And have the greed for more.
Look down upon other people,
Feel like a cheap whore.
I’m afraid of the dark,
Of the unsettling melancholy,
Of cockroaches, death and failure,
And bad things that might happen to me.
I don’t think I’ll change,
Cause suddenly I see,
This is what I’ll always to be.
We’ll all be the same after all,
Him, her, you and me.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
You
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I feel like an emo, I feel so blue.
If everything’s Technicolor, I live black and white,
No light over here, but 30 days of night.
July was grey, and august was brown,
It’s been the same, since you’ve gone.
The sun’s so dull; the moon seems a mess,
A world without you, a world so colourless.
Life’s blank, like an empty cheque.
Crazy, they call me, an emotional wreck.
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I’m scared that ill soon forget the things that you used to do.
I feel like an emo, I feel so blue.
If everything’s Technicolor, I live black and white,
No light over here, but 30 days of night.
July was grey, and august was brown,
It’s been the same, since you’ve gone.
The sun’s so dull; the moon seems a mess,
A world without you, a world so colourless.
Life’s blank, like an empty cheque.
Crazy, they call me, an emotional wreck.
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I’m scared that ill soon forget the things that you used to do.
Arghitect!
There was a boy in Bombay,
An aspiring architect was he,
To all you architects I say,
He was just like you and me.
Plans he had to build theatres,
Museums, walkways and malls,
With solitude points and extrusions,
And lovely intersecting walls.
He said to himself one day,
“This is all very easy!”
T’was about cool concepts after all,
Though some of it seemed quite cheesy.
But all was not well in our hero’s life,
Cause all good things come to an end,
What Architect boy didn’t know was,
T’were pesky Profs at every bend.
“”My subject’s more important”,
Spat each one higher and higher,
And our poor architect boy,
was caught in the crossfire.
There was design, and construction,
And drawings in perspective,
And history of architecture,
Of 1000 years before you lived.
The drawings came next,
And that was no child’s play,
He groaned, he moaned,
He hunched over his board all day!
He juggled his work like a circus freak,
But the work just bundled up more,
Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?
Thought he, as simple as 2+2=4.
Poof went all his plans next,
Of structures and forms,
Crushed, he finally decided to,
Build according to typical norms.
This story might seem familiar
I’ll be surprised if it wont be,
Cause this is the story of every architect
Us, you, them and me.
An aspiring architect was he,
To all you architects I say,
He was just like you and me.
Plans he had to build theatres,
Museums, walkways and malls,
With solitude points and extrusions,
And lovely intersecting walls.
He said to himself one day,
“This is all very easy!”
T’was about cool concepts after all,
Though some of it seemed quite cheesy.
But all was not well in our hero’s life,
Cause all good things come to an end,
What Architect boy didn’t know was,
T’were pesky Profs at every bend.
“”My subject’s more important”,
Spat each one higher and higher,
And our poor architect boy,
was caught in the crossfire.
There was design, and construction,
And drawings in perspective,
And history of architecture,
Of 1000 years before you lived.
The drawings came next,
And that was no child’s play,
He groaned, he moaned,
He hunched over his board all day!
He juggled his work like a circus freak,
But the work just bundled up more,
Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?
Thought he, as simple as 2+2=4.
Poof went all his plans next,
Of structures and forms,
Crushed, he finally decided to,
Build according to typical norms.
This story might seem familiar
I’ll be surprised if it wont be,
Cause this is the story of every architect
Us, you, them and me.
Circa 06
Destiny and I sat at the table, sometime in 2006, sipping our coffees, eating our croissants.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant.
“So, what?” I asked her, on my guard. I never liked her conversations which began with that word.
“What do you want to do?” she asked me, nibbling at the crust of her croissant like a dormouse.
“I want to eat my croissant in peace.” I replied, rather rudely. I never liked to talk while I ate, anyway.
She stared at me pointedly, clearly not amused.
“Ha.Ha.” she worded, rather sarcastically.
“I meant, what do you want to do in life?” she questioned, her voice a little brittle, like glass that was about to crack.
“Oh.That” I said, as I wiped my mouth with a tissue, brushing off the flecks of crust off my t-shirt. My croissant was over, so I could talk.
“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll become a chef.” I told her, while a waiter hurried up to take our empty plates away. He looked at me in distaste again. I followed his gaze, and saw that there still some crumbs on my t-shirt. I brushed them off, embarrassed.
“Uh-huh.” She said, as if I had said something that was low on intellect.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her, defensively. Being a chef was cool, and I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.
“Umm. For starters, can you cook?” she asked, a sneer on her face.
