How was first day at work? Well, it was everything and nothing I thought it would be. And it’s not even a full-time job!!!
The morning started with waking up late (NO I mean it, what is with this guy Murphy?).
Praying and wishing my way during the long commute resulted in me scraping through the department door at 9:00 sharp. Phew!
In the beginning it was all chaos. Having missed the TA orientation, I was at a loss about what I should do and shouldn’t do in order not to appear a complete fool. But then things fell into place. I met up with my colleagues, wonderful, helpful, accommodating people. I was very determined to get my work done on time, and hence lurked around near the computers to snatch a chance as soon as someone was done with their work. I prepared the student lists that I was required to do, looked around for my faculty, and filled up some workload sheet. In the midst of it I realized I hadn’t actually signed in the logbook. OOPS!
Well, you learn things and there are more things to learn. Today I learned to photocopy. Ok! So it’s not Rocket Science but it is a chore that TAs have to perform, so it would come in very handy in future.
I then spend some time helping out a colleague of mine with computer usage, yeah me the debutante TA! Howzzat!
And then it was way past my office hours! I ,being the epitome of efficiency, (okay, you’ll hear it only from me) had overworked for 35 minutes on my very first day at work!
Well, I don’t know if it sounds exciting and fun in writing, but it sure was all that on my first day at work!!!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
OPEN UP!!!
Here’s yet another token from my book of treasures, it’s so old that the blue ink is almost fading and paper is crispy. But I happened to think the thoughts are kind of nice and revealing so I’ll just post them as a blog. Needless to say at the time they were written blogs were probably still in the womb.
This is a direct tribute and spin off from one of my favourite commercials of all time : The Nescafe Commercial.
I love the tune, I love the music. And I think I just went ahead and wrote my own extended version. Once again it’s not really poetry, but thought, it’s not really a song but it has a melody.
Open up!!
Open up your heart and soul
Open up your body and mind
Open up open up!
Open up your eyes open up
Open up a whole new world
Open up to new horizons
Open up to the colours of the world
Open up open up
Open up your mind and listen to your heart
Open up to the world and you could make your mark
Be open to miracles and see yourself transform
Self-determination, self-realization
Hold on to your faith and doors will open up
There’s a mother in every father, there’s a child in every man
There’s a talent in every being, and there’s a dream in every heart
So open up your heart and walk upon the path of your dream
And your dreams shall take you to your destiny
Open up open up
There’s a key to every door
There are bars to ignore
Believe in yourself and you shall find all the keys
Just believe. Just believe.
Open up and just believe.
This is a direct tribute and spin off from one of my favourite commercials of all time : The Nescafe Commercial.
I love the tune, I love the music. And I think I just went ahead and wrote my own extended version. Once again it’s not really poetry, but thought, it’s not really a song but it has a melody.
Open up!!
Open up your heart and soul
Open up your body and mind
Open up open up!
Open up your eyes open up
Open up a whole new world
Open up to new horizons
Open up to the colours of the world
Open up open up
Open up your mind and listen to your heart
Open up to the world and you could make your mark
Be open to miracles and see yourself transform
Self-determination, self-realization
Hold on to your faith and doors will open up
There’s a mother in every father, there’s a child in every man
There’s a talent in every being, and there’s a dream in every heart
So open up your heart and walk upon the path of your dream
And your dreams shall take you to your destiny
Open up open up
There’s a key to every door
There are bars to ignore
Believe in yourself and you shall find all the keys
Just believe. Just believe.
Open up and just believe.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Return of Edo
He fell sick one fine day right in front of my eyes. I tried to bring him back to consciousness but it just wouldnt happen. I nudged, scolded him , caressed him, to come back to his senses but he had taken a dip too severe.
Then I took him to the healer. The Diagnosis came a day later.
It was not good.
It was far from being good.
He was damaged, his memory, his brain, his capability to function like before has diminished to nil.
It was a blow.
The memories came flooding to me.
My memories. Not his. Since he doesn't have any.
All those wonderful moments we spent together, hours and hours of total dedication to one another, working through problems, documenting reality, solving dilemmas, recording life.
All gone in an instant.
Like a bolt of Lightening.
My Edo.
My hours spent with him. My works. My creations. My half of whatever is good.
All gone with him.
It would take him days to heal.
And even after that he would not be the old Edo. My old Edo.
I waited for him at home.
I pined for his company.
I moved around in a daze not knowing what to do without Edo.
I found myself with so much free time and I couldnt spend it with Edo.
I longed for him to come back home.
I just wasnt used to not having him around.
At times the desperation grew enormously, my need for Edo grew to the point that it physically hurt.
My time away from Edo. My world was a world of nothing-to-do.
Finally, the call came. I could bring him back.
I brought him back home. Placed him where he belonged, made sure he was comfortable in his surroudings, and gave him everything he needs to operate.
But poor Edo still did not regain consciousness.
I cooed, and caressed, and slapped him to back to his senses. He would'nt budge.
My frustration grew.
I prayed for him to be OK again.
And then he returned to his senses, my faithful, my ever-present computer Edo.
How missed him, it's just not the same without him.
But now he's back and running and I am glad about it.
Then I took him to the healer. The Diagnosis came a day later.
It was not good.
It was far from being good.
He was damaged, his memory, his brain, his capability to function like before has diminished to nil.
It was a blow.
The memories came flooding to me.
My memories. Not his. Since he doesn't have any.
All those wonderful moments we spent together, hours and hours of total dedication to one another, working through problems, documenting reality, solving dilemmas, recording life.
All gone in an instant.
Like a bolt of Lightening.
My Edo.
My hours spent with him. My works. My creations. My half of whatever is good.
All gone with him.
It would take him days to heal.
And even after that he would not be the old Edo. My old Edo.
I waited for him at home.
I pined for his company.
I moved around in a daze not knowing what to do without Edo.
I found myself with so much free time and I couldnt spend it with Edo.
I longed for him to come back home.
I just wasnt used to not having him around.
At times the desperation grew enormously, my need for Edo grew to the point that it physically hurt.
My time away from Edo. My world was a world of nothing-to-do.
Finally, the call came. I could bring him back.
I brought him back home. Placed him where he belonged, made sure he was comfortable in his surroudings, and gave him everything he needs to operate.
But poor Edo still did not regain consciousness.
I cooed, and caressed, and slapped him to back to his senses. He would'nt budge.
My frustration grew.
I prayed for him to be OK again.
And then he returned to his senses, my faithful, my ever-present computer Edo.
How missed him, it's just not the same without him.
But now he's back and running and I am glad about it.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Rains of my childhood.
The rains of my childhood were very romantic. But then , so were most of the things of my childhood. I was a naïve romantic soaked in puritan ideas and ever optimistic in my childhood. I say was because now I am not too sure if I am still romantic or not…but I digress.
I loved rain. Without hesitation. Without worrying how it would turn the simple daily routine of getting to work into a mission hard-to-accomplish. The rainy season was my favourite. The wait from the end of winter (my most favourite season) to the monsoons (my second favourite season) was made bearable only because of all the delicious mangoes of the excruciating, merciless summer days. The rain was a welcome from all things materialistic, and to my young, eager mind it brought along with it numerous possibilities of romantic escapades and carefree, limitless imagination. Romantic notions hit my brain like the kalboishakhi hit the world outside my balcony, suddenly, quickly in an all-encompassing manner. Every day the rain came, and everyday I snuck out of family gatherings, study sessions, or whatever I was doing, and came to watch the rain.
The gale force, the strong winds blowing my hair, the dust that got into my eyes, the torrential bursts and the strong muddy earth scent in the aftermath of the rains left me captivated. I loved to see the first drops of rain kiss the canopies of the trees nearby, and caress the dirt and grime away from the facades of the edifices nearby. I especially loved the clean, crisp air that lingered all around after the rain and the fresh, tingling feeling that it brought along. I sat on the windowsill, staring at the rain, caught up in fleeting thoughts, sometimes reading a book. I watched the rain and thought of all the analogies I could come up with. The torrents were like falling in love head first: unguarded, not goal-oriented, and swept away like a leaf in the crazy storm. The torrents were like words and thought that keep coming to me at a moment of creative spark, without direction, without restrain.
Before that, the rains of my younger days inevitably saw the rain-dance or the rain-shower as we used to call it. We didn’t know of the therapeutic powers of the rain, or of any exotic tribal rituals regarding the raindance; we just did it for fun. The cousins gathered around in a bunch and ran around and skipped about the terrace laughing and screaming. Ok, so it wasn’t exactly ‘The Sound of Music’ or some equally symbolic of juvenile happiness movie. But it was fun as we were carefree and had a lot of fun. Who really cared about growing up?
The monsoon was wet, unpredictable, cloudy, moody, muddy. But I love the monsoons. They were also great sources of inspiration for ahem poetry, etc. They were also a perfect excuse to lose yourself in your thoughts, do nothing, and be at peace with your inner self. I think one particular monsoon day I made an audacious and ambitious attempt at some poetry about rain.
