Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Spider's Sonnet - Three Quatrains and a Couplet

The Spider’s Sonnet

Tricksy bitsy spider, climbing up the stairs,
It follows in your shadow, pretend that it’s not there,
Scuttling in your footsteps, like a tiny dancing bear,
Simple little spider, it’ll follow you anywhere.

You can feed it jitterbugs, and you can feed it flies,
You can feed it bits of flesh and watch it grow in size,
It doesn’t nag about your job, don’t have to tell no lies,
Waits on the mat till you get home, that’s such a nice surprise.

You lie in bed, the room is dark, you watch your spider leap,
Trailing bits of webs and bugs, like Bo-Peep trails her sheep,
You watch it trot around busily, your thoughts get really deep,
Then you and your spider cuddle up, and off you go to sleep.

What happens next you don’t know, and you’d never expect,
Your spider to be poisonous, and for it to bite your neck.

(And then you die a horribly slow and very painful death.)

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

It's like that, you know


And once again


I'd like to believe this was helped along by a cheeky girl who kept heckling numbers two and three of the opposition, constantly expressing a strong desire to marry both of them based on their wobbling tummies.

Also, it's funny how I attend other people's classes more than the ones I actually have. There's a rumour that Tygr might also start taking classes. That should be fun to watch, and heckle if the mood strikes.

I'm doing an awfully good job of pretending to be productive these days. But I will always stay true to my roots, the ones that dictate the core of my lazy fat-assness.

Recently on the ledge.

"Is that birdshit on your hair?"
"It might be." Feels the spot. "I don't think so. I would have sensed it." A pause. "I have a sense."

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Things to learn

How to wiggle eyebrows. How to alternate. How to do so without holding one of them down with fingers.

Singing with a convincing imitation of an Irish accent. Scottish is taken.


The art of lying to one's mother. Essential for any believable actor on stage.


Standing on your head.


Welcome to DRiP, people.


Saturday, June 12, 2010

Book publikcity happened today :)

and earlier

I feel terribly, terribly ecstatic but I can't jump around because I stayed up till five-thirty writing and that was awesome, but then I had to wake up and teach this kid at ten-thirty. And she looks as bleary as I feel. Sitting side by side now,I'm having coffee, she's having chocolate milk, and she's writing a story about a magician's hat. And look at the weather. Today is clearly going places.

Ooooh, earthquake last night. I want to celebrate having survived, 7.7 IS a big deal.

Sunday, May 2, 2010


Study leave. Feels like chhuti.

Monday, April 26, 2010

This year's love

Botanical reminiscences, my fond memories of flowering shrubs. Polo polo polo. Meeting-people-at-airport-week. Professors bowling. Haircuts and ripped skirts. A storm and rain and potato chips. Good night.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Sad Pome

Lost in the turnip-red depths of despair
I am depressed, like a wet cat on a stair
as lonesome as a single spot on a chair
as sad as that bald patch in your hair.

I have no time to think, only to cry
If only I could fly away like a horsefly
I would flutter and butter like a pretty butterfly
But all the time, I would still be crying inside.

You will never know, you won't understand
Maybe if you were here, we could just hold hands
But since you're too busy, I'll keep sinking in the sand
Of my only home, the land of the damned.

Saturday, February 13, 2010


While I was busy slacking off.

Classes happened. Some of them were even interesting.

Theatre, debate, quiz society members worked at their respective crafts. People made music, created wall art, constructed beautiful things out of paper, buttons, colours and glue, even went out on rallies, cleaned up the Maidan, then the JU Arts Department parking lot. They were productive, because they care. They care about life, about participating, about promoting culture, being part of something greater than just chilling, just reading and writing sporadically, just being a lazy-ass in general. I'm ok at academics, I do a theatre club once a week, I turn up for other people's cultural events. And yeah, I wrote a book at some point. So fucking what? I've been done for ages, that's an insult of an excuse right now.

Because that's what JU does to you. If you want to, it can be the most instructive, interesting, the most fun place you've ever been. And if you want to end up being a fucked-up loser with no interest in anything till the next fix of whatever does it for you comes along, well, JU will hand it to you on a silver plate with salad on the side. That's the dangerous part - if you mess up, it's because of free will, man.

But it's all cool, man. It's been a while since you last smoked/drank/fell in love/snorted whatever. That's why you're talking shit, that's why you've lost your nerve. Wait it out. You'll be oblivious in a while.

Monday, January 4, 2010

A Serious Pome (to the Joo Dogs)

Down the smelly corridors of endless time
run the pattering sounds of your nonchalant paws
lazing in the winter sun, you cock a wise eye at us,
and you yawn slightly; we are beneath your notice.
you will only rouse yourself to action
when the tough young thugs from the engineering end of campus
trot over to challenge your territory - then you become a fearsome warlord.
A change from your ridiculously adorable alter-ego,
the one with the lolling tongue and the silly puppy eyes.
Your earnest snifflings around my ankles, the putrid smell of your garbage breath
do nothing to make me love you less.
True, I do not cuddle you, but only because I am lazy;
when you were a pup, I fed you everyday, and I tickled your back with great energy,
but like all children, you became a sullen half-adult who sulks in a corner.
You idiotic bundle of mangy fur, you don't realize that I saw you when you fit in my hand;
and when you strut around campus with bravado, I am not impressed.
Whimper lovably all you like, not a single crumb more,
you can have half this biscuit, however, I didn't really want it.
Don't follow me into class, you canine retard,
you can't hide under damp umbrellas during a lecture, you're bound to start sneezing.
Wait outside, I'll be out in an hour,
and maybe after that, we can sit on the stairs and listen to Elvis for a while.