Zabia

Looks Maketh a Person!

2009-04-09T15:47:00.000+05:30

It’s funny how one can be judged on all counts merely by taking in one’s appearance. In the last couple of weeks so many have stood in judgment of me and even assumed to know what exactly I was made up of, based on how I look now.

It rankles when any achievement or quality one might have is shrunk to hide behind one’s waist size.

And most even pretended to know what was behind my “excessive fat build-up” and proceeded to give me well-meaning (yeah right!) advice on how to shed those kilos and look svelte.

The irritant in this whole episode is that many assume that one likes “being fat” and that I’m wearing it as an ornament, when deep down one is seething at not being able to correct the flaw in its entirety.

Even more pissing off when random strangers jest with me about my weight and suggest that I might want to take the stairs to the top floor so that I can hasten the weight loss process.

“You ridiculous, interfering moron, if it were that simple, I would be running up and down a flight of stairs from morn to night.”

Truth remains that one’s girth is indeed a deciding factor, in one’s success, choice of career or personal profile within your chosen medium, your growth trajectory, your social standing, your perceived value and what they think you are capable of. And every single instance in the last so many years bears testimony to this fact by playing out in entirety in my life.

It’s irritating and now once again you notice that as the shit hits the fan, the only one left hurt and looking for comfort is me.

But I need to hang in there. I cannot let random people turn me off course and drown myself in depression. I need to find the “hot button” that will keep me motivated to change my settings, and turn into eye-candy once again, so that everyone might think I am worth something.

And then finally maybe I will scale those heights I have been eyeing for so long.

After all, unless one looks good, one would be of no use to the world!

Do away with Fear

2009-01-22T14:51:00.000+05:30

“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”
Paulo Coelho

The only thing I have ever wanted and wanted bad is to be a published writer. Many a day I have wondered, what life would mean and remain if I couldn’t put pen to paper. I never quite knew when I fell in love with writing….was it all those school essays, irrespective of language, or those many competitions or the books or the letters or the poems…what exactly got me on to this trip eludes me….but what I do know is it defines me…more than anything.

Despite all the many talents/capabilities I consider myself blessed with, this is one I am particularly proud of and one I have cherished and tried to nourish so long…

This is also one dream I hoped nobody else would take away from me, or want to share with me, because this was purely and truly mine.

But having partakers or competitors in your liking/joy….is that a reason for fear. Does that mean you are in any manner lesser? Does that make you less confident about your innate capabilities? Does that make you insecure? Or is it that by having more around to encourage and or criticize you, one only ends up polishing ones skills?

Its silly to assume what you know in your heart is yours to keep and cherish will be taken away by anybody or anything…its only when it’s publicly consumed/evaluated or judged does it become a living thing as you initially intended it to be.

So push back fear and come write…so that all may read, comment, berate or celebrate your writing….

Is my heart, my being listening?

Of New Neighbours In The Blogosphere

2009-01-20T14:37:00.002+05:30

It was a jolt from the blue. Someone I had never assumed would take to the pen, has suddenly proclaimed his need to chronicle his thoughts, actions and much more.... More so because he is close to my heart and I never believed it was something he found in the least interesting or necessary. It was almost like me donning whites and taking to the cricket field. I had them both rated as equally impossible. But life is indeed full of surprises. Then again, what would life be without a few bouncers eh? So welcome my dear man....and enjoy the ride.

From Little India to Belittling India….

2009-01-08T15:14:00.000+05:30

Jan 7, 2009 is a day that will be etched in the memory of Corporate India forever. One of its biggest heroes Ramalinga Raju, had in an attempt to garner sympathy and present the façade of taking the high road, admitted to committing financial fraud to the tune of Rs 7000 crores. Whatever might be the justification, the fact remains he screwed up….that too big time. Even as the world goes nuts calling it India’s Enron and Raju, the Indian Madoff, what we are sidelining is the plight of almost 52,000 families whose bread and butter was to come from this beacon of Indian IT.

All these people, till yesterday unaware of what was happening in the ivory towers, were going about their lives with a chip on their shoulder merely because they had something in common with a company that was synonymous with the success of Indian IT. And hey presto the dream came to an end.

And while resumes flood the net and head hunters’ offices, the fact remains this could not have come at a more inappropriate time, when the industry is facing multiple challenges and there are very few jobs to go around. Fact is also that there are going to be much experienced and talented people within the Satyam pool who will now want recourse. This also poses a question for competitors looking to retain and employ only quality talent, and weeding out the chaff. Will this sudden spurt of qualified and employable talent create an excess that will cause more trouble for the lesser entrenched, lower qualified personnel in IT majors?

