Processing Thoughts

For K

2011-11-04T16:39:00.000+05:30

I thought I must write to you…each day, every day, a something special only for you. As usual your mummy has no agenda when she shoots off on these trips of hers. She wears her shoes, checks if enough time is in her pockets, for all the detours she is going to take on these trips… and it’s never enough. But she won’t stop.

While they say I am supposed to be teaching you all the good things in life, my sweetest you are the one who has taught me lessons… All of 3 years and you keep teaching me things. And all I tell you is what’s right and what’s wrong. But my honey bum, who is to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Not me, not your achcha, not achchamma… you will have to learn it yourself – the rights and the wrongs, the in-betweens, being the most important, for slowly you will realize that more than the blacks and whites are the greys.

You scared me to bits when you ‘practised’ squinting. Even more so when you couldn’t identify the basic colours…yellow was ello and so was red. And then one fine day you just walk up to me and rattle off the names of colours pointing at a picture book. You made me proud. Yes, you did. And I know you will keep making me proud. No pressure to perform though. Nothing on earth can make me forget the squirming red blob the doc held in front of me announcing, ‘it’s a girl’. He made a mistake. It was a fairy. My very own fairy, who thinks she can’t live without me, when it is actually the other way round.

I’m afraid I’ve got an opinion and I’m afraid I’ll die if I don’t shove it down your throat...

2011-09-15T21:07:00.000+05:30

Everybody has made it their personal, moral, social, obligatory responsibility to make clear their idea of perfection, to decide what’s right and what’s wrong before double checking that they themselves have not committed the same folly (could be something as severe as a hair-cut or something as silly as a selfish act). Clearly, the high and mighty souls (do they have one, I wonder?) feel that the whole purpose of their visit to this part of the universe is to deliver their unsought opinion...

2010-07-26T18:58:00.004+05:30

Teaching a child, the father of man (and woman)

They say love thy neighbour. But what if thy neighbour doesn’t reciprocate?

To which they say, do your deeds without any expectations. Then, why do it at all?

To which they say, do it for ‘your’self, and not to prove a point to the world. Well, in that case, I’d perform my deeds, sure. But then loving ones neighbour doesn’t figure in my list. What then?

And anyway, if I am not to have any expectations, then how do I create a standard for myself. If I must feel ‘satisfied’ with what I have, then does that mean, I need not aim for the stars, assuming realistically that I am not already amongst the stars?

They say, do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. But then where were the ‘others’ when this was being taught in the moral science class?

One lie leads to a thousand lies, they say. But that hasn’t stopped a lot of us from lying. The lies get justified as white lies, harmless lies and many more colour and intensity based categories are made.

I wonder what am i to teach my offspring... the one that’s warm and sunny, juxtaposing a stretch of cold, frosty moments, followed by flashes of cool and cloudy moments, with occasional bouts of prolonged heavy rain. My twenty-month old two-footer knows that the tiny French-manicure like nail of her pudgy left hand’s little finger, is enough for her to make me stand up in attention and do a “Aye Aye Sir...” to almost all her whimsical commands. So, what am I to teach my child, who is clearly the father of the man (I married), when it comes to being assertive, impractical, fanciful, but SURE of what she wants and how she’d get it.

I need to join a pre-school for the uninformed mommys and get a dose on the right things to be taught in the right ways to the monster in all her rightness walking (falling, getting up, dusting her bum just to fall again) this wicked vile world.

Rant

2009-12-15T20:58:00.000+05:30

Angry. Sullen. Sad. Betrayed. Wild. Violent. Disappointed. Scorned. Furious. Depressed. Suicidal. Apathetic. Is it practically possible for one person to feel all of these emotions at the same time? I don’t mean at precisely the same second. But each emotion pushing and shoving the other to occupy mind space? Is it possible? Or am I just thinking it up?

I want this. I wish I had that. I hope I become like him. I long for that cozy cottage. I yearn for a long holiday. I wonder if somebody is going to do it for me. A friend, while discussing our not-so-happening career graph, asked if we were not ambitious enough. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Correct, even I am not surprised at my response. That’s how lackadaisical I’ve become. Returning to the point, I thought of all the people who saw the ‘fire’ in me, the power, not just the want, to do something big. And here I was, at 27, nowhere close to the starting point. Where did I go wrong?

I think I know the answer to it. I let many people have a say in my life AND tried to incorporate my little self as well. What a distasteful hotchpotch your life becomes when you lack the conviction to stand by what you believe. AND, like puke inducing cherry to the cake, let others lead you. Ooooh la la!

Now that I know what went wrong, do I have the nerves to stomach it with head held up high? Do I have the conviction to undo the knot and stand afresh? I don’t know. I’ll let myself know in another one week. Buying time? No. got a painful croaking throat. Need to get that straight and then we’ll grab the b@#$%^s by theire balls. No, I don’t need my throat for that. But who’ll do the abusing when they wince in pain?

Blahg!

2009-09-29T19:54:00.000+05:30

I wrote this a few months before she came:
Motu is my friends 18 month old Labrador. He is everything she didn’t want at this point in her life (professional as well as personal) and he is the only thing that she looks forward to on a bad day. And a good day. And even on a not so happengin day. And of course, every day! Anything that ties you down, not at gun point but by mere existence is a Motu now on.

There are quite a few Motus in my life. A few of them can survive without me, but it would be just survival. What more does one need? Oh there is all that crap about living and not surviving for the sake of it. Enjoying life and not letting time tick by. Then there is this little bundle of pain, anxiety, uneasiness, fear and worst of all, limitless joy that’s to come.

If once it was difficult for me to plan running away and starting afresh, now the mere thought sends me on a headache-ridden guilt trip. Now I am going to be responsible for the little monster all set to turn my life upside down. She is not even here and I eat as per her fancy. Sleep has gone for a toss and size XS is history.

Come to think of it, I have no reason right to whine. Serves me right for taking things for granted. Serves me right for acting like a 7th grader (I’m sure they are way smarter than I’m at 25) who thinks that before the stork, a crow will pass by warning you of the arrival and I’ll just have to glare the dog away. (The dog is fine, by the way. Annoyingly excited about the kid. Already planning things that make me role my eyes and clench my jaws.)

2009-08-21T18:25:00.002+05:30

Change, She Did Not

I thought it would change my life.
I thought it would make me more docile.
I thought I would be more accepting and forgiving.
I thought I would be like the ones with a calm head over their shoulder, carrying their stiff, starched organdy salwar kameez with a smug composure.
I thought I would love to act like a wife.

Obviously I thought wrong. I can’t even begin the beeping act :).

2008-04-28T20:17:00.002+05:30

and I wrote

I have no clue as to what’s kept me off writing for so long. I kept repeating some lame excuses to people who bothered to ask me about my blog. Some of them to do with toop much work, some of them do to with too little time, most of them to do with marriage. ‘I’m married. Now things are different.’ How different? Nobody bothered to ask. Why will they? Most everybody I know is content with a reason. Nobody wants to get into the dirty business of meddling into others business. A good thing I must say. I wouldn’t want to be bugged with, ‘But you need to make time for things you like Divya (have I used my name before?) and ‘Don’t let marriage bog you down. You go and write that book you’ve been wanting to pen.’ Considering I already have people to get my yet-unwritten book published, wonder what am I waiting for. Different issue that the selfless blokes have already claimed half of the royalty I get for the yet-unwritten book.

I wish just for once, only one time, I could stick to the thought I start off with. All I wanted to say to the little few who still glance through Processing Thoughts, was that the excuses were just that, excuses. There wasn’t an iota of fact in it. Are you saying that inane transcribing of videos (that thing I do that pays for my ginger tea) will keep from writing disconnected thoughts? Puhleasee! And I’m too much of an arrogant bitch to admit that a ‘husband’ can keep me from shooting my hands off. Especially a husband as paavam (or disinterested (10 months and I haven’t yet figured it out)) as mine.

I’ve managed two paragraphs. I’m sure I can take it up from here. Soon. I just hope the power cut doesn’t get in the way.

2007-07-31T18:45:00.000+05:30

I will I will I will write…

...and they say marriage is bliss. I am not married yet and I feel like …never mind….let's not get there...but ya…I will I will I will write…

Just the way I'll meet my friends

Just the way I'll go to my library more often...

Just the way I'll read more often...

Just the way I'll watch good movies, more often...

Just the way I'll get to plan my weekends...

Just the way...oh there are so many things...

To begin with, I'll just write.

2007-06-25T14:50:00.000+05:30

"You won't be the 'runaway bride', no?"

A random conversation, with an ex-classmate-cum-ex-colleague-cum'to-date-good-friend, is never as random and inane as one usually makes it look like.