“Uh-huh. I can make a decent Spanish omelet, a chocolate cake, corn salad…” I trailed off, as she stared at me smugly.
“…and instant noodles. I can make instant noodles!” I continued, rather weakly.
“Wow. Imagine a restaurant that sells instant noodles!” here voice dripped with sarcasm.
She did have a point.
Being a chef didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Maybe I’ll become a sculptor!” I said, quite proud of my dash of brilliance. After all, I did in fact love to play with clay when I was younger. And anyway, how tough could that be.
She looked at me blankly.
“You can’t make a block out of clay if I asked you to” she snorted, quite deviously.
“I can too!” I interjected, quite lamely. “I made a miniature human figure out of clay when I was six!” I added. She didn’t need to know that my art teacher had thought that it was a spider.
She looked at me blankly. Again.
She did have a point.
“A food critic?” I asked, my muscles twitching.
“Our body’s not a temple, It’s an amusement park!” she replied quite dramatically.
“A pilot?” I asked my voice low and quivering.
She laughed out loud.
She did have a point.
“A National Geographic correspondent?” I asked of her, but I had already given up hope on that before she could say anything.
She shook her head.
Fifteen minutes, and a dozen career choices later, all of which were turned down, either because of my intellect, my physical health or my skill, she sat up straight in her seat, a bright glow on her face.
“It’s all planned out” she said. “You’ll do architecture, and you’ll love it!”
I stared.
She grinned at me, as if expecting to make me fall in love with her idea at once.
“Why?” I replied, monosyllabically.
“Oh come on!” she said, “You know you like it, you keep on playing those crazy simulation games everyday don’t you?” I twirled the salt cellar on the table.
She did have a point.
“And architecture will help you on your way to greatness!” she exclaimed dramatically, sounding strangely like the sorting hat.
“Try it out. You don’t want to be an engineer, right?” she asked, smiling, knowing that she had hit the target.
She did have a point.
“Uh-Huh.” I grunted. There was no way I was telling her that she had a point. No way could I see that smug look on her face. “It does sound pretty okay, but what next?” I asked, as she tittered away.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got your whole life planned out for you.” She giggled.
“You are sounding like one of those mothers”, I warned her, stressing on my penultimate word.
“Oh.yeah, sorry about that. It won’t happen again. So architecture, huh? It’s meant to be. Big bucks. All the glamour in the world and you just have to draw for that. After all, how hard can drawing get?”
She did have a point.
Now, three years later, I hate destiny.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant.
“So, what?” I asked her, on my guard. I never liked her conversations which began with that word.
“What do you want to do?” she asked me, nibbling at the crust of her croissant like a dormouse.
“I want to eat my croissant in peace.” I replied, rather rudely. I never liked to talk while I ate, anyway.
She stared at me pointedly, clearly not amused.
“Ha.Ha.” she worded, rather sarcastically.
“I meant, what do you want to do in life?” she questioned, her voice a little brittle, like glass that was about to crack.
“Oh.That” I said, as I wiped my mouth with a tissue, brushing off the flecks of crust off my t-shirt. My croissant was over, so I could talk.
“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll become a chef.” I told her, while a waiter hurried up to take our empty plates away. He looked at me in distaste again. I followed his gaze, and saw that there still some crumbs on my t-shirt. I brushed them off, embarrassed.
“Uh-huh.” She said, as if I had said something that was low on intellect.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her, defensively. Being a chef was cool, and I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.
“Umm. For starters, can you cook?” she asked, a sneer on her face.
“Uh-huh. I can make a decent Spanish omelet, a chocolate cake, corn salad…” I trailed off, as she stared at me smugly.
“…and instant noodles. I can make instant noodles!” I continued, rather weakly.
“Wow. Imagine a restaurant that sells instant noodles!” here voice dripped with sarcasm.
She did have a point.
Being a chef didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Maybe I’ll become a sculptor!” I said, quite proud of my dash of brilliance. After all, I did in fact love to play with clay when I was younger. And anyway, how tough could that be.
She looked at me blankly.
“You can’t make a block out of clay if I asked you to” she snorted, quite deviously.
“I can too!” I interjected, quite lamely. “I made a miniature human figure out of clay when I was six!” I added. She didn’t need to know that my art teacher had thought that it was a spider.
She looked at me blankly. Again.
She did have a point.
“A food critic?” I asked, my muscles twitching.
“Our body’s not a temple, It’s an amusement park!” she replied quite dramatically.
“A pilot?” I asked my voice low and quivering.
She laughed out loud.
She did have a point.
“A National Geographic correspondent?” I asked of her, but I had already given up hope on that before she could say anything.