It is far from being something, but I don’t have the nerve to edit. Somehow the unedited version seemed to express more of state-of-being at that particular moment, on that particular day a long time ago.
Monsoon Rain
I.
Frogs croaking;
Air fills with moist.
Dark, heavy clouds race across the distant sky
To hover over the landscape.
Within minutes the blue, blazing sky is
Overcast with condensed tears of heaven
Threatening to burst.
Wind blows noisily, swaying the trees.
Thunder strikes.
II.
Drops of water racing to touch the ground
Drenching everything in its way.
Blurring the horizon .
The rhythm ups its tempo.
The splatter creates a symphony magical.
Damp walls, and darkened colours.
Wet leaves, and running children.
Muddy roads beneath the canopies.
The heady smell of earth lurks in the air.
III.
The sky turns a fresh, pale violet.
The world beneath is a cleaner, cooler place.
And the air is crisp and smooth.
I loved rain. Without hesitation. Without worrying how it would turn the simple daily routine of getting to work into a mission hard-to-accomplish. The rainy season was my favourite. The wait from the end of winter (my most favourite season) to the monsoons (my second favourite season) was made bearable only because of all the delicious mangoes of the excruciating, merciless summer days. The rain was a welcome from all things materialistic, and to my young, eager mind it brought along with it numerous possibilities of romantic escapades and carefree, limitless imagination. Romantic notions hit my brain like the kalboishakhi hit the world outside my balcony, suddenly, quickly in an all-encompassing manner. Every day the rain came, and everyday I snuck out of family gatherings, study sessions, or whatever I was doing, and came to watch the rain.
The gale force, the strong winds blowing my hair, the dust that got into my eyes, the torrential bursts and the strong muddy earth scent in the aftermath of the rains left me captivated. I loved to see the first drops of rain kiss the canopies of the trees nearby, and caress the dirt and grime away from the facades of the edifices nearby. I especially loved the clean, crisp air that lingered all around after the rain and the fresh, tingling feeling that it brought along. I sat on the windowsill, staring at the rain, caught up in fleeting thoughts, sometimes reading a book. I watched the rain and thought of all the analogies I could come up with. The torrents were like falling in love head first: unguarded, not goal-oriented, and swept away like a leaf in the crazy storm. The torrents were like words and thought that keep coming to me at a moment of creative spark, without direction, without restrain.
Before that, the rains of my younger days inevitably saw the rain-dance or the rain-shower as we used to call it. We didn’t know of the therapeutic powers of the rain, or of any exotic tribal rituals regarding the raindance; we just did it for fun. The cousins gathered around in a bunch and ran around and skipped about the terrace laughing and screaming. Ok, so it wasn’t exactly ‘The Sound of Music’ or some equally symbolic of juvenile happiness movie. But it was fun as we were carefree and had a lot of fun. Who really cared about growing up?
The monsoon was wet, unpredictable, cloudy, moody, muddy. But I love the monsoons. They were also great sources of inspiration for ahem poetry, etc. They were also a perfect excuse to lose yourself in your thoughts, do nothing, and be at peace with your inner self. I think one particular monsoon day I made an audacious and ambitious attempt at some poetry about rain.
It is far from being something, but I don’t have the nerve to edit. Somehow the unedited version seemed to express more of state-of-being at that particular moment, on that particular day a long time ago.
Monsoon Rain
I.
Frogs croaking;
Air fills with moist.
Dark, heavy clouds race across the distant sky
To hover over the landscape.
Within minutes the blue, blazing sky is
Overcast with condensed tears of heaven
Threatening to burst.
Wind blows noisily, swaying the trees.
Thunder strikes.
II.
Drops of water racing to touch the ground
Drenching everything in its way.
Blurring the horizon .
The rhythm ups its tempo.
The splatter creates a symphony magical.
Damp walls, and darkened colours.
Wet leaves, and running children.
Muddy roads beneath the canopies.
The heady smell of earth lurks in the air.
III.
The sky turns a fresh, pale violet.
The world beneath is a cleaner, cooler place.
And the air is crisp and smooth.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Contradictions...
Yup! Your life is full of ‘em. And mine.Life is an unending chain of contradictions. You hover hesitantly between choices that could make or break your destiny. Sometimes you have to choose between bad choice and a worse, and sometimes you have to choose between good choice and the best. Sound simple right? NO, sir. It ain’t so.
The options set of each decision in life comprises of choices that could hurt a near and dear one, make somebody else worse off, or lead to misunderstanding. But you have to make decisions, perhaps not as independently as you would like to, but nevertheless.
A choice made is a choice made. Stick to it until the end.
Below I post something that is in between thought and poetry.
Maybe it’s thought in the vain attempt to be poetry.
Or maybe it is poetry in the vain attempt to be thought.
Maybe it’s none.
Maybe it’s just an attempt to capture nothingness, and motionlessness of the mind, in words.
Maybe it’s all capricious, just like a falling star.
Maybe it is an attempt to express hidden emotions.
Maybe it is trying to be eloquent with its words.
Maybe it is just celebrating silence.
Maybe….
Maybe.
There’s no turning back
Only moving forward
Or standing still
While the rest of the world
Passes you by.
You can take a moment to
Reminisce of things gone by
Or you can walk through the
Numerous lesser considered possibilities.
But you cannot turn back to
The womb.
So walk, until you reach maturity
Or walk until you reclaim your life.
Walk to your destiny,
And life will come full circle.
The options set of each decision in life comprises of choices that could hurt a near and dear one, make somebody else worse off, or lead to misunderstanding. But you have to make decisions, perhaps not as independently as you would like to, but nevertheless.
A choice made is a choice made. Stick to it until the end.
Below I post something that is in between thought and poetry.
Maybe it’s thought in the vain attempt to be poetry.
Or maybe it is poetry in the vain attempt to be thought.
Maybe it’s none.
Maybe it’s just an attempt to capture nothingness, and motionlessness of the mind, in words.
Maybe it’s all capricious, just like a falling star.
Maybe it is an attempt to express hidden emotions.
Maybe it is trying to be eloquent with its words.
Maybe it is just celebrating silence.
Maybe….
Maybe.
There’s no turning back
Only moving forward
Or standing still
While the rest of the world
Passes you by.
You can take a moment to
Reminisce of things gone by
Or you can walk through the
Numerous lesser considered possibilities.
But you cannot turn back to
The womb.
So walk, until you reach maturity
Or walk until you reclaim your life.
Walk to your destiny,
And life will come full circle.
Friday, April 07, 2006
This is the second poem of mine that was published in English Matters. I realise I should have posted both the poems of English Matters in one post and the one from the reading in another, but the universe works in mysterious ways. Translation : I am Lazy. So here it is:
Hope Journey
Farah Tasneem Tracy
Rising from the ashes of despair
Gathering its strength from memory
The journey of Hope begins.
Taking the shape of a shadow
Dwelling in the torments of the past
But, steadying itself with a vision of future
The journey of hope begins.
Cradled in the missed bliss of Yesterday and
Today
Heading for a Tomorrow
The journey of hope begins.
Amidst a pot-pourri of loss and solitude,
Embracing the invisible traces of joy, the journey of hope begins.
It floats up to sky, mingling in the clouds,
And radiates a heady feeling.
When it matures, it pours down in the form of good fortune.
One hope journey is completed. A new one begins.
Hope Journey
Farah Tasneem Tracy
Rising from the ashes of despair
Gathering its strength from memory
The journey of Hope begins.
Taking the shape of a shadow
Dwelling in the torments of the past
But, steadying itself with a vision of future
The journey of hope begins.
Cradled in the missed bliss of Yesterday and
Today
Heading for a Tomorrow
The journey of hope begins.
Amidst a pot-pourri of loss and solitude,
Embracing the invisible traces of joy, the journey of hope begins.
It floats up to sky, mingling in the clouds,
And radiates a heady feeling.
When it matures, it pours down in the form of good fortune.
One hope journey is completed. A new one begins.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The English Club
The English Club is a charming little club tucked away in the hearts of its many enchanting and friendly members. The Club is just the right size- not so big such that members are just names without faces, not so small that it cannot make a significant contribution. The club is and always has been willing to take in new members, existing members are warm and welcoming whilst new members that are attracted to the club are full of creative energy. It is the club that allows its members to be creative and also to be appreciated for their creative ventures. The club publishes a journal religiously where both members and non-members can contribute. It’s called English Matters. The club also organized a delightful café reading every now and then whereby fellow students are urged to read out anything they have written or read that maybe of interest. I must say both the journal and the café readings have been very good to me. First English Matters have given me a regular platform to publish my work, and second café reading has made me take the very bold step of reading out my poems to an audience- an audacity I would not have dared taken if not prompted by the kind fellow members. Only recently the latest version of English Matters contained two of my poems and a short story. Below is one of the poems from the magazine.