The after effects are only beginning to unravel and it remains to be seen what India and its corporate sector will do to salvage the plight of these unfortunate souls who Satyam employed.

Its That Time of The Year Again....

2008-12-24T17:58:00.003+05:30

Let the spirit of love gently fill our hearts and homes. In this loveliest of seasons may you find many reasons for happiness. May the peace and joy of the holiday season be with you throughout the coming year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

A wake up call....

2008-12-01T18:52:00.001+05:30

What unfolded in Mumbai has made me angry, sad, harsh, and frightened.

Here are men who are afraid of nothing….walking in as if to savour an ice-cream killing everything in sight.

Their determination is scary…in that despite their numbers dwindling they held on and kept up the siege for so long.

There are many people, institutions to blame.

But it’s to the spirit of Mumbai that they have survived yet once again. If it had been Bangalore that would have been the death knell for this city, so unashamedly unprepared to meet any emergency.

There are many questions I’m repeatedly asking myself and now there are fears…

Of how any of us could be caught in the cross fire, when least expected.

Makes me worry about tomorrow…. My big plans. At the moment my only plans.

What if I don’t have much time left?

But more so I worry about my loved ones. When I see the pain on those who have lost, it makes me sit upright and wonder how I would deal with it. Will there be this calm or will I merely be numb. I don’t want to imagine…that makes it a little real.

Every place is unsafe.

Every place is a target.

Every one is a target.

Life is no more innocent, about random laughs, tears, simple joys and little treats.

It has to be about accomplishing all I want soon.

For the clock is ticking and no one knows for how long.

God be with those who have lost love and more in this madness. May it never be repeated.....

Do I listen to my heart?

2008-11-25T13:00:00.001+05:30

“Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” Steve Jobs

“.. Almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” Steve Jobs

This did jolt me out of my reverie. I almost quite know what it is that I want to become. Or rather I refuse to admit that it is that which my heart keeps whispering to me, coz it’s not easy, it might warrant failure, repeated too. But then what is this life if I were to but stay within tested waters? Shouldn’t I dare?

Well I should. But right now I need to convince myself I’m hearing it right and that I have it in me to go that far despite all the setbacks, rebuke, and possible failure. Also that it will not pay the bills now and maybe never. But can I afford to make that leap of faith? Time alone will tell. Until then let me prep myself both to soar and fall.

Of Sirs & Madams

2008-11-07T15:26:00.000+05:30

As part of our professional lives one runs into multitudes of people, each with their own idiosyncrasies. But it’s many a person from the burgeoning PR industry that has got my goat over and over again.

For one, many of them nurse terrible egos and attitude issues. Its almost as if people on the other end of the spectrum, if not in a position to contribute to their appraisals or salaries, are by nature not deserving of simple courtesy and politeness.

From mere bimbos, to nervous dimwits, to egotistical idiots, there are very many to pick and choose from. Very few if at all have the real understanding of the domain their client is in the exact nature of the job they are expected to perform.

Unless we get more of the latter, they will manage to elicit nothing but downright rudeness from me!

God save me from more idiots’ at least for today!!!!!!!!!!

Love me how?

2008-10-24T15:06:00.002+05:30

"Just because someone doesn't love you as you wish, it doesn't mean you are not loved with all his/her being." Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This has me knotted up. I have been trying to figure out what it means to be loved by someone. And when that does not match the depth and form of what you perceive should be the manner in which you are loved, does that take away from what someone feels for you? Does it belittle that emotion in any fashion not to conform to your norms?

In a manner yes, for then you are forever displeased with it and therefore the end result is undue sorrow and hurt for both parties involved. But that is also unfair in a sense someone argues. For there is no single way to being loved. Everyone loves in their own manner and fashion. And to judge any one to be wrong or right is silly for what you fathom might seem equally inane to the opposite party.

For some the silent method works wonderfully well. For some one odd whisper. For some others it has to be dotted with romantic interludes and extravagances. To some others its mere display of affection and completely public love. There is also the OTT kind. Then there is the intellectual kind. The sad kinds, the moody kinds, the musical kinds, and so on....

To me it has to be a mix of one and all depending on my mood. And when gauged right I am the most pleasant and pleased partner. When not, I am forever searching for what is lacking in my love. Does that make me a selfish loser for undermining the other body's complete and mad affection, albeit exhibited differently?

Hmmm...

Kangal irandal….

2008-09-30T16:22:00.000+05:30

After a long silence I wake up only to recede into the depths of this masterpiece. One awesome song from the movie Subramaniyapuram. Have been addicted to it for almost a month now. And can’t seem to get enough of it though I listen to it looped! The song was composed by James Vasanthan and he blows your mind away with this. Now back to my song.

So whom do I call?

