Sunday, January 31

Wednesday, January 27


As the final episode of the cheeky series Boston Legal comes to a close all too soon, I realize the power of hindsight. I consider Alan Shore to be a great character but looking back at this moment as he leaves in a hasty goodbye, I could give anything to be told he's coming back.


Our memories aren't always faithful. The flavour of that dish you last tasted when you were a toddler couldn't light a candle to what it is in your memories. Even Roorkee seems to trump Hyderabad. Old crushes sound trivial and laughable. The uncountable days and nights spent talking and chatting away to that one person seem childish. She is most serenely beautiful in that unforgettably ponderous moment as she drives her thumb into the ice cream cone she'll desert once the conversation is over.


When I go home this summer, Annie will dance around my feet, in a show of affection I have known no human being capable of doing. She does not remember being separated from her mother soon after birth. She does not hold a grudge against us for a lifetime of loneliness that was forced upon her on the pretext of our safety. She is just as confounded today when I pretend to throw her tennis ball as she was the first time.
Dogs don't seem to keep memories from too long in the past. I wonder if they know how eternal sunshine feels.

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;"

Monday, January 25

Bloody Sunday, The Second

I like coincidences. To the extent that the fact that most events of note in this blog have occurred on Sundays and birthdays is more consuming than the fact that most were of the Bloody Sunday kind.
Those who haven't yet given up on the hopeless Poetic Creeps such as me might remember the vomit of verbiage on one fateful Sunday of September'08. Well, tonight was the encore. There was no Harbinger of Doom, although his advice might have helped. There was no Obvious One and I was much better prepared for the Mulligatawny I was heading to.
Nevertheless, one still reels. Almost as much as the alcohol had some reeling the night before. But reality cuts through the strongest of spirits. Like all late night posts, this one ends in a hollow promise to get some sleep.

Wednesday, January 13

I may have failed
to catch your eye
but you can't say
I did not try

I think of your smile
and acts of guile
never learning
the truth from the lie

With music, with love
and a bleary eye
with friends and laughter
I will get by

Bete noire, enemy
or just a gadfly
Whatever I am,
I will get by.