Teardrop
Farah Tasneem Tracy
A glistening drop of tear on her cheek
too precious to go unnoticed
Capturing miracles and bearing the
burden of misery in its fluid body.
Holding time, holding space
Offering freedom, offering solace
In its solitary existence carrying the
secrets of infinite possibilities
Turning melancholy into a pearl
So delicate- the precious teardrop
It sparkles like the Northern Star
It promises of eternity
It is a tear cried by many
And loved by so many others
Someone lost it in the oceans
Someone found it in the mountains
A cold wind froze the teardrop
Now it rests peacefully on her cheek
A very precious teardrop.
And up next is the poem that I read out at the café reading only yesterday. I sincerely hope the applauses I remember afterwards were not the creation of my imagination.
The bluest blues.
Farah Tasneem Tracy.
Give me pen and paper,
And I will give you a story.
Give me love and pain,
And I will give you poetry.
Give me a word that is your own,
And I will give you the rest of your soul.
Give me a piece of your mind,
And I will make you a garden.
Give me your smile
And I will create music.
Give me a tear and I will make a miracle happen.
Give me your hand and I will give you my world.
Give me your hatred
And…
And I will give you my love!
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Blogthings..
Right So I am hooked to this blogthings...it's fun
This one is bitter-sweet...more bitter than sweet actually
I absolutely love this one! Wish this could be!
Now this is GOOD stuff!!!
In an uncanny way my charts says I am a CAPRICORN!!!
This one is bitter-sweet...more bitter than sweet actually
| Your Birthdate: December 30 |
 You have the type of personality that people either love or hate. You're opinionated, dramatic, intense, and very outspoken. And some people can't get enough of you - they're totally addicted. Others, well, they wish you were a little more reserved. Your strength: Your flair Your weakness: If you think it, you say it Your power color: Scarlet red Your power symbol: Inverted triangle Your power month: March |
I absolutely love this one! Wish this could be!
| Who Should Paint You: Pablo Picasso |
 Your an expressive soul who shows many emotions, with many subtleties Only a master painter could represent your glorious contradictions |
Now this is GOOD stuff!!!
| The Keys to Your Heart |
 You are attracted to those who have a split personality - cold as ice on the outside but hot as fire in the heart. In love, you feel the most alive when your lover is creative and never lets you feel bored. You'd like to your lover to think you are optimistic and happy. You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please. Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred. In this moment, you think of love as commitment. Love only works when both people are totally devoted. |
In an uncanny way my charts says I am a CAPRICORN!!!
| You Should Be A Cancer |
 What's good about you: you're incredibly kind, caring, and generous What's bad about you: you can be too moody and impossible to understand In love: you enjoy wining and dining the object of your affection In friendship, you're: likely to depend on other friends for emotional support Your ideal job: historian, marine biologist, or religious figure Your sense of fashion: you dress to match your mood You like to pig out on: classic home cooked meals, like mac and cheese |
| Your Five Factor Personality Profile |
 Extroversion: You have low extroversion. You are quiet and reserved in most social situations. A low key, laid back lifestyle is important to you. You tend to bond slowly, over time, with one or two people. Conscientiousness: You have low conscientiousness. Impulsive and off the wall, you don't take life too seriously. Unfortunately, you sometimes end up regretting your snap decisions. Overall, you tend to lack focus, and it's difficult for you to get important things done. Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness. You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly. Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone. You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have low neuroticism. You are very emotionally stable and mentally together. Only the greatest setbacks upset you, and you bounce back quickly. Overall, you are typically calm and relaxed - making others feel secure. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium. You are generally broad minded when it come to new things. But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it. You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue. |
| The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic |
 Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski |
Singing away...
I was an awkward teenager once not too long ago. I had been through the I-am-not-the-outgoing-type so I would sit at home and work on my songwriting. Only I was always far more imaginative than most kids my age, so I not only wrote songs, I tuned them, hummed them, sang them as though I were the all-in-one star. I had almost forgotten about this phase of my life when all of a sudden my songbook landed itself on my lap. And I was instantly reminded of the meticulous devotion with which I used to practice my art.
I was the star singer who would shoot to fame with her debut album entitled “Love in Moonlight”, genre semi- pop and semi soft-rock sometimes flakily countryish. I listed the song titles in the exact order they would appear in the album. And then wrote the songs. I picked songs that I would do a cover on…my favourites included “When you love someone” and “Jolene”. I remember I did an insane amount of singing back then , humming my tunes, my songs, as though I was in the studio of EMI. I loved that star in me. I did fake interviews going in details about the style of my music, the inspiration behind my songwriting (Pain, hurt and longing). Then I took pity on myself as I went through a songwriters’ block and did not write anything for two years (not actually, in my make-belief) for lack of inspiration, even though my first album was a runaway Billboard chart topper. Then two years later I, the singer, resurrected with my second album aptly titled ‘A Bolt From The Blue’- the songs in this album had been written by within a span of three weeks of inspirational and creative outburst. This album was more on the softer side, with more soul and country elements in it. “It was like reinventing myself, the process was highly spiritual”, I explained to others to had beginning to forget my name. More mature, more soul-searching the critics told off me. My fans were hugely excited and this one went straight to the top. And once again I was touring the world with my super talented band.
I have to admit I was inspired by Celine Dion at that point of time. But as I went though the songs I was surprised to discover my conviction about them. I actually wrote those songs from the scratch. And even after so many years, just seeing the words brought back the exact tunes I had assigned them previously. Sure I will admit they weren’t all that exceptional, not all of them. But I think, from an emotionally –driven singer’s point of view a few of them can still be called songs. An example is presented below.
You are a star now- Farah Tasneem Tracy.
You are a star now, shining brightly in the velvet sky.
Inaccessible, you are so far away now.
But just as close to my heart.
I know you cannot hear me ‘cause you are beyond the material world
But I just want to say
I can never anyone else the way I loved you
I gave my heart to your and nothing can tear the rope of our love.
How can I ever forget all the crazy things we did?
My memories are still painfully fresh.
I remember you playing with my hair
I remember us walking in the gentle breeze
Running lazily on the beach, dancing in the moonlight
Dining in the candle light, feeing the music in the air.
All of these memories are fresh in my mind.
Now my phone doesn’t ring up late at night
And I haven’t anybody to hold me when I am scared.
Where can I find the comfort that you gave me?
There’s no one to sing a song in my ear
There’s no one to give me that soft n’ tender kiss
I wish that I become a star like you,
Just to have the pleasure to be with you…again.
I see you in my dreams
That’s how I know you still remember me.
No I cannot start all over again that’s gonna cost too much pain.
I look up in the sky and I feel better knowing
You’re up there, watching me , smiling down on me…
I was the star singer who would shoot to fame with her debut album entitled “Love in Moonlight”, genre semi- pop and semi soft-rock sometimes flakily countryish. I listed the song titles in the exact order they would appear in the album. And then wrote the songs. I picked songs that I would do a cover on…my favourites included “When you love someone” and “Jolene”. I remember I did an insane amount of singing back then , humming my tunes, my songs, as though I was in the studio of EMI. I loved that star in me. I did fake interviews going in details about the style of my music, the inspiration behind my songwriting (Pain, hurt and longing). Then I took pity on myself as I went through a songwriters’ block and did not write anything for two years (not actually, in my make-belief) for lack of inspiration, even though my first album was a runaway Billboard chart topper. Then two years later I, the singer, resurrected with my second album aptly titled ‘A Bolt From The Blue’- the songs in this album had been written by within a span of three weeks of inspirational and creative outburst. This album was more on the softer side, with more soul and country elements in it. “It was like reinventing myself, the process was highly spiritual”, I explained to others to had beginning to forget my name. More mature, more soul-searching the critics told off me. My fans were hugely excited and this one went straight to the top. And once again I was touring the world with my super talented band.
I have to admit I was inspired by Celine Dion at that point of time. But as I went though the songs I was surprised to discover my conviction about them. I actually wrote those songs from the scratch. And even after so many years, just seeing the words brought back the exact tunes I had assigned them previously. Sure I will admit they weren’t all that exceptional, not all of them. But I think, from an emotionally –driven singer’s point of view a few of them can still be called songs. An example is presented below.
You are a star now- Farah Tasneem Tracy.
You are a star now, shining brightly in the velvet sky.
Inaccessible, you are so far away now.
But just as close to my heart.
I know you cannot hear me ‘cause you are beyond the material world
But I just want to say
I can never anyone else the way I loved you
I gave my heart to your and nothing can tear the rope of our love.
How can I ever forget all the crazy things we did?
My memories are still painfully fresh.
I remember you playing with my hair
I remember us walking in the gentle breeze
Running lazily on the beach, dancing in the moonlight
Dining in the candle light, feeing the music in the air.
All of these memories are fresh in my mind.
