Halved

There is a DJ in my head who plays music all night so the first thing I hear when I open my eyes in the morning is a song. It's ok when it is Third Eye Blind or Lisa Loeb or even The Cardigans but today it was Britney Spears.
Not cool, DJ Subconscious, not cool.

Nothing like the good old lightning bolt to jolt you out of your reverie and put things in perspective. Nothing, I say.

But right now there is shit to be sorted out. I can mull over the meaning of friendship and friends-formerly-known-as-best later. Really. Promise. For now, applications must be sent out before the 12th of April. GRE sessions must commence immediately. Ass must be transported out of present predicament in no longer than five months. Five months is a long time to sort out the rest of your life and if you can't do it by then, you don't deserve a chance at anything.

Feeling reckless today. And loud. And random? I hate when people leave taps running and toilet tanks leaking water in the office washroom. What, just because it's not your own house you don't believe in conservation anymore? This at a place championing the causes that will save the world. Disgusting.

Something oddly satisfying about sneezing thrice in a row. Oddly satisfying. Do I repeat myself over and over? Yes, yes I do. Kill me.

25th March 2006

someone plays call
rem and dave matthews
in the common room too
alien

(andnotmineanymore)

push handle lower
slow and cautious,
inch after inch of blue carpet
slowly comes into view
door slides smooth

emptiness reveals itself
cushion-upon-misshapen-cushion
lazing around staring blankly
at me, now
music touches my ears
closer to the inside

to one side girl
looks at her mobile
someone slides over a table
silence over the music
and I want to ask

excuse me, but
who allowed you to live

o u r
moment?

All the things a straightening iron wouldn't fix

My mind plays a visual of the thousands of concentric circles dancing upon the surface of the water that stood on the rooftop I did not dare to step on in the pouring rain. In the doorway raindrops fell on my toes spoiling my favourite ECS chappals. In my hand the tea lost its flavour and warmth, steaming into oblivion. Zen and acid combined, nature and Japanese gardens and hippies in my mind, a raindrop dives into the uniform puddle and a newborn circle merges with a dying repercussion and runs into another repercussion and joins it and runs to the edge of the water and runs back and in the millions of collisions per second there is no noise, irta'ash I think and I am drowning in the large, shallow sheet of water, marveling at the simple beauty of the laws of physics, of circles running into each other.

On a trip to introspection with Ali the shahtoots damp from the rain covering up the floor send whiffs of salt and humidity our way and it smells like Karachi, it smells like the beach.

In a living room crowded with thirty odd people I sit with Nani Amma trying to hear what Mamoo is saying to someone about those cartoons and Nani Amma is saying something, drowning them out and I don't want to listen to her, the other conversation is so much more interesting and I nod my head as she speaks, not listening. I follow her hand with my gaze as she points to Abdullah and Elizeh sitting on the carpet in the middle of the room looking at a picture dictionary together and looking at each other and talking, four year old midgets in a room full of grown ups and Nani Amma says do you see those children? Do you see them talking? That's God you can see between them.