She shook her head.
Fifteen minutes, and a dozen career choices later, all of which were turned down, either because of my intellect, my physical health or my skill, she sat up straight in her seat, a bright glow on her face.
“It’s all planned out” she said. “You’ll do architecture, and you’ll love it!”
I stared.
She grinned at me, as if expecting to make me fall in love with her idea at once.
“Why?” I replied, monosyllabically.
“Oh come on!” she said, “You know you like it, you keep on playing those crazy simulation games everyday don’t you?” I twirled the salt cellar on the table.
She did have a point.
“And architecture will help you on your way to greatness!” she exclaimed dramatically, sounding strangely like the sorting hat.
“Try it out. You don’t want to be an engineer, right?” she asked, smiling, knowing that she had hit the target.
She did have a point.
“Uh-Huh.” I grunted. There was no way I was telling her that she had a point. No way could I see that smug look on her face. “It does sound pretty okay, but what next?” I asked, as she tittered away.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got your whole life planned out for you.” She giggled.
“You are sounding like one of those mothers”, I warned her, stressing on my penultimate word.
“Oh.yeah, sorry about that. It won’t happen again. So architecture, huh? It’s meant to be. Big bucks. All the glamour in the world and you just have to draw for that. After all, how hard can drawing get?”
She did have a point.
Now, three years later, I hate destiny.
I heart New York.
I miss it. I miss it all.
I miss the MUNI, the metro, the Bart.
I miss the one dollar egg rolls, the hot dog cart.
I miss the lovely doughnuts that I swore I would hate, I miss getting up late.
I miss Hulu, I miss Pandora. I even miss Taylor Swift and all the Black Eyed Peas hype.
I miss the wine tasting, the barbeque, and acting like a pretentious snob while we sipped the reds.
I miss Las Vegas, Circus Circus, the fake Eiffel tower and the fifty dollars that we bet.
I miss meetings friends, those that I haven’t thought about.
I miss the crummy diners and the wrap place which lied about selling the world’s best wraps.
I miss Gap, banana republic, old navy; I even miss those super expensive shops that we were too embarrassed to enter.
I miss Bridgette, who couldn’t add up 21 and 24 mentally and was 23 years old.
I miss the fact that Hard Rock café is just a glorified fast food joint and not all the bling-bling that it is over here.
I miss the 25 cent coins, and the nickels and dimes. The bills, the greens.
I miss the cheesecake factory with its beepers, and Gossip-Girl named waiters.
I miss their large portions which we could never finish but were still greedy enough to order our own entrees.
I miss San Francisco, I miss New York.
I miss God of small things, kitchen confidential, and the Shashi Tharoor book whose name I don’t remember.
I miss all the last minute shopping and the fact that I was selfish.
I miss the gorgeous people. The beautiful women and the handsome men.
I miss the lights of Times Square, the sights of Central Park. I miss the Upper East side and all the Upper East Siders.
I miss watching gossip girl with ads.
I miss, Little Italy and China town, and all the grit in and around it.
I miss the Meat packing district, its artsy galleries and kitschy people.
I miss the Chelsea east youth hostel, ten bunk beds in a room. I miss it being a multi ethnic soup kitchen. A culture curry.
I miss Harvard, with all its smart people and even smarter architecture. I miss the coop, and Charlie’s Bar. I miss Aiwen Lu.
I miss the crappy flights, with all the jet-lag.
I miss the Broadway, the cirque de soleil, and their ridiculously expensive tickets.
I miss the steak, the hamburger, and all things beef.
I miss the margarita, the mojito and the terminator topped with beer. I miss that I had to show my I.D every time I wanted one of these.
I miss the standard, its psychedelic elevator and all. I miss watching sitcom reruns in the morning while I had nothing else to do.
I love the yellow taxis, with all its stereotypical clichéd south Asian drivers.
I miss the office, Jim and Pam, and Chris Brown’s Forever.
I miss the fact that I did not miss Farmville, Face book, Friends and Family, though not necessarily in that order.
I miss the theatre where I saw half of Wake up Sid and slept through the other.
I miss the annoying "wateva" radio woman,and the ten odd songs that played all day.
I miss the Japanese place and the New York people.
I miss the city, with Manhattan. I even Miss Brooklyn.
I miss the joy, I miss the thrill.
I miss the sudden rush you get when you are on vacation.
But most of all, I miss you. :(
I miss the MUNI, the metro, the Bart.
I miss the one dollar egg rolls, the hot dog cart.
I miss the lovely doughnuts that I swore I would hate, I miss getting up late.