Most of the things these people say, if you are in the habit of reading between the letters, say a lot about you. Each comment, each opinion, each gesture, each expression carries with it an entire baggage of all the time spent together, of all the lessons learnt the hard way, of all the caveats rendered subtlely .

So when one such friend, rather carefully asked, "D, you won't be a runaway bride, no?", I was slightly taken aback. I smiled, ia half-hearted manner, spoke about the weather, the new pain-in-the-wrong-place colleague and tehn when I thought enough time had passed by to make it look like just another casual question, I asked, "Oye, how come you said that?"

T: said what?

D (also, me): …that thing about not beinga runaway bride…

T: Oh that….well, it's nothing…

I didn't insist. But I'm sure she must have just thought that how come a wayward brat, (pampered goose is one of the many endearements showered on me by T) like D, somebody so to the point, somebody so reckless, so crass, settle down? Let's say this is one of D's hasty decisions, still what when she finally realises the baggage that she's agreed to be a aprt of is just more messy than her messed up self? MAybe she'll be the runaway bride.

Maybe not!!

2007-06-25T14:46:00.000+05:30

What ifs and what if nots...

So what will happen to the backpacking to China and Ladakh and Leh and Italy and Andaman and Lakshadweep and some island or the other…?

What about learning Spanish and Italian?

What about learning Salsa?

What about learning to drive a four-wheel (OK, now that might be possible…)?

What about traveling far and wide… writing for Outlook-Traveller / India Today –Travel Plus?

What about making some exotic dishes from the exotic locales visited?

What about watching all those foreign films… trying to make sense of it…appreciating good sense / taste…swearing at the bad ones?

What about just staring into the oblivion without a possible purpose and not being labeled a 'pseudo' like some of those modern artistes?

What about waking up in the middle of the night just to make a cup of ginger tea, pick up a book, watch a movie and just not worry about who will think what?

What about just falling sick on a Friday / Monday and just going for a small trek to some obscure village in Maharshtra?

What about going to work in my pyjamas?

What about being at home in my pyjamas?

What about just chopping off the chopped of tresses?

What about not getting hurt when someone else gets hurt?

What about staying unaffected?

What about not affecting any one else?

What about not being responsible for anything?

What about late night conversations?

What about falling asleep during the late night conversations?

What about deep, profound discussions on threading being good for the skin as compared to waxing ( I still am not sure what's better…waxing for sure is less painful, relatively speaking) ?

What about all the 'What about's'?

P says it's not the end of life; it is just another life.

And I nodded, like I always do… almost always…!

2007-06-21T12:06:00.000+05:30

About not having a Moturam

…and probably never having a Moturam.

And probably always wanting to have one

And probably never having the nerves to do a Gucci-bucci

Considering how I refused to step down from the case swing chair, since the chotu Moturam, yet, couldn’t jump as high up, considering how I shrieked in fear when the li’l bndle of mischief and cheekiness came bouncing towards me, considering how my best friend’s boy friend got The glare and much more, there might be a reason I don’t have a Moturam.

That’s why I keep saying give me a Moturam just as it is born, just before it opens it’s eyes, so the first thing he lays his eyes on is me. And then he’ll thin k I’m his mum. Any which ways I’m called ‘bitch’ more often than Divya. So…

2007-06-13T12:53:00.000+05:30

The truth about sparrows and dogs!

Finally the sparrow got engaged to be married to the dog. And before they could live happily ever after, they fought like ~~cats and dogs~~ sparrows and dogs. After every fight the dog would say, “I promise not to repeat THIS mistake again.” As if that was supposed to make the fidgety, restless, nervous, flighty, perpetually flustered sparrow feel l better…but again, like a nice, peace loving sparrow, she would give in every time….let him do something stupid again, just so she can chirp non-stop and drive him mad! Fortunately fro the sparrow, this dog wasn’t the barking types…he would just sit there like a nice, well-behaved, dog, wagging his tail at regular intervals, just to divert the sparrows fleeting attention. And dumb, that the sparrow is, she would invariably fall for the wagging and the yelping. Tch tch tch….the sparrows of the world need to grow up!

The other day, sparrow and dog were to meet up and do some shopping together. It was the sparrow’s best friend’s birthday. The dog didn’t mind tagging along, dog that he is. After a quick shopping session (sparrow is infamous for her aversion towards shopping), the dog insisted that she travel back home with him. Sparrow chirped and pleaded and chirped some more, but alas. She fell for the way the little dog yelped …! BIG MISTAKE! She got into a gents compartment with the dog she got engaged to…and suddenly the dog decides to get as insensitive and as mean as stupid as possible. He actually says, “J You have a lot of guts, eh? You actually got into a gents compartment. All I had to do was ask once!” now this hypersensitive sparrow started fuming. Nobody had ever accused of being a fickle minded ‘pinky’. And him, of all the people, tells her that she has ‘guts’??? A zillion thoughts went through her mind. She was too hurt and humiliated to move. Just then he says, “I think you should get into a ladies compartment…” She promptly got up….and like a man who doesn’t know what chivalry is all about, he just rests his butt more comfortably on the seat as she walks away into the crowd of a zillion staring eyes.

It is a different issue that the sparrow refuses to entertain his calls and messages till the dog felt sufficiently guilty. It’s also a totally different issue that the sparrow will keep reminding him of this incidence till her last breath. And it’s an entirely different story that no vivid truth about the sparrow and dog species was mentioned anywhere in the post.

2007-05-29T12:44:00.001+05:30

Of sparrows and dogs

She said she wanted to be a sparrow in her next life.

He said he wanted to be a dog in his next. She was hurt. She thought to herself, probably he didn’t really want to spend the rest of his seven lives with her. Probably he was already bored of her. Probably he had someone else in mind. Probably he didn’t have someone else in mind, but he just wanted to keep his options open.

“Why L, why do you want to be a dog?”

“Because, you love your toy dog so much…since I can’t wish to be a dog, in this life, I’d be one in my next.”

2007-05-29T12:39:00.001+05:30

The ever after story...

In our next lives, you'll be a sparrow and I'll be a dog and we'll live happily ever after....

2007-05-17T14:30:00.000+05:30

Ignored

Fuming!

Extremely angry!

Two of my closest friends, one after the other pissed me off, on different issues.

One, out of the blue, says, “Orkut should be banned.”

“A, that’s too big a statement. Please explain yourself.”

“Well, it’s just one of those things Divya…you know the Koushumbi case , right? I’m sure they met on Orkut. This bloody networking site is just too much. I’m sure they must have met here… moreover; there is no sense of privacy at all.”

Now this friend of mine has no Orkut account. I’m not very surprised and neither am I bothered. She obviously chose to not make her very private life, public in any sense.

So, I tell my friend, “A, to begin with, if we are talking about this particular case then it’s quite clear that Orkut is NOT the culprit. Secondly, if we are talking about privacy, then you CHOSE to not be a part of this very public an affair. Isn’t banning too farfetched a proposition?”

She retorts with a, “Oh don’t give me the democracy BS. It just should be banned. I don’t like it.”

Now, ironic it might seem, but I seemed to like the last statement of hers. It should be banned, for I don’t like it. That is quite deep a line, self-explanatory, as well.

The righteous me, who is a die hard propagandist of democracy, in my own way, got miffed.

After a 70 seconds long version of mumbling pleasantries, we hung up.

Soo, as I login to gmail, I see K, another person I cannot live without. At least, I haven’t tried.

“K, I’m mad. A said this (a brief non-convoluted version of the above mentioned conversation follows). You must know, I, myself am not a die hard fan of Orkut / Yaari / Dostpost and other inane social networking portals. But, there are people who like it….so let them be.”

“Divvy, how does it affect you?”

“What do you mean by how does it affect me? It was not a random line she made in a crowded room. It was a one-to-one conversation. She was talking to ME. What was I to say? ‘Hmm. Ok.’. That’s it?”

Now, this person K, is one of those who’ll totally ignore anything and everything. It doesn’t make a difference if he agrees with something or not. He’ll just ignore it. Worse is, he’ll expect me to ‘take it light’ as well.

So, I decide to get a little too sarcastic.

“Of course, I keep forgetting, I should have said, whatever. So what else?’ Hmph. Why don’t you just go and sleep K? (He is in the States. It was night time for him.)

Then he throws the clincher of sorts.

“Why Divya, you cannot take another point of view, is it?”

OUCH.

I cannot take a point of view? Just because I question yours, means I cannot take one??? Is that what it’s all about when people act all grown-up and decide to just evade issues they do not agree with? When I ended my argument with K, all I was trying to do was get acerbic by acting the way he does. But of course, the point was all lost in trying to make me look like a kid. I know, that’s not his focus in life, but in that moment of annoyance and frustration, it seemed like that.

Tch!

2007-05-15T18:01:00.000+05:30

Light lena yaar!