Now my phone doesn’t ring up late at night
And I haven’t anybody to hold me when I am scared.
Where can I find the comfort that you gave me?
There’s no one to sing a song in my ear
There’s no one to give me that soft n’ tender kiss
I wish that I become a star like you,
Just to have the pleasure to be with you…again.
I see you in my dreams
That’s how I know you still remember me.
No I cannot start all over again that’s gonna cost too much pain.
I look up in the sky and I feel better knowing
You’re up there, watching me , smiling down on me…
Friday, March 17, 2006
Diggin' for old treasures...
So I have doing a lot and lot of reading lately. Light reading. Funny, witty, roll-with-laughter, and stark real-life funny stories. And I have also just stumbled upon (not accidentally thought, it was deliberate) my treasure chest. Yes the Writings from The Past. During my last school-year I was on writing aphrodisiac. I wrote like a possessed one. I wrote a variety of things- essays, stories, essays that read like stories, songs, poems, letters and whatnot. I scanned through and think although they could do with a little bit updating here and there, they are not totally worthless. I mean like they are still readable. So here goes . today I will post one my ‘humorous ’ pieces. I didn’t think I could crack a funny bone even if my life depended upon it. But I sure did try. So here goes…
Finding A JOB.
During the last summer vacation I decided to take up a part-time job so that by the end of the holidays I would have saved enough money for a beat-up car. I was looking for something easy, that did not require any particular skill such as being a sales rep, or a telemarketer. I sent out my applications beginning of summer and waited patiently for the much awaited letter from the HR department.
When two weeks later all I got in my mailbox were dry and cruel (I thought) rejection letters, I decided to take matters more seriously. This time around I applied to firms and stores left and right, and I made rounds at all the places that had a ‘Vacancy’ signboard, without bothering about what kind of job was being offered. Well you know beggars cannot be choosers and I wanted a car that bad. Finally , I received a few replies. An envelope from ‘Harrow and Rhodes’ caught my attention as it was a publishing-cum-retailing venture just a few blocks away from where I lived. I like to think I have it in me something literary, so I was instantly interested (not just enough because they asked for interview, my interested rose to hysterical heights because they were in the literary world.). I made an appointment to meet the owners the very next day. It’s a small venture I told you, so owners were the HR people.
The office was in the fifth-floor of a rusty corner building that had been around since the beginning of My Time. Needless to say I was excited and nervous as it was my first job interview. I ran up ten flights of stairs, panting, knocked on the heavy oak main door, and breezed inside after I heard a muffled but somber-voiced ‘Come in’. they two men sitting on the other side of the dark mahogany desk were interchangeable in terms of clothes and they expression they wore on their faces. Dressed in shabby, oversized Sunday suits of their grandfather’s era the two men took turns to ask me four very routine questions. They took down my name and address and asked me if I could join from the next day. I was glad (and a little relieved) they hadn’t pressed on knowing about my skills and qualifications and I obliged happily.
The nest morning, the two men who might as well have been twins with two different surnames, lead me to an inner room inside the office, where I was to perform my operations. It appears I may have misjudged their enterprise; for as small as they were they could afford a fully-functional air-conditioned office with expensive (albeit century-old) furniture and room fittings, a fax machine, a scanner, printer, IBM computer. I was then told about my responsibilities: to keep records of daily sales and publishing information. I was to enter them into the computerized system after I received all the necessary paper receipts from the different departments. Before leaving me with my work, the two men said, in chorus, they were very strict about record-keeping and did not approve of miscalculations or slack offs.
My knowledge of computers up until then had been limited to playing games that came along with it, like card games etc. but I was confident I could at least type down the names of the writers, books, and the ISBN, and the date of sales, etc. I finished the first day of work by just looking at the previous records, and getting to know the environment and came back home already feeling good about a fat pay cheque at the end of the month.
My actual work began the next day. After lunch I got the receipts of the day’s-sales-so-far. I opened the particular file and punched in the serial number SL61…..er…what were the other digits? Oh No! my receipt fell on the ground. In an attempt to pick it up quickly, I knocked down my coffee mug and spilled the contents onto the shiny keyboard. I got tripped in one of the many wires coming out of the CPU, and by the time I understood what was happening there were alarming sounds coming from all directions. I jumped back , startled at all the sparks. Harrow and Rhodes came running the corridor and called for reinforcements to take up safety precautions. They kept giving my fiery glances and I was ashamed. I fired myself before actually being fired by the Twins. I walked out of that wretched old building, and that was the end of my summer career. My dreams of the beat-up car started to become more n more vague. Ah well…some time in future…
Finding A JOB.
During the last summer vacation I decided to take up a part-time job so that by the end of the holidays I would have saved enough money for a beat-up car. I was looking for something easy, that did not require any particular skill such as being a sales rep, or a telemarketer. I sent out my applications beginning of summer and waited patiently for the much awaited letter from the HR department.
When two weeks later all I got in my mailbox were dry and cruel (I thought) rejection letters, I decided to take matters more seriously. This time around I applied to firms and stores left and right, and I made rounds at all the places that had a ‘Vacancy’ signboard, without bothering about what kind of job was being offered. Well you know beggars cannot be choosers and I wanted a car that bad. Finally , I received a few replies. An envelope from ‘Harrow and Rhodes’ caught my attention as it was a publishing-cum-retailing venture just a few blocks away from where I lived. I like to think I have it in me something literary, so I was instantly interested (not just enough because they asked for interview, my interested rose to hysterical heights because they were in the literary world.). I made an appointment to meet the owners the very next day. It’s a small venture I told you, so owners were the HR people.
The office was in the fifth-floor of a rusty corner building that had been around since the beginning of My Time. Needless to say I was excited and nervous as it was my first job interview. I ran up ten flights of stairs, panting, knocked on the heavy oak main door, and breezed inside after I heard a muffled but somber-voiced ‘Come in’. they two men sitting on the other side of the dark mahogany desk were interchangeable in terms of clothes and they expression they wore on their faces. Dressed in shabby, oversized Sunday suits of their grandfather’s era the two men took turns to ask me four very routine questions. They took down my name and address and asked me if I could join from the next day. I was glad (and a little relieved) they hadn’t pressed on knowing about my skills and qualifications and I obliged happily.
The nest morning, the two men who might as well have been twins with two different surnames, lead me to an inner room inside the office, where I was to perform my operations. It appears I may have misjudged their enterprise; for as small as they were they could afford a fully-functional air-conditioned office with expensive (albeit century-old) furniture and room fittings, a fax machine, a scanner, printer, IBM computer. I was then told about my responsibilities: to keep records of daily sales and publishing information. I was to enter them into the computerized system after I received all the necessary paper receipts from the different departments. Before leaving me with my work, the two men said, in chorus, they were very strict about record-keeping and did not approve of miscalculations or slack offs.
My knowledge of computers up until then had been limited to playing games that came along with it, like card games etc. but I was confident I could at least type down the names of the writers, books, and the ISBN, and the date of sales, etc. I finished the first day of work by just looking at the previous records, and getting to know the environment and came back home already feeling good about a fat pay cheque at the end of the month.
My actual work began the next day. After lunch I got the receipts of the day’s-sales-so-far. I opened the particular file and punched in the serial number SL61…..er…what were the other digits? Oh No! my receipt fell on the ground. In an attempt to pick it up quickly, I knocked down my coffee mug and spilled the contents onto the shiny keyboard. I got tripped in one of the many wires coming out of the CPU, and by the time I understood what was happening there were alarming sounds coming from all directions. I jumped back , startled at all the sparks. Harrow and Rhodes came running the corridor and called for reinforcements to take up safety precautions. They kept giving my fiery glances and I was ashamed. I fired myself before actually being fired by the Twins. I walked out of that wretched old building, and that was the end of my summer career. My dreams of the beat-up car started to become more n more vague. Ah well…some time in future…
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
@ The Hair Salon
The Hair salon is a noisy place. It is spacious, intelligently decorated with art-deco accessories, bears the stamped signature of international celebrity hair stylist, but it is still a really noisy place. Not to mention hairy!
I walk in as always, marginally existing amidst the hubbub of beautiful women who go there to become even more beautiful, and wait my turn in queue. Several stronger personalities cut through me in the queue. I smile politely still not saying a word. I wait until the receptionist is free, then timidly ask her what service I wanted. She looked at my hair and coldly calculated I badly needed to do something with my hair! Of course, this I knew only because I can read minds. Because aloud all she said was “500”. My heart hurt as I wriggled out a fresh 500 bill. You better make me look like Holly Marie Combs. Sorry, I meant to say make my hair like hers that is.
This indigenous (I am trying to be politically correct nowadays and use indigenous instead of tribal), girl with really long nails dig into my mess of hair and try to give me a protein massage. There should be a rule about girls with long nail NOT performing hair massages. Or any kind of massages for that matter! Because my previously itchy scalp turned into a scratchy one by the time she finished massaging my hair! Huph!
