the age of uncertainty

Is the state of being unsettled an addiction, a habit some in my tribe my generation just can't get out of? Me, for instance - I have been undecided so long about my "true vocation" that I'm surely, at some level, resisting the finality of a decision. Gradually, am beginning to let myself be convinced of the conclusion that there need not be a conclusion to this my quest.

Then there is the restlessness that hit me a week back - should I grow roots with someone right now or is it too early; wouldn't it prevent me from growing upwards, towards the sky?

A friend wrote about herself, "...I ...realized that I was blaming lack of growth on someone who was just incidentally intimate."

But the obligations of intimacy can be fulfilled only with trust, and I, brat of the age of uncertainty, am afraid to let that trust in.

Holiday posts

So I'm officially on a vacation. Bombay followed by Goa. Moved today to Colaba, to a ramshackle hotel next to the Taj and across the road from the magnificent ocean, and the plan for the day was to go see the Elephanta Caves. But with my blog berating, "You have a lot of catching up to do - you better sit at an internet cafe and type away!", here I am.

Tempting trust

I write again. Poetry a wild woman sitting on my tongue gives a sly cackle. Words course out of my pores and fill the pages of my journal. They chatter in my ears and make me smile at their lustiness.

This had happened once before, when I read the warm, wise words of crone-poets. Invigorating, healthful drags of muse and their power to melt the calluses, cure the trust, scrub the loneliness off my soul.

the eye deceives

body thick body earth when i don't dance
feet striking the ground.
i danced a year ago wispy as a flame.
the eye deceives,
you cannot see, yet body feels it.

Lone wary lunches

I'm in the balcony on the green cane sofa with a book. He sits in a room deep into the house with a newspaper. A long passage opens between us.

We don't eat together when alone, not trusting the other with our company. What could slip past? His presence circles around me nervously, and mine -

The raptures of spring

Journaling a lot these days. Usually in the mornings, sitting at the little balcony at the back of the house overlooking the park. So there was the pair of them on the telephone wires opposite, tinted versatilely in gray, swinging. Two salmon-red feet each and a shimmering green speckled neck. They had figured out how to tip the body a tiny jot from beak to tail-wing, and it was a treat to witness that solemn, gentle sway. Till with a flash of black and silver wings, they flew away.

And in the park a dog was rolling in the grass.

habitually

a tentacle extends from my left breast
groping for you.
i know i must not look.

whoop

So I return, but not to the same ol' blog - this person is changing with the speed of a chameleon and finds herself rather delirious with all that's going on inside.

Afterwards, another state

Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities is the kind of film that finds you cynical till the end when suddenly you find your heart beating faster, cheeks feverish, and a dark liquid instead of blood singing in your arteries. Tabu has a flowing role that she insinuates with blissful nuances, but the film has more to it - the power to transport.