Leaves of Love Table Top Calender

The leaves of love calender was made in January, but posting it now. It is made out of ordinary A4 size paper handpainted and cut into smaller size. Calender and pictures of leaves are handpainted. The calender sheets are then mounted on a cardboard piece, folded so as to work as a table top calender. Instead of the spiral binding, wool is used to keep them together which adds on to the handmade effect. 

The calender now rests on a different table :-)

My study table

There is no better way to tell someone that you want to be there every single day. Handcrafted with love!

...

I will never be able to see this again...
A tree...Bits of poetry...
Natraj Pencil.
our handwritings....
But we will have better walls, better pictures...
once upon a time..
Right, MJ?

in a knitting spree!!!

So artsomniac is knitting...knitting...knitting...The newest form of art which she started learning! Now artsomniac is part time apprentice learner to Madhatter whose blog link is given by the end of this post....all the rest of the time when artsomniac is not working on the thesis with the big T, she is knitting.... In short, life now is like read read read think type knit knit think read sleep knit talk knit sleep. Artsomniac is knitting for MJ, knitting for dad, also is thinking about knitting for herself... According to the levels of my master Ms Mad hatter, I am doing the easiest, basic level, the woolen muffler; two at a time. But the master's progress report says nice things about us apprentices!! yuppeee!!!

plan sabotage

It was such a fine day, artsomniac studied for a while, played with her pics and MJ's pics on befunky for fun, again studied, made a little christmas tree with friends and thought all the time about other christmases in other lifetimes. But after the Home minister made his vague, unsettled comments about the Telengana issue, the world next to her changed into a warfront again. Now there is curfew, bandh, what not. She was not too sentimental about losing a celebrated christmas, but for the exciting plans of cooking beef! ay ay!

Certain things happen without prior notice and it changes your life like you have never thought of before. No, artsomniac is not going to write praises for beef once again. But generally, she loves this unexpectedness of life. All nice things in her life, including MJ has happened unexpectedly.And that's the beauty of it.

She thinks after coming to EFLU, she has transformed herself to an incessant optimist. Let's see what will happen for christmas... Let's see what life has to offer which can outdo my passion for beef!!! Did artsomniac sound like a glutton just now?

shared conditions of life

the lover told me, once upon a time,
that all that is solid melts into air.
he meant a lot.
i thought a lot.
so far, so good.

soon, i know, he will tell me,
all that is holy is profaned.
and at last we will be compelled to face with sober senses,
our real conditions of life.
beautiful!
looking forward to it...

december again!

with december comes a lot of dreams...
memories, desires, longings...

this is artsomniac's third winter outside the humid heaves of kerala... there is an oxymoronic warmth for the winter which just takes her farfaraway...with hot tea and country songs playing in the background, a morbid, sweet pon and zi cartoon in her desktop which reflects her almost completely, she is going to go back to her study material now. she is glad, she is an early bird these days, starting her day with the voice she keeps close to her heart...

in december, love is the color.

five reasons why artsomniac loves e e cummings (the title comes only in caps, by default and thats a sad irony for this post)

reason one: he wrote i carry your heart with me which happens to be a favorite.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


reason two: he has an easily paintable face and it looks good in blue ;-)artsomniac painted this sometime last century:)




reason 3: he destroyed the hierarchy between the capital letters and small letters. democratic, huh?

reason 4: the way he writes his name in small letters is sort of cool.

reason 5: he uses a lot of moon imageries, which is artsomniac's favorite too.

Just because artsomniac loves her life

Its just taking her a bit longer to understand life. To come to terms with it. Otherwise why would she take two hours of speech to understand what is precious in life? It is life which is precious. Life of us as fellow human beings. This is going to be her constant point of view. her no- utopia of well being because she can never be anyone else. she can only be herself and she can only love what she loves.

Blue Canvas

When the Mountain Ram met the Twin Fish,in a Blue Sky.

The painting Arsomniac made in MJ's hostel room!