Read a post on a oft visited blog. *Oft visited* must say something about the content of the blog, the sensibility of the blogger and the place of the blogspot in my mind. And then I come across this post. An anti-'anti-valentines day’ post, written on The Valentines Day.

I’ll shove the spear up and down yours if you dare to cal l me a skeptic, cynic, pessimist and other hackneyed adjectives that often describe me and my thoughts.

OK, to begin with, I’m the one propagating freedom of speech and expression. I’m the one telling people to be more tolerant of other’s views. I’m the one asking people to show the middle finger (in your head, of course) to people who burn their fuel trying to change your mind. And THAT is precisely what I’m going to do here. Write about how silly it is to shout out anti V-day slogans and sillier to shout out anti-‘anti-V-day’ slogans.

What I do not understand is, how does it make a fuck’s difference to anyone if some boi / gurl decide to spend his /her/ well –earned dough on Hallmark /Archies cards and gifts? Let them. Why are you losing hair over it? Of course, I don’t have the balls to stand and confront the tigers and other cats of the world. I hate confrontations. Mostly because they do not drive home any point. And if the person is so dense so as to sweat over red roses and pink cards, then it’s anyway pointless confronting him/her/them.

Then comes the part wherein the morning newspapers to the evening tabloids waste good news space by sensationalizing something that makes absolutely no sense. The over-the-top views of the so-called-forward lot, will be exaggerated even more. Then the ‘educated’ and the ‘broadminded’ people focus on how the different variety of cats should mind their business, if they have any, and how we should pave way for globalization and westernization and what nots. Bah!

Light lena yaar!

If somebody has enough brains, they’ll in turn write a mail pulling my ears for writing this piece of gyan, which is obviously falling on deaf ears. Again, if they have enough brains, they’ll just take it light and ignore this. Now that’s the lot I want to meet. Digression , that was. Coming back to the topic, why oh why, doth the junta lose cool and why oh why do thou get so melodramatic and why oh wh….ouch….hey hey hey….chill. You want me to take it light? I will. Hmph!

2007-05-07T17:41:00.000+05:30

Of not being in the safety zone

I want to believe in God. Yes, I wrote that with a capital G. I want to. I read something a while back, that made my heart wring in pain. Of course, it was pure fiction. But that tiny mass, pumping blood here, there and all over the place, seemed to just stop for some picoseconds and I was left wondering.

I believe in doing everything to the fullest. If I want to hurt the fuck out of some one, trust me to do a good job of it. Sooo good that after a point I get hurt, for all the hurt caused. Again, I assure myself that he/she deserved it. God would have taken a long time to get back to him/her, so I took over the reigns.
I’m my God.

All these lines suddenly seem so blasphemous. I remember when daddy wasn’t well. I’d prayed hard. No, I didn’t go to a temple or for that matter even chant prayers and sit with my hands folded in front of The Idol. But I prayed. Daddy recovered. I thanked the doctor profusely. Suddenly I refused to see anything beyond science. It was science that saved daddy. It was only science. The intention of this post was to be cynical at myself, my faith based on convenience. But as I type this, I wonder if it is really convenience?

Why am I so cynical? I don’t know. Cynicism is a safer state of being and I thrive on that belief.

I wish I had blind faith in something that made me less of a skeptic. It’s more convenient that way; having some one to solve your problems, blame when lost, cry to when alone and forget when safe.

2007-05-06T19:30:00.000+05:30

Of starry tantrums

With every single day I can feel the enormity of my jinxing capacity.

I can take care of you, love you like a hopeless maniac, pamper you rotten, take all your temper tantrums with a calm smile, be there for you even before you need me, walk away the second I sense you tossing and turning for space, I can be a mother, daughter, lover and friend; all till I know that you are not in any ways related to me.

It's like, the moment we get tied up as a pair, I’ll start affecting you. My jinxed existence will start affecting you. The blighted luck that I have, will show it effects on you as well. And that is The Last thing I want to happen.

I wonder what made me pray, cry and hope in despair so that you could be mine. I'm glad you aren't. I'm glad we'll never cross that line and reach that point of proximity. I 'm glad you didn't give in to my temper tantrums, my very own sweet custard.

I would have felt so helpless and I would have been so sore with myself for being a part of your life. I like it this way. I'm there....just close enough to get a daily inventory of what's happening in your life...if your leg is giving you problems, if you've finally stopped fasting on Saturday ( yes, that bothers me...anything that makes you uncomfortable for 2 seconds at a stretch bothers me. I haven't told you this to avoid another 2 seconds of discomfort). I'm there, and the daily inventory, abuses, mollycoddling, helps me survive through each day.

I hope my stars are screwed up enough to not let any one come close... we don't want the responsibility of ruining someone else's life, do we!

2007-04-25T15:56:00.000+05:30

View from the loo

My office is located in one of those decaying mills, which have been turned into huge commercial complexes. However hard they might try to obliterate the face of this decadent, once-flourishing textile mills, somewhere remains a bit of it that speak about the life it lived, once upon a time.

The place where I work is located amidst a cluster of such defunct mills. Walking up to it is no pleasant sight for the eyes. The place itself is nothing to brag about, at least not for its look and feel. Just another media house, amidst a huddle of other media houses and commercial buildings. But the backside of the building, to which you have no access (or so my non-investigative mind believes), is a pond. A mossy green pond. To one side of it is our building and the rest of it is surrounded by trees….big and small…creepers….big long winding and definitely spooky looking. In the middle of the day, it stirs a feeling of eeriness that only being lost in the woods, looking for THE Blair witch is capable of. This, in the heart of a bustling city.

Beyond the pond and the trees and creepers, you can see the dilapidated structures of the redundant mills…the parts which the architecture of the commercial complex decided to keep alive. Or dead.

Now and then you can spot a bat or two flying aimlessly away from their herd, closely huddled together on the trees around. Now and then a crow or a pigeon would go skinny dipping. Very normal, considering they have not much of an option but go Skinny dipping. Unless of course they are the pets of the Barbie’s in flesh and blood. Then, clearly the birds will have their own wardrobe too.

I am not sure if it is the marble like greenery of the pond or the dry, dark green of the creepers or even better, the Gothic castle like effect that the archaic bits of the mills create, but it sure makes my heart beat faster, and eyes just get hooked on to the sight.

Colleagues think I have bladder issues.

2007-04-16T17:55:00.000+05:30

Neon blue bags, best friends, water-bottles and shades of pista green

Last night when I lay on my bed, in between all the unwarranted tossing and turning, I thought of the many firsts of my life.

They accuse me of an exceptional memory. I just bend my knees and do a lady-like bow, honoured by the accusation. Although, I must admit, my memory mostly sticks to things of irrefutable triviality. That’s, obviously*, besides the point.

I remember the colour of my first bag, a neon blue with black piping. They’ve stopped making fun colours like that, any more. All you find is a dull grey or a boring beige. No wonder, kids detest going to school these days. If I was made to go to school in beige/black/brown/grey, I would have surely put up a fight. Of course, parents always have the upper hand, at least till you believe in Santa Claus and tooth fairies.

I remember the first time my mom had solid proof of my anti-social behaviour to show to my dad, who thought I was his, very own chubby, bundle of innocence. I remember throwing the bags and water bottles of all my classmates out of the second floor window, only because my first best friend didn’t share a secret with me. How did I know it was a secret? Well, I saw her whispering something into some other not-so-best-friend’s ears. Hell hath no fury like a four year old scorned. But I guess, the other four-year-olds were not to know this and they went ahead and in their ignorance of the gravity defying fact, chose to piss me, me, a co-four-year-old, off (melodramatic nodding of the head).

I remember the long list of best friends I’ve had since.

I remember the first day in all the four-schools I went to. No, I wasn’t thrown out. I had to move owing to my mother’s transferable job don’t you go around raising your brows missy, I am not lying. It’s a weekday, don’t ya see?

I remember pouring the glass of milk into a big steel container and then calling my brother with an astonished look on my 7-year old face, “Cheta, see see…the water turned white….like that only…. :O”. The first thing he did was tell me how my happiness is royally screwed for the day, for as soon as mum came, he was going to tell her. I thought he knew magic, else how would he know what’ I’d done to my glass of milk.

Nowadays, what irritates my close ones is the painful detailing I get into while describing a shade of green, that particular shade of green, not grass green, but frosted pista green. Most of the times, I pretend to ignore the rolling pair of eyes. Divya, child / woman/ monster**, it’s ok if you do not remember the exact height of the pup you saw, now that we know the exact shade of it’s eyes and the number of times it wags it’s tail in 1 minute.

I’m sure they are just jealous. I’m sure they secretly wish that they’d also remember stuff….utterly worthless load of scrap (er, it wouldn’t be called scrap otherwise, eh?!), still!

