Saturday, December 03, 2016

Eat Pray Love



In a very interesting study of the blunders written by students, there is a story about how Milton came to write his epics. According to a very imaginative student, Milton got married and he wrote Paradise Lost. Later his wife died and he wrote Paradise Regained. Though how many times he repeated this practice only history can answer as can be seen from the number of his wives.


Now in popular culture, marriage and love are usually celebrated while divorce is usually represented as the end of your life.  From Jane Austen novels to present day romance novels, there is a long tradition of writing that ties up your life neatly in terms of love and marriage. Then there are as many number of chick-flicks that show how the course of true love never did run smooth.


Eat Pray Love is a 2006 novel by Elizabeth Gilbert that is quite unconventional because of its veracity and audacity. Told in the first person autobiographical mode of narration, the novel depicts a woman’s search for identity after a rather painful and time-consuming divorce. A woman in her thirties, instead of settling down and having a family of her own, is haunted by anxiety attacks. She wants to be free and decides to go on an adventurous trip all by herself.


She feels that she has been floating through life without an identity of her own.  Once her marriage breaks down, she lands straight into the hands of a lover named David. One of her friends makes a remark that if she had resembled her husband earlier, now she resembled David. This turns her inward and she wants to find out what she is really like and what she really wants out of life.


After her brief rebound affair with David, she recognises that another relationship is not quite the answer that she is looking for. She travels to three places that have only one thing in common- the first letter I- Italy, India and Indonesia. In Italy, she learns the native language and finds a new interest in friendship and in the Italian cuisine. A word catches her attention- attraversiamo- which means “let’s cross over” commonly used by her friends when crossing streets.


She goes to India and scrubs floors in an ashram while learning how to recite the prayers correctly. She meets Richard from Texas who calls becomes friends with her and calls her groceries. Her next place of visit is Indonesia, where she meets an ancient medicine man Kekut Liyer who asks her to enjoy life to the fullest and to laugh right from the liver.


She meets a Brazilian divorcee named Felippe in Bali and agrees to spend time with him. She also helps a traditional healer named Wayan to build a house with the help of financial aid from the US. Her experiences make her believe in the goodness of life once more and she feels that she has finally confronted her inner demons. Her scars hurt her less and finally she recognises that she has become much lighter as she has performed this wonderful act of crossing over. A feel good book about divorce, the film adaptation released in 2010 has Julia Roberts as Elizabeth Gilbert. 

Monday, November 28, 2016

Stories

In a way, each story has the same kernel in it- our dreams, hopes and longing all lost and found again- the fire and the smiles and the hopes that love kindles and brings joy.

The stories that we write are not what really happened or events that could really happen. These come from an imagination that loves to wander and see what would have happened if!

Sometimes, it is sunshine and laughter outside; depends on the state of this mercurial soul. The reality looms large taking everything away and sometimes giving blessings unasked for.

Your stories reveal the joy of finding happiness in new things, which are in fact, new ways to name the old likes and loves while I harp on change and about moving on but have stayed in the same year where I stopped learning.

The fire still burns in these kernel stories of love, longing and loss and we have become like straight lines that run along throughout the many lives. 

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Little Things: 'Here We Go!'




They are Kavu and Momo to each other. Cute. Funny. Adorable. The latest from Little Things Web Series has Kavya and Dhruv going on a long drive just to meet the bhaji-seller. But it turns out that the bhaji-seller hasn't turned up in days and instead they have an adventure at a vineyard tasting wines.

They learn about the three Ss of winesipping-smell, swirl and sip. She is drunk and wonders whether to quit her present job or not. Dhruv weighs the pros and cons for her. She shares her emotions especially what she feels about how complacent she has become.

On the other hand, she is glad that they made this trip because it is a milestone in their relationship. So, this season finale ends with the story of how they first met. 

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Songs of the Yellow Moon














When I was growing up,  I used to get so irrirated with my grandmother who will come up with a a song for every random word that I said. Being a language teacher, she was a storehouse of poems and songs and rhymes that would make me cringe, so much that my message will be completely lost in the process of communication. Growing older, I have understood that I have got at least fifty percent of her riddlesome nature, of singing songs about random words and people.