No. of exams -1.
No. of assignments due- 1.
No. of hair washes- 1.
No. of badly needed lipstick bought-0.
No. of Will & Grace episodes watched-22 (season 1)
No. of historic Cricket matches watched - 1 (Hurray!)
No. of printed stories lost (L)-1.
No. of almost-forgotten poems retrieved- 1. (yay)
I walk in as always, marginally existing amidst the hubbub of beautiful women who go there to become even more beautiful, and wait my turn in queue. Several stronger personalities cut through me in the queue. I smile politely still not saying a word. I wait until the receptionist is free, then timidly ask her what service I wanted. She looked at my hair and coldly calculated I badly needed to do something with my hair! Of course, this I knew only because I can read minds. Because aloud all she said was “500”. My heart hurt as I wriggled out a fresh 500 bill. You better make me look like Holly Marie Combs. Sorry, I meant to say make my hair like hers that is.
This indigenous (I am trying to be politically correct nowadays and use indigenous instead of tribal), girl with really long nails dig into my mess of hair and try to give me a protein massage. There should be a rule about girls with long nail NOT performing hair massages. Or any kind of massages for that matter! Because my previously itchy scalp turned into a scratchy one by the time she finished massaging my hair! Huph!
No. of exams -1.
No. of assignments due- 1.
No. of hair washes- 1.
No. of badly needed lipstick bought-0.
No. of Will & Grace episodes watched-22 (season 1)
No. of historic Cricket matches watched - 1 (Hurray!)
No. of printed stories lost (L)-1.
No. of almost-forgotten poems retrieved- 1. (yay)
Saturday, March 11, 2006
This Day...
So there was this one time that I tried my hand at song-writing. And below is the outcome. I know it won’t sound very promising but try to imagine some one like KT Tunstall, Kelly Clarkson, KatieMelua, and the likes singing it. Together with a strong addictive chorus and not-so-strict sequence of notes, add your own surprise bits and VOILA! In matter of days everybody on the streets will be humming to the tune of This day…la la la
This Day- By Tracy
This day I see myself running away
From all that is gray
This day I see myself running away
From all that I had
This day I run from everything
I helped create
This day I am fleeing away
Trying to find me in a sea of crowd
This day I wake up in the morning
Thinking I gotta do something new today
I have to have my say
And I have to make changes in my life
This day I bring me back from oblivion
From all the superficial notions.
This day I sing like I never sang before.
I bring me back
Back to where I belong
Back to who I am
Back to what I am….
I forget all the other things
Just remember the faces from my past
I forget all the aching tears
Just remember all the smiles
This day is the day I find me back
I snatch my future from the stars.
This day I live my life to the full
This day for I don’t know
If there’ll be another day
But this day
Is what I want, what I have
This day is a new beginning
For you and for me.
This very day….
PS: hmm this day (Yes please, Pun Intended) is a day of wishful thinking for me!
This Day- By Tracy
This day I see myself running away
From all that is gray
This day I see myself running away
From all that I had
This day I run from everything
I helped create
This day I am fleeing away
Trying to find me in a sea of crowd
This day I wake up in the morning
Thinking I gotta do something new today
I have to have my say
And I have to make changes in my life
This day I bring me back from oblivion
From all the superficial notions.
This day I sing like I never sang before.
I bring me back
Back to where I belong
Back to who I am
Back to what I am….
I forget all the other things
Just remember the faces from my past
I forget all the aching tears
Just remember all the smiles
This day is the day I find me back
I snatch my future from the stars.
This day I live my life to the full
This day for I don’t know
If there’ll be another day
But this day
Is what I want, what I have
This day is a new beginning
For you and for me.
This very day….
PS: hmm this day (Yes please, Pun Intended) is a day of wishful thinking for me!
Friday, March 10, 2006
Mulling over Mole
No. of Exams held in past week-2
No. of books read in the past week - 2 (and a half)
Degree of obsessing over RHUL-Alarmingly High
Worries about studies- limitless
No. of swims - 2 (only)
Temperature(of the city not body temp) unbearably high for spring (or otherwise)
No. of times Mom mentioned my marriage (prospect of it not recap) to people - Countless
Have been reading too much of Adrian Mole books, as can be understood from the stylre of writing. First read The Wilderness years and then The Cappucino Years. Must say Wilderness Years kept me laughing till the end. Cappucino Years is wiser (Mole-way), but not less funny. Have new-found respect for Diarists. First Bridget Jones and then Adrian Mole.
(Note to self ): maybe start a diary myself.
Looked all over equally enjoyable popular fiction books and luckily stumbled upon Marian Keyes. The book will hopefully be worth it.
The half-read book is called 'A shift in the Wind' by Aminudding Khan, it is good knowledge about Indian Muslim Royalty- a subject I have an interest in.
Watched 3 full-length movies on DVD. First Daughter. Just Like Heaven. Memoirs of a Geisha.
Liked Just Like heaven the best. Congrats to my Favourite Reese for winning the Oscar- it was high-time she got it. Watched Da Vinci Code trailer. I knew I could trust Ron Howard with my favourite book. Bess him and Dan Brown.
So there you go, 2 and a half books and 3 DVDs down I am out of my depression about being stuck in life like Scarlet Johanssen in Lost In Translation.
Hmm...maybe I should reconsider the effect too many movies and books are having on me. Must get in touch with my human side.
Material Accomplishments this week :- The perfect purple pair of slip-on sandals, one gorgeous super expensive saree (a gift from aunty to be worn at the wedding), 4 dresses that Mom bought for me ( 2 of which are purple ).
No. of books read in the past week - 2 (and a half)
Degree of obsessing over RHUL-Alarmingly High
Worries about studies- limitless
No. of swims - 2 (only)
Temperature(of the city not body temp) unbearably high for spring (or otherwise)
No. of times Mom mentioned my marriage (prospect of it not recap) to people - Countless
Have been reading too much of Adrian Mole books, as can be understood from the stylre of writing. First read The Wilderness years and then The Cappucino Years. Must say Wilderness Years kept me laughing till the end. Cappucino Years is wiser (Mole-way), but not less funny. Have new-found respect for Diarists. First Bridget Jones and then Adrian Mole.
(Note to self ): maybe start a diary myself.
Looked all over equally enjoyable popular fiction books and luckily stumbled upon Marian Keyes. The book will hopefully be worth it.
The half-read book is called 'A shift in the Wind' by Aminudding Khan, it is good knowledge about Indian Muslim Royalty- a subject I have an interest in.
Watched 3 full-length movies on DVD. First Daughter. Just Like Heaven. Memoirs of a Geisha.
Liked Just Like heaven the best. Congrats to my Favourite Reese for winning the Oscar- it was high-time she got it. Watched Da Vinci Code trailer. I knew I could trust Ron Howard with my favourite book. Bess him and Dan Brown.
So there you go, 2 and a half books and 3 DVDs down I am out of my depression about being stuck in life like Scarlet Johanssen in Lost In Translation.
Hmm...maybe I should reconsider the effect too many movies and books are having on me. Must get in touch with my human side.
Material Accomplishments this week :- The perfect purple pair of slip-on sandals, one gorgeous super expensive saree (a gift from aunty to be worn at the wedding), 4 dresses that Mom bought for me ( 2 of which are purple ).
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
A week of Slumps and Booms.
Tuesday 28th Feb- Mom left for her holiday tonight. House feels empty without her. Thank God for a full day of classes tomorrow.
Wednesday 01st March- Oh dear painful day of waking up early to give instructions to the household staff, arranging and preparing myself for class. Cannot find the lunch box. Will have to eat crappy and suspicious outside food for lunch.
Not really. Had a great time eating grilled chicken sandwich (nothing suspicious about it though, too much onion) at Abacus Café with my friend. Talked with mom on the phone. Missing her. Always.
Hurried back from school, if you can call 1.5 hours stuck in immovable, return-home, city traffic ‘hurry’. Thought I would make it to swimming. Alas, I made it two minutes before closing. So returned home, irritated. Confusion about tomorrows ‘hartal’ as well as social plans. Caught up with old pal on messenger.
Thursday, 02nd March- Half a day of not-so-important ‘hartal’. Had a good sleep. Talked with mom. Went to Photograpy Workshop (60 bucks paid in advacne). Workshop was enlightening, got to know real good things about photography, camera, etc. I do not own a SLR camera. Otherwise would have been fun. Had to bunk the ‘composition’ part of the workshop, to scoot and get ready for the wedding in the evening. Came home, ironed clothes (some fabrics no matter how nice they look take over an hour to be pressed), breathlessly got ready and ran (well, took the car) to Grandma’s. Picked up company (read extended family, toddler of a cousin, etc.) and went to Aunt’s place. Entered her house nervously in fear of missing the ceremony (as we reached half an hour late of appointed time which was 6 PM). Was received by other half of extended family, Coke, Chocolate pastry and lethargy. What? 8:30 ? Why if we only knew there was so much time left for the ceremony we would have brought out our carefully-tucked-in-inside-unreachable-places-in-the-closet cameras! (And I would have had enough time to drink after lunch, which I had at 4 PM). Aww, all this waiting for groom’s party to start for the bride’s house will smudge for makeup. Thankfully the house is large enough for anybody to hide out and finish their makeup/changing/feeding baby (my aunt, not me!)/use the washroom. Got admonition from 5-year-old cousin for not wearing matching earrings…hmmm must rethink style mantras. Sigh.