*For the simple reason that, being the protagonist, nothing I do/did can be trivial.

** Depends on the heights of irritability that they’ve reached.

2007-04-13T18:10:00.000+05:30

Of sour grapes and sweet limes…

Mum is desperately trying to get me married. The more desperate she gets, the more reasons I find to remain single. It's not an illogical effort on staying single. It's a genuine concern on my end, as to not seeing a point in the institution, per se. Show me a valid, logical reason and I might give it a thought.

She says I was hard to please since childhood and I've just grown up to be a difficult person, always demanding for the extraordinary.

Hard to please? Well, show me someone who was pleased by something / someone, above or below his/her capabilities. Show me someone who didn't mind settling for a nincompoop? Show me someone who didn't mind attitude issues in people, didn't mind people who thought they were His/Her gift to mankind?

Demanding? Well, I do demand that the person be down to earth, humane, independent and ambitious. Asking for a good sense of irony and sarcasm might be pulling it too far. That demands a level of intelligence, and sue me but I want my guy to be intelligent, who understands my sarcasms…who understands me…or at least tries to understand me and on failing doesn't just throw his hands up in the air, calling ME 'difficult'.

And to top it all up, you hear awful stories of infidelity (not claiming that it is a-sex-specific), physical/mental harassment, dowry demands and tales with other hackneyed but depressingly true and astonishingly possible themes.

If one still needs reasons to be ‘difficult’ and ‘demanding’, just to be that wee bit careful*, then I’d say that YOU are being difficult and demanding.

If that means I’ll remain single, so be it. As long as I don't get married to a narcissistic, conservative fashionista, who thinks that ten people wearing a suffocating hideous pink choker makes it trendy, who thinks my life is his business, who wants me to do things because it is in vogue, not because it makes me happy, I'd rather be single.

And it's not about sour grapes being out of reach. It's about waiting for the sweet lime.

*Again, haven’t we heard of the utmost careful people, in spite of their cautious approach, being a part of a messy, marriage? At least, he/she tried his/her best to avoid a mishap. Now if the mishap was fascinated by him/her, tough luck!

2007-04-11T18:50:00.000+05:30

Being weird is the latest style statement...or so said my weird pal

"You are an odd girl", said my colleague. I didn't react to it. Mostly because I didn't know what to say. Normally, a person would have shrugged in that unaffected manner, waiting to rush to the wash room, and blush all shades of red. Isn't it cool to be odd? Just the other day, I came across a person, a friend to be precise, not just any other person I bumped into without choice in the first class compartment of a local train, but a friend who, I assumed, had a better, less flashy view of things. Now this person was talking about one of her acquaintances who behaved in a rather 'weird' manner. "D, she was soooo weird. And once upon a time I used to like the fact that I was weird…sigh!" I was walking besides her till a second before she said that. I was slightly disheartened, slightly miffed, slightly shocked to hear that from somebody who claimed to be non-judgmental. Anyways, that is not what irked the Queen of England (me, me….look at me), is this fascination of people towards being labeled ‘weird’?

What irritates me is the double standards people sub-consciously garner in them.

If you stare into the void, it is being lost in deep thought. If you find someone else looking blank, he is just trying to look detached and thereby feign self-importance.

If you put on an accent, it comes naturally to you…all the angrezi television I watch, you say (mostly you won’t say it, for that is admitting the presence of an accent). If somebody else slurs more than necessary on an ‘r’, he is ‘such a fake, baba’.

If somebody else makes a blunt statement, he is being rude and obviously, ‘it’s not his business'. Ofcourse, it’s your official business to speak your minds. It falls under your moral, social responsibility area in the KBA chart.

If somebody copies a particular style of dressing/talking/ thinking/…, it’s downright infringement of somebody else's originality. It goes without saying that you were just ‘learning’ from the best.

Wonder, why we underestimate others intelligence.

And then they ask me why I am so cynical in life…because I am the only intelligent being on earth, after my dog of course.

2007-04-10T21:08:00.000+05:30

A random day with a random tear on a random cheek

It's pouring…you have a steaming cup of tea, with the slightest whiff of ginger in the air…somewhere you can smell the wet earth…somewhere you can hear the twittering of the sparrows, upset that they didn't get no caveat before the downpour…somewhere you can see a herd of impish 3-footers, escaping the hold of their grand mother /parent/ elder sibling/ any unfortunate caretaker, after a brief session of arm wrenching…somewhere you know you are feeling blissful…but somewhere it also hurts…beauty hurts…perfection hurts…kindness hurts…the hurt similar to the tear rolling down the puffed cheeks of a mother at the first glimpse of her new born.

Beauty of nature is such that it makes me cry. A silent cry, ofcourse. Not the agonising, ear splitting, eyebrow knitting cry of a werewolf. but a silent cry...

2007-04-08T20:30:00.000+05:30

...and they say women whine!

Relationships bug the crap out of men. Most men. Most men I have known...and most men I have not known directly, but I still do get a whiff of the fact that they are all bloody spineless, dickheads who shudder at the quintessential, 'Where are we going with this RELATIONSHIP?'. If relationships bug the crap out of men, then why the fuck do they get into one? The other day I read a typical man ranting on about how his life is screwed AGAIN because of a woman. Then he goes around making statements like 'i didn't even realise how she got me to a point where i couldn't manage to shrug my way out of the big R word'. I wonder why ? is it because all the while that she was talking to you, trying to fucking understand, where the fuck was this fucking journey with a dickhead like you , going, you were busy staring at her non-existent cleavage? Were you busy trying to picture how it would look? when you said yes to her, 'do you love me poochie?', were you actually saying yes to the afore mentioned, mollycoddling , mostly a rhetoric question or were you saying yes to the delusional horny pass she made at you?
And then you wonder where you went wrong? Poochie boy, you deserve worse. You deserve to be tied a rope around your snout that wiggles everytime your mind takes a delusional turn, hyposthesising the different postures, as your techie girlfriend is busy discussing decoding, coding and encoding.
Did I generalise? Oh. it was only my way of feeling a little better about, most often than not, generalised statements made on women. Again, I am not a 'I-want-reservation-for-women-in-the-unisex-loo' feminist. I am just a regular woman, who loses her mind at the painfully predictable and mostly cockeyed and preposterous statements made by the 'poochie's' of the world.

PS: And for all the men who do not fall in this category, i guess you are sane enough not to send me stinkers.

PPS: Not that i have an issue with stinkers...so on 23rd thots, you might as well...

2007-03-27T13:32:00.000+05:30

Untitled

She sat with him, just besides the 7 foot tall hour glass, looking at nothing in specific. There is that feeling of familiarity; that feeling of comfort. Nobody is in a hurry for the time to pass by. Neither of us want anything to happen that wouldn’t have happened without a magic wand. She loved that level of comfort. There were times when she was not so much in peace with her closest friend. And there she was with him and everything seemed just perfect. There was nothing more or less she would have asked for. He seemed to understand her as nobody ever did. He nodded at the right pauses; he agreed to the agreeable and disagreed fervently at anything that seemed to ruffle her ruffled, wet, feathers. She would break into a laughing fit at his antics…go all jelly kneed at the way he pouted and acted hurt. No matter what they ordered he wouldn’t budge till he had a bite of her dish.

They said she’d pampered him a lot. She thought otherwise. Their three month old relationship had reached such heights where in she could trust him with her life. And so would he.

Just now and then she would wish for him to talk as well… she wouldn’t mind learning dog-language either. Well, she was in love with him and love makes you wish for crazy things

2007-03-26T15:34:00.001+05:30

OK, so i got nothing better to do....sue ,me!

2007-03-26T15:33:00.000+05:30

Letting go!

Why is it so difficult to let go of things/people/ideas/issues close to you? Why do they keep coming back to you like a recurring bad dream? Like it’s some chronic illness? Why do you keep hoping that maybe thinking a lot about it might bring respite, when all it does is hurt you a little more? I still miss my doll. I’ve had many before and after this particular one. I guess the amount of hurt depends on the way you lose something. Had I just dislocated its joint myself I wouldn’t have been so hurt. It was the fact that my then 3-year old neighbour took it for good.
No wonder people remain so hung over about a relationship gone sour. Knowing the fact that the person walked out owing to your inadequacies, tantrums, and sometimes, for no good reason at all. It’s the ego in us that doesn’t let us get over it. How could he do this to me? How could he not find my temper tantrums adorable? How can somebody just walk out on me?ME?
Because he/she is JUST a human being.

2007-03-26T12:35:00.000+05:30

Li’l gurl

You are just a little girl…mostly lost…who talks a lot, laughs a lot and looks grumpy every time someone else sees her. It’s like the li’l kids who sing and dance in front of parents but refuse to move in front of relatives and mommy keeps saying she sings she dances…but all you do is sit with a grumpy face….nodding a no no..