2008-08-28T14:21:00.000+05:30

Considering we are at logger heads, almost everytime we are in the same room, it’s funny how I’m beginning to miss talking to her so.

An insane schedule that we hit upon when I first moved out of home, to ensure I was safe amidst all those vultures out there. Now an unbreakable habit.

Even though nothing changes every three hours, we still have to make that perfunctory call, from the moment we wake up till we call it a day, simply updating one another of what’s happening in our little worlds. Each call may last not more than a minute, but both parties happy at the end of it.

For my hubby and bro these inane and at most times “simbly” calls are matters of great amusement and though we’ve been ribbed time and again, nothing stops me from calling my mom a zillion times a week.

And suddenly yesterday it dawned on me, how much a part of my daily routine it has become. And how now that she is on a vacation, and I have no means of calling so often, I am missing it so.

Crazy how little givens become so bloody valued.

Anyhow hope she has a blast.

How much is enough?

2008-07-31T13:27:00.000+05:30

A friend sent me this forward today….

Made me wonder about “enough”.

I am forever complaining that I don’t have enough…or that everything I have is not enough….

How much is enough?

Anyhow read on….

----Recently I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the Hyderabad airport. They had announced the departure.

Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said, 'I love you and I wish you enough'.

The daughter replied, 'Mom, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom'.

They kissed and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated.

Standing there I could see she wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking, 'Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?'.

Yes, I have,' I replied. 'Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?'.

'I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral,' she said.

'When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough'. May I ask what that means?'.

She began to smile. 'That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone'.

She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail and she smiled even more.

'When we said, 'I wish you enough', we wanted the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them'. Then turning toward me, she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

She then began to cry and walked away.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them but then an entire life to forget them.

TAKE TIME TO LIVE.....

To all my friends and loved ones,

I WISH YOU ENOUGH........!

So sang John Waite….in 1984

2008-07-23T15:47:00.001+05:30

Every time I think of you
I always catch my breath
And I'm still standing here
And you're miles away
And I'm wonderin' why you left
And there's a storm that's raging
Through my frozen heart tonight

I hear your name in certain circles
And it always makes me smile
I spend my time thinkin' about you
And it's almost driving me wild
And there's a heart that's breaking
Down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone away
I ain't missing you
No matter what my friends say

There's a message in the wire
And I'm sending you this signal tonight
You don't know how desperate I've become
And it looks like I'm losing this fight
In your world I have no meaning
Though I'm trying hard to understand
And it's my heart that's breaking
Down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone away
I ain't missing you
No matter what my friends say

And there's a message that I'm sending out
Like a telegraph to your soul
And if I can't bridge this distance
Stop this heartbreak overload

I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone away
I ain't missing you
No matter what my friends say
I ain't missing you
I ain't missing you
I can lie to myself
And there's a storm that's raging
Through my frozen heart tonight
I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone away
I ain't missing you
No matter what my friends say
I'm missing you
I ain't missing you
I ain't missing you at all
I can lie to myself
Ain't missing you
I ain't missing you
Ain't missing you, oh no
No matter what my friends might say
I ain't missing you...

Of Poetry Competitions & School...

2008-07-07T14:25:00.002+05:30

For some weird reason I am reminded of the numerous times I strode onto a stage to recite my poem. The high of winning the prize for the right pronunciation, modulation and emotion was quite irreplaceable in those innocent years.

Flashes of many a poem I recited in my school years have been whizzing past since last night....

Maybe they want to be said out aloud yet again....

Excerpts from The Lady of Shalott: Alfred Tennyson
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Mystery solved!

2008-07-07T13:55:00.000+05:30

After years of wondering why I was the only one who was plagued by those darn creatures it seems there is an answer….a scientific explanation to my irrational fears!

Read this:

http://www.newsweek.com/id/144541

In Sickness & In Health!

2008-06-11T16:18:00.001+05:30

“Falling ill is not something that happens to us, it is a choice we make as a result of things happening to us” Jonathan Miller

Each time I have succumbed to illness, I have laughed at the stupidity of letting the body run amok till it could take no more and had to forcibly shut down. Each time I promised myself it wouldn’t happen a second time. Close to a dozen such experiences and I wonder why I religiously repeat this mistake with not a care in the world. And endure pain, medication, and a sense of dejection.

That is not to say I do not enjoy those phases in parts. I am eerily attracted to the smell that hospitals and disinfectants emit. I undergo withdrawal symptoms when I haven’t undergone some sort of clinical appointment once every six months and the icing on the cake would be being given a shot. Since childhood I have been fascinated by hospitals and the concept of being a patient. To the extent that some folks believe I create symptoms merely to get a doctor to take a look at me.

