22 March, 2009

We missed the play, and other thoughts

Evening over this city. The lights in Citizen's Park seen from across Cathedral Road, like the port-holes of some ship ready to set off into the memories of last summer.
I walked and talked from the Academy's gates. We'd intended to catch Ruddhasangeet - a play about the stifled song of a repressed artist. House-full. Bugger.
A nod to the towering spires of St. Paul's glowing luminous in the suffused half-light of a metropolitan six thirty. Last summer another set of 'we' had taken a few pictures there. If I remember correctly; as correctly as my exaggeratedly accurate punctuations. It was always a pet peeve for the other 'us'.
On past swerving sedans before the Planetarium - all dome, fountains and underlights. Right turn.
Along pavements as shadowy as our thoughts. Of college, high-school, hopes - some lost, some still dreamt of, the little loves and huge redemptions, of recessions and affairs. Our lost Grails of summers past. Fish eyes, blues eyes and other beautiful names.
I've noticed that when old friends talk the ghosts of those absent are always close by. Silences more eloquent than words. I expressed my gladness at his having finally got a viable significant other. The others were . . . disastrous in any practical sense. Purely out of reciprocal goodwill (I guess) he continued to try and set me up with some Princeton hottie over cold coffee. Lord preserve my scant sanity!

And then suddenly it's the Exide crossing, Haldiram's blazing front, roaring traffic. Me daring them bloody cars to mow us down.
"Shaala, cigarette kheye kheye dom shesh. Uff!"

Along AJC, left at Camac, back along the beloved road. Almost like Dumas' musketeers - "alone now and alone forever on the road to Paris."
"There's this sense of belonging... the vibes. That'll forever make Park Street my home."
Ah well!
Back to work. Maybe I'll get a decent home-run there.

15 March, 2009

Angsty Angrenost

 Angrenost, the Quenya for the beloved Isengard, was the name of my first blog . . . way back in 2004. I'd toyed several times with the idea of restarting it but those were mostly the eyes-half-closed still-determined-to-get-back-to-sleep sort of idle musings you get in the pale caresses of the dawn breeze. Angrenost was a chalice! A chalice to pour out to the dregs the passions and emotions of a kid steeped in the traditions of the Force, ever-wrapped in the cloak of Gandalf, to whom namarie came as naturally as a "C'ya later", whose computer still ran on Win '95, discussed Asimov with nearby spiders, devoured children's Space Atlases while eve kiddier, designed hyperdrives on chartpaper, et cetera.
  The Domain of Alarond I had named it. Hence the name to which some refer to even on this blog. :) *nostalgic sigh*.
  It was a time when I thought the Multiverse was all about battles and kings. Five years down the line I've come to believe that it should be about not having those battles and being able to without kings. Five years of being hammered on the anvil of Real Life. Like the rest of us people.

 But why such thoughts today? Stumbling into the derelict place where I was raised .... I realised that this was my Angrenost - the centenarian crumbling bricks, mortar, termites and cat scat.  Something of myself in the rough age-worn walls bloated with damp and abandoned history.
 Someday, someday soon Alarond, Lord Greywrath (yes, I allowed myself those vanities then. Hard to stop now. *sheepish grin*) WILL take up  the -uh- family seat (Corleone rasp) at "Angrenost" in this world.
And then we shall begin on the parallel Angrenost again in the blogosphere.

 So, back to Darthin' in the free galaxy. Stardate: forever. Transmission out.

07 March, 2009

Revolutionary Road

 It's a road I've traveled often, criticised oftener. 7 kms off Diamond Harbour Road, past trees, eutrophied ponds, more trees, green fields. Oh yes, and cows. Cattel [sic] as some would say.

  And then came the 2nd of March. Currently I'm in a Guevarish mood with all the ragtag reminisces of a veteran revolutionary.
It began - cuz these things always have to begin with an "it began" - with Arko da punching the Princi. And then the kicks, punches, broken glass. Ripping apart the administrative block. Faculty and management locked inside from 11a.m. till 8 p.m. More broken glass. Battered shutters, riven locks.
Fan-blades in Picassoic positions. Police vans, INSAS rifles (I was fascinated by the transparent magazines), media and everything. A speck of colour (red or otherwise) in the drabness I've been bemoaning to all and sundry.

    This was another tale to which many are woven and many more will spring. My part ends here - student's forum formed, advocate arranged (Arko's dad of all ppl! bwahahahaha) , the omnibus FIR against 480 students dropped, unanimous decision to stick to non-violence henceforth and stick by the 90 accused of vandalism.
   Last look at Blue Eyes whose eyes are actually brown - the deep brown of burnt almond-skin.

 Adieu. My future does not lie here. Played my part, now for the path that goes on ahead. And doesn't wait.

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