Skip navigation

I turned the page on 1st this month on my Brush Dance calendar. It wasn’t until today that I saw what it read. “I want an Earth that is healthy, a world at peace, and a heart filled with love.” That pretty much sums up what 2007 has brought about.

A year that was absent, a year of metamorphosis, a year that made me count every second as it crawled by – yet a year that seemed 24 hours long. It’s been a rollercoaster, it’s been a joyride, it’s been a cruise, it’s been a dirt-rally, it’s been a sprint all at the same time. You get the idea. So, I’m going to try and keep this short and spare you the details.

This post is not reminiscent of my absence from this blog for a year. Neither is this post an apology for that absence, nor is it a prayer of gratitude for all that happened during this year. This post merely says, “I’m back!”. This time with an extra-equipped utility belt and fancier gadgets. There’s many a lesson learned, and new powers acquired. I hate to keep calling it metamorphosis, but that’s about the only word that can describe my state of mind. There’s been that dose of morphine – the push of will power that has kept me going. But this year was different. The lessons learnt, invaluable. I’ve developed a certain trust in destiny that has seemingly never failed me through the thickest of situations…
This is the point where I cave in to my right brain and just let it take over this blog post. As logical as I try to keep it, I ruin it.
…this year was different. The lessons learnt, invaluable. This trust in destiny has grown into something I call ‘faith in miracles’. Cheesy, yes. Sadly enough, I admit this in full awareness. I’ve never believed in reading fiction. Yet, with the passage of these 24 hours, my life seems more fictitious than most fiction I’ve read, seen or heard. Bouquets of facts occupying the same relative position or area in space – coincidences and fairy tales seem understatements.

An earth that is healthy. I’m doing things bigger than I could possibly at Google; I’m writing a book; places distant are now close and above all, the elements are now less harsh. A world at peace. The struggle seldom ends. There’s always the next level that seems more promising and comfortable. Yet in this moment, life stands still – complete in totality. The waves still crash and the wind still blows, and the smile still holds strong. The only difference is this internal momentum. A heart filled with love. A hand filled with another’s.

I’ve oft spoken of how time will tell. I still do. When I woke up this morning, I had to reassure myself that these 24 hours were for real. With time talking, all that was latent had suddenly turned into possibilities. A way of life, the year in a 32 lines. Here I stand, drawing a bow for triumph and disaster alike.


 This one is dedicated to Darshan: Miss you buddy!

Grey furry wisps of burning nicotine made it hazy
To see where the exit door was. Or even to find each other.
Heads bouncing as far I could see – some blonde, some blue
I saw one that was pink. Leaps of joy, of agony, of liberation
Interlaced into one fabric by the strobe that kept the silhouettes
Dynamic that night. Someone I didn’t know bought me a beer
Just because she liked my earring. At least that was what she said.
Later that night at the stroke of midnight she kissed me
Happy New Year! Her hair was violet.

Somewhere near the bar I bumped into Sid. He was high on the
Free Vodka from the sponsor’s counter, on the remixes
From the DJ’s turntables, on the vibes shelled out by bare skin.
Happy New Year, Dude! It wasn’t long before he
Left to pursue a blond headed interest. Then I almost spit out my last sip
Jerking forward from a blow on my back. It’s how Dash always greets us.
Black turtleneck, dark brown corduroys and rimless glasses.
He’s the sober one among the three of us. The one who drives us home.

Lost again? He asked me, reading off my expressionless face.
I ordered him a Bacardi Breezer, after an awkward right shoulder hello-hug
And said Missed you champ! Through the grids of grime and gyrations,
I pointed to Sid. There goes Romeo! Dash spotted him just in time to see
Him catch a whiff off the blond hair. High fives and laughter a galore.
It had been months since our last high five. Since we last kicked Sid’s ass.
Since we last laid odds on couples on the dance floor.
Since we fought for the girl in the corner.
Eight years since we first fought in junior college.
I still loved the dance floor and Dash still hated the smoke.

A sluggish long weekend, this Tuesday noon, I stare at the
Trees outside my window. Then at visiting cards on my desk.
Trying to connect faces to phone numbers. Giggling occasionally,
Thinking about what Sid and Dash said about each girl.
It was the Hangover-Sunday analysis that gave us the real kicks.
Sonia had the quasi American accent, Rashmi was the hyper-intelligent one…
The list went on and on. We rambled on through the night until we realized that the
Streetlights that sieved in through the shears, was actually now the sunshine.

The last I remember from that Saturday night is the DJ corking down a remix of a
Freddie Mercury classic. Sid had to be dragged off some redhead.
Dash drove us back and had revealed to me
Something about his Dad abandoning them.
I was wasted this New Year’s eve too.
I’d seen two bouncers dressed in black sulk at us…
I look up and the tree catches my eye.
The Banyan tree was there last year too – right there. This year it’s taller.
Rolling my pencil between my fingers, I look at the tree again:
This time with a smirk.

So cold, living in this steam, watching a wagon go by every once in a while.

Five of Wands © Stephanie Pui-Mun Law
© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

3 PM in the afternoon,
The cold and merciless winds bruise my naked skin through slivers.
As I watch ants on the floor carry morsels of sugar
Or something small and white – I really didn’t care.
The floor freezes beneath me as I crash down and close my eyes
To stare at the skies above – filled with electricity.
So much lightening. Not fighting anymore,
I just watch.

Somewhere in the distance, rice planters sing choruses
To amuse each other, to enliven a boring landscape
Of fall colours and clouds leaked by jets.
Every sinful sinew of mine shakes, wanting to storm into the green meadow
And embrace them. Yet I lay there,
Feeling these antithesised rags dimple the earth
The spasmic fabric giving way to my bare skin,
From this little celebration of fury.

Hoards of water wash my naked body, my shut eyes,
And the tremble off to the floor
As I lay there, entangled in the coarse hair of a mop. I open my eyes,
And the rice planters don’t sing anymore, the ants trot around me,
And all I see is this steam that I’m blessed with.
The walls are beige, the cell phone still in pieces scattered all over in a mess.
This mess that might leave a stain, this grace – this anger,
This marijuana my fears feed on.

Garfield just gets deeper and better by the day. The Fence series has
been there on and off since quite some years now – always making you wonder how
a lazy and fat cat like Garfield can ever balance himself on the supposibly thin
fence. Here’s a few snippets from earlier in this month. Read More »

Okay, Google has the top jobs. What’s more… they even advertised on craigslist. What’s more… I applied! And guess what, the next week they published the very same ad, in the very same section, yet again.
A couple more futile attempts and three weeks later, the ad is still there – grinning in all it’s shameless glory. So, this time around, I decide to send a cover letter that shouldn’t miss their eye. Here’s their letter (without the resume, weblinks et frills, of course):

Drops splutter in the ocean and disappear unheard.
Waves crash, shriek and yet, melt into moments of oblivion.
Holding the earth afloat with palms cupped together
The ocean breathes silently this moonless night.
Breathing in with every splutter of a drop and out with every wave.
And in all this grandeur and zen of the Goddamn ocean
Drops still splutter and waves still crash, for without them…
It’s zen would be no more.

I’m good. Please call me : )
Another drop, waiting to crash on the shores,
Sneha Kochak

If this doesn’t work then apparently I’m destined to do greater things than work at Google! He hee! At least I’d like to think so! 😀