Unfortunately each and every tryst with medicine and hospitals has been downright painful in my experience. And most of them I didn’t even have the consciousness to observe and enjoy! And by the time consciousness prevailed I was ready to go home.

And yet I have had inane diseases. Like getting a whip lash injury (how I would not elaborate, and me and the doc conspired about getting me a polka dotted neck support), injuring and fracturing myself just above the eye and beneath my eyebrow by banging myself against a steel tap in the hostel by mistake, getting shots in my hip when the food poisoning incidents got too frequent and painful, breaking one hand and not wearing a cast, tearing a ligament on the other, and then balancing it out with a contusion injury on my knee, and having some surgeries in between, some problem with my pharynx, alternating between mono and stereo modes when my ears give up on me periodically, etc etc. Some more I shall omit for fear of causing a ear shattering gasp.

No it’s not an attempt to sound like a medical catalogue or a nagging and painfully boring patient. All are true and catalogued for good in the form of bills, medical certificates to schools/colleges/offices. Instead the way I look at it, I offer many a doctor the chance to practice and hone his theoretical knowledge. After all no other single human being can throw up so many interesting challenges all from one single body. Maybe I should donate this body to the medical fraternity to hone the skills of those coming after us. That’s food for thought indeed.

The other side to all this. I crave attention when I am unwell. Even if the world were to ignore me in my good healthy and hearty days, if someone doesn’t call repeatedly to check on my well being and happiness levels during my sick days I can make life hell. I am one fussy soul who only believes in the worst and so each time I have wondered what it would be like not to have another birthday to celebrate. And each time someone concerned has called back to check on me has taken me a step closer to recovery. And everyone who misses out on those calls/visits gets shunted to the last chamber in my memory.

Yes I am eccentric all right. But hey if I were all that sane would I have made life any better?

Now this I need to learn and learn fast at that…. “Health is not valued till sickness comes.” Thomas Fuller

Blissfully unaware...

2008-05-02T18:46:00.000+05:30

Does that bespectacled man know what awaits me around the corner?

Can he predict the ups and downs that await my every living moment?

How to circumvent them, so I may retain my pretty smile forever?

Or does he believe I am fated to doom, to tragedy and sadness for the remaining years of my life?

Can they really see all that and more?

I wonder, after all I was to have died before celebrating my 7th birthday and here I am having spent one score years more, wondering why he died instead of me.

So what makes these mortals see beyond the human realm?

Why is it that providence is willing to let them into secrets they have guarded so zealously all these years?

What do they hope to achieve by warning those mere mortals or scaring them to a speedier death?

Is it because these men and women, either by rolling shells or looking at our palms or by watching a parrot jump across the space can somehow fathom what that man upstairs had in mind for humankind?

What gives them the edge to know those other worldly secrets?

And if it is as divine and blessed as they claim it is then why are they dying to encash it so?

Curiosity will soon get the better of me and I might be more than tempted to attempt a sitting with one of these “learned men”.

But what can they tell me I don’t know already?

Or is it that he merely wants to warn me away from the many more lurking dangers?

What if he fails miserably yet again?

Then who is responsible for that shoddy knowledge or incomplete reading?

God, him or me?

I am curious. Yet something in me resists. What if he is right and I know my day of departure?

Would life be worth living then?

Guess not.

Ignorance is indeed bliss.

Of memories and more....

2008-04-04T16:56:00.000+05:30

“Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do, will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, will never...never forget it.” Curtis Judalet

Two years of holy matrimony.

As that landmark fast approaches, the natural rewind occurs.

The first glance, the first date, the first kiss, the first fight, the first apology, the first letter, the first everything.

Life ain’t a bed of roses, if it were; would it have been as well remembered?

Life is all about memories, some cherished, the rest despised.

Yet the heady mix makes for many a smile down the years.

Here’s to many more memory making years.

Love - a fortunate accident!

2008-03-10T15:51:00.001+05:30

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."

- Captain Corelli's Mandolin

Divine Accident Indeed!

2008-02-11T17:24:00.000+05:30

“The most wonderful of all things in life is the discovery of another human being with whom one's relationship has a growing depth, beauty and joy as the years increase. This inner progressiveness of love between two human beings is a most marvelous thing; it cannot be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of divine accident, and the most wonderful of all things in life.”
Sir Hugh Walpole

All Alone!

2008-01-28T16:07:00.000+05:30

“All of our unhappiness comes from our inability to be alone.” Jean de la Bruyere

What is it about being alone that is so scary? That seems so insurmountable? That chokes me and leaves me running out like a mad hatter, as if the world were coming to an end. What will make it better? Why has it suddenly become so impossible to be alone? Why do I dread my own company? Or is it something more?

I need answers. I don’t want to be locked up in an asylum cell fearing even the goddamn disinfectant smelling wall.

