22:30IST
Mirror-Postcard Room, Peacock Lane
Shahpur Jat, New Delhi, India

The mind feels like it is a mess as usual. What did I do today?

Got up. Discovered that I was sleeping on a mattress kept on a floor. A very low bed. Remembered that I had made the change myself  last night, owing to the squeaky charpai. Upped. Tried an 'intense' exercsie routine - bear crawl, frog walk, push ups, burpees, squats, sit ups, leg ups, jumping jacks, doubling whatever-the-fuck. Barely lasted eight minutes. Better luck tomorrow. Tomorrow never knows, or never comes.

Officed. Trying to get a story done but people take so bloody long to respond. Did not get it done. Came home early. Faffed about for a couple of hours, then went for a run. The glorious 16 minutes and 30 seconds of running! I could have and should have done more./

Came back, musiced and washed dishes. Talked to mum dadi and dad. Pa has saved my name as 'Aniyo Ani' on his brand new phone. In Korean, this means 'no'. :/

Writing to you feels good, even if I write nothing profound. No thoughts. Just actions and small stupid commentary on the actions. Oh well.

Still, it is better than nothing. 

01:18 IST
Postcard-Mirror Room, Peacock Lane
Shahpur Jat, New Delhi, India

The internal world has been feeling stormy the past few days. Unpreparedness precedes every action. The mind takes flight to faraway lands with beautiful people where the self is a fulfilled, articulate, fit sapien.

When the mirror of illusions begins to reveal the warts and wrinkles and larded skin, the self knows reality has struck. It isn't pretty. I'm not pretty, and I have a problem with that. I don't write enough, and read enough. I don't know enough, don't do enough. And I have a problem with all of that.

So what do I do to ease the pain? Dance.

Read write and do too. 

23:38 IST
Postcard-Mirror Room, Peacock Lane
Shahpur Jat, New Delhi, India

What did I do today? I got up earlier than usual. Looked at the time, and went to snooze mode. Convinced myself that I'd be up in five minutes. 45 minutes later, I got up, turned on FM of my transistor, an attempt to fill the silence of the flat with some noise, since it was too cold for fans.

Got dressed, packed lunch, poured milk in a bowl for the black-and-white cat outside my building.

Turned on my music, Ludovico Einaudi. His music is transcendental. Pretty much like the sound of the word, it takes me somewhere else - in a different time, in a lovely place. I was walking on clouds, towards the metro station.

Reached office. Set up my work space. Started working on a story. Meeting time. 'Met' everyone. A new person who looks like a smiling walrus has joined in as a sales guy. He will sell more which will hopefully mean more salaries for us. That's what I understood at least. May the force be with the sales dude.

Lots of other things happened. I might be going to cover a sport event in December for which I need to 'get fit'.

Unfit. Super unfit am I.

Left work and stood around in the metro and reached a parlour where I got face cleaned off its hairiness. Then decided to eat bhel puri and walked home.

The walk to home was probably the best bit of the whole day. I love walking at night on the roads no matter how silent or busy they may be it is just a great thing to be walking out in the open beneath the sky amidst grime and dust dodging potholes.

This road that stretches from AIIMS to the IIT flyover, the bit next to Hauz Khas apartments, the pavement is a narrow one and there is an overgrowth of bushes from the residential side of the building coming out towards the pavement which leaves very little to almost no space for the pedestrian to walk on the pavement. The road is full of vehicular traffic right up the pavement. I barely squeezed in between, was trying to narrow my wide frame as much as possible, for fear of bumping into some random car or scooter. Such fun!

Home sister had made dinner. Wasn't hungry but ate. Lied down for a bit feeling icky and fat. Now writing to you.

Love you. 

14:49 IST
Postcard-Mirror Room, Shahpur Jat
New Delhi, India

25 September was my last post, and I had mentioned intimacy and how we tend to weave time into our thoughts and hence language all the time.