…grew up too

I’m like the li’l gurl who hates being judged by the friends of her parents who are dying to show off the ‘skills’ of their kids.
I’m like d li’l gurl who would rather die in anonymity than live in a stage full of similar li’l gurls and bois. I might be mediocre but that deosn’t stop me from hating mediocrity.

2007-03-16T15:08:00.000+05:30

… Of choices available and the choices I choose

You depress me... and intentionally I wouldn’t want to do that to myself. Without any external help I manage to get depressed. So, spare me. Seriously, spare me!

I don’t want to know if you got a roof over your head or not. I don’t want to know what the fuck you were waiting for so long to start looking around...I don’t want to know how come you got no money now....didn’t you know better before lending it to people?! I don’t want to know anything.

Get eaten by the ants all over you. Your hands aren’t tied up. It’s a choice that you made.

I am not the one to rescue you. You know that too.

I refuse to be the patient listener.

I refuse to be the calming entertainer.

I refuse to shoot off my mouth so you feel better listening to the 'lighter moments in life'.

I'm trying hard to paint reality a brighter shade of black. That's the most I can do for myself. And that keeps me busy.

The masochist in me needs a breather.

2007-02-27T21:08:00.000+05:30

Classic Example of Arbitrary Thoughts

There are things bothering me at the moment… mostly to do with work. I am not sure if I know the way out of it. That maybe also because I don’t know if I know that if there is something I need to get out of. I cannot seem to put a finger to it.

This seems to be comfortable… this job. Is that enough, being comfortable? The only person I can be really frank with is myself. And I seem to be deluding myself…like the facts are not important. Worse is when I pretend they don’t even exist.

Something quite upsetting and something that I’ve been noticing since long is that I tend to do precisely the things against which once upon a time I protested. One of them being feigning. Well, I generally am too apathetic and indifferent to even protest about anything.
That’s also besides the point.
I lost the point.

The confusion, I guess, is just a façade over all the clarity. It’s as clear as the unmuddled stream. I think I know precisely what I want. What ALL I want. Am I ashamed to admit that the non-materialistic ‘divine blasphemy’ has suddenly become so shallow and material-minded? Am I the only one who could do with a Jeep? Am I the only one dying for that famed 15,000 minutes of fame? Am I the only one who wants to go home to a person waiting to wrap me in a warm hug, who would not mind my temper tantrums, who is way too intelligent than I am (well, intelligence is relative), less shy, more objective…basically, everything that I am not. I want someone to compliment me, be the better half.

Er…that was an unintentional mad rush of mush! I’ve been devoid of that phenomenon, mostly because I’ve been inflicting myself with heavy dose of angst-filled shit, in the form of Alanis Morissette. Well, being a woman doesn’t really give much of a scope to write anything beyond that and mostly the subject that drives her kind to purgation of creativity in the form of angst filled shit is Men.

2007-02-24T23:30:00.000+05:30

The Divine Blasphemy

. . . I'm the man in the woman
I'm the letters in a word
I'm the word in the line
I'm the line in the para
I'm the para of the story
I'm the story of the woman
I'm the woman...
I'm the divine blasphemy...

2007-01-08T16:29:00.000+05:30

More Wants to Want More!

In spite of knowing that some things are just not meant to be why is it that we still desperately hope for it to happen? I am not talking about an imbecile making an extravagant want. I am talking about a fairly intelligent, common man, with seemingly sufficient, common sense trying to rationalise his needs and wants. I'm sure a sane murderer can always justify his deed, but he may not be necessarily right. Now if we keep aside the matter of relativity here and assume that the definition is the same for one and all, you might some what understand what I mean.

I remember praying hard a day before my board results were out. I was fervently hoping to secure a first class. This inspite of the fact that I'd hardly studied and had managed to flunk in four of six papers during the prelims. Was I hoping for a miracle? But I am an agnostic. I myself am not sure if God exists. Then how was the miracle to happen? Did I choose to believe that existence of God depends upon my convenience? They say I have an above average IQ. I seem matured for my age. Then, obviously it wasn't selective defunct cerebral behaviour.

So what is it that makes us want the impossible? Na, do not confuse this with one of the profound questions you usually come across. There is nothing deep or ponderous about this. A very simple question, popped up in the teeny-tiny mind of a very simple person and she put it across in a blog, which according to many, especially the technologically inclined, has a better purpose, the better purpose being discussing intelligent topics like the mating habits of the lizard or the science and art of pisciculture (don’t go around ‘éwwwíng’, it just got something to do with fishe and its likes. Geeee…!). “A blog is not meant to be your personal journal, you technology-obsolete freak,” said my friend who also happens to know way lot about these contraptions and their utility, beyond their spellings.

Now the only doubt that arises in my mind, the one constantly harrowed by doubts, is what if people do not want to, more candidly put, do not know how to use these contraptions, atleast not in the way it was supposed t be used? What if instead of writing on a piece of paper, I want to make paper boats? Will I be sued? Will I be ignored by the óh-so-sane’ ones of the world, will I be ignored by the eligible and not-so-eligible bachelors in town (er…now that’s tempting…some might even call it a case of sour grapes. Ahem! ) so where were we? Right…so who decides?

You can begin my asnwering the questions in sequence, thanchu!

2007-01-05T23:59:00.000+05:30

Conveniently yours!

How many times have you felt like you were just being used, like someone was just playing along for it was convenient for them to not argue, like there is nothing like mutual consent (almost sounds like I’m discussing sex here, but yours truly is just talking about stuff in general, can be sex as well), like your state of mind doesn’t make a rotting apples difference ‘to their life?

If you choose to be cynical, you’ll all of a sudden find everything around you so very conditional and based on reasons, mostly of some benefit to the other person. Let’s not forget, that you too are the “other person” for some other person (any confusion caused is unintentional. Just keep the coffee mug aside and read it again, you’ll know what I meant). The invitation for lunch at your best friend’s place was based on the reason that he/she was free that day. The fact that you wanted to meet lies in the periphery.

Worst is the feeling when you decide to back out of the plan for a reason that seems unavoidable to you and that very particular friend has the nerve to get mad at you. You wonder if you are to call back and apologise once again or just take it from there, ignoring the cold response, like nothing happened. I do, wonder that is.

2007-01-03T00:18:00.000+05:30

Just Another Day !

What are the topics that one can possibly write about? To begin with you can perhaps talk about how one fine day you sat down to with your laptop wondering what to do next and it dawned upon you that probably you could put your gift of gab to some good use…just frame relatively coherent sentences, preferably in sequitor to the previous sentence. For a beginner, that you can frame a coherent sentence itself is a good start. What rubbish am I writing? As of now, this second, I'm thinking of the people who might accidentally chance upon reading this. What would this piece of literary gibberish come across as? On a higher level how does it matter? Should it matter at all? Who is anybody to judge? We take it upon ourselves to pass a judgment on things we see, people we meet, people we hear about from people who've met them (classic example of unintentionally baffling the reader and sounding intelligent).

Let me try just jotting down things that come to my mind as and when they do. Right now I can hear my three year old nephew snore. I wonder why am I not asleep. I just got done with a movie, 'The Man'. It was funny in a Billy Crystal meets Jim Carrey sort of manner, the only difference being it wasn't them.

Another thought that seems to have hijacked my mind is about Him/ Her, with due respect. The previous statement is quite an irony for I seem to be feigning respect out of fear to a something I am not sure exists. They say, people like me are called agnostics. I say please don't adjectivise (I just coined that word. I am entitled to the freedom of expression and the likes, remember?!, ) me and my kind. What is with people and their fixation of taking it up as their moral, social responsibility to pass their verdict on even a speck of dust and then come up with some god forsaken term to make it look like an incurable, contagious disease?

I'm quite infamous for the tangents I take.

So this particular remark on me finding somebody with my perspective has left me sufficiently ruffled, so much so that I haven't thought much about anything else beyond that since I read it. Well, it came as a mail from a perfect stranger. I'm assuming the stranger was perfect for I seem to not like the non-responding types and this one not only did respond but also managed to irk me. Now I'm fully aware of my abilities of vexing people beyond repair and there is more possibility than one that I might have displeased this person. What I cannot fathom is my inability to take it like a man. That also might be because I am not one. Well, technically speaking, I am not. Issue with me is I have the rare ability of admitting that I am wrong when I am wrong. Now now, that’s not the issue. The problem arises when the stage is empty and I’m left alone. I wonder if there was any reason for me to be sorry for what I said / did, for I’m sure I must have done it for a reason. We’ll leave it for some other day, the melodramatic pondering that is.

2006-09-17T21:58:00.000+05:30

I love You Too, Ma!

