Wednesday, August 17, 2005


Marginalia and a coincidence. I found an old textbook of mine today. Two handwritings- one was mine. The other was my friend's. We stretched the term 'marginalia' a lil too much. The penciled writings- now almost faded, a touch of blur in them- are everywhere. Every textbook of mine is littered with such stuff.

We were reading Romeo and Juliet then- the unabridged version. Oh- not in school. Gah- as if we did anything half as interesting as that by way of lessons. And as part of verses we'd memorized, we'd written it out when French class was in full progress. I’m sorry Miss. Tapashi.

He jests at scars, that never felt a wound,
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east and Juliet is the sun.

See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand
O! that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch her fair cheek.
(You have a pimple! )

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou
I think you make a rotten Romeo! I’m sure he never looked at pimples.
(I’m sure Juliet never had any. )

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By another name would smell as sweet.

For stony walls cannot hold love out.

O! (Why is he not using Oh with the h?)
How am I supposed to know?
(Are you sure the unabridged version you have is really that? )
We are supposed to be spouting it out silly. Who’ll know if the ‘h’ exists?

O! Swear not by the moon, the inconsistent moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from books;
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

(What’s he mean? Its almost as bad as class. I bet even you don’t know what he’s saying!)
I do. I’ll tell you when class’s over. I forgot my lines! What’s it that I say?
(Silver-sound or something.)

How silver-sweet lover’s tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears.

Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. (I like these lines)

When he shall die……….

(That’s not what you should say)
I am writing my favorite lines!

When he shall die;
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun

(I think she’s sick. Cut him out into pieces!)

I guess class must have gotten over… And did our conversation in writing.