There were other legends about her. One was that she had the ability to make a very fiery husband crack up in laughter (I don’t think I share this trait) whose way of self-expression was flying plates at the dinner table if he wasn’t happy with the food that she prepared. Then on sleepless nights, they would tell each other how they had met each other when they were both eighteen and he will say with a smile that even then he knew she will be the one whom he would marry. With my late reading hours, I might drop in to their room listening to them argue about the hardships and obstacles they faced from her family (sixty five years ago) and their beautiful love story that I don’t think even their children  know much about.

I am no different I guess, at least about the song part. I don’t think I have witnessed anything as thrilling as the sight of the supermoon in the recent times, life being so uneventful. I guess the best part was the feeling to go on gazing at it as if its magic is enough to lighten up your entire being. I think that's when my I remembered my all time favourite "Yellow Moon" and needless to say as with old favourites, these play in the head from beginning to end, with each word, right in its place. 

About the lovebirds, she doesn't sing anymore as she lost him some years back and her favourite way of spending sleepless nights is her constant prayers for death and asking for the priest to give the holy sacrement. Recently, when I was giving her food, she noticed the newspaper and asked me "Has my name come in the obituary today?" 


Wednesday, November 09, 2016

Little Things: Good Night



Little Things is a Web Series directed by Ajay Bhuyan and written by Dhruv Sehgal. This Rom-sit-web-com is set in Mumbai and has a couple Dhruv and Kavya as its characters. 

Dhruv (Dhruv Sehgal) is a postdoctoral research student and Kavya (Midhila Palkar) is a sales representative. The three episodes (of a five episode series) that are released till date are FOMO, Have a Nice Day and Good Night

The series focuses on the little things as Dhruv explains in Good Night while having a talk about Kavu's exes. On a night kept awake by mosquitoes, they go out and meet an old friend of Dhruv. Later they talk about Kavu's exes as she is upset that one of them is getting married.

Interesting tiny episodes with realistic dialogues. Way to go, Little Things! 

Monsoons

None could hear what the rain whispered to her in those dark nights.
He would follow her everywhere, with long fingers and intense gazes,
When she was walking up the road, his eyes would fall on her,
With a ravenous hunger, ravish and pierce her soul with agony;

How could she complain, for she loved him with her silences,
Gave him her heart and soul, let him own all her sacred spaces,
Whatever love was in her heart she gave without conditions,
So haunting was his love, his total devotion and his persistence,

In not letting her go that she couldn’t breathe a word to anyone.
Dodged everywhere and chained to him by each passing thought,
For one who never will turn up  when she needs him the most,
Lost and gone, this one dark love of her life, kills her the most,

Makes her forlorn, hysterical and desperate though lost and gone,
For a single tryst, a single glance and the soothing tone of his voice.

A happy life

Sunday, November 06, 2016

Coffee


Friday, November 04, 2016

Musically Yours: Le Paponist



It has happened to me more than once that a song gets really stuck in my head that I hum it constantly (which is called an earworm ) much to my own annoyance. Then after listening to it a countless number of times doing various chores- household, academic and blogger- I get struck by the fact that I can really identify the singer's voice. So, I discover to my surprise that just like my accidentally discovered later turned favourite songs by Atif Aslam, Mohit Chauhan, AR Rehman, Arijit Singh and KK, my current playlist has many songs by the Assamese singer Papon

Papon is the nickname of Angarag Mahanta, the lead singer and founder of the folk-fusion band called Papon and The East India Company. He  is famous for the unique fusion of Assamese songs and new generation electronica. Be it the playfulness of "Kyon" (Barfi), the absolute magic of "Kaun Mera" (Special 26), the pathos of "Jiyein Kyun' (Dum Maro Dum), the yearning of "Humnava" (Hamari Adhuri Kahani) or the desire of "Moh Moh Ke Dhaage" (‘Dum Laga Ke Haisha), his soulful rendering makes listening to them an uplifting experience. 

My favourite is his Coke Studio version of Kaun Mera and I find myself on cloud nine when listening to it just like he sings in : 
Ho Gaya Hoon Tera Jabse, Mein Hawa Mein Hoon, Tera Asar Hain
( Since I became yours, I am in the air; it's your effect)

So this year, just by the number of times, I have listened to this song, I need to be called a Paponist! 

