For purple is gay! I will love it! Because it is sexed!

For we act like fools! Because this picture makes me laugh and cry at the same time!

For passion comes from the dust off my thinking caps! Because sometimes I hate with a passion. Because I love to hate!

(I am a hypocrite)

For Loosing hope is easy. Because I am all grown up!

For I love feeling warm and fuzzy inside! For I love being in love and making people fall in love!

Before!

after!!

In an effort to bring back some sanity…. I just want to shift my attention to something else for a few minutes. I know I can’t hide in memories… But I just want to relive the happier times …of my trip to the small towns and villages of Rajasthan… where I had no idea what the date was… or which day of the week I was living… I was with people who expressed love…. and hope…. Coming back to a big city…. Back to “Big City Problems,” makes me think…. why do people emphasize on a need to “help” smaller communities? They seem much more happier and more content, in comparison to the chaos I have come back to!!

I hope and pray that we see a brighter tomorrow.

Today was fabulous! I baked 2 cakes and spent my evening making small, useless flowers so that the cakes would look pretty. Well they look my granny’s pearl necklaces, but what the heck, they taste nice. I ate the crumbs… It was easy to decipher that they were quite nice. Anyway, better start college work now. Ugh! The misery.

I worked on something for myself for once. I was sick of conducting myself… Holding on to my feelings and walking through college projects.. My mom hated the cellphone. She asked me why? I said it was important. I do not know why. Why is the lady holding a cellphone in her hand and why are there lotuses on the side? I have no idea.. I thought it looked happy. I hate answering questions that ask for reasons. Does everything need to have a reason? I like things that are loose ended… where you fill in the blanks with random phrases such as Binky, the polar bear or Jojo is bad for you!

Looking back at old paintings and doodles … I realised that most of my work has no real meaning or reason. It just shapes up to look the way they do. Happy and happily twisted! Oh joy!

Older work…….

Mr.Hegde is just another sexually frustrated man. My first memories of the term “sexual frustration” came when I was in the eight grade. An über cool girl in class who practically got caught for everything from copying in tests to wearing short uniforms, introduced a class full of bleary eyed girls to the term. We had a rough week, a teacher who told me she would tighten my braces so that I would stop talking, just because I asked the girl next to me for an eraser. The teacher was awkward, tall but not lean, boring but not in the amusing sort of way. She was like a mouth full of pasty white sauce that had no salt and no pepper. Well, the hot, catholic school girl, during lunch, held our attention by loudly ( a little too loudly) proclaiming that our pasty whit sauce teacher was sexually frustrated. We gaped, and giggled, blushed and peeled into laughter.

A few years later, every teacher who was boring, depressed, lonely and pissy was sexually frustrated. I threw the term around and it was an all time favorite joke. Sexual frustration was the reason I failed my history test in the twelfth grade, at least thats what I believed to be the truth. I mean the fact was that I loved history, maybe if someone wooed her and got her drunk… and some more, maybe I would have passed the test.

Today, everyone in my life who is cranky, talks in a squeaky voice, a gets drunk alone on a Saturday night is just frustrated… sexually. The term is bounced off everyone, its still funny and comes out when I am really angry. Its not like any of us have an active sex life, most of us don’t have one at all, but we like the term, its silly, slapstick and oh so demeaning.

Rajesh was a hot guy. But his squeaky voice gave it away, he was frustrated too… sexually

I can’t paint inside the lines anymore.

Hideous is a life without a life. I am not dousing my words in self pity or recreating the truth to make anything sound pitiful but with a 95% cut off for attendance, I don’t think its easy to see past the muddy pool that we are in. Oh no no… this is not a- “oh woe is me, please save me” kind of conversation rather, this is my only hope to get back the creativity I seemed to have given away.

This is a case of going to school way too much, of hiding behind too many installations and running away from people who “faff” for a living. Its seems like I am surrounded by people who sound like fortune cookies. We are loosing the happiness in life and forgetting the purple monkeys all over again, loves!

I wake up at 5:30 am only to scream at the top of my voice, sometimes my stuff is missing, my computer crashes, the files are wonky and I feel drunk though I am sure that the only alcohol in my system seems to be something fermented out of my lack of sleep. Cranky and saddened by dawn I pull myself out of my house only to go to the land of the human fortune cookies. Everyone sounds advice in the form of a trivial dialog, something like, “I believe your ideas are thought of but can you stop thinking from within? Think from the outside as the outside is the inside, only different.” At the same time I attend other classes where I am learning to read obtuse meanings in whatever I see, to make it easy Barthes (author of Rhetoric of the Image and the person who defines obtuse meaning in all possible ways) says, “The obtuse meaning is not everywhere, but it is somewhere,” yes, thanks, that helps!

I am often laughed at because I try so hard to stay happy. Sometimes my happiness almost seems like I am mocking the situation I am in. But honestly, I am just trying to laugh away college. Its not that bad right? I can handle another year and half without turning into a prune.

People around me seem to be loosing out on their so-called personal life. How many time have I heard whispered conversations that start with, ” I don’t get time, man! I can’t handle my life let alone my relationship.” It usually ends with, “So I guess this is it, I am ending this crap.” I sit on the corner observing how the poor, design-school less boy is going to understand all of this. But all my thoughts are drowned by the silly tea-shop sisters asking me to pay up.

Life is good though, I can always quit school, paint for a living, dream of cup cakes and fairy lights, right?