Make me see sense. Give me courage to tide over this. I need to be strong.

This or That?

2008-01-04T18:51:00.000+05:30

The Rig Veda says, “When there is harmony between the mind, heart and your determination, nothing is impossible.”

Now my question: for someone as confused and vacillating as me, harmony seems as unattainable as utopia. So then how do we make the impossible, possible?

I am perpetually torn between two extremes. Why I wonder? Is it because those two divergent choices really exist in my little world? Or because I would like to delude myself that though the available option is not as pleasant as I would like it to be, there is this nook in my little brain I can run away to hide in.

The choices stump me at times. Yet I pretend I am conquering something, a temptation, a lesser option, a similar not up to the mark opportunity in favour of this so-called wise and well-informed decision. Only to rant in a few months at best a few hours.

If varied options merely lead to confusion and discontent in hindsight, why not do away with them?

But then how will I console myself that I got the better deal, unless there is something to pip in favour of it?

Life’s choices have me confused.

But that is my silly high.

I refuse to let it go.

And true it is...

2008-01-03T18:12:00.000+05:30

“What is love? Love is when one person knows all of your secrets... your deepest, darkest, most dreadful secrets of which no one else in the world knows... and yet in the end, that one person does not think any less of you; even if the rest of the world does.”

Holidaying!

2007-12-20T16:04:00.000+05:30

Off for a break.

Wish all of you a Merry Christmas & a Happy and Prosperous New Year!

Cleaning out….

2007-12-19T20:33:00.000+05:30

As I rummaged through some old mails etc, I came across this little neatly hidden note. Personal, written in A’s hand.

“The point of the matter is she never would have gone so far away if it hadn’t been for them…. there was nothing that could have come in between them. The princess would have patiently bided her time, forever. And yet…the storm raged. She was swept away. And while he searched with all he had left, she was floating unaware in some faraway shore, calling out to him, choking on tears. Something died then, deep within. Never to be reborn or mended. Not trying to make excuses and slip away. It was ignoble and simply disgusting. It hurt too. That it did whatever else he might want to believe. It tugs at the heart more than he might actually give credit for. She did let you down, did turn out to be a slippery eel, uncaring and unreliable. But if ever he finds it within himself to believe and forgive, he should do so, for come what may the princess will wholeheartedly love the captain, and him alone till the end of time.”

Those days it never made sense to me…

Neither had ever explained why they chose different partners. It had shocked me then, it scares me now. I had stayed away. Now I wonder…

I have another 20 odd FYI ones. I wonder if I should make sense of it all, after so many years.

Ignorance is indeed bliss many a times.

For the captain and the sea princess

2007-12-19T18:58:00.000+05:30

“………I was just entering the place.

He looked right at me, smiled and walked away.

Something in me went off. It kept saying he likes you.

I put it aside. Walked on.

Talked on, lived on.

3 days later I met him again.

We were going the same way.

We were sitting next to each other.

We talked.

And talked.

And fought like 3 year olds.

Then suddenly held hands.

Suddenly we were shy.

Of everything, of each other.

Till that moment it had all seemed so pure.

Suddenly there seemed to be bigger questions that needed attention.

I was single.

So was he.

But we were strangers.

What was it that had brought us together?

Where was this seemingly sudden and one and only meeting headed.

Why had we both gasped and smiled the minute we had set eyes on each other again at the bus stop?

Was it another fanciful dream?

No. He is much older than me.

Then why am I, this fresh in college kid, swooning over him?

Pray what is wrong?

All I wanted was to be with him, talk to him, look at him, have him hold me, like this forever…”

A sent me this way long ago. Those days I had wondered how in the span of a half hour bus ride she had mustered up enough reason and courage to interlink her fingers with that of an older stranger.

After years of being together, they still took a bus ride to relive those innocent times.

Today as I search for those two faces, people who made me what I am, loved me to death and made me love so steadfastly in return.

The two of you…so far away, so removed from my life.

At every turn I look for your approval, your smile.

For every moment spent apart…

I miss you A & S.

Love you always.

Forget it, but how?

2007-12-14T16:38:00.001+05:30

“When love becomes labored we welcome an act of infidelity towards ourselves to free us from fidelity” --- François de la Rochefoucauld

In the last five years, a zillion times I have pondered, what forced him to commit such a heinous act? It was unforgivable then, and now.

What is it that spurs a human being to stray; from those he/she professes to love more than themselves?

Is it boredom, is it for pleasure or the thrill of the chase, or a craving for variety, or lust, or physical and/or emotional needs, or despair, or depression, or loneliness, or anger, or revenge, or pure mirth, or sheer disregard for another, or destiny or something beyond all that?