A month and a day later, my thoughts are not different. They aren't the same, because certain events took place in-between and were strong enough to leave lasting impression on my mind, but the state of my mind is no different. I still miss intimacy, and I still wonder at time.

The boi that I believed to be in love with, the one in who's company I felt free and happie had been lying to me about himself for the entire year that I had known him,

The entire year that I had known him.

Time, is relevant.

Time helps me track back, recreate the sequence of events that led to the slow unfolding of my own self towards this schmuck.

I feel utterly wasted. The whole year's worth of headspace is billowing its acrid smoke at me. It's burned and gone. Waste.

I'm alone.

What's going to change now? Deleted the person from my external life. And internally, I still think of him, but as a third person. There are moments of pure hatred and anger when I suddenly speak aloud words to him. And there are flashes of moving images that keep recurring in my mind.

When he said this, was he faking it? How could someone fake such a thing!? Why would anyone WANT to fake such a thing!? Was he calculative about all those little intimate gestures and phrases? Why? Couldn't he simply have told me that he was only interested in my work, and that he was dutifully involved with someone else? Why the lies!?

Thoughts like these churn and churn in my brain. They have curdled up and taste sour. I want to rid myself of this curd-gone-bad. Detoxify. I know the steps, the externalities, the action-points. But the will, the internal, the mind....it is a struggle.

But whether I move on or not, life will. 

22:46 IST
Room with two mirrors, Shahpur Jat
New Delhi, India

Hello, it has been a while. Time plays such a role in language. What if there wasn't any, time? No time for this none for that. See? It still holds meaning. Can't do without it.

And so, bringing conversations back within the realm of past, present and future, a lot happened between then and now, which hasn't been written about, meaning hasn't been pondered over.

Am I here to ponder? I don't know. The urge was too strong for me to ponder over that.

It was more of a need than desire. Maybe the two are intermingling slowly. How lovely that would be, if need and desire become one?

I needed to clear my head, sort my thoughts, hopefully get rid of a few. Because now, my dear I write for a living. Not for myself, but that will happen too one day. You will make it happen.

The thing is, I miss intimacy. Ever since the break-up, I have missed being close to someone. It isn't a fall-back or the security catch. Intimacy in my world is a very momentary, in-the-present word (time again). Intimacy doesn't flit in the past or fly to the future. It just is. Or isn't. No grey shades, no time-warp. Straightforward. Straight arrow.

So what do I want from life? Same old. Be fit feel fit write perfectly. And travel and trek and meet and eat and play.

Trek, I went on one of the longest treks I have ever been to. About 60 km, over 6 days, entirely on foot. We were tortoises, carried our homes on our backs. We climbed up and climbed down, our homes on our backs intact. The weather was not entirely kind. Clouds descended often, most of the day infact. And wept or pissed (however you may want to put it) their hearts out.

I survived it because I was with a lot of people who had things with them that helped me survive. I was not fit enough to carry my own luggage, so got help. My tent was wet most of the time, but that problem was also resolved because I had friends who offered me their shelter. I was not well equipped with food while trekking but met people on the way who readily offered their supplies.

But this doesn't happen on a trek. It happens on pilgrimages. A trek is a different story. You have to walk the miles and you have to walk them alone. For days and nights, and you go to remote places that have no shelter. So you gotta carry your own, and supplies. So what is the survival gear for a person going on a long trek?

Tent. Sleeping Bag + Pad. Layers of clothing. Headlamp + Flashlight. Packaged food. Water bottle + purifier. Swiss Knife. Sunglasses. Map of the area. First Aid Kit.

OK so what more do you need in the write-up. Maybe elaborate on these? Like why? Nono. Maybe the best kind of gear on it.

Buzzzzz Im going to sleep. 