However, a room lost is a painting lost is a truckload of memories gained MJ.

homecoming song

bad dream
was a very bad dream
was a very bad dream was a very bad dream.

its going to be ok.
our home is full of love.

you be there for me safe and sound.
i am coming home soon.

beat the bad dream
lets beat the bad dream
beat the bad bad dream beat it really really hard.

thinking about a no-utopia love

Yesterday, when it was un-sun in Hyderabad, I sat on one of the empty chairs in front of Sagar Stores outside the University Library. I was sitting with a double coffee; in a happy mood, after my few months of illness and a few weeks of travel, revived to know myself and my other self better. I was all fresh, full of love and peace. Everything was positive. The evening air, the cool breeze, a lonely me; pure romantic setting! Sitting with the open book in my lap, I was lost in the new Murakami I gathered from the various Murakami lovers of the University.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
I suddenly felt that, may be, and may be this is what every woman or every man wants to find out in life. The 100% perfect one. And once you are there, you are not there forever. The 100% perfect one cannot stay perfect forever.I think what holds people together is the emotional interdependence you share with the other which in common language we call "intimacy". And that is something which you can never, ever fake, or so I feel. You can never be detached in love,nor be dispassionate. It is always an attachment, a passion and above all a deep rooted peace one feels with the other. Peace needn't necessarily be a silent and perfect way of being. Peace is there even in the most troubled relationships. The more complex the emotional interdependence is, the more pleasurable each other's presence will be. There will be times when you tend to confuse between your self and the self of the person whom you love. And along with the pleasures, there will be frustrations, anger and even hurt.Love transforms people, molds people in relation to the other person's identity, and as far as it is a mutual process, it is a real good thing to happen. No body is perfect and if you can undo certain things and add certain new things with the influence of the other and vice versa, eventually there will be two really nice human beings together, growing(glowing too) in love.
I think you should love, fight, shout, bully, console and again repeat all of these throughout to make it 100% forever. It is like refilling the glass again before it is empty. Oh, what is peace without War, honey? What is 100% without 99%? I think my mad self is back.I think I can talk endless rubbish when it comes to love. I think I should stop. I think I have loads of work to do. I think I have signed out.

Monologues of a Beef Eater

I love animals; especially in a nice gravy!


So dear all, the trip to Maula Ali was planned in the honour of Kay, Vee’s girlfriend who came to EFLU on a brief visit. Maula Ali is a hillful of awesomeness, especially in the evening. I personally would suggest to anybody who visits Hyderabad, that Ramoji Film city is not really the only must see ingredient. This old darga must probably be omitted from the usual conducted city tours which rush through Charminar, Chowmohalla palace, Salarjung Museum, Ramoji Film city and stuff. So, if you have ever been to Hyderabad and missed the huff puff through the four hundred steps and enjoy the view at dusk, you just missed it; that’s all. For all those who want tourist map information can go here.
We were six people, and after hours of bargaining with auto people, we found two autos who surprisingly agreed to run their meters too with the auto. Kay, Vee and the Kebab mein haddi (supposed to be me!!) got into one auto. The autowallah agreed to take us to Maula Ali darga, and we were happily sitting and chatting. Auto seemed to be a moving hindu shrine with all sorts of popular religious art stickers hung in that typical mango leaf pattern. The driver had a big red tilak on his forehead. These are the things I recollect now when I think about the whole situation. Then it was just an auto, just a man. We were just travelling. Who is bothered about religio-socio-politico-culturo-whatevero backgrounds of “selves” when you are taking somebody’s girl friend on a city tour? I am Christian, the other three including the driver are Hindu. Kay had a red bindi which was at least suggestive of her non-muslim identity. The conversation went on through different topics and stayed for a while on a possible beef biriani we might endeavour in for dinner environs maula ali. Was the driver becoming uncomfortable? I really did not notice since we were indulged in small talk and were not at all interested in looking at the driver as a case study material for our Religion, Secularism and Modernity Course.
However, since going to Maula Ali was not our everyday business, we were not quite sure about the hundreds of pocket roads which will all look similar to a stranger. Besides we were supposedly entrusted in the safe hands of an auto driver. To put it simple, we missed the way. The other friends had already reached the darga and we are still roaming in some strange place. Finally we asked him if he knows the darga and he said in a disinterested tone that there are so many dargas, masjids and all in that area. Hello!!! Atleast according to my very brief knowledge of Hyderabad, there is just one famous darga named Maula Ali in the whole of Hyderabad. Then, what are you saying? Are you trying to say that a local auto driver doesn’t know a famous tourist site nearby? Let me put it as a tourist site, because all of us who went were tourists, not believers. It is when we started noticing the ‘rath’ we travelled inside a religious identity.
The horror was yet to happen. We started discussing the issue in Malayalam, a regional tongue which the driver would never understand. After a while the driver stopped at one small junction and asked for directions to a muslim guy. He pointed to the left. All three of us saw this non verbal action with our non-cataract infected eyes. The driver came back and started to take us in the opposite direction. The opposite direction, my lord! Now that is outrageous. Finally we ended up giving more money than our other three friends spent for the auto they got into.
After a nice time spent in the darga, we moved out to look for a hotel to get beef biriyani. Hyderabadi Biriyani itself is good. But who ever has tasted the beef biriyani from the small muslim hotels in Hyderabad would say that it is the best. In the group, four of us were Malloos and as malloos we have a special emotional attachment with beef. In Kerala, as far as I know, you don’t have to lower your voice while talking about beef. I grew up as a Christian girl who eats hot beef curry with coconut pieces every Sunday and pack beef fry to school almost every day. Beef is just a normal thing, it is available in all non veg serving places in all possible forms. Beef freaks, check this out. Those who do not eat beef usually do mind their own plates and go ahead. No hallabols atleast in the dining table there. Even in comic versions of critiquing malayali male identity, ordering a plate of beef fry is important. Beef is blended in kerala cuisine. Oh my, I miss my place, atleast for beef if not for anything else.
But everywhere outside kerala, I lower my voice whenever I talk about beef. One of my best beef moments was cooking beef with mj at Jay’s place, Delhi. There was this hindu kid who was the best friend of Jay’s daughter. Both of them were playing in and around the house. It was our chance to cook beef in authentic central Travancore style. Mj being a real great cook, I had to just assist. But once the beef was hot and steamy, the debate was to whether give food to the other child too. How will all of us eat this divine delicacy without sharing it with a fellow human being? What if we give the kid some beef? What will happen if the kid’s orthodox non beef eater parents come to know that these horrid beef eaters cooked the sacred cow and put it in their offspring’s mouth? Finally the discussion ended and the kid was strategically manipulated to go back to her home and eat lunch there.

