Random Snippets from the Consummate Traveler’s Personal Logs

Am I destined for my destination?

I’ve been travelling my whole life – for 26.5 years now. And only a few days of that time did I spend physically moving from one place to another. But I’ve traveled. I’ve traveled through books and words, through movies and music, through ideas and people, through every possible and impossible thing I’ve encountered.  Whatever I see or touch or taste, I stick a pair of wings to and make my next mode of transportation.

And, oh how I do fly…

I fly from one place to the next thing and then elsewhere and then next door and then wherever next. There’s always another place I have to see; someone else I have to be.

But it’s in moments like this that I travel back home. It’s in the quiet light of my room that I start undressing. It’s in the tired remains of my day that I think back to who I am. And if I’m anything at all, it’s who I am to you; it’s what I mean to you.

And so, in the quiet tired moments when I’m undeniably wide awake and yet so close to falling asleep, that’s when I travel to you. That’s when I use 26 years worth travelling experience to dissolve into an insubstantial, invisible, formless idea that is my final mode of waking transportation. I travel different in my dreams. But this gossamer idea that I embrace, so completely that it’s pressed into my skin, lifts me away to where you are. I have access to the possibility of you. And because I have a traveler’s soul, I fear I will never truly feel the despair of not actually, physically reaching you. You are my destination. But the journey itself, that is my destiny.

And I do it well.



Plug your ears
Make sure you’re stone deaf
Close your eyes
Be blind, blind, no hindsight
And cover
Cover your mouth
Be mute, mutiny another day
Cover you face, cower
And then, hear it, that familiar tune
That old shriek
Torn out from your throat
Against your wish, torn out from your mouth
The words putting images to the thoughts
Let me conjure up the demons, the vespers
The fires from heaven, the summers from hell
The flowers blooming over a thousand rivers,
Rolling waves over a thousand coasts
Throw them up in the air
Catch them in your palm
They belong to the creator
Created in the recesses of your mind
Pumped to an excited state, charged to maintain speed
Aligned to maintain direction
Headed straight for the stars
A one-way track set up in time
Go back and forth and back again
And hide
And pounce out, from behind unexpected days
And unnoticed moments
To scare the living daylights off the victim
The victim’s in your head
You wish you could materialize him
He’s the tormentor in your life
And you cover your ears
And you close your eyes
And still see all and hear all
And feel more than everything put together
And when you open them the next instant
You have opened the safe in your head
And let out the wild beasts, the dancers
The carnival queens and the carnage kings
And god and devil and dogs and cats
And mountains of long ago
Covered with ice, capped in snow
And last to leave
A trail of tap-dancing monkeys
And little black unknown things
That make little unheard sounds as they scuttle by


Cover your ears
Hide your face
Close your eyes
Because in the span of a blink
You’ve breathed in air and next to nothing
And breathed out a spectacle, a fantastic link
Of wonder and dread
And the spells that crying stones shed
The things that crawl from underneath the bed
The things that unravel from your head
Blink and miss
And create and feel
And live
And blink.


All reason, all existence for this moment
All loss, all gain, all tears and pain
For this second
All sleep and waking hours
And daylight dreams and nightmares
For this moment
Of release, of end
Of forever sleeping
When no longer required
Forever still and still
When no longer noticed
And forever quiet
That falls on deaf ears
And echoes around cold stone
That I shall once again walk over
When I stir
And Blink

Daily Prompt: Mad as a Hatter

I actually have a very bad temper. Depending on the level of BS that a person or situation is filled with, I could fly off the handle in seconds or just build up steam like a volcano until the inevitable happens.

But mostly I stay calm and composed (and any pummeling or hacking-to-tiny-bits-with-an-axe happens solely inside my head). 

I especially don’t lose my cool in front of my colleagues and workplace peers (seeing as how that’s considered unprofessional).

This happened when I was working as an Assistant Director (AD) in Chennai. My Director, Atlee, is this super-sweet awesome dude and he took me under his wing from day one (what with being the only female on that entire team) and I was always really decent in front of him. There’s this other guy, one of the senior ADs, called Bakki and he used to majorly piss me off in the beginning.

(Come to think of it, I probably majorly pissed him off too)

We’d argue about movies, about songs, about whether or not something was “right”, etc. Picture me (a walking, enlightened circus of everything imaginable) and him (Mr. old fashioned chauvinistic stick-in-the-mud young guy) arguing over whether or not it was ‘okay’ for women to wear shorts, smoke, men to cry, a woman to hit a man in a particular scene, etc, etc..

(to quote a few random wild stereotypical examples)

Everything we’d argue about would eventually boil down to the extremely worn-out and cliched men vs. women topic (which isn’t even a topic in my head – do monkeys or snails have such debates? No!! There is no men vs. women; there’s just dumb-as-fuck humans vs. slightly less-dumb humans and EVERYBODY, irrespective or gender, falls under one of those two very broad categories)

Anyway, sorry for digressing – that happens a lot to me.

So, like I was saying, we’d been arguing for weeks: during AD meetings, during office work, during shooting; all the time. Everybody else in the office found this very hilarious, of course: an endless source of entertainment.

Now, I have this little blue diary (Nightingale A5-ish diary) and I scribble, doodle and take notes in it. NOBODY is allowed to write in my diary. NOBODY. And once, during a meeting, someone tried to take a page (the horror) from the book and I flipped out. You DO NOT tear pages off a diary.

So, that’s the background detail. The actual bad temper episode happened when Sir (my DIR) and Bakki were sitting together and discussing a scene and I was there taking notes in my little blue diary. Just for laughs and also to break the monotony, sir asked us to discuss something and soon we were arguing (Bakki and I) and he took my book and drew this big ugly face right in the back, on the last page. Now, I don’t know if anybody else here can identify with this – but the last page is SUPPOSED to be left blank unless the owner of the diary has something specific she wants to put there. I think I lost a few brain cells in that moment. I had warned this guy before about messing with my stationary; call it my pet peeve.

I got so mad, I snatched the diary from him and tore away the last few pages; I then scrunched up each and every page into tiny, hateful balls and threw them at his face. All the while, my slightly-shocked and definitely-amused director looked on in silence.

Here’s another little background info – you NEVER show that kind of disrespect in front of your director (who is like your guru, your mentor, especially in the Indian Film Industries; never mind that he is barely four years older to you and is struggling to keep a straight face).

Bakki and I nearly came to blows that day. Thankfully, my sir intervened and he berated us. He “yelled” at Bakki for ragging on me, especially since I had changed cities to work for him and I didn’t have ‘anyone’ in Chennai (and it was up to the team to take care of me, which they did very sincerely). He “yelled” at me for losing my temper and screaming and tearing things up while my ‘director’ was watching.

It all seemed very funny later on and my fellow ADs liked to tell that tale during late hours at work. But it wasn’t all that cracking when it happened.

There you go – that’s one of my Mad-as-a-Hatter moments.

(There was this other time when I screamed and yelled at work at another AD. I’ll write about it next I guess)

(We’re all good friends now, in case I hadn’t made that clear earlier)