21:40 IST
Parents' Room, Indepuri
New Delhi, India

Third day at internship. Bloody hate the Delhi Metro. It is never empty! Humans are packed like chickens inside a cage, and this cage is made up of solid metal, cold within. Unlike chickens, these humans don't bob up and down. They sway forward and backward and sideways at the whim of the constantly swerving metro. And I don't get a place to sit right up till HUDA City centre!! So unfair!

'Cleaned' a story today. 'Cleaning' a story means editing it shortening it and making it presentable for the public to read. It was about a chic who went rock climbing for the first time in Topanga Canyon, in Santa Monica mountains (kaise ajeeb se naam hain) in California. She was lost and directionless and this particular activity helped her find herself. Sometimes all you need to do is climb a rock to discover yourself. While she up there, clinging on to the tiny crevices she had a singular focus and purpose - to climb to the top. Sometimes thats all one needs. That simplicity of purpose is all one needs to move. I don't know where I want to reach yet. Every job I take I dream and analyse about various possibilities. I end up confused and blurry. I'm not going to think. I'm going to do. My expressions are not very good I see. Blah.

23:46 IST
Big Dining Hall, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

First day of internship at a new place. The Outdoor Journal - the world is your playground. An adventure sports magazine. Self interning with the editorial. No background in adventure sports. No idea as to what self is to do there. The journey to the office was horrendous. Father was kind enough to drop me off to the metro. Went all the way to HUDA City centre. Huda Buddha. Took me a complete hour. Then further 15 minutes of autoride till the office building. Nuts. Morning 10am no one was around, for a good hour. Loved it. Come 11am and people start streaming in slowly, and by 1pm the office is full and cramped and noisy and horrible. No such thing as personal space. Was given an interesting story to work on - a couple of youngsters tried to scale the tough terrain of Mt. Makalu in the Mahalangur Himalayas, but couldn't make it. The other bits of the day went about in a daze. Met a friend who told me some sad stories about herself. Felt bad for her. Zonked and slightly drunk I trudged back in the metro and came home. HATE the metro ride. It is far too long! Shitty write. Blaaheehaa

00:42 IST
The Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

Went to Nehru Memorial Museum and Library today, also called Teen Murti Bhavan. It's in central Delhi, with its wide roads flanked by green and trees and pretty white and red houses. Twas a beautiful place. Open gardens with peacocks running about, well maintained grass, a canteen, flowers in bloom,  massive rocks with quotes by our famous leaders carved on them. One could just sit and read. I did exactly that. Walked out, crossed the busy roundabout road. Was helped by two policemen who stopped the cars so I could cross the road! (I'd like to think that). The roundabouts don't have traffic lights on them na.

Walked on the pavement for a bit. Had my period (first day) so didn't want to walk much. Waited at a bus stop for a bus to take me to the nearest metro station. A small white bus came along, the conductor yelled 'metrometrometrometro' just the way I wrote. I wasn't sure if I should get on, because it wasn't the regular low-floor/DTC bus. But on seeing a lot of people sitting I quickly hopped on. Reached the Central Secretariat metro station and took the metro till JLN Stadium. Got off, took an auto till Nizamuddin dargah. Twas a Thursday and a qawwali night and the courtyard of the dargah was jam packed. People everywhere. Sitting, standing, walking, hands spread out begging, hands folded praying, laughing, talking, clicking pictures. People thronged the space. All heads covered with caps/scarves. During namaz, the call to God, all heads pointed in one direction, all, heads bent in a single file in one direction. Twas a sight to watch. I am not sure I believe in religion. But this prayer, this oneness, it exudes from within us an energy. Every single fibre within our being is focused on one thought, or action. Every single fibre within every single person's being is focused on the same thought, or action. THAT creates a symphony - which is beautiful to watch. It happens everywhere - music is a great way to bring that energy out. In concerts, satsang. qawwali - any gathering with music, you will find that energy. I do not know what it is but it is beautiful being a part of it. But to be completely honest with you, I was waiting for the boi, the whole time. I wanted him to come to me, meet me, be with me. He gave me a glimmer of hope by telling me that he would meet me and he I blew that up into a fire of expectation. And I waited. I was atop someone's roof and looked down at every single face, waiting for him. But he wasn't there. I called and his phone was switched off. I was upset. And concerned. I called his friend who he was supposed to be with, but she didn't pick up the phone either. I waited for a while longer then left. Jostled my way outside and took a rikshaw ride till Jangpura metro station. Was stared at A LOT on the way. Was not flattered, a little scared in fact. Visions of acid played up in my mind. Reached my stop. Walked across a pedestrian overbridge and reached the metro station. Upon reaching, boi's friend called to tell me that he was with her throughout the show and left with her. I was hurt and upset and angry and confused. No idea why. I made my way home and tears kept welling up my eyes. I kept hoping to bump into him but that never happened. Funny how I completely lost track of my journey, and instead just wrote about my feelings regarding the boi. Not sure if this is good or not, but this certainly was the flow of thoughts. At least I'm honest. My sole redemption.