Confessions of a Female Quixote

You are in your twenties. You are a woman. You are single. You are crossroads and you are slightly confused with just one thing: love. What I mean is that you have a plain uneventful life with order and balance and all of a sudden you are unexpectedly drawn into a whirlpool of emotions, the moment you develop an interest in a guy.

Irrespective of whatever interesting adventures you are in the middle of or what work you are doing, this one person becomes the pivot of all your thoughts, so much that you are hardly able to find your balance in life and it becomes so obvious to the people around you that you are interested in someone. If it happens, not once but twice then you are done for and add to this, the fact that you are shy and find it difficult to communicate what you feel to the person concerned.

So the end result is a journal full of choked up tears of absence, kisses of fettered affection and unspoken love. Some of the agony is because of shyness but mostly because the person whom you attract is also of the same kind: shy, proud and difficult to understand. So, these definitions are a way of getting over what I know might be the best possible love in the world, of a magical chemically combustible kind, but mostly existing in the field of imagination and fantasy.

So, this female Quixote who reads too much, loves too much, thinks too much and writes too much. She has no windmills to fight for but her own personal fears and inadequacies. Rather than confiding in intimate friends or confessing your love to the person concerned, what you do is to scribble some loving thoughts in a journal on a daily basis, so much that over time you discover that the person you love has turned into a myth.

Then years later, you stand face to face with the person who provoked all this writing for years and all you want to do is laugh out loud because you feel like a teenager once again. Not just that you have made a myth out of the object of your obsession.

The Notebook


There are books that you might want to read time and again. Nicholas Spark’s The Notebook  (1996) is one of them. An old man reads out a story to an old woman in a nursing home. Though she is the Allie of the story that is being read, she does not recall it as she suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.

The story that he narrates is about a summer romance between Allie and Noah set against the backdrop of a small town in California. They have an intense passionate affair and he shows her his old family mansion that he wants to renovate. Her parents take away when they come to know about it and Allie leaves a message with his friend Fin that she loves him.  They get separated because of a difference in class as Allie comes from a rich aristocratic background.

Years later Allie gets engaged to Lon, a young and rich lawyer and is happy. Then, she sees an article about Noah and how he has restored his family mansion. She goes to see him without informing her mother or Lon.

The next morning, she finds her mother at the doorstep and she confronts Allie by reminding her of her engagement with Lon. They argue but she gives Allie a bundle of letters that Noah had written her over the years.


This surprises Allie as there are so many letters which he had written for almost a year and Ann says that she hadn’t given them to her because she found her to be too immature. 


Ann asks Allie to make a choice between Noah and Lon, what is she wants and what is good for her. She finds that though the years have changed them in so many ways, this time she is not ready to let go of what she wants.

Sparks, in his interviews about the book has said that he had modelled the story on his wife’s grandparents who had been married for around 60 years.  The film version of the book directed by Nick Cassavetes is equally memorable and so are the songs from it especially I wanna grow old with you and I will be right there waiting for you.  

Wednesday, November 02, 2016

For us

You are my want, my need, my desire, my everything, my addiction that I never want to give up. May be the years, months and days might change this feeling for you.

But even after all these years, I want yours to be the shoulder where I return to with all the broken scattered pieces to be held close and put together; yours the eyes that hold the gaze and not hold anything back; yours the lips that greet me in surprise and yours the comfort that stays with me during the whole day. 

But right now, you don't seem to understand me and for now may be I don't want anything else either. 

Friday, October 28, 2016

Ahalya



A thriller by the Bengali director Sujoy Ghosh starring Soumitra Chatterjee, Radhika Apte and Tota Roy Chowdhury,  Ahalya is the story of a young policeman Indra Sen whose life and existence is changed, when on a missing person case, he meets a well-known artist Goutam Sadhu. 

The door is opened by a beautiful young girl whom he assumes is the daughter of the artist but turns out to be his wife. He sees a stone statue of the missing person Arjun on the table.Goutam Sadhu turns out to be a believer in magic and shows him a magic stone saying that he can turn into whomever he wishes to.

He is asked to meet Ahalya upstairs and she seduces him pretending that he is her husband. He no longer can make sense of the world he is in. This short film of around 14 minutes duration can stay with you for a day or two or even longer. 