“Can’t you at least pretend to be a nice girl,” lashed my mother. I was deeply hurt, I was almost pouting. I’d taken it upon myself that very moment that I’ll make her regret saying it. What was nice afterall? A four-letter word with absolute no impact. I knew better four-letter words that have made people wince and look hopeful (depending on that persons then state-of-mind).

“So, mommy, what exactly do you mean by ‘nice’? Lets see what nice means. Holy cow, there are so many different interpretations to it. Why don’t you sit down with me and tell me exactly what degree of nice you want me to practice?”

My mother is too naïve, and I am glad she doesn’t’ realise it. She’d just started digging her own grave.

Pleasing and agreeable in nature: to 90% of the jerks you introduce me to?
Having a pleasant or attractive appearance: Mommy, you should know better than this. How am I to work on this?
Exhibiting courtesy and politeness: Ahem, Ahem…I believe the definitions of these words are subject to change…so…Mommy?? Mom…hellooo…where did she go?
Of good character and reputation: Gee…does anybody have the balls to tell you that I don’t have a good character and repustation??? :D
Overdelicate or fastidious: Lady make up your mind, you want me to be fussy or not??? Just this morning when I said I wanted skimmed milk you asked me to be not so fussy and think abut the kids in some god-forsaken place.
Showing or requiring great precision or sensitive discernment: I am sensitive, you know that, don’t’ ya? I didn’t jump with glee (in spite of the fact that my true intentions were something else) when I told our 3-year-old neighbour about her dead parakeet??? I couldn’t really help the glint in my eyes…you do remember the five times that it caught hold of my doll’s hair and chewed on it like it was some lifeless piece of toy. Hmpphh!
Done with delicacy and skill: Er…was I Ma???

For some reason, my mother has unofficially stopped associating herself with me. I wonder why?

2006-09-17T21:54:00.000+05:30

Whimsical fairy...

He called her a whimsical fairy. “To live with you, the person needs to be a lot, lot patient baby,” Sam used to say. Sam was nothing like a friend philosopher guide to her. At the same time, he was all of it and much more than that. Somebody she could swear at for no fault of his. He never yelled back at her…at least, he didn’t yell back at her for the way she sweared at him. Most often than not, he was the first person she thought of every time something good or bad happened. The only person she completely trusted. Not that she used to walk around doubting the so-called well-wisher's advice…. just that she knew Sam would never let her down. After all he was there for her whenever she needed him the most.

That morning when she saw an anonymous number flashing on her mobile, she grinned since she knew it was him. She wondered how he knew that she had a bad dream early that morning and was restless through out. But then, that was Sam. She didn’t wait for him to greet her…just went on and on about how big the monster was and how she kept on tossing and turning. He didn’t respond. That was so not like her Sam she thought. “Sam…you bugger, you weren’t even listening, were you?” screamed Nina as ever. That eerie silence still followed. She wanted to believe that it was just one of his many pranks but then why did that little voice in her head say that something was wrong? “Nina, I’m Sam’s room-mate. He met with an accident last night and... early this morning….”

A zillion questions zoomed through her whimsical head. Whimsical? She thought to herself if she was ever as whimsical in front of anybody beyond Sam. He took all her tantrums, all her whims and fancies, treated her like a 4-year-old regressing back to being a toddler. He spoiled her rotten. She had to measure her words before popping it in front of him, for he could sense the slightest amount of sadness.

Just that morning when she told him about her paper IV results, he’d grinned and said, “keep getting low marks…you make me proud baby…!” She actually wanted to make him proud.

She wanted to cry out to him, tell him that she’d lost her best friend in some freaky accident. She wanted to tell him that she is going to miss him bad. She wanted to plonk herself on the floor and flap her legs and hands like a 3-year-old screaming at the top of her voice for she just lost her favourite toy, the toy that made her laugh.

She knew she could no longer be a whimsical fairy. All she could manage was a meek, “when are they getting him down to India?”

2006-08-28T12:14:00.000+05:30

Deflated Expectations

She couldn’t get any bluer. She wanted to believe that it is just one of those days when nothing seems to be going right…nothing seems to be moving at all.
She did get these constant bouts of feeling worthless. On such occasions she would turn to her friends just hoping for a listening ear. Again, she was quite aware of the fact that she’s been taking up whining almost like a pastime thing to do. Only difference was, she knew that wasn’t the case.

The fact that she made no difference to anybody’s life bothered her. The fact that her walking into the sea one fine morning would probably call for a couple of days of mourning, that too amongst a select few. Even this thought was dreadful for her, for she was never too sure if they would mourn out of genuine hurt or because it is the done thing in the society. She couldn’t really blame them for their dependence on the social norms for even she went all ‘tch tch’ whenever she heard about some stranger who is remotely related to her friend’s sister’s brother-in-law. “Poor thing, so young he was…, “she would sigh. She too did belong to the society after all. And being a hypocrite was also a done thing.
Coming back to our suffering-heroines story…she was just running away from expectations.

What she didn’t realise was it was not her problem that people had high expectations of her. All she could see, magnified under the microscopic gaze of all her relatives, was that she was just letting them down.
What she didn’t realise was it was to her moral-social responsibility to please one and all.

Her issue was, she could not please any one.
Now, if I was to give her a pep talk I would give her the stock –“it is all about pleasing yourself, hun”. I have a good mind not to do that to her though. I knew her. For her, a few people mattered, and she couldn’t even please them. There! That was the end of the story.

She decided to walk out. Walk out of everybody’s life. Though not walk into the sea. She was scared of the waves, of height and of lizards. She was also beginning to get scared of people. Even when she held her cousins baby-girl, she thought she saw disappointment in that baby’s eyes. “Hold me properly you over-grown imbecile. You are giving me a pain in the neck, “ the 28-day-old seemed to say.

2006-07-05T17:03:00.000+05:30

...and it drilled on!

I wish I did not whine so much in life. Has it happened to you that you went on and on just because the other person was not rolling his/her eyes and after a while it just hit you that probably they were dying to do so and the only possible thing that stopped them from doing the same was their civility? Did I just see you wince? Ah… I know how it feels. The feeling of imposing yourself on the other person without realizing because you were busy playing the suffering hero is not new for me.
I just realized it today (like I did a million other times a zillion other days) that since whining doesn’t really give me a solution/way out from the issue in hand, I might as well not whine. And how exactly do I vent my frustration? I’d read somewhere that it doesn’t really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentist’s chair or let your hands lie on your lap. The drill drills on. I don’t know if it really is applicable here but somewhere I do see a point in this line. What fat help would getting frustrated be? Except premature balding, I don’t really see a big difference in anything.So why don’t I just let my hands lie loose on my lap as ……(shudder)….the drill drills on.

2006-07-05T15:05:00.000+05:30

A lil' something to make you grin on the bluest of days...

http://uffen.org/calvin/index.htm

2006-06-22T17:29:00.000+05:30

Shades of blue

One of those days when everything seems to be just falling down in front of my eyes. All the dreams going down the drain. All the plans going haywire. All the faith just crumbling.

They say this is what life is made up of…ups and downs, highs and lows. So profound! Like I didn’t know that. Why do people throw such extremely deep and ponderous sentences when all you need is a listening ear and not an eternally talking mouth?

I thought listening was the easiest thing to do on earth. If you don’t want to take the pains of actually listening, you can even get away with pretending that you are listening. Just need to get a tight-lipped, knitted eye browed, look on your face and now and then give away the oriental nod just to be on the safer side. That way the other person would interpret the nod to suit his convenience.

2006-06-19T15:13:00.000+05:30

2006-06-17T14:41:00.000+05:30

The maze, they called her mind...

She hated complex sentences because they were the most difficult to dissect during her grammar lessons in her graduation days. Yet, if she was to be defined in one word, it would be ‘complex’. Not only did it sound cool but also that was a fact as loud as Rohit Bal's gay status.She said she is not all that perfect. He said, let me decide that. She wanted to say, “…so that you just walk away later when you discover this face of mine…the one where I throw temper tantrums and PMS is not even an excuse, when I just give you a silent treatment for no ‘obvious’ reason, when in spite of being known for my ‘I-Care-Two-Hoots’ attitude, suddenly I decide to create an issue out of some comment you made on the way I talk???”Will you walk away when you see the monster in me raise the ugly head?Will you be the calm, reassuring you always, inspite of my grumpiness?Will you read my silence over a fight as the ‘don’t talk to me’ or will you see through the façade of a strong, pig-headed girl on her way to maturity, the only difference being, she’ll never be matured enough?Will you fume at the die-hard realist in me, you being optimism-personified?Will this phase of being mad about me, be just that – a phase?I don’t know what’s the right way of saying things, dressing-up, walking or talking. I, by some miracle of His Highness ( I meant, God, the superior highness, not you), managed to survive so long without really coming in anybody’s way. I wanted to live a life of invisibility. Being non-existent (anti-thesis at its peak) for others seemed to be my focus in life. At a time when girls were at their girly best, I was trying to fit in as the anti-fit, not because it was cool, but because that way I’ll not be expected to be perfect.I wonder if you know what you’ve invited upon yourself.I just don’t have the nerves to wonder aloud.You said I am surrounded by all negative energy. Then how come it attracted such a positive character? Take back your words. I just live in the real world...and if it happens to be a little negative, then so be it.