01:05 IST
The Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

Spent the whole day in the house, on the couch. Read and watched half a film and Facebooked quite a bit despite promising self that I won't. Bad girl.

Had borrowed a couple of books from BCL, broadly based on travel, and have been reading them and truly enjoying it so far. One book is about women travellers to India in the colonial era. It describes the 'female gaze' of the European traveller in India during the British rule. Rather fascinating stuff, despite the heavy duty academic language. According to one of the chapters, the East India Company had two kinds of schools of thoughts - the ones that appreciated the Indian culture, and the ones that didn't. The ones that didn't dominated and changed the entire thought process of the Indians - belittled their art, their texts and their lifestyles, and worked on 'improving' their lives by teaching them the 'superior' ways of the British. The book, I'm guessing is about those women travellers who had a fascination for the country. The thing about reading writings on travel is, it is heavy on interpretation. Two travellers will describe a single place in different ways - their own cultural references, their own prejudices, their own personal approaches will come into play. It is hard to objectify a travel write-up. But travelogues are an extremely important document for recording history. The travellers of the past, with their coloured gaze painted strange pictures of the norms and culture of the people of India, and some of those views have managed to trickle over a passage of generations. This makes me feel rather uncomfortable at times. Views and opinions are such transient things. The British themeselves as a community were perhaps going through a period of turmoil in their own country, and brought that baggage with them to India. And if they planned to rule, they did horrific things and a bloody good job at executing them. Not good.

The second book is an introduction to Human Geography. Human + Geo + Graphy - writing about the earth, and the humans' interaction with the earth. SUCH a vast subject. But superbly interesting all the same. There is this globe, this planet that we live on - the earth. It is land and water and atmosphere and climate and action phenomenon such as volcanoes, typhoons, tsunami etc. We as humans, have done SO MUCH to it - we have broken it up and categoriesed it into countries, continents etc. We have created bounded spaces. We have identified and given things names - earth is called earth because humans say so. Same goes for river, trees, plants and further categorising it. We have discovered food in it and so many resources to create objects and machines and run things. We have created environments for ourselves - built environments or second nature and are on our way to creating simulated environments of third nature. We are crazy. There is so much scope in this subject.

Dadi - still not sure how to put it into a framework - definitely taking a human geography approach to it. Maybe will focus on her travels and the way she engaged with the space that surrounds her. Uffooooo. Excited :)

01:15 IST
Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

I haven't written a thing in ages. And it is so silly of me, not to write, because I think of writing all the time. The thoughts stick on to me like lard. And I bloat. Yuck.

So I recently met a professor friend of mine who convinced me to pursue the Dadi Project as a formal research project - expand and set it into a framework to do a full-time PhD in it. Wow. I have thought about (so far)

- human geography - culture geography, psycho geography, historical geography
- mobilities
- gender studies (?)