Chain of Custody (2016)


It was only in February that I read Anita Nair’s Alphabet Soup for Lovers, which was quite a memorable one. In her recently released Chain of Custody , the second of her Inspector Gowda novels after Cut Like Wound, she portrays the city of Bengaluru ridden with corruption, violence and child trafficking.

Inspector Gowda is shown to be a maverick in his investigation methods,  passion for his Royal Enfield and for the women in his life. Along with his assistants Santhosh and Ratna, he sets out to solve the case of a missing girl Nandita, his maid’s daughter.

A young girl Rekha is coerced into being an escort to a rich man by her boyfriend Sid. She lies to her family and discovers herself to be in danger when this rich doctor is found murdered the next day. She breaks down completely without having a soul to breath her troubles to.


Nandita goes to school and on her way back visits a church. She is kidnapped by child traffickers and brought to a brothel. There are others, both boys and girls, molested and killed by their abusers. She cries for help and there comes an angel in the form of a stranger.

An MLA is found to be a paragon of virtue as he had married his handicapped girlfriend. The two are an ideal couple but she finds out his secret phone conversations and interest in young girls. She decides to take action and searches all his files to find out who he really is.

Connecting these three parallel stories is the city of Bengaluru, where anything is possible according to Inspector Gowda. His case is solved in a gestalt moment when his son brings in a friend Suraj who happens to be Rekha’s brother.

The novel portrays a disgusting world of child trafficking , where children around the age of twelve are nabbed in clear daylight and later finished off after being sexually exploited. Written in a very racy style, the book keeps the reader on edge and is a good read a la the stories of Feluda, our good old Indian Sherlock Holmes. 

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Rain

Saturday, October 08, 2016

The Year of the Metal Rooster



In the Year of the Metal Rooster,
Big events were happening daily,
When a Water Dragon and a Wood Sheep
Decided to have some fun one day.

The earliest cells must have dreamt,
Of the rain and the soft music it made,
On the tin roof and window-panes,
While the elements mixed together.

What strange elements blended,
What fires and what blue-green oceans,
To form this mysterious phenomenon,
Welcome or unwelcome, God knows.

The story of me might have began,
In the Year of the Metal Rooster as fun.

Readiness is all

Monday, October 03, 2016

Strangers

Saturday, October 01, 2016

Hafiz

Quixote

Nostalgia

May be it's just nostalgia, the thought of going back to a youth that could make you happy. To gift a flower of basil, a gentle caress, a naughty look or a 

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Always been a romantic

Sunday, July 10, 2016

The solitary reaper

I am a solitary reaper, singing in the fields,
I keep pace with the sun from dawn till dusk;
I sing and speak to the hills and the dales,
And I hum all day to the beat of my sickle.


The valleys echo my solemn voice to me,
I forget the long hours as I keep humming;
My song changes its hue from hour to hour
And I love to sing of loves, lost or gained.

Sometimes, I sing of epic battles of yore
Bending over my sickle in the green fields;
Sometimes, a passing stranger stops to listen,
Lingering over the soft music that he hears.

I see him smiling at my lonely song and me,
As he moves away, I get back to work again.

Saturday, July 09, 2016

Anam Cara


Sometimes, the answer comes late for some seekers. The lonely roads may wear you out; the skies might turn bleak and hostile; the days might spent without ever having a soul to breathe your worries to. 
There is always this desire, the need for warmth, for compassion, for meaningless chatter and meaningful silences yet the road is quite lonely. 
Much later at a turnstile, you might meet a traveller in whose eyes you might see eternity, in whose warmth all your wanderlust might be kindled again, in whose extended hand you might see a soul connection. 
There might be others who have gone ahead and reached their destinations long ago but your blessing is that you value the wisdom taught by the lonely roads, the weary feet and the warmth of your long-desired for companion. 
Photo Courtesy: flickr.com


Sunday, July 03, 2016

Spring


Somewhere after the terrible times, after the turmoil is over, there has to be a spring,

When your footsteps will be like before, sprightly and fast not like the drag of feet across these interminable winter,

May be only you will be left behind to tell the tale, how this went from joy to misery in a single day.

Sense of loss


In a throw of a dice,
In a move of hand,
You threw away all
Went into sanctuary.

The songs of loss,
That spoke of you,
The tiny wings left
To learn to fly itself.

