My M is getting married. When we were very young and we believed in a Utopic world, we decided to give marriage a miss and stay together as 'nuns'. Somehow we thought that being a celibate was equivalent to being a nun. As adolescents, we were less rigorous and I pictured M getting married in an opulent manner, in a carnival of red and gold and saw myself posing as the principal bridesmaid. M is getting married. I am happy for her. I am sad. It feels weird, unsettling to see your best friend marry a man of whom you know so little. M is happy. I'm happy that she's happy. But inside my heart there's this nagging fear of finally having to let go of her.It's a fear of unbelonging. M will make a beautiful bride. She is a beautiful woman. But I won't be there. I could never have imagined not being with her on her wedding day, not sitting tight by her side throughout the day, not eyeing her in-laws with a little apprehension and more abhimaan but I am going on a trip. Somehow it feels better to stay away.

I'm probably horribly selfish and possessive, but M is still so much a part of me, despite the physical distance,that it's almost as bad as alienation from the self. I'll miss the M who has always been such a constant factor in my life. Love you. Wish you a very happy married life.

Why must I always make sense? I declare I will not.

Saw 4 lovely puppies. Reminds me of a weird song from long ago- a song my friends Sree and Tanusree had made years ago. ' amader birisona sohinididir skirt taane/ skirt taane na pant taane/ke jaane bhai ke jaane'. This text has no basis in any preceding event for its creation and the performance was an exaggerated one for 'Biri' the dog had only just sniffed me and never accosted me in a violent canine fashion . Biri was a dear little dog, despite the obnoxious name.This reminds me of yet another song 'Panapukure snan kore mor sordi legechhe.' The first time we heard this was when Sree and I were seated by the window, trying to pay attention in class, of course in vain. Such poesy lifted us up from the mundane atmosphere of the classroom and allowed us to wiggle through the narrow windows to the music recorder that was playing it. There our souls fluttered around the recorder, like thirsty bees around flowers, or flies over entho. :)

Bajey bokey shanti holo.

What's 3 weeks to 9 months?

I don't want to understand. I'd much rather sulk and cry.

:/

It is raining. The green around me has turned a shade darker, wetter and better. I ride huge waves of nostalgia and love for the 23 year old world.

Who on earth would like to study Amilcar Cabral and Benedict Anderson on such a day? I'm sure they themselves wrote these voluminous pages theorising culture and nationalism on nameless, mundane days, not on such green days as today when the world turned a little older than 23.

This is what terrorism has done to us.

We find a purse lying abandoned near the steps in front of the Worldview Bookstore, a regular hangout of many. We suspect it as a potential carrier of bombs, however minuscule, though it is pink and has teddy bears on it. We try to finish our lunch quickly and move away.

I was taking pictures in the department today, randomly, looking for moments of frivolity in a serious life, and I was focussing on the students in a classroom when the class was in progress. I hear a girl enquiring her friend if I were a terrorist. At other times, this might have sounded funny. Today it didn't.

My friend A, one of the craziest friends I've ever had, one who has pulled my hair innumerable times in class,has hit me with fat books in tutorials, calls up from Madhya Pradesh, his voice taut and helpless at the same time, asking me to take care of myself, because he lost two of his batch-mates in the German Bakery blast. I had never heard him sound so broken.

Nothing changes. Nothing will change. Power will always be a love, stronger than love itself.

Memory is a yellowing photograph.

Madness is fun. Madness is fashion. Madness is the sign of genius.

Madness is scary.

Undesirable.

Disorienting.

Take it from me. I'm the mad girl.