It had stung really hard, and has permeated sensibilities of mine, that are invisible to the naked eye or brain and now impede pure happiness and innocence in me.

Why? I ask myself, for I never got an answer.

Now as I build happiness with another, I am forced to relook and try and discard those fears and numbing feelings so as not to cast a dark shadow on the honesty of that which exists now.

I wonder if ever I shall break free of those shackles that bind me for life? How I shall mete out justice to this one who loves me beyond compare now and gives me happiness I didn’t dream of by worrying myself green that history might repeat itself.

How can you walk away from something that hurt you so bad and bury it so deep it can never again resurface?

Everybody has a good side?

2007-12-14T14:10:00.000+05:30

"Find the best in everybody. You might have to wait a long time, sometimes years, but people will show you their good side. Just keep waiting no matter how long it takes. No one is all evil. Everybody has a good side; just keep waiting, it will come out. "
Randy Pausch

My life and experiences, albeit small and numbered, tell me there is no inherent and hidden goodness in someone. There are no varying degrees. Either they are good or bad. There is never this fine line ebbing into nothing. Most manage to pretend and hope otherwise.

The people I have known range from downright evil to absolutely wonderful. Though the first category seems to attract itself more to me, the fact remains the last has been the one that taught me more.

They, who are innately good, can only exude goodness. And basking in that either we learn, unlearn or relearn. We may not become clones of those saintly souls, but it at least instills in us the belief that even if we are not considered pontiffs and divine messengers, we might be able to bring a smile to someone, somewhere. At the bare minimum, we might make life better for ourselves.

Few years back, each roadblock seemed a punishment to me. I berated against nature’s cruelty against simple me. But now I wonder otherwise.

When the going gets tough, the person who is a survivor grits his/her teeth and sees a silver lining even amidst the muck. That has been my attempt at many junctures in my life.

There is always something good, if only you persist and go through with it all. There is some reason it is happening to you, and not to the guy who sits next to you in office. What might that be?

I don’t have many answers, but I merely pursue what little goodness and purity that remains in me. I wouldn’t want to be the odd one living amongst pontiffs.

Recourse to Plath

2007-11-21T18:05:00.000+05:30

The Companionable Ills

The nose-end that twitches, the old imperfections---
Tolerable now as moles on the face
Put up with until chagrin gives place
To a wry complaisance---
Dug in first as God's spurs
To start the spirit out of the mud
It stabled in; long-used, became well-loved
Bedfellows of the spirit's debauch, fond masters.

Straying Hairs....

2007-11-21T18:01:00.000+05:30

“I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows” - Janette Barber, stand-up comic

For once I have an explanation to what those black strands are doing way below my so called head…. each time I resorted to creams and gels and threads and painful waxing procedures, which I resented I racked my brain to come up with some rational explanation as to why they were there….and now I know!

And all this while I wondered how I could laugh about growing a partial beard like my dad, bro and hubby…. but hey it wasn’t a galactic conspiracy. It was just that like my spinal column fucked up and gave me two damn extra bones, my damn eyebrows forgot their limits and overflowed….a wee bit under!

What with extra bones, misdirected and stray hairs, almost joint eyebrows, (yeah not just Kajol folks, but in now way imitating the bewildering and frightening bridge that Karishma Kapoor sported) frizzy limp brown hair, a full figure (read overweight) and ……(better left unsaid, making me suddenly develop a complex) I have concluded that my body shall be given away to the world of science to learn what the repercussions of multitudes of errors can do…

And in the meantime, God bless her sweet soul for finally ending the traumatic overtures of the little grey cells to be creative on this one….

Tread Softly

2007-10-31T20:05:00.000+05:30

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams"
--WB Yeats

A sudden flash. Seething pain. Unwanted memories/sights/fears.

Wonder.

Did time stop for both of us?

Did things lose meaning for both of us?

Did it hurt so bad you wanted to cry out loud?

Did you ever want to give back what you had so mercilessly taken away?

Did you ever regret being so selfish?

Did you ever want to turn back time and give me back my innocent life?

Did you ever want to repay me that, which made you what you are, gave you a life, meaning to your existence, let you follow your dreams at the cost of mine?

Did you ever pray that finally happiness might kiss my life?

Pray that I might never ever shrink from fear of being beaten black and blue?

Did you ever wish me well? For one insane moment?

Did you ever repent for your cruelty? Your madness? Your covetousness? Your greed?

Did you for one moment, consider paying me back all that hard earned money that I foolishly spent to better your lot?

Did you ever love me so that dying might have been the easiest I could ask of you?

Did you ever?

Many a night, I cry for what I lost.

Many a night, I wish I had never ever come across you.