I am yet to figure WHAT all this means :/

So I decided to get myself relevant books from BCL. And got two - Introducing Human Geography and Women Travellers of Colonial India. Quite excited to read them. Keeping fingers crossed that I DO read them. (I end up not reading most books. (Sigh)

Oh and before going to BCL, I got ready to go to BCL (hahahaha I'm so not funny). No, I took a long video of the people of the house. Dadi was sitting demurely on her chair by the phone and shouting a mobile phone number at the top of her voice to her deaf sister who refuses to wear hearing aid :/ Poor dadi was shouting and her neck began to hurt even more intensely.

I was also rather miffed at the boi. We had planned to meet and eat and watch a film and just be merry, when he called at the last minute to change it all for an exploratory walk in Old Delhi with his aunt. He asked me if I wanted to join. An exploratory walk in Old Delhi? And I have my little handycam. How the hell could I refuse!? Walking has been the only constant in my entire pointless existence of 26 years. It is just something I do, on autopilot, when I do nothing, which is pretty much all the time. It is rather liberating, the act of walking. Why? Well, there is a continuous movement of the limbs. It gives me a sense of going 'somewhere', even if I have no clue as to where that might be. It forces my senses to stay alert at all times - especially the walks in Delhi - traffic of all kinds just comes right at you from all directions. It heightens the hearing, sharpens the smell, focuses the eyes, sensitises the touch - or has the exact opposite affect on all. Depends on how you take it.

I am no historian, not even a history enthusiast. I simply enjoy walking - small alleys, busy markets, large ruins. I love touching the stones of structures, feeling the texture, recreating the space of grandeur of the bygone era. The space comes alive with snippets of stories of people from the by-default lovely companions I get. So today it was visiting Bulbuli Khan - an area of Old Delhi close to Turkman Gate. We went to look for Raziya Sultan's tomb. The fun gang met outside Regal Cinema, took an auto till Turkman Gate, took a rikshaw till Bulbuli Khana. Asked one of the shopkeepers for the tomb, and walked inside alleys that got narrower and narrower and narrower. The mausoleum was not a mausoleum because mausoleums are closed spaces. This one was open. Two tombs lay side by side upon entering a gate. There was a masjid as well (I forget whose now). Nice and peaceful. Lots of mongoose on the loose :/ I get scared of their long bodies and unfriendly eyes and constant hissing. Came out and boi started playing cricket with the young lads of the area. They play cricket within such narrow confines! Guess people, especially kids manage to find their little space of joy in pretty much any space. All a matter of adapting, and kids are beautiful at it. Stay a child in your mind. We wandered about, took pictures of alleys and streets and staircases and corridoor and bicycles and faces - lots of faces - half moon smiles and little O's of smoke and twinkling eyes and wrinkled brows. We had the ultra sweet bamboo juice. My tummy expanded. We waddled to Kalan Masjid - a mosque built by Feroz Shah Tuglaq, one of the rulers of the country at a point I can't seem to remember. The masjid was white and green. Very bright green. The green hurt the eyes. We entered through a bright green iron gate, up steep steps, into an open courtyard. Very pretty, very clean, very green. The space was completely empty. How lovely to have massive empty spaces amidst the chaotic drives of the area? We clicked around for a bit then went out. More shopping and meandering (I'm getting a bit bored of writing now) and through a series of events we made our way back to our respective homes. I love walking. That's the lesson of the day. Because before reaching home - we walked around Turkman gate. We walked from Regal till palika bazaar and then all the way to ashoka road, jantar mantar lane before finally reaching the metro station. I could still walk. I really do love walking.

Dadi talked. She enjoys it. Talking. She talked about gandi gully (must check it), why she introduced salwar suits as uniforms (uniformity honi chahiye aur practical hona chahiye. sari mein kahan aap galiyon mein aate firoge), there were no muslim students in her time. I didn't understand that bit at all. Why not? Was it because it was called Sri Lakhsmi  Girls Senior Secondary School? Lakshmi? And when I asked her why the school did not produce toppers like it used to in her time, she said that all the rich businessmen's daughters have left the area. Muslims have joined. Maybe I was not interpreting it right? But it left me feeling rather uncomfortable :/

01:59 IST
The Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

The most abominable day, healthwise.