Yup, not everything is lost, love! I know I have to wake up at 5:30am run to the loo, run to the gym, run back, run for a shower, run for breakfast, run to bus, run out of the bus, jog to the tea shop, run back to class, run back and forth from the class to the “kaday” to the “wet lab” to the water cooler, run to the bus, run to an auto, run for dinner, run to the desk, run to bed before its too late and run into the vicious cycle all over again. But in between all this running there are pretty moments with happy children, sulking away at school but happy none the less, hyper moments and moments of sudden realizations of love. Then there is the gossip… well a lot to live for.

Moving away from blazing blahness to happiness and la la la. I am evidentially blah and I believe the blahness speaks for it self .

The girl with a crow was a child of boredom,

In classes of random conversations,

A the day after a horror movie centered on a fat crow.

I have a life. I go for movies.

This bored and cranky piece of text is not me.

I wanted to write a story about a fish who was happy and lived in a salt lake but I got bored.

I don’t like still life.

A day of bad pani puris and the whole world is a cesspool in both senses of the word

I love cocoa… Coco

2 weeks down and still cranky

My fish is back with a vengeance.

3rd week of crankiness!

paapaa

My Sharpie pens are drying out. They weren’t that great anyway!

I love Ruby, the mannequin in my textile classroom. She had a couple of kids in the summer. They are a wonderful bunch of headless bodies.

These were notes my by best friend, over the summer. We have a life.

Today I baked a peanut butter and banana bread, just to bring everything back. It helped.

As he drove through the morning bustle of Koramangala, he wondered if he could drive by the silly little 6th main stop at Indiranagar. The stop that was home to a flower child, a spotted strawberry and a few other eccentric design students. Yes, maybe he should drive by and rush to C.M.H road… But his gold chain caught the suns light and distracted him from his thoughts, it reminded him that duty always had to come first…

Finally, after picking up athe silly clan of insignificant students he rushed towards C.M.H… He peered out, made glances and checked them twice… No love… No beauty… Poor Muniswami wanted to cry.. but he bit his upper-lip and decided to be a man. Suddenly he was distracted by an ambulance that was asking him to move to the side, he swirled to the side, in the bus flower children scream and cry. But then suddenly…. everything seemed to move in slow motion. Who was that beauty? Who was the Maya? Beautiful curves, jet black hair, and a shaking hip that was as hot as a Bisi cup of Coffee. A beautiful woman in a saree sporting a sexy Kamarbandh walked by. She looks over shyly at Munniswami, who is now creating a traffic jam.  She looks at him lovingly and her eyes seem to tell him that she say him in her dreams. Smitten and lost, Munniswami looses touch of reality… He is dancing around Lal Bagh with this beautiful Indian angel…

Has Muniswami found real love? Is this Bisi Beauty just a dream? Will he be able to get the pesky design students to school on time… Stay tuned to find out..

Today was a day spent on discussing our lost childhood. The flower children are growing old and the picture frames and rusting and the pictures are fading away. Cartoons that enchanted us are now lost in the world of anime and reality shows. Whatever happened to captain planet? Has Cartoon Network realised that the idea that we can save the world from global warming is a big lie that was created by the brown paper bag companies!! The shame! I miss coming home from school all tired from math and science, tests and teachers…. Walking in to eat a whole plate of noodles and gobi manchurian without the guilt that oozes out of the oil. All while watching the “Swat Kats” save the world from destruction. Sigh! Its a horrid, horrid thought, not being able to go back to those days. To grow old is a horrible curse, you tend to be crabby, mean and ridiculously mature. You start to think about your actions, you question the actions of others, you turn to a mouth full of bittergourd and your face constantly looks like your chewing on gooseberries on a sultry summer day. I no longer think its “right” to sit on the floor and devour honey straight out of the bottle with a spoon created out of your very own hand. I found myself wanting to a few days back, but then I from the corner of my eye I saw a shadow that stretched deep into the kitchen, threatening me.

Gone are those days where everything amused me, yet I am find myself fasinated by bubbles. Fantasies are lost in this dying world where Cartoon Network has lost hope in Captain Planet and the planeteers. I honestly believe everyone lost hope in Ma-Ti, the guy who’s only power was to talk to animals. The poor guy was a misunderstood preteen. He was small, insignificant and had a power that no ten year old thought was even mildly exhilarating when compared to the for other powers. He even out of sync in the title song but now come to think about it he would have grown up to be a tall, dark and quite an exotic man with an accent. He would even be sensitive and charming, while wheeler, the fire guy who came from Brooklyn would have got sick of hitting on Linka and with the Cartoon Network’s lack of avowal for ther hope of a green world, he would have moved back to his little appartment and used his powers to make smores and reheat old pizza. He would most probably turn into a fat man who uses those sticks with claws to scratch his back and or other parts of his body while watching scenes with Linka in it, over and over again. See what age does to you?

A friend of mine just reminded me of Johnny Quest. I loved Hadji and he loved Rachel. Hadji was the apotheosis of a good Indian boy. He even had the turban with a ruby and a nehru jacket to prove it. Oh the glorious world of Johnny Quest. I miss all of those tales of mystery due to a lack of an adventerous life.

This blog is meant for flower children and purple monkeys; its for those who fear the lack of innocence and the loss of life in the name of maturity. You are alive so go eat honey out of the jar with your hand, its meant to be eaten that way!