Big confusion during the ignition of the groom’s entourage. Where is he? Where is she? Where I sit? Where will you sit? There is a clock ticking….arrived finally at the bride’s house. Too many people. Lots of serbat being passed around. Thank you. I am such and such from the groom’s side. I am such and such from the bride’s side. Oh we are all related now. Vows, ceremony, dinner (delicious!) finished at 11:30. bro called to say he was getting bored at home. Came home and dozed off. (should have written separate blog entry on the wedding…too late.)
Friday 3rd March. Day spent in anticipation of mom’s arrival. Went swimming in the evening. It is much nicer than daytime. Mom arrived safely.
Saturday 4th march- Another day at the parlor. Hmm no comments. Have an exam tomorrow. Taking a gamble and not studying. Newly weds visits us.
Sunday 5th March- Studied in the morning, gave exam, guess the rest.
Monday 6th March- Got into severe depression thinking I haven’t taken a break from studies since grade 1. it was pointless in hindsight. But was really sad. Why would I even want to take a break? I mean a little less studying I could do with. So bunked evening class.
PS: I am stocking up on books. Bought ‘An ordinary person’s guide to empire’ for 160 bucks from street vendor. Amount of money saved from classy bookstore cash register: 900.
Wednesday 01st March- Oh dear painful day of waking up early to give instructions to the household staff, arranging and preparing myself for class. Cannot find the lunch box. Will have to eat crappy and suspicious outside food for lunch.
Not really. Had a great time eating grilled chicken sandwich (nothing suspicious about it though, too much onion) at Abacus Café with my friend. Talked with mom on the phone. Missing her. Always.
Hurried back from school, if you can call 1.5 hours stuck in immovable, return-home, city traffic ‘hurry’. Thought I would make it to swimming. Alas, I made it two minutes before closing. So returned home, irritated. Confusion about tomorrows ‘hartal’ as well as social plans. Caught up with old pal on messenger.
Thursday, 02nd March- Half a day of not-so-important ‘hartal’. Had a good sleep. Talked with mom. Went to Photograpy Workshop (60 bucks paid in advacne). Workshop was enlightening, got to know real good things about photography, camera, etc. I do not own a SLR camera. Otherwise would have been fun. Had to bunk the ‘composition’ part of the workshop, to scoot and get ready for the wedding in the evening. Came home, ironed clothes (some fabrics no matter how nice they look take over an hour to be pressed), breathlessly got ready and ran (well, took the car) to Grandma’s. Picked up company (read extended family, toddler of a cousin, etc.) and went to Aunt’s place. Entered her house nervously in fear of missing the ceremony (as we reached half an hour late of appointed time which was 6 PM). Was received by other half of extended family, Coke, Chocolate pastry and lethargy. What? 8:30 ? Why if we only knew there was so much time left for the ceremony we would have brought out our carefully-tucked-in-inside-unreachable-places-in-the-closet cameras! (And I would have had enough time to drink after lunch, which I had at 4 PM). Aww, all this waiting for groom’s party to start for the bride’s house will smudge for makeup. Thankfully the house is large enough for anybody to hide out and finish their makeup/changing/feeding baby (my aunt, not me!)/use the washroom. Got admonition from 5-year-old cousin for not wearing matching earrings…hmmm must rethink style mantras. Sigh.
Big confusion during the ignition of the groom’s entourage. Where is he? Where is she? Where I sit? Where will you sit? There is a clock ticking….arrived finally at the bride’s house. Too many people. Lots of serbat being passed around. Thank you. I am such and such from the groom’s side. I am such and such from the bride’s side. Oh we are all related now. Vows, ceremony, dinner (delicious!) finished at 11:30. bro called to say he was getting bored at home. Came home and dozed off. (should have written separate blog entry on the wedding…too late.)
Friday 3rd March. Day spent in anticipation of mom’s arrival. Went swimming in the evening. It is much nicer than daytime. Mom arrived safely.
Saturday 4th march- Another day at the parlor. Hmm no comments. Have an exam tomorrow. Taking a gamble and not studying. Newly weds visits us.
Sunday 5th March- Studied in the morning, gave exam, guess the rest.
Monday 6th March- Got into severe depression thinking I haven’t taken a break from studies since grade 1. it was pointless in hindsight. But was really sad. Why would I even want to take a break? I mean a little less studying I could do with. So bunked evening class.
PS: I am stocking up on books. Bought ‘An ordinary person’s guide to empire’ for 160 bucks from street vendor. Amount of money saved from classy bookstore cash register: 900.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Published in a BOOK!!!
Last night I found out I have been published in a book! The book is an anthology of English writings from Bangladeshi writers. It is called "The Daily Star book of Bangladeshi Writing."I am in page 128. Now, it's not like I have never been published before- I have been published in newspapers and weekend suppliments, and university journals. In fact some of writings (i.e. newspaper cutouts) are so old that they have started to yellow around the edges. But this time it is in an actual book! My new story is called "Scent of Home". The above is a picture of the cover of the book.
This one is the best to date. I mean seeing my name in print is a big thrill for me. Some people have bunjee-jumping, some people have rock climbing; I have my writings. In retrospect, the act of writing comes full circle after publishing. As a writer, I can then re-live the various stages that I had gone through during the writing process. Staring from the birth of an idea, building a framework, setting, naming character, preparing dialogues,- every word has been thought of and put to paper by me. This thought itself is tremendous satisfaction for a writer; the very core of celebrating creativity. It is the ultimate form of self-preservation.
My previous story "Thoughts on a rainy day" that was published in the Star Weekend Magazine on August 7,2005 can be accessed through the link below:
http://www.thedailystar.net/magazine/2005/08/01/fiction.htm
Saturday, February 18, 2006
A Night of Shayeri
Tonight is the night of shayeri...deep, somber and melancholy. It is one of those nights of the year when the wind is chilling, and the smell is right. With a mist of flattering words hanging around me , I can hardly be blamed for sharing my feeble attempt at shayeri. This night words transform into magical tools of imagination, making it easier to express heart's desires. This night the smoky remains of the past days envelop all around me, making me smile and weep at the same time. This night Love meets Pain and Joy meets Sorrow. This night is a Shayer's dream; an artist's enigma and a writer's challenge.
The shayeri is old; but the feelings are just as new. The pain is real and the sorrow is lingering.
These words of the shayeri expresses happiness and sadness at the same time: the joy of having let go and the pride of inner strangth that allowed one to let go, and the suffering of loneliness.
1.
Tum chaley gaye phirbhi yaad aaogey
Tumne dard de gaye phirbhi yaad aaogey.
Tum jitne duur bhi jaougey yaad rahogey
Tum hum e bhul bhi to bhi yaad rahogey.
2.
Tumhe jo jana hi tha mujhe chchorke
Phir dil ke kareeb hi kyu aaye?
Dil ke kareeb jab aahhi gaye
Phir dil kyu dukhaye?
Tumhe jo jana hi tha mujhe chhorke
Jao...meri har khushi aapne saathe le jao
Lekin yaadein meri rahe jayegi.
The shayeri is old; but the feelings are just as new. The pain is real and the sorrow is lingering.
These words of the shayeri expresses happiness and sadness at the same time: the joy of having let go and the pride of inner strangth that allowed one to let go, and the suffering of loneliness.
1.
Tum chaley gaye phirbhi yaad aaogey
Tumne dard de gaye phirbhi yaad aaogey.
Tum jitne duur bhi jaougey yaad rahogey
Tum hum e bhul bhi to bhi yaad rahogey.
2.
Tumhe jo jana hi tha mujhe chchorke
Phir dil ke kareeb hi kyu aaye?
Dil ke kareeb jab aahhi gaye
Phir dil kyu dukhaye?
Tumhe jo jana hi tha mujhe chhorke
Jao...meri har khushi aapne saathe le jao
Lekin yaadein meri rahe jayegi.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Valentine Schmalentine
I can hear the boos and the 'sour grapes' already...but hear me out!!! I am NOT anti-Valentine...and I am definitely NOT anti-love. If anything I am as pro-Love as it gets: I am a born romantic. So what's wrong with Valentine's? Nothing. And if nothing is so wrong about Valentine's then everyday should be Valentine's or at least everyday should have the signature stamp of Valentine Spirit. That is what I say.