Many a night, I silently hope it will dawn on you that the money that bought you everything in life, was never yours to use or keep, to help dream, and hence will remain a debt for life.

Many a night, I pray that my God avenges me.

Reality Check

2007-09-22T18:00:00.000+05:30

Last night as I sat on the floor staring hard at those idols and pictures of the various gods and goddesses I invoke at innumerable moments, it struck me….

The reality of my situation.

Its ugly. Its something I could do without. But hell…there it is. And maybe once I put it down, it will stop being so immense and unbearable.

It’s like this.

I have always been a dreamer. Colourful, Animated and joyous. Always chasing the stars in my head.

But when that came to living, I didn’t succeed in transforming all those wide-eyed dreams.

The first half was indeed easy.

But then I invited strangers and erstwhile lovers to come help me ruminate.

They chewed for hours, then months…it continued. By when the fire was burnt out, the initiative dead and gone.

I aint looking for a head to throw all the blame on. But at each passing in my life I have resorted to weird strangers to comfort and guide me. And I have been misguided all along.

And last night as I sat, sobbing and looking back, I wondered why I never ever woke up amidst the mis-directed travel. Why didn’t I ever cry out for help? Why didn’t I admit that I was in trouble? Why did I end up with so much emotional and some odd baggage? Why have I become bitter and unforgiving and forever angry?

What is it that I lost in this entire charade?

What is it that I was pleading to have returned?

What would that do for me?

Am I willing to redo all the drama, and embark on a completely new journey?

Am I completely off, from where I should be?

Can I get back?

Can I be the happy, don’t care a damn, ambitious, bewitching me?

Where is she?

Why did she die?

How can I bring her back?

How on earth?

Will I succeed?

Childhood of Modakams

2007-09-14T16:58:00.000+05:30

My best memories of Vinayaka Chaturthi are those filled with modakams.

My Paati used to make absolutely yummy ones…. two kinds…one sweet with the traditional jaggery and coconut filling, while the other was spicy and had red chillies in it. The idea was to balance out the palate with hot and sweet modakams.

And we cousins used to fight as to who could eat more.

I remember saving mine up while everyone gobbled them down, and then sitting around licking and devouring them in a purportedly slow manner to drive the others insane and greedy.

Since we grew into our teens and college beckoned, modakams were forgotten and the only modakams we ate were those fashioned by some obscure north Indian in Delhi.

Today on the eve of Chaturthi, I can taste those modakams as I look back and wish those carefree childhood days back….

When all that mattered were playing games, eating hearty yummy meals egged on by Paati and Thatha who took great pride in watching us eat well, and then fighting amongst ourselves as to who got the bigger portion and then listening to stories from Paati and then sleeping together on beds strewn on the floor.

Those were days of bliss.

I wish they would come back again.

My favourite Elephant God....

2007-09-14T16:41:00.000+05:30

Gajananam Bhuta Ganathi Sevitam
Kapittha Jambu Palasara Bhaksitam
Uma Sutam Shoka Vinasha Karanam

Namami Vignesvara Pada Pankajam

Fools Rush In....

2007-09-08T19:24:00.000+05:30

What is it about fools and me?

Why is it that I attract all the crap in the vicinity and then they stick on like leeches.

When all I can ever muster up is a deep founded disgust topped with intense violence.

From those above me in the hierarchy to some who merely crossed my line of vision there have been very many who have caused intense negative sensations to arise from deep within my gut.

There is a divine conspiracy on to never cleanse me of these nuts.

They find me in the middle of a night, a hailstorm, an erupting volcano and then never seem to wash away even under the influence of the strongest detergent money can buy.

Today, yet again the Big Boss has asked me to accompany him to prevent him from mouthing inanities and looking congenitally stupid in front of some foreign imported executive.

I have done this umpteen times and each attempt to wriggle out is handled with age-old ease leaving me feel dumb at having finally given in and accepted.

Why is it so hard to understand that my knowledge is not for sharing? If he is so concerned about what his stupid boob filled mouth will vomit out, he should probably try cleaning it out with phenol ever so often. Instead he craves for more boobs and fluids.

Am disgusted with this lot of parasitic folk.

But what irks me beyond repair is how do they find me?

Of all humanity why am I plagued by these despicable beings who deserve to be guillotined?

My Auto Stories…

2007-08-18T15:33:00.000+05:30

Another one of those days when the driver of the auto rickshaw I traveled in felt compelled to dole out some advice to me.

It’s been a consistent event in my life. Ever so often I end up taking a rick/auto, whose driver has something to tell me or teach me or even lecture me on. I have been scolded, taught, made to wonder, laugh, and fear and amused at many of those who took me on a ride.

Some have let me off, without taking a penny in return (has happened only in DELHI and they were extremely well meaning old men) while others have haggled and been cursed by me in turn.