External
Dreamt of rising and shining early and taking the bus to Mehrauli and meeting boi there. That's what dreams are for, to keep you sleeping. Got up at 7am, snoozed till 10am when boi called. Then went back to sleep and got up at 10:45 am. Had a meeting with boss at 11:30am. Up and ready and jammed a pakora in the mouth and scrammed out. Reached office by 11:51am. Late. Meeting commenced. And I had a massive stomach ache for no reason. Excused self and rushed to the loo. Came out only to go back in again, to puke. Dirtied the wash-basin. Boss went in and was disgusted. Self was embarrased. Stupid health. Meeting ended on a high note. Kunzum magazine to revive with fresh content. Should be fun to write about this. Went to Royal Enfield store. Hated it. Took bus and came to CP. Loved bus ride. Went to Jantar Mantar. Clicked and sat and wrote a bit about this and that. Waited for boi. Phone switched off. Went to New Bookland in Janpath to ask for a charger. The kind bald fellow took it upon himself to get me one and charged my phone. Spoke to boi. Met boi. Walked about in CP with him. Think I'm falling in love with him. Ufffffoooo. Came home. Spoke with sisters. Had tea that dadi made. Wrote emails to people. Now writing to you.

Internal
Dadi's conversations plugged in the ears for most of the day. Her thoughts wafted in and out most of the day. Feel liberated and happie like a child when the boi is around. I light up when he's around. He does that to me. Bas, itna he :) Shabba khair.

01:19 IST
The Room Downstairs, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

Yo-Yo Bloggie Singh! :D

External
Up and recorded Dadi for about an hour. Came down and did work for Kunzum and a little bit of research on Ferozepur and our 'roots.' Lunched. Went to CP with sis to buy a gift for the third sis. Bought nothing. Went to Pacific Mall to look at the laptop I am finally going to buy. Model not available. The lights went out at the mall. The escalator ramp stopped moving. We walked on it, and while walking electricity flooded back and the ramp moved. Weird feeling that. Home. Spoke to third sis. Ate lots of bhujiya. Yuck. Came down. Facebooked, mostly. Dinner. Came down again and wrapped my diary and a book in pretty blue paper. Spoke to boi. Felt good. Started reading Punjab: A History from Aurangzeb till Mountbatten by Rajmohan Gandhi. Interesting so far. Only read Introduction and Preface till now.

Internal
Relaxed, surprisingly, most of the day. Have decided not to work for So Delhi, inspite of less income. No time or energy to do other things. Wonderful conversation with Dadi - she talked about her school, how she introduced the uniform, then about her father, the fact that he was posted to Khartoum in Africa during the second world war. She spoke about her pregnancies. I love her. When I was doing my own research on Wadhwas and Ferozepur, I discovered that not only do I know nothing, but I also don;t know how and where to approach people or books. Think a trip to the Delhi Library is needed. And the history books I already have might help.This book by Rajmohan Gandhi is quite brilliant so far. Had no idea that the whole of 'undivided' Punjab was ruled by Aurangzeb and then invaded by Nadir Shah and then ruled over by someone called Ranjit Singh from Lahore. Had no idea about the five divisions of the state - Rawalpindi, Lahore, Multan, Jalandhar, and Multan. Dadi belonged to the Jalandhar division then, because it had Ferozepur. I'm rather excited about this book :D

Love you. Nighty night.

5:06 IST
The Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

Horrible day. Wasted it completely. Inefficiency is my second name.