2006-06-07T15:32:00.000+05:30

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

She was on her way to a concert that afternoon. Lying was not her passion, but she did a good job of it, especially when the person to be cheated was her mother. Again, she did not get any high lying to her mother, just that nobody else was more important to her, to whom she would have to justify what she did. Attending a concert needs to be justified? Well, when you are living away from your family, all by yourself, and the one weekend you get, you are ideally expected to spend it with the family. The expectation is not ideal by the way, it’s the action, that is.
So, where were we? Right, so there I was waiting for a bus, hoping that I don’t get late for the concert, and he calls up. Let me give you a backgrounder on him and my reactions every time I see his name on my cell phone. For now, let him exist without a name. We’ve known each other since the past year and a half. Initial few mails were mostly a verbal spat with each other, somewhere down the line, we decided to chuck the pretence… actually, I don’t know about him, but I did. Was I pretending? In a way I was. It’s one of the issues I have in life…if I feel like I might get along well with someone of the opposite sex, I try to not get along well. An earnest try, it usually is. This time I just decided to take the risk. What was I risking? Nothing much…just the smug life of a ‘still-too-young-and-hence-not-panicky-singleton’. No second thoughts about cutting my hair short or not wearing the right combination of tee and skirt. Matters as silly as going out on a long, long, long drive with an almost absolute stranger, just because you had blind faith in him, became a matter to be pondered about twice.
And he walked in, somehow I felt different. Not different as in, over the moon, but different as in somewhere everything I said was not dissected and bisected into zillion tiny pieces. I was not analysed. If I was rude, I was rude. Period. There was no confrontation. Another really great bit was, I was not taken too seriously…something that will royally break-up relationships and marriages. I, however, was sick of being taken too seriously. Let’s just saw it was a pleasant bolt from the blue.
That’s him.
That sundeay afternoon, he called up.
Me: Hey…(wide smile)
Him: Hi…( a super straight expression)
Me: …Sooo…
Him: Ummm…where are you?
Me: Bus stand.
Him: Bus stand…? Why?
Me: oh ..just this concert…
Him: (cutting me short): so are you free…can we talk?
Me: umm…ya..temme…
Him: I don’t want any interruptions…don’t say my friend just came and stuff…else I’ll call you later.
Me: NOOOOOOO…temme…what is it, something important?
Him: No no…just something …
Me: Oh k…. (Waiting.)
Him: Umm…just wanted to say that I love you.
Me: huh?
Him: I love you
Me: Er...HUH?
Him: I love you

Well, let’s just say that, it wasn’t one of the most romantic of proposals I had imagined for myself, and boy, did I have an imagination! What happened after that is not exactly the stuff with which chick-lits are made of. Mostly because both of us aren’t really chick lit fans. But whatever happened has surely taken us off guard. I’ll talk for myself and it was a shocker of sorts, especially because I never expected anything so simple and straight (he refuses to accept this and I let him believe that he is the most complex guy…no arguments, no fights) a guy to get enamoured by complexity and confusion redefined. So someone said that opposites attract, but this is almost the good and the ugly coming together and no dhishoom dhishoom expected. We are of course not considering the family (just thought of it, we can be ‘the Good, the Bad and the Ugly’) and the shower of their love here... shudder!
On second thoughts, i need not have started with the concert. Too late!

2006-05-24T18:17:00.000+05:30

Troddenly yours!

You know at times people say that they completely flipped for something about a person. It could be his/her smile. It could be his/her eyes. I did too. Flip. FLIP, rather. Every single day I saw her, I flipped. Those dainty, little pedicured...er, manicured.... umm...whatever... 'taken care of' feet. I never could muster enough courage to start a conversation. It's not like she completely ignored me...it's just that I felt she looked at me or rather acknowledged my presence more out of compulsion than by choice.
Compulsion? You mean you put a gun to her head?
No, no, please don't get me wrong. I just happened to be there...let's call it fate.
As ever, she walked towards me, gave me a long thought upon look, took a deep breath, walked her fingers through the short cropped hair,looked at the skirt she was wearing, then looked at me…almost as if waiting for an approval from me. Sigh! Coming back to our lady in the skirt, she looked intently at me, looked away at my counterpart, I missed a couple of million heartbeats, look at me, please look at me, I’ve been lying here since the last time you wore the skirt…I’m the right shade of beige that goes with your white skirt, aahhhh…finally. I wish she wore the same white skirt everyday, at least I wouldn’t have to lie, desperately waiting for her to pick me from the shoe rack.

2006-05-22T19:25:00.000+05:30

Co-authoring a book on south Indian mothers

...seems like a good idea. For all you know, it might end up as a best seller, in the leagues of Bridget Jones’, the only difference means, the Bridget Jones's of the world admit to be cranky old sorry singletons, but our dear old south Indian mother’s refuse to admit that they can ever be wrong, melodramatic, narrow-minded, lovable, freaks. A love-hate relationship where you are not allowed to admit that you hate them for the many things they love doing.
To themselves and to us.

2006-05-22T19:20:00.000+05:30

What do we make of people who claim to be so complex and intriguing and, and ...umm...what’s that word...enigmatic... yes...enigmatic, that they are beyond all comprehension? Why are people so obsessed with being mysterious? What are the great shakes about being incomprehensible? Makes you look important? So what’s the big goddamned deal in being important? Eventually, everything boils down to three meals per day, one and a half, if you are working for a newspaper. People taking themselves seriously pains me.
I’m one of them, but I’m sure Osama can rationalise his deeds. I rest my case.

2006-05-14T18:00:00.000+05:30

My account of ‘the lesser evil’

An egotist. A misnomer to humility. Double-entendre personified with a perverted sense of humour, humour neverthesless. That’s what he is made of. That’s not all, but thats the chunk of the substance he is made of.
One ought to be a masochist to like his company. A good friend nevertheless.
The first time i bumped into him, was in the cyber world, with quite a few hundred kilometres cushioning the verbal lashings exchanged. If the first impression was to be the best impression, I wouldn’t have known enough about him to write what i am writing right now. Alliteration is my favourite figure of speech and I am known for going on tangents.
After the initial rigourously annoying period of “ASL please” and “how the @#$% does ASL matter?” we got onto talking.
A Talk: chit-chat, discussion, conversation, dialogue, dsicourse, says Oxford Thesaurus.
So we chatted about my love for books, his love for flying, my strong dislike for giggly girls, his dislike for the girls who have a strong dislike for giggly girls and much more. The difference was so obvious that we couldnt help agreeing on the fact that we differed so much.
Quite unfathomable, very judgemental, almost believes that it is his social, moral responsibility to pass a judgement on even a speck of dust. Again, it is better to be around severely prejudiced and opinionated ‘god’s gift to mankind’ than to be around mindless, opinionless imbeciles. I always believed in choosing from the lesser evil.
His focus in life seems to vex me unconditionally.
Got an eye for the pleasant things in life.
Easy to be around with.
Pain to have as an opponent.
A chivalrous gentleman on his way to uncouth behaviour.
I am a masochist.

About me, the lesser of the lesser evils...

Reminds me of the essays we were made to write as kids- my family, my favourite game blah blah and some more of blah. Cannot do that...not to save my life. I hate and love the unpredictability of life to almost the same extent. I hate and love the baggage that friends come along with. I hate and love the way my heart beats and the way my BP fluctuates evrytime I think that 'this is the one'. It's all about the ambiguity of situations...situations that make up life.

Colours, books, Chris Isaak, December rains, snow, laughter, solitude ( a big word, eh!), friends, babies, kaajal, grilled cheese chutney sandwich makes me exist beyond the very essential roti, kapda and makaan.

2006-05-11T19:43:00.000+05:30

...just before she sat down to write!