It is really sad to see that some among us cannot taste this wonderful, sacred gastronomic wonder. However, that’s not my headache. My only concern is, and demand is that I want to eat beef everywhere in India.And I do not want to lower my voice while I talk about something so dear to me as the sacred sacred BEEF. I was born as a beef eater; I want to die as a beef eater. Not even once will I think about defaming beef. I will never indulge in sacrilege against beef. In all my life, I will be your faithful admirer. In beef, we trust. Amen.

Love towards animals and eating their meat for survival is not a contradiction but a dialectical process. The essence of this process has been that human life is more important than animal life... A political party or a government cannot suspend food rights of people simply because the leadership of a ruling party does not like the taste of a particular food, or because it considers some animals sacred. --- Kancha Ilaiah in Beef, BJP and Food rights of people published in Economic and Political Weekly, June 5, 1996.

Train to the moonbeam

So you see, Today Annie too left. Like you. If you had gone to the humid, wetness of Kerala to bring back to me scents of fresh mud, She has gone to Mizoram and probably she will bring me back the chill in a glass jar. She would any ways bring me the mizo lungi she has promised. I feel like running away too, away from the heat. More than the heat, appa wanted me to be home. I wonder why I get into backlogs of work all the time. There used to be a girl who was more than a perfectionist to finish every work on time. She is dead. Sounds like the confessions of an old time good student, huh? I am glad she has gone.
It’s all a balancing act now. Deadlines crossing over another, but if I do not get lost in something else, I might just be meeting deadlines, dead ends. So I splurge, but not in lethargy as you may fear. I readreadreadread like crazy. All sorts of things. My afternoon siestas, well you cannot practically think about anything else in this weather, then my movie doses. My endless midnight strolls to stare at the moon beam, the chai outside the reading room at 2 in the morning, again going back to the books. Oh, there was somebody I knew who used to sleep at nine and drank only coffee. Well, I can’t afford to sleep even though the floor is beckoning. You heard it right, who can sleep on a bed these days?
Annie slept early tonight in a happy go lucky upper berth. Her good night missed call was quite early today. My last memories of a train journey is with Terry Eagleton and Marxist Literary Criticism, a blue bottle of water and memories of a thousand journeys. Who went back to write a letter? Spaces in the wall for generations to scribble their dreams.