Spring came to the city with a bang like it does every year with its plethora of new leaves, overdose of orange/yellow clothes for everyone, crisp air (more like wind) and lots and lots of flowers. Yellow roses are the most coveted (though not most uncommon) gift for near and dear ones this season. And not the government's restriction on free talktime for cell phones nor the opposition's strike minded attitude could curb down the enthusiasm of lovesick people of the day.
I have all the good wishes for the lovebirds. It is indeed a matter of luck to have someone special to love and to hold and to share ups and downs with. This Valentine's love is in the air for most of my closest friends...and the special dedication goes out to all of them. It is courageous on the part of lovers to stand up for their love and they deserve every iota of each other's love. Love is lovely; and so are people in love. Every where around me there's an air of Happily-ever afters. Well not really....but that's where they're heading.
So although the song is not mine to dedicate but I would still dedicate the following lines to people who have finally found love, who are already in love, and those who still believe in love.
Lay a whisper on my pillow,
leave the winter on the ground.
I wake up lonely,there's air of silence in the bedroom and all around.
Touch me now,I close my eyes and dream away.
It must have been Love.
And it was.
Spring came to the city with a bang like it does every year with its plethora of new leaves, overdose of orange/yellow clothes for everyone, crisp air (more like wind) and lots and lots of flowers. Yellow roses are the most coveted (though not most uncommon) gift for near and dear ones this season. And not the government's restriction on free talktime for cell phones nor the opposition's strike minded attitude could curb down the enthusiasm of lovesick people of the day.
I have all the good wishes for the lovebirds. It is indeed a matter of luck to have someone special to love and to hold and to share ups and downs with. This Valentine's love is in the air for most of my closest friends...and the special dedication goes out to all of them. It is courageous on the part of lovers to stand up for their love and they deserve every iota of each other's love. Love is lovely; and so are people in love. Every where around me there's an air of Happily-ever afters. Well not really....but that's where they're heading.
So although the song is not mine to dedicate but I would still dedicate the following lines to people who have finally found love, who are already in love, and those who still believe in love.
Lay a whisper on my pillow,
leave the winter on the ground.
I wake up lonely,there's air of silence in the bedroom and all around.
Touch me now,I close my eyes and dream away.
It must have been Love.
And it was.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
A poem to ponder...
I can!
- Farah Tasneem Tracy
- Farah Tasneem Tracy
I can walk on a rainbow,
And melt in the rain.
I can catch a shooting star
In the twinkle of my eye.
I can steal the colors of a wild butterfly
And I can stop spring in its track!
I can be lost in a sunset
And be found in the jungle.
I can even tame the wildest of dreams!
I can trap the sun in a jar
And hold the mountains on my palm.
I can kiss the rising Sun
And cast a spell on the moon.
I can dance with the angels
And fly with the birds
But I can’t…
I can’t make you love me!!!
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
An iota of Poetry
The bluest blues.
- Farah Tasneem Tracy
Give me pen and paper,
And I will give you a story.
Give me love and pain,
And I will give you poetry.
Give me a word that is your own,
And I will give you the rest of your soul.
Give me a piece of your mind,
And I will make you a garden.
Give me your smile
And I will create music.
Give me a tear and I will make a miracle happen.
Give me your hand and I will give you my world.
Give me your hatred
And…
And I will give you my love!
- Farah Tasneem Tracy
Give me pen and paper,
And I will give you a story.
Give me love and pain,
And I will give you poetry.
Give me a word that is your own,
And I will give you the rest of your soul.
Give me a piece of your mind,
And I will make you a garden.
Give me your smile
And I will create music.
Give me a tear and I will make a miracle happen.
Give me your hand and I will give you my world.
Give me your hatred
And…
And I will give you my love!
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Holiday well spent.
I know I know. I have babbled on about my holiday for last god-knows how many blog posts, but this is the last one I promise. This is an overall review about what I did this semester break.
Indeed this break was full of lots of traveling and lots of reading. So you can imagine why I think it was a break well spent. Details of my two Chittagong visits have already been posted. To sum them up it was great: lots of mingling, lots of sea and lots of growing up-to-do had been done.
Now about reading progress in this break. Read about three books in full and 2 others in half.
The Arrangements of Love, Timeri N. Murari. Excellent read. Insightful, interesting and intelligent.
Portrait in sepia, Isabel Allende. Very good. Similar to its predecessor Daughter of Fortune, but interesting as well.
Gypsy Masala, Preethi Nair. Good as a first book.
Book I am reading now: The House Of The Spirits, Isabel Allende.
Alas! Holiday is over and classes have begun. It’s going to be a very painful last semester.
Indeed this break was full of lots of traveling and lots of reading. So you can imagine why I think it was a break well spent. Details of my two Chittagong visits have already been posted. To sum them up it was great: lots of mingling, lots of sea and lots of growing up-to-do had been done.
Now about reading progress in this break. Read about three books in full and 2 others in half.
The Arrangements of Love, Timeri N. Murari. Excellent read. Insightful, interesting and intelligent.
Portrait in sepia, Isabel Allende. Very good. Similar to its predecessor Daughter of Fortune, but interesting as well.
Gypsy Masala, Preethi Nair. Good as a first book.
Book I am reading now: The House Of The Spirits, Isabel Allende.
Alas! Holiday is over and classes have begun. It’s going to be a very painful last semester.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Destination: St. Martin’s Island
Jan 19, Thursday: We took the 2:30 bus to Chittagong. The journey was relatively uneventful. We reached our destination at around 8:30, rested a while, had dinner and called an early night in order to prepare for the nest day’s road trip.
Jan 20, Friday: Our posse of two Noahs and one Pajero jeep started from chittagong at around 10 o’clock in the morning. This time our destination is Cox’s bazaar. The journey took 4 hours and the road is in good shape. However there is such a thing called too much road travel. Inspite of all that, as we neared Cox’s bazaar my heart leapt at the thought of the magnificent sight ahead of me. It is not enough that it is the longest unbroken sea beach in the world. The unsuspecting road traveler is marveled by the mejstic waters as soon as the car glides on top of a road bump and BEHOLD! There lies the Bay of Bengal, roaring and foaming, in your direct line of sight and the optical illusion making it seems beach-less and closer than it actually is. We checked into Sea Palace a grand five-star hotel equipped with modern amenities and breathtaking sea-view. After a sea-food oriented lunch we went for a swim in the swimming pool. It was fun for a while but some of us thought it might be insulting to the sea if we came to visit her and instead went for a swim in the pool. In any case we hurried to the beach (hurried may give the wrong impression; it was more like we tried to hurry. It is difficult to drag ourselves along the super sandy beach) just in time to catch a glimpse of the setting sun. We took pictures left and right and went ankle-deep in the sea whose water is black and repulsive looking. But that hasn’t curbed its roaring one bit and it is listening intently to this roaring that we drifted off to sleep after a post-dinner magic learning session.
January 21, Saturday: This day started early. We had a bried breakfast and headed off with our posse towards Teknaf, the southernmost tip of mainland Bangladesh. a two-hour rie took us to there where we boarded the Kutubdia launch that would help us cross the waters of first the river Naf and then the Bay of Bengal and take us to our island destination. River NAf I always found very charming with its quiet, elegant waters and small waves. The river divides Myanmar and Bangladesh in its mid-way. The launch ride took three hours and I felt a wave of sea-sickness hit me as we glided into the open sea. But the view of the pristine coral island sprinkled with swaying coconut trees and the surrounding green-blue waters reinvigorated our souls. We barely checked into the hotel, changed clothes and jumped into the waters like spellbound and obedient sea-lovers. This water is unspoiled and shimmering, inviting and cajoling anybody and everybody to bathe in its purity. Lunch was extensive as we were hungry from the entire journey and jumping in the sea. After lunch some of use preferred to rest a while the more adventurous of the lot decided to venture around the island and take in some of the sights. We walked along the perimeter of the island and stopped to take pictures on the alluring and ever so enchanting coral rocks. We decided on a fantastic spot to take in the breath-taking sunset. Since there were very few people around the whole experience seemed almost private. WE headed back to the hotel on a van. Nighttime was a throng of activities. It was a dark night with the moon nowhere in sight. Beside the barbeque chicken preparation a local artist played folk songs and all of us gathered around the fire as is befitting the situation. The men played cards while the women chatted along. The lights went out at 10:30 and we dozed off to slumber.
Jan 22, Sunday: we went onboard a barge to take us to the neighboring Sera island where apparently the lagoon is clearer and the corals are bigger. We came back to the island and went for another swim in the sea. As we reluctantly got out from the waters, we felt a little sad at having to leave this pretty island and head towards our known world. The same launch took us back to Teknaf and from there on we made a reverse route journey and reached Cox’s bazaar at night.