He asked her to write about him. She rolled her eyes, “there’s nothing exceptional about you that will make me waste Camel ink”. She liked arguing. She couldn’t take the lifelessness of a conversation where everyone agrees to everything.
Coming back to the point, he insisted that our female protagonist try penning down her thoughts. Random thoughts, being penned down gains some non-randomness. No, actually he asked her to write a book. In an unassuming manner she refused as if, he expected her to write one then and there and had she said yes, she would have had to start of right away. Anyways, she refused. He persisted. Now, modestly she said, "I cannot write well", knowing exactly what would follow. "No Nina, you have that spunk in you to write a brutally honest book...that spunk that many lack", he said. How she wished she had that spunk, that spunk that would make her tell her editor that he is the most imbecile, spineless man walking on Earth, or her very married cousin that throwing up after two months of marriage is not something that would make her ‘jealous of her lucky cousin’. Anyways, she was trying to avoid the topic of writing a book...or even just writing.
It’s not the first time that she found myself in such a gluey situation. She wanted to gloat in the feeling that people actually believe she could write and write well too. But as ever, she couldn’t kid herself. She knew it was just sheer chance that made me say things I did. There was nothing intellectual or even remotely rational about half the things I said. Mostly it’s the ego playing games, making her say things that she wouldn’t under normal circumstances. And then, of course she managed to stumble on people who found some wicked pleasure in ticking her off.
Her friends said they wanted to be apart of the foreword, her brother wanted half of the royalty she would get and he...he wanted to write the foreword...and also publish the book ( Guess, he knew there would be no takers anyways). She was waiting for someone who would take up the responsibility of writing the book as well. She wouldn’t really mind lending her name to it the way she’d, to the plentiful quotes written by a journo–friend who didn’t want to make-up fictitious people for the fictitious quotes she made-up. Finally, he managed to convince her to write a short story, if not an epic, a novella, if not a novel.

She sat down to write...

As for the people who actually expected to read some intellectually stimulating piece of dramatic prose, didn’t she always say that she was not a good writer?!

2006-05-10T20:14:00.000+05:30

The unsaid…

There are people who take down a rejection well and then there are people who pretend that they've taken it well. Here is a excerpt taken from the diary of a girl who is still peretending...

-What role do u play? Rather…what role do I want u to play? As in, don't get me wrong. I don't want u to play any role…nope…but what exactly are you to me? As in…umm…I can't even frame it right…where do you stand. What are you to me…(yikes…it sounds too filmy and melodramatic, but that's precisely how I feel. That's precisely what I am thinking this second and since quite sometime).
Ok…now let me break this down and expose my thinking to you…hoping that you would understand my "could-be" madness.
Would you be the "forever friend" or the "father figure" or the "concerned other" or "the tricky player"? Which direction is this going? The odds in your favour are low when my mind is set in reality. It is when I'm riding on a high, feeling altogether silly because of you, that I have to beware of my own thinking abilities; never do they seem sensible in that state. That doesn't mean that you are to be blamed…its me who needs to have that thing called "mind control" or some such important sounding , deep word with profound meaning.
There have been times when I've felt as though I was swaying towards your direction, but for reasons unknown to me…or so I thought.
It was my misunderstanding to think that you would not be any different, so I let our association flourish at its leisure. If I had known that your intentions were not to leave me by the wayside, I probably would've ran away from you for fear of potential relationship entanglements. And then it happened. It actually happened….and I didn't know who was to be blamed. Actually I do know who is to be blamed…its solely you….you , you and only yuu. If it wasn't for the way you spoke that made me feel this different and for all the times you made me laugh wen I was on the verge of coming on the front page of the local daily the next day, and also for all the times that you made me feel normal and not some woman going on and on with her insane, inane mumblings…not that many made me feel so..but then I never spoke so much…I managed to cut them all off right in the beginning…so there was never even a reason for me to start off…you know.
And then you happened…and I didn't want it to happen…this was precisley the sort of thing that scared me to my bones…more than the creepy–crawlies and more than heights ...this is what scared me…!
That day, that ill-fated Sunday (come to think of it, the Sunday wasn't ill fated) when i said those dreaded words, you replied, "You know right it would never happen!?" followed by a- "will you be alright?" The first thing that came to my mind was "Why wouldn't it happen?" … but the first thing I uttered was , "Right...I know it won't! And I am absolutely alright…". That was one time I lied through my teeth (apart from the many other times…you thought only you lie according to your convenience?). It affected me so much that it wasn't funny. I tried saying it to myself that it's alright…but it wasn't. I told you, I wasn't…told you...let's not speak now...it's not helping me. No contact of any way at all. You said, "ok!"… there was no dispute from your end…that again disturbed and also made me stand up on what I said …it just made me more sure of my decision. Alas, I prefered being unsure …atleast that way I had a reason to talk to you...
I was just too happy that I was talking to you again…that I pretended to not think about 'it' at all. I thought it never happened. I ran away from it, or so I thought. It just got in deeper and deeper…just deep enough to resurface with a crash, a boom and a bang! And this time when it did, I played my cards safe…or so I thought. I didn't tell you at all. …nothing at all… till I could come up with a reason or solution or whatever…mother of all jokes, there is no solution. What bothered me more was, I didn't know the " why not?" yet. All I had to do was say, "Dude, too much this is! You said what you had to but I do not know the reason and I, the Queen of Nowhere land deserves to know it…"
But ..but ..but…then I thought….what if the reason is just too silly? What can be silly ….that ur name is A nd mine B? Or that I like pink and you don't? Or that I want to be a sparrow in my next life and you think that's a rot idea? Or that you play pool better than I do? Or that 'I think!' and you do more than just that? It goes on…the silly-list (You know better than I do that it is not a goddamn silly list). That would kill me. And ...and …and..what if the reason is ..something 'not-silly' …and what can that be…I can't think of any…probably because I am just at the 'I think !' level.
"So B , you utterly insane , blabbermouth , with a big foot in a bigger mouth could you just tell me what's the point of this perversely gargantuan piece of literary diarrhea?" I don't know, A. You know me better than I seem to know myself…so tell me what was the point of this whole exercise…you can skip the part of telling me about it…you can just …I don't know…
These things make me wonder wat part of the universe decided to bring us together and for what purpose it would serve…!
And now I don't know if I should mail you this…should I ..? I feel like sending it…though would it spoil whatever we have right now? Or should I just avoid it, just to avoid the pain (big word, I know…) or should I just be 'me' and do everything impulsively and then regret and bang my head and tear my hair and then act cranky and not take calls or talk to people? Do I need all this? Did I ever need what I got myself into?
Nope. So …here it comes..!! ta da….!!! -

2006-05-10T10:36:00.000+05:30

She sat down to write...

Looked around for a while wondering if she needs to find a muse, the way all-famous artists had. Did you notice, she wanted to be addressed as an artist, not a writer. She never wanted to limit herself in those six letters. She was ambitious.
She thought it over: having a muse would restrict her flow of thoughts. On second thoughts it would just give her a direction to move in. Anyway, she said to herself, it’s now or never. At least she had the guts to realise that she is a ‘nobody’ and would, for all she knows, remain so. Unless of course she gets married to a guy who sees through her plainness and sees the depth in her eyes and the potential of a path breaking /record breaking/ mind numbing awareness of the human psyche. Who will push her to get the best of her outside, for the world to realise what a gem it was that they were tossing around….
Aaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhh!!!
No complex, never ending sentences Nina! Did she forget why her ex-boss yelled at her for her roundabout way of saying things? Didn’t her best friend often cut her short into saying things blandly, “I don’t need to know the exact shade of green lady, just tell me its green and I’ll get it!” Didn’t she?
Before I take you into the labyrinth of her mind I must tell you how she would like to be perceived as. She wants to be looked upon, as someone who knows her mind, when all she knows is she is not sure about the minutest thing under the sun.
She had not a fair clue of where she as going. All she knew was, she wanted to go places. Guess that’s what intimidated the opposite sex off her…the fact that she KNEW…she KNEW that she didn’t know things. She didn’t fear her lack of intelligence. If nothing, she had guts…and she knew! Some thought she was plain arrogant, some thought she was too ambitious, some thought she lived in a state of perpetual utopia, and some thought she was being juvenile. And she, what did she do? She ignored it all.
An acquaintance, that’s what he was. And one fine morning he calls her up and amidst a casual conversation tells her to write a small, which our lady later realised was quite a relative term, piece of literary gibberish. And this is what she wrote.

2006-05-10T05:30:00.001+05:30

not exactly my first blog

This is not exactly my first blog, so wondering if I should actually come up with a la 'I-are-writing-and-I-are-excited-about-my-first-blog'.
Yes, I've made blogs before and quite conveniently have managed to forget the password. It's quite an easy task, come to think of it, forgetting, that is. And yes, I write in long winding, complex-sentence-meets-compound-sentence, style. Sue me!What makes me blog...I cannot put a finger to it. Maybe it's just his/her/its innate need to be known...or just follow the herd...or just ...umm...kill time. Not that my firm pays me fort that...but it's anytime better than playing 'swat the fly'. Also, I promise no to make a zillion people read my blog and comment. Nope (here the zillion people who were Âmade toÂ read this are to pretend that they are here out of sheer confidence in my occasional bouts of verbal diarrhoea). La la la la la...