The seething pain
The story of losses
Come back again
In its full sense.

You choke your tears
Without a goodbye.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Ma

















All I wanted was a pink book full of recipes;
Like the one she wanted to leave behind;
The family kitchen smelling of spices,
Christmas, roast chicken and plum cake.

The shopping spree just before Christmas,
Cake-making at midnight done together,
Your recipes followed to the last line
And the tweaks to the plans that I make.

This book of magic remains incomplete;
The Christmas flavours linger in the air;
Goodwill, happiness and the first time
I had celebrated Christmas with flavours.

The book of recipes, your cooking secrets;
All are lessons that I have learnt from you.

Pic: mariasmenu.com

Remembrance

You and me,
These magical words,
I can never utter,
About another.

You and me,
Like day and night,
Never meet but to play
Hide and seek,forever.

You and me,
Carry an unspoken love,
Unfulfilled yet deep,
Hidden like a treasure.

You and me,
Away but together,
In sleepless nights,
And lonely hours.

You and me,
Wordsmiths who love
To coalesce liquid pain,
Into songs of remembrance.

And you and me,
Like parellel lines,
Stretch across miles,
Strange before strange eyes.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Definitions


You were no bride in red;
Only a widow-heart unwed;
Yet with the seasons came
A spot of red in your hands.

I was no prince charming;
Only a lonesome wanderer;
Yet with the seasons came
A boat song on these lips.

We moved along these lines
Along these definitions;
In the end you are a wanderer
And I have turned widow-heart.

Yet these roles reverse and turn
Bring no comfort only despair. 

Saturday, June 25, 2016

New Woman












This soul was once like a huge flame leaping to the skies,
Then it withered, dried and drooped to the very earth;
Sometimes, like Icarus, it leapt out of its many mazes,
But burnt out in the heady dash for total freedom.

Then she brought forth a new-born, a swaddled baby
She sang her magnificat of newly found motherhood;
The soul forgot its troubles for a joyous interval
And learnt how to escape the many mazes again.

Yet mostly this soul was a single-celled organism,
Cowardly and crawling in this huge universe,
Too silent, too shut out and too withdrawn,
Incapable of learning or making its way around,

Sometimes, it longs for the crazy days of yesterday,
When the sun of total freedom had burnt its wings. 

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Wake up with the sun!


More than usual,
There is a need
To do something
Different ,
Out of ordinary
On a morning
Like this.

It's a bleak sky,
Hints of rain
Cloud the sky,
While I decide
To go on a walk
After a long time.

The roads are quiet,
City silent,
Signs of life,
Only a few,
Cycles on the road,
More walkers,
Regulars unlike me,
Who on a special day,
Has decided
To celebrate life,
With a morning walk.

Much is done,
Much accomplished,
On a day like this,
When I woke up early,
With the sun.

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

Win-win























PIC: Tumblr

Sometimes, your soul might be weary;
But the eyes are focused on the road; 
And a hurdle crossed makes you happy
Not at once, in degrees as it kicks in. 

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

To buy or not to buy: A shopper's story

Pic: Dreamtime

What I find is that for some years I have been buying things from the supermarket and enjoying the lack of a human element so much that I cannot tolerate when a very efficient looking (read polite, well made-up and dressed in stylish uniforms) comes and tries to interfere with the process of choosing a product. 

These shops do have cameras and motion sensors and I have often wondered "Do I look suspicious?" but the plain fact is that I have to check prices at closer levels than it is normal because of my eyesight as there are instances when I have quite overlooked digits before and after. 

After roaming around for hours, it is only natural that one knows many of these aisles by heart but at times, they do shift things around and I like to keep things in my mind and their availability for future purposes as well. 

But recently, I feel that I have been coaxed into buying things that I don't want to buy any day. Even a look in a particular aisle might end up in products that might be of no use. I was forced to buy two shades of blue nail polish instead of my usual shade of pink plainly out of courtesy. It's almost like they look into your eyes and shake your decisions. At times, I refuse very politely but I am rather piqued looking at my fingernails. 

When I shared this experience, I got a similar story, one from a friend and one from my mother. Many of these girls are overtly made up and say dialogues like "This toner is so good for your skin" and I always wonder have they really used it themselves!