I miss Hulu, I miss Pandora. I even miss Taylor Swift and all the Black Eyed Peas hype.
I miss the wine tasting, the barbeque, and acting like a pretentious snob while we sipped the reds.
I miss Las Vegas, Circus Circus, the fake Eiffel tower and the fifty dollars that we bet.
I miss meetings friends, those that I haven’t thought about.
I miss the crummy diners and the wrap place which lied about selling the world’s best wraps.
I miss Gap, banana republic, old navy; I even miss those super expensive shops that we were too embarrassed to enter.
I miss Bridgette, who couldn’t add up 21 and 24 mentally and was 23 years old.
I miss the fact that Hard Rock café is just a glorified fast food joint and not all the bling-bling that it is over here.
I miss the 25 cent coins, and the nickels and dimes. The bills, the greens.
I miss the cheesecake factory with its beepers, and Gossip-Girl named waiters.
I miss their large portions which we could never finish but were still greedy enough to order our own entrees.
I miss San Francisco, I miss New York.
I miss God of small things, kitchen confidential, and the Shashi Tharoor book whose name I don’t remember.
I miss all the last minute shopping and the fact that I was selfish.
I miss the gorgeous people. The beautiful women and the handsome men.
I miss the lights of Times Square, the sights of Central Park. I miss the Upper East side and all the Upper East Siders.
I miss watching gossip girl with ads.
I miss, Little Italy and China town, and all the grit in and around it.
I miss the Meat packing district, its artsy galleries and kitschy people.
I miss the Chelsea east youth hostel, ten bunk beds in a room. I miss it being a multi ethnic soup kitchen. A culture curry.
I miss Harvard, with all its smart people and even smarter architecture. I miss the coop, and Charlie’s Bar. I miss Aiwen Lu.
I miss the crappy flights, with all the jet-lag.
I miss the Broadway, the cirque de soleil, and their ridiculously expensive tickets.
I miss the steak, the hamburger, and all things beef.
I miss the margarita, the mojito and the terminator topped with beer. I miss that I had to show my I.D every time I wanted one of these.
I miss the standard, its psychedelic elevator and all. I miss watching sitcom reruns in the morning while I had nothing else to do.
I love the yellow taxis, with all its stereotypical clichéd south Asian drivers.
I miss the office, Jim and Pam, and Chris Brown’s Forever.
I miss the fact that I did not miss Farmville, Face book, Friends and Family, though not necessarily in that order.
I miss the theatre where I saw half of Wake up Sid and slept through the other.
I miss the annoying "wateva" radio woman,and the ten odd songs that played all day.
I miss the Japanese place and the New York people.
I miss the city, with Manhattan. I even Miss Brooklyn.
I miss the joy, I miss the thrill.
I miss the sudden rush you get when you are on vacation.
But most of all, I miss you. :(
Heart's a mess.
I lost my heart the other day,
I searched for it far and wide,
This usually does not happen to me,
In you, I must confide.
I searched for it here, I searched for it there,
I searched for it everywhere,
In all the places I thought a lost heart would go,
A blood bank, a gift shop, even St. Valentine’s Cathedral.
I was about to give up all hopes then,
All dull and dejected,
That’s when I saw it right beside you,
Beating, and blushing a deep red.
I tried to call it back to me,
But all my tries were up in vain,
Tried to use its own against it,
Nothing worked, neither artery, nor vein.
I couldn’t see what it saw,
Heartless that I was,
What else would I be now?
I had suffered a great heart’s loss.
As a last resort, I told it
“You wouldn’t survive without blood”
It stared at me rather pointedly,
And said, for you, it would even eat mud.
It wouldn’t listen to me,
I thought it would listen to you,
One look of your gorgeous face,
It struck, heck, for you, I would eat mud too!
I searched for it far and wide,
This usually does not happen to me,
In you, I must confide.
I searched for it here, I searched for it there,
I searched for it everywhere,
In all the places I thought a lost heart would go,
A blood bank, a gift shop, even St. Valentine’s Cathedral.
I was about to give up all hopes then,
All dull and dejected,
That’s when I saw it right beside you,
Beating, and blushing a deep red.
I tried to call it back to me,
But all my tries were up in vain,
Tried to use its own against it,
Nothing worked, neither artery, nor vein.
I couldn’t see what it saw,
Heartless that I was,
What else would I be now?
I had suffered a great heart’s loss.
As a last resort, I told it
“You wouldn’t survive without blood”
It stared at me rather pointedly,
And said, for you, it would even eat mud.
It wouldn’t listen to me,
I thought it would listen to you,
One look of your gorgeous face,
It struck, heck, for you, I would eat mud too!
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