ah boy is coming tom im so happy ..looked forward to this for so long.

Home town

I never know where to say I am from. Here in gagaland, I always say I am from Bangalore. Well, most recently from Bangalore. The past three years. And because it is the first city where I lived my own life , found my little niche where I could have comfort conversations sitting on the stairs outside some old shop on Church Street and bump into four people I know on Brigade road. In ten minutes.

Anyway in class the other day, we were talking about the digital native. Which makes me realise that the internet is a big part of my life. It’s my only constant, I say, taking the risk of sounding melodramatic. My gmail account has ALL my chats with ALL the people I know for the past three years. My miserable three five subject notebooks cum journals hardly compare! ANd it has my mails and all my work and my contacts . I can see it from rural Tibet as well as from Jayanagar. i feel unsettled despite my claims of being hippie and all after a week of being away from the internet, my cozy gmail account with all its so very different rooms. Some are ‘nice, long and personal’, some are ‘tsunami rehabilitation’ and then ‘boy’ and then ‘Journalism’.

Etc.

We Indians have gotten used to our vagabond identities .I have never lived in the state that I am actually from till now. My parents were quick to shed their stately roots and go to where ever money and oppurtunity called them.THis is interesting because in every other way they are so conservative. They would want me to be a virgin till the last knot of the mangalsutra is confirmedly knotted. Yet they are willing to live anywhere or have been. ANd being in boarding school with people from all over india and going to colleges which had people from all over india means that I really have not experienced homogeniety of human content anywhere.

Who then am I is

my psuedo end to

this blog post.

I don’t want to say want and don’t want.

depressed shit

I no longer think any deep things to write. My focus is on surviving. On trying to be happy. Going to a party so that time will be killed and I will be happy.

Coming back home so that I can lie in my bed and be free to be sad.

To go out for lunch and make witty jokes so they’d think I am happy

Going on short smoke quits so that my old cough will go

Acting smart and buying a whole pack and smoking it

Coz it’s my life and I have a right to

But what will make me happy?

No better place to go

 

 I wrote this some weeks back jsut posting it  because I want to blog.

Sometimes a cigarette makes everything feel better. And music that reminds you of happy times in not a sad way.

None of that compares to lying in bed with boy and not saying anything but feeling so secure, so comfortable there’s no need to get up, no better place to go.

 

Experience is everything. The human mind is like a landscape and there is erosion , deposition and its different , so uniquely different for everyone.

 

For instance somewhere the fact that I can be loved makes me feel more wanted even in this lonely yellow room.

Yet there is such terrible restlessness. I need to keep moving from place to place even if it means going to the loo from the lab and forcing myself to pee.

I remembered in Latse, that little scary old Tibetan room . Boy and I were both sick because of the bizzarely high altitude and incapable of helping each other. I puked and I cried and we lay together sick but together

 

Why are we so cynical? I can’t believe good because I have been taught to be cynical.

Now I can’t even imagine all that was real that I was there next to him just endlessly kissng and holding each other so tight.

There are of course issues that I am alone with.

I am listening to night swimming now and remembering the day in his room. We danced so slowly to the song. I said maybe we should go for a swim because there was a birthday [party going on and Then the song got stuck in his head. He played it and we danced with that heart sinky heart warmy feeling that I had to go back home that night but then we kissed for ever so long and made out . I called my mom and told her I won’t come home. We lay on the sofa when I fell asleep naked. It was dark and pretty, his apartment.

 

But now with just a voice I sometimes I hear over the phone I am unable to judge whether we’re still there whether all that was REALLY real.

Sometimes I think that he can never leave me. But then like the John Legend song ‘Maybe you’ll stay Maybe you’ll leave . Maybe we’ll love and learn. Maybe we’ll crash and burn. We are ordinary people. We should take it slow. ‘

I want to smell him hold his hands tight and lie next to him and not say anything at all.

I love him.

I need a smoke.