External
Up late. Got up and JUST FAFFED about on the internet for HOURS instead of working on the bloody blog. Lunched on Saag. Went to meet boi in north campus. He made me wait for 40 minutes. Came running and apologised profusely. I like him very much. Gave me a brilliant career news. Was happy for him. Couldn't help myself. Bit his finger. He yelped. Hugged him, kissed his forehead, played with his hair. Yelled at him softly for not liking my posts on FB. That was silly. Offered to help with his work then turned back on him myself. Didn't like self for that. Came home. Dinnered. Just finished stupid write-up. Not sleepy.

Internal
A MESS. Boi tells me he needs to see my writings to appreciate them. I don't think I can or want to write the way he desires. It's not me. Too much of a culture-vulture he is. I'm still discovering myself. I'm more clinical I think. Plus I have other things to do. Definitely writing a book now. A lot needs to be done. Must start from the beginning. Zero. Read City of Djinns again. Will help.

01:27 IST
Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

The day passed me by in a lazy haze, or a hazy daze? Or lazy hazy daze? Or hazy daisy laze? Dunno. I like daisies though :D

External
Grumpily got up at 10:30. Boi called. I sort-of smiled and talked to his laziness. Up, got ready and went to the Election Office to get a new voter ID card as I gallantly lost mine in a busy Thursday market outside the house. Back, lunched, munched on two small kachoris and scolded self for doing so. Went downstairs and just faffed about for a whole hour. Met the kickass filmmaker and discussed how to get the blog rolling. I'm a little bit excited about that. Now home. Head hurts.

Internal
Just a haze. Thought more on the blog chronicles on Dadi. Really want to move forward with it. A lot of good digital publications are into this - they call it long form, non-fiction narratives. The stories include text, audio, video, photo, maps etc to make them experiential. Sounds like so much fun :D
More on boi. Think he is in love with his own expressions. Hehehe. Oh well, as long as he is happie :)

Chalo, goodnighty my dearest one. You're the blue-bird in my heart. And you're beautiful when you sing. Love you.

01:29 IST
The Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

It seems as if I avoid writing to you. I look for excuses - tiredness, laziness, busy-ness to get away with it. Writing to you means confronting the self. You're Clarity. You force the self to focus the gazillion whizzing thoughts into a single stream. You force expression, in words. The self has been trying to avoid that. Why? Perhaps the self is happie inside her little bubble of bliss. In the bubblegum love, in the pointless lust, in the insipid work, and in those distant dreams. She doesn't write, because writing will force her to burst that bubble, and enter the bleak reality of existence, where only self exists.

Chronicles of the internal world are much more important and entertaining than the chronicles of the external world. Unless something extraordinary occurs in the external reality. A mix perhaps, the one that I used to maintain, is still a good idea.

A wise person once said,

...it is my duty because this might be the inner chronicle of what we are. We have to articulate ourselves, otherwise we would be cows in the field.

I'm not a cow.

External
Up at 9am. Snoozed. Droopy eyes and droopy hands opened up the FB page on a dying phone. Finally up at 11:45am. Called boi. Boi didn't pick up the phone. Trudged upstairs, popcorn and hot water consumed. Lunch consumed. Decided to stay in pyjamas. Came back downstairs and began to go through Dadi's footage. Stayed distracted as kept opening FB page. Went up at 5:30pm to have coffee with sisters. Stayed upstairs. Napped with sis, spoke to boi, dinnered, came downstairs. Spoke to boi again, facebooked. Cried in salty tears, now writing.

Internal
Anger at waking up late. Worry, lots of worry over boi's health.

A thought struck me as I watched Dadi's footage. What if, instead of making a documentary, I used a mixed media pattern and formed a blog of sorts, chronicling her life, using text, video, audio, photo, all in a blog, and then maybe offer it to tablets? Having always written in that form, I feel more comfortable in it. Think that might be a more impactful story. Will work on it.