But then I think I decided to play a different game because out of habit, I know their products by heart and can ask for a brand or a product they may not have! And, I think does work in most cases and sometimes I just name something that I really need and run as fast as possible as soon as I find it. 

But I guess it sure has spoiled the pleasure of shopping of finding where things are kept and then buying them. I do remember that during the early days of marriage, my husband would hold my hand tight so that I might not go missing in one of these aisles. 

Bottom line: I think my gripe against them is that they keep recommending cosmetics that I really don't want or may be because of some very lovely remedies for acne such as Himalaya Facewash or Age Miracle and so on. Part of this might be because of a very absent-minded childish naive expression on my face and I am working on a cure for this.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Earth Day

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Nuances
















All the butter in your words melt,
Their aroma sizzle in these books;

The lovely knights and queens rule;
In the realm of heart's full content.

In the tedium of summer I take them
And gobble them up voraciously.

Pic: thebodydietetics.com.au

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Another remembrance day

Years of absence and years of loss,
Words that could never bring it out.
Not really knowing what is missing,
Stifling up private grief for ages. 


Missing a warmth that was hearsay,
Love, talent and words in stories,
While not even a leaf was left behind
Of a life lost so many decades ago. 


She told me this to bring a tear to me;
For I had long forgotten this grief
And learnt to live without it long ago;
Than miss someone gone so long. 


Too young to have remembered you,
Too fond to love one through hearsay.

Thursday, April 07, 2016

Days


Where you went hiding those days?
I see the images, I see the shadows
Wasted in fully crowded courts
Without any possible consolation.


What did you speak of? Only my ears
Never heard or did I feel it right, to ask
But one snippet of a story brings smiles
While one bad word shocks me so much.


You must have felt the same one day,
Though I didn't know the reason yet.
The lives are all entwined without
Knowing the why, when, what or how.


But when I find but one missing piece
I celebrate with more love than ever.

An evening


In the midst of this summer tedium
You and I talk of the serious and trivial
Underneath the same ancient trees.

Monday, April 04, 2016

Miracle


A miracle has happened.
A mountain has moved
And a new terrain is here.


In the midst of all this
I felt your hand hold mine
And tell me not to worry.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Bakra


The lies that you tell
The magic of ulta-pulta
Has brought us here
Where we are.


Learning the ropes
To evade responsibilities
To whine perpetually
For what you get.


May be you deserve
Far more than this;
But you need a bakra
To hang your sins on.


The questions to trap
Shows your real self.

Monday, March 28, 2016

Handpicked















In many shades, the choices abound;
So tempting to the surprised buyer's mind.
In earthen shades, mud brown or tan,
Or in tints of the ocean, blue and green. 


The choices are too many, each unique
Be it the drape of emerald or turquoise;
The hues of the skies: rainy, cloudy,
Bright, grey or shades of the twilight. 


The mystic magic of the silver raindrops
The pure red on the bride's forehead,
All before me in the form of these drapes
That each look matchless and perfect. 


From the heap before me, I choose a hue
To bring a wordless wonder on your face.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Water Dog



















To define oneself, one needs so many words
To define oneself, one needs so many roles.
Elemental water, loyal as a dog in chinese era
Strong and enduring like a lion of the zodiac.

For years, this elemental water needed vessels;
For years, it worshipped you with its loyalty.
Now you are no longer here to define me
I flow again with the wanderlust of a dreamer.

Not that I need this persuasion of soft words
Not that I need this melting of strong wills;
For even without a single word or glance
This lonely wanderer and his song are mine.

For it's from these shores that he drifted off
And to this loyal heart that he'll come home.

Sunrise


All smiles and bright;
The little one shines.
It's dawn once again.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Drops of Youth













In tiny glass bottles, they sell drops of youth,
At exorbitant prices and dreams of perfection.
The words persuade, I decide to buy some
Just to check out for an overnight miracle.

Drops of youth, she claims can cure your scars.
Can melt away your acne-scars and pimples;
The girl mutters guessing my Achilles' heel
The need to have perfect pimple-free skin.

While I read her compact and eyeliner,
The perfect matte and the Absolute range
And think of the many things I have tried-
Diet, facewashes, scrubs, oils and whatnot.

Yet I'd love to keep an old belief of this land,
That they're brought on by an admirer's eyes.