Jan 23, Monday: We had breakfast and roamed around the presidential suite of the hotel, did some least-minute shopping and headed back to Chittagong. On our way we stopped at the safari park. We took a on-wheel tour of the park and stopped at the main attractions. I have to say the lion and the lioness were the mot impressive. The lion was very clear about his position as the king of the jungle and the lioness too proud to move about or be bothered by disturbances. We spent another night at Chittagong and came back to Dhaka the following day.
Jan 20, Friday: Our posse of two Noahs and one Pajero jeep started from chittagong at around 10 o’clock in the morning. This time our destination is Cox’s bazaar. The journey took 4 hours and the road is in good shape. However there is such a thing called too much road travel. Inspite of all that, as we neared Cox’s bazaar my heart leapt at the thought of the magnificent sight ahead of me. It is not enough that it is the longest unbroken sea beach in the world. The unsuspecting road traveler is marveled by the mejstic waters as soon as the car glides on top of a road bump and BEHOLD! There lies the Bay of Bengal, roaring and foaming, in your direct line of sight and the optical illusion making it seems beach-less and closer than it actually is. We checked into Sea Palace a grand five-star hotel equipped with modern amenities and breathtaking sea-view. After a sea-food oriented lunch we went for a swim in the swimming pool. It was fun for a while but some of us thought it might be insulting to the sea if we came to visit her and instead went for a swim in the pool. In any case we hurried to the beach (hurried may give the wrong impression; it was more like we tried to hurry. It is difficult to drag ourselves along the super sandy beach) just in time to catch a glimpse of the setting sun. We took pictures left and right and went ankle-deep in the sea whose water is black and repulsive looking. But that hasn’t curbed its roaring one bit and it is listening intently to this roaring that we drifted off to sleep after a post-dinner magic learning session.
January 21, Saturday: This day started early. We had a bried breakfast and headed off with our posse towards Teknaf, the southernmost tip of mainland Bangladesh. a two-hour rie took us to there where we boarded the Kutubdia launch that would help us cross the waters of first the river Naf and then the Bay of Bengal and take us to our island destination. River NAf I always found very charming with its quiet, elegant waters and small waves. The river divides Myanmar and Bangladesh in its mid-way. The launch ride took three hours and I felt a wave of sea-sickness hit me as we glided into the open sea. But the view of the pristine coral island sprinkled with swaying coconut trees and the surrounding green-blue waters reinvigorated our souls. We barely checked into the hotel, changed clothes and jumped into the waters like spellbound and obedient sea-lovers. This water is unspoiled and shimmering, inviting and cajoling anybody and everybody to bathe in its purity. Lunch was extensive as we were hungry from the entire journey and jumping in the sea. After lunch some of use preferred to rest a while the more adventurous of the lot decided to venture around the island and take in some of the sights. We walked along the perimeter of the island and stopped to take pictures on the alluring and ever so enchanting coral rocks. We decided on a fantastic spot to take in the breath-taking sunset. Since there were very few people around the whole experience seemed almost private. WE headed back to the hotel on a van. Nighttime was a throng of activities. It was a dark night with the moon nowhere in sight. Beside the barbeque chicken preparation a local artist played folk songs and all of us gathered around the fire as is befitting the situation. The men played cards while the women chatted along. The lights went out at 10:30 and we dozed off to slumber.
Jan 22, Sunday: we went onboard a barge to take us to the neighboring Sera island where apparently the lagoon is clearer and the corals are bigger. We came back to the island and went for another swim in the sea. As we reluctantly got out from the waters, we felt a little sad at having to leave this pretty island and head towards our known world. The same launch took us back to Teknaf and from there on we made a reverse route journey and reached Cox’s bazaar at night.
Jan 23, Monday: We had breakfast and roamed around the presidential suite of the hotel, did some least-minute shopping and headed back to Chittagong. On our way we stopped at the safari park. We took a on-wheel tour of the park and stopped at the main attractions. I have to say the lion and the lioness were the mot impressive. The lion was very clear about his position as the king of the jungle and the lioness too proud to move about or be bothered by disturbances. We spent another night at Chittagong and came back to Dhaka the following day.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Another Eid
Tomorrow is Eid-ul-Azha- the Eid that honours the sacrifice of prophet Ibrahim (AH).
Two days ago the city woke up to an untimely cold wave. The concrete and steel infrastructure of the city beast was baffled by the thick fog that clouded their vision and confused their minds. In the mega-city everyone trusts the weather and is always very focused about getting their work done. Such unexpected haziness of the weather put their schedules in turmoil. For the last two days we have had an extended dawn that lasted during the day and our yearlong friend the sun had been evasive. Except for a dying dark orange circle that appeared on the western sky like a smear to mark the beginning of night so the inhabitants of the city knew it was time to head home, the sun had very little appearance. The fog is so thick that it settles onto your bones like dust and the clothes that were hung on the clothesline for the purpose of drying were brought back indoors laden with an atmospheric coolness. Traffic has reduced considerably in the city streets as half the population had gone to the country. Instead roads are now crowded by sacrificial animals, their vendors and their purchasers. It’s a common sight. Cars that normally did not even obey the red light are now slowing down and allowing for the cows to cross the road. Eid just brings a sense of happy into everyone’s heart.
Two days ago the city woke up to an untimely cold wave. The concrete and steel infrastructure of the city beast was baffled by the thick fog that clouded their vision and confused their minds. In the mega-city everyone trusts the weather and is always very focused about getting their work done. Such unexpected haziness of the weather put their schedules in turmoil. For the last two days we have had an extended dawn that lasted during the day and our yearlong friend the sun had been evasive. Except for a dying dark orange circle that appeared on the western sky like a smear to mark the beginning of night so the inhabitants of the city knew it was time to head home, the sun had very little appearance. The fog is so thick that it settles onto your bones like dust and the clothes that were hung on the clothesline for the purpose of drying were brought back indoors laden with an atmospheric coolness. Traffic has reduced considerably in the city streets as half the population had gone to the country. Instead roads are now crowded by sacrificial animals, their vendors and their purchasers. It’s a common sight. Cars that normally did not even obey the red light are now slowing down and allowing for the cows to cross the road. Eid just brings a sense of happy into everyone’s heart.
Charmed in Chittagong
I have been busy. But not so busy as to not write my blog- the excuse for that is laziness. I experience bouts of busy time followed by a long hiatus of doing nothing. Well that was euphemism. I just get lazy sometimes. Anyways, the holiday in Chittagong was good. Far from being the do-nothing holiday I had planned, it was crammed with fun days, lots and lots of boat rides, and of course food. I did not get to read a word from the two books that I had carried with me but I had a good time. My two adorable cousins are a constant source of enjoyment with her bundle of energy, infectious laugh, and charming improvisations, the other with her infinite wisdom, candid heart and genuine curiousity. The things the two sisters have in common are an easy way of laughing, love for the swing, and friendliness. We went boat riding in the Foy’s lake, Bay of Bengal from the Patenga beach, and the Rangamati lake. The commercialization of Foy’s lake is a tragedy. Nothing remains of the natural habitat that surrounded the peaceful lake, and instead the calm and serenity of the place had been invaded by giant machines and mechanical giants. They have turned it into an amusement park. Only it would not amuse the people who loved the lake’s natural beauty and appreciated a breath of wilderness in the heart of the major port city. Rangamati lake is huge with dark waters which is rumoured to be so thick and sinister that a national swimming champion had died from daring to going into it. We crossed the lake to reach an island and had what may be called the most grassroots and close-to-nature luncheon of my life. We ate at peda-ting-ting, which is so famous that foreign dignitaries had come all the way to eat here. It is run by the tribal people and serves both tribal and deshi cuisine. They cook in their many different indigenous ways and the food was indeed famously delicious. The restaurant itself had a straw-roof with no walls, so that guests could take in the view of the surrounding beauty as they divulged in novelty gastronomic delights. The lunch was followed by a walk around the small island which was still pristine and free from the technological jungle of the mainland. The boat ride in Patenga beach was a different story altogether. No matter how dangerous and menacing, the sea continues to be one of the most liberating forces of nature. There is something about the vastness of the sea that makes people feel free. It could be the unending waters, or the illusion of a horizon, or the feeling of humbleness amid such enormity.
Whatever it is, it makes human realize there exists a kind of freedom where you can be free from your fears, likes, dislikes, family, society, country, and also from your very self. The kind of freedom that lets you just BE- no strings attached. That is the gift of the mighty seas to the humans. I suspect the people who live by the sea are so accustomed to this that they can hardly identify it as something distinct. But the occasional tourist or passer-by is overwhelmed by this freedom every time he comes close the sea or ocean.
Whatever it is, it makes human realize there exists a kind of freedom where you can be free from your fears, likes, dislikes, family, society, country, and also from your very self. The kind of freedom that lets you just BE- no strings attached. That is the gift of the mighty seas to the humans. I suspect the people who live by the sea are so accustomed to this that they can hardly identify it as something distinct. But the occasional tourist or passer-by is overwhelmed by this freedom every time he comes close the sea or ocean.
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