Saw boi's ex's picture today. Very pretty, prim and proper. Unlike me. I guess I could be called pretty, in a completely different, scruffy way. I felt sad. The boi showers me with sweet expressions, so many and so sweet that they feel empty. Almost as if he is trying to convince himself that his feelings for me are true. I fear they are not, and he himself may not be aware of it. I fear he is on a rebound. You know, you try to get over someone by being under someone else? I don't think he knows that himself. Wow, deceit without the knowledge of deceiving. I hope he gets better soon. I really do like him, and want him to be at peace with himself.

He dated someone in a not-so-distant past - it's a fact.
He still likes her - its a belief.
Perhaps no one knows anything - the truth.

I should sleep. Nighty night. You're the only constant factor of my existence, the only one I trust implicitly :)

01:22 IST
Sofa-Bed Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

A post after more than a month. This was supposed to be a daily-routine-typing journal. What happened!? I'm diseased. Suffering from an illness. It weakens the mind, slows down the body, makes eyes droopy, demotivates. Laziness. That's what I suffer from. A sin - sloth. Isn't it? I really hate myself for it. It slows me down. It slows my mind, my movement, my whole life becomes one boring crawling nightmare.

I have a task at hand and instead of doing that task and finishing it in time, I will sit and procrastinate. Think of tons of other things, watch videos, listen to songs, read other things and FUCKING FACEBOOK. The task that takes me half-one hour to complete, takes up a whole day. Zero efficiency. Lethargy becomes king and I become fat and grumpy.

ok. About Dadi. Nothing happening on that end as well. Haven't written anything or shot anything or thought about it in a while. Becoming disillusioned with the feature film concept. I don't have a story. No drama. I need questions. I need to get her to speak. I need to shoot her properly. Lets sequence the events of her life. Make a rough format of questions. And interview her. I will leave my camera and audio recorder on at all times. Record every single movement of hers. For a week? Two weeks? Then sit and edit. Think that is the only way to make it work. I'm tired. So very tired.

00:55 IST
Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

Late again. Stupid snoozes. It is probably the mark of a lazy person, snoozing. You're up, and you're awake, but you want to have a little lie-in and you tell yourself 'five more minutes.' And those five minutes become a rhythmic two hour long dream. OK so once up, went with mommie to the tailor to finalise blouses for the blighted divine weddings. Of course they are blighted - a slow, decay. Blah.

Went to read up about cinematography. Mr. Mascelli writes quite well. Read something about camera angles - subjective, objective and point-of-view. What we see on screen is the result of a camera capturing the moving image. So we see what the camera sees. The camera and the audience see the same thing, always. But the angles, according to Mr. Mascelli determine the camera's role and our role and our perspective of the moving image being watched. In an objective angle, the characters don't look into the camera. The shots are stable, straight sensible ones of objects or people who have no care nor curiosity for the camera. Think it is good for expositions. Subjective angles are participatory. The character acknowledges the camera's presence, talks to the camera. The camera or the audience is involved in the story. The camera sometimes becomes a character in the story. Now that's cool. Dadi talks to me and I capture her images while she talks. So the camera and Supriya is the same thing for her. When I watch the footage, I see her looking at me, the camera, the audience. So if I add my character to the story, it might make a lot of sense.

Happie birthday mommie! You become more and more precious to me with the passage of time! Hope to make a good Irish Mutton stew for yoo :)

00:04 IST
Downstairs Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India

So much to say and nothing to talk about. The better half of the day was spent in a hungover state. The childhood best friend had her bachelorette last evening and time was spent drinking and dancing and drinking and recording drunk videos and drinking the the muddy, icky brown liqueour of old monks. Finalised some blouse pieces today. Slept. Read a LOT of Delhi by Khushwant Singh. I really dislike his expressions. He is vulgar and uses too many adjectives. But the stories are fascinating, so is the form. He translates memoirs and writes them in the first person as memoirs. Fun to read. I fretted about the docu as well. Not done anything on it except for fretting. Need to make a start soon. Lazy daisy work please!