It's My Birthday

On the occasion of my birthday, here's a drawing:

You only think that it's completely unrelated to birthdays. But it's related to mine because my dad must have been cool before I was born. Maybe he even turned square for me--Thanks dad.

I'm happy...

Because someone said they liked my blog without me having to prod them to read it and then beg them, like some sort of demented blogosphere puppy, for feedback! Talking about you, Will Reid...

Broken Umbrella

I looked at the art on this site: http://www.brokenumbrella.com/, and this weird feeling overcame me. I had to draw a breath. They make something tingly radiate from my solar plexus to my fingers and down to my ankles, I don't know what it is but seriously, there's something catching in my throat, as if I want to cry, though I don't. Maybe there is something too this girl, maybe I'm just hormonal. Either way, here's just two of the pictures I like:

And Another Thing...

In this time of despair and pain, I think we need more of one thing:


Love. Love towards not only towards one another and ourselves.

I don't like quoting John Lennon, but in this case, I think he says it best:

"All you need is love."

The Sound of Your Own Keys

Some people talk becaue they like the sound of their own voice. Others, like me, write because they like the sound of their fingers on computer keys. The clack clack clack of the qwerty keyboard is really very satisfying, as is the smooth feeling of the keys. So I've nothing much to say, but I'm typing to hear that sound. :)

Heart on a Fork

Somedays, I think that love is like cooking your heart (sauté it in herbs and oil, dump it in boiling water, or even marinate it if you've got the time) and placing it, in your best blue porcelain dish, in front of that glowing person sitting at your table. You hope that they're nervous, expectant but their slight, very charming pout tells you that they're really quite bored. But never mind, you've got them at your table with your heart in front of them so you can't pick and choose. That person's not always very perceptive, so you sit opposite them and watch them in as they look down at your heart, unsure of what to do because of the slightly rancid smell emanating from it and distracted by your meaningless small-talk and nervous laughter.




I always seem to try and feed the wrong people heart, the vegetarians, those who don't like blood, or internal organs or feelings. So I have to coax, promise it's tender, cooked through and of course fresh. It's very embarassing. I hope you have better judgement than I do in your choice of dinner companions. I add extra salt to the heart--my heart! But not for long, thank god--across the table, get up and make some more sauce, scrape off some gristle, but no. I reach awkwardly across the table, and with my cutlery I slice it amateurishly (the table's small, but my arms are short, what can I say?), spear it on a fork with little designs on, and try and put it into the mouth I want to kiss.

Street Pictures

Pictures I took today:

Gaberlunzie

Gaberlunzie is a scots word for a legal begger...
Random. But I have nothing else to say.

Mumbai Shooting Cont.

Terrorists are completely despicable human beings. There are a lot of people who are despicable, and many of them have good reason to be. Sometimes, terrorists have valid reasons for feeling the way they do. But with the picture below, I hope to explain why terrorists are so despicable:

This guy drove me from St. Andrew's College to Home the other day. We didn't communicate much--I don't speak Hindi, except for a few rudimentary phrases. But he was nice. He smiled at me when I got out of his cab, and didn't give me strange looks when I took random pictures of him and his rickshaw and the street around it. And people like him are killed in terrorist attacks. People who are completely unrelated to Terrorist Group X's issue. That's sick. I understand that terrorists are driven towards sickness, but that does not justify the death of civilians.

To me, that's why terrorism and war are so contemptible--attacking civilians who cannot do anything about the issue might get the attention of governments, but not their cooperation, and I can't think of any way it would be justifiable. Fact is, the governments are probably paying attention to the issue anyway. Why should civilians be attacked? They are pawns in some old, overplayed game. "War on terror" combines the two, which is unimaginably awful. And despite wishing that all this could end, in Mumbai know (where, thankfully, it seems to be dying down), it's clear that humankind will continue to attack itself like this.

Mumbai Shootings

There's been shooting in Bombay--A shoot out, it is said. There's really not much information, all I can find on the web is this:
http://ibnlive.in.com/news/4-killed-15-hurt-in-mumbai-terror-attack/79122-3.html
This is so unheard-of! First of all, it's in tourist spots. Who the hell attacks tourist spots? And second of all, it could have happened to people I know, friends, who live and breathe and walk around there; people who frequent the Taj and the Oberoi! I feel targeted, though I'm safe in my room on the other end of the city. All this seems unreal, like a crime film. Some news channel said there were two men in a train compartment in Victoria Terminus shooting at the cops. I can't believe this. I'm going to go check the news.

Little Yellow Hats

Helmets made of bright yellow plastic, like the ones the workmen are wearing in the picture, are common in Mumbai. They are a token concession to safety, but bare feet and flimsy wooden railings betray the indianness (whatever that may be) of the whole endeavour.

Everything in this city is either ancient or temporary. The new glass buildings, behemoths though they are, don't look like they'll last as long as the dilapidated art deco apartment buildings. And the buildings in Worli that look at the sea, ugly and tall, have only been there for a few years and already they fall apart and it feels like they've been there forever.

Much like most things in life.

When life gives you socks

Today, I found a pair of socks in my bag. I don't know why they were there, but they were clean, and matching, two things that my socks often are not. Here they are:
...maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.