You are the war on me I'd wage.

I was looking for chaos and you came by,
like the soft rain on strange mud
No clamour, no clinging, no thud thud thud.

Dedicated to Ashburn, Virginia

Every once in a while, I come back to my blog and read some old posts. Correct some grammar, delete some embarrassing things that I may have written out of passion, but never write anything new. You see, its not that I have nothing important to write about but infact, I have this...problem.

In my writing, I exaggerate and in doing so, convince myself that what I write about is how I truly feel. For example, this is what I scribbled in my scrapbook some days back:

"I want to write about your beard that looks like hemp and the gap between your teeth. The way you say Gootargoo and many other things that I think of, only when you leave. But I can't write about it because shit gets serious when I do. And I am here (in Sweden) only to have F.U.N."

When I read this back it brings me to an emotion that is larger than I actually feel.

Anyway, this post is for someone, I have NO idea who, but someone from Ashburn, Virginia who checks my blog even though there is absolutely nothing new on it to read. I hope you read some old posts when I still used to write. I hope it brings to you an emotion which is larger than what you actually feel.

To me, that is the biggest flaw and also the biggest beauty of writing.
Love from Sweden,
The Elastic Chaddi Chronicles

On getting over and about

I don't remember much of the class and the lessons I was supposed to learn in that two weeks time, it was almost two years ago; And you know what Marjane (/Satrapi) has done to my memory and my already dwindling reflexes. I only remember getting to be your friend.

From the moment the purple flowers in our backyards blossomed,

and we took our ashy trays and pizza boxes inside;

To the moment it rained so heavy that we missed our homes,

and our sandals full of mud left a mark of disgust on the bathroom floor.

I don't remember the transition from our awkwardness that left through the door;

To being what we are now, beyond being friends with no history;

We have a lot to consider now and we've been such fools with so many complications.

I have learnt to accept the simple facts about people since you;

About time and space and existential questions in a generation so lame.

I've made peace with the truth that not all of what I mean to you,

Is the same of what you mean to me; No friend no pal no family of mine,

has taught me of how some people are just meant to be free.

Beyond ordinary relationships and relationships are ordinary indeed;

Except you, you are crazy, like a newborn or a socially awkward douche, I can't say.

As much as the thought of you leaving with your muddy sandals makes me sad,

I negotiate with my mind, tell myself we are brothers in disguise.

That you belong with the crazies, the grass, the breeze 

and everything else that flies and leaves.

Soon this period will end and another will begin

without the purple flowers and you.

Even at the brink of a new adventure, I can't decide

To need you or to forget completely of you;

Neither will bring me enough happiness.

Friend, brother in disguise;

Ex-oh-ex-oh.

Chote shehron ki choti si baat

Barren land, untamed cows,

men who stare, men who giggle,

matchboxes that glimmer, my pot, my pans they simmer,

roads that only curve at right angles, led by the ladies on scooters,

Families of four or five, together sit, travel, 

These roads are less concrete, more gravel,

more dust;

and the smell of dung mixing with the smell of smoke

until both is one and one is both.

The twenties are starting, they say;

The twenties, let them come, let them make my head sway.

All I need is a small town and psychedelia.

                                  This was drawn in Benaras, and coloured in Mumbai, after some small town nostalgia.

Na mili mujhe sitaron mein,
Na pardesi guitaron mein,
Dhoonda bhi, toh dhoonda sabki baahon mein.
Na benaras ki raahon mein,
Na banjar, na fuvaron mein.
Milne ki kismat na hai hamari,
Kahan tum udti ho baadal mein;
Kahan hum, sharaabi, gavaaron mein.