I distinctly this one man who drove me from Connaught Place to Munirka and on learning that I was a student at JNU, he spoke with perfect clarity about the UN and told me to get a job with the UN and do India proud. He was the first auto driver to turn down his fare.

Others have spoken to me in well-structured English, despite being clad in monstrous smelly clothes.

Some have made me violent beyond comparison and I have walked away cursing them like no other and invoking the gods to cause a road accident.

I remember the night I was travelling with a group of friends by bus, and we had reached Hyderabad and were to board a connecting train. It was 4 am and just outside the railway station, autos were queued up all playing songs from Rajni starrer Baasha at full blast.

Another time, the driver proudly spoke to me about his sons, both of whom were pursuing professional degrees with full scholarships and were the top scorers in their respective colleges. For a man who had run away from a village with a dream of making it big, he was now living his dreams through them. Unable to mouth English, he was drawing up plans to send his eldest son to the US.

One good man actually saved me from some stupid bike-rider who was tailing me insistently. The rick guy not just lost the bike’s tail, but also escorted me to a cop, placed a complaint and dropped me off, for not a penny more than what we had agreed on, though we had traveled double the distance. He even offered to pick me up the next day!!!

My memories of winters spent in Delhi are incomplete without autos. Many a time I have taken refuge in autos when the cold was biting and I had left home with a flimsy shawl to fan my vanity. Those rides, clinging to myself, covered from head to toe in a shawl, staring out at the lights and waiting to reach the warmth of my rajai were wonderful.

I have often wondered what possessed those men driving me around to turn to me and speak like they had been dared to bare their souls. What made them feel this cranky girl, either lighting a cigarette or trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering could do with some sensible talk? Many have taught me things. Many inspired me to write stories. Many sparked off hatred. But they have all been filled with learnings of all sorts.

Most of the men who chatted on while I sat in the back watching miles and buildings pass by were honest souls. But they form the small minority of those I bumped into. And surprisingly as I look back and recount my experiences, I realise the honest ones were all in Delhi, while the crudest ones were in Chennai and the ones with the most horrid attitudes in Bangalore. Some of the most learned though I have come across only in Kerala.

I can’t wait for my next ride…

My Little Brother

2007-08-16T15:36:00.000+05:30

Sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, and resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust. To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.

I don’t remember my first memory of Rahul. Though I do remember being responsible for him since the day he was born. People tell me, I was in love with my kid brother since the day he was born and was protective of him since then. I still am madly & fiercely protective about him.

My oldest memories of him are when he as a newborn would sleep with his butt high up in the air, when they shaved off his curly locks, when we used to play with little insects we had named lady birds.

Of playing in Chennai, amma taking both of us to Bambino Kindergarten, when he would wait patiently to know if his sister had beaten everyone in class in dictation, when both of us were photographed as the best dressed kids by some newspaper photographer. When he once during a game, threw his toy gun at me and I got hurt. The times when we overturned chairs to become horses and dragged them around the house, screeching to a halt only when our landlord from downstairs came running up hurling abuses. And how amma tied the chairs to the windowsill and how we despite that sat and pretended that we were trotting on our ponies.

I remember those days when Amma walked Rahul and me to the bus stop in Kollam. And then just when he realised the van was fast approaching, he would burst into tears and sob so hard, amma wouldn’t have the heart to let him go. Then with me pulling from inside and amma pushing from outside Rahul would hang onto the van. Finally amma would succeed in pushing him in, wherein she would catch an auto and follow us to school. Or else she would pull him out with helplessness as he smiled and hugged her as if it was only in her arms that he would feel safe ever.

Then there were the sessions where he would run out of Wendy Miss’ class. And I would follow him around and catch him and deposit him there and head to my own, a tad late. Or the times amma patiently sat outside his classroom so that each time he looked out he would see her and be comforted. Then those days when the principal finally not able to hit upon a solution, decided to coach him herself and he would pompously sit in one of her chairs and she took private lessons and I went down in every break to feed him and look on him. And how he named me “kutti amma” because I took care of him while amma was not around.

So many places and phases we share. So many memories.

Wondrous moments. Treasured for life. Mightily forgotten by my absent-minded younger brother.

For the first time in our lives, we are in separate continents. And I miss him sorely.

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.

Yearly Review.

2007-08-03T18:27:00.000+05:30

Rain…. like zillions of people I love the smell of freshly wet soil. As if its been reborn and given another chance.

But that’s not why I am writing.

A year in Bangalore and I am still slightly clueless as to what prompted me to come to this crazed city.

Career is going on fine, if we were to ignore the idiotic politics that governs it. But then this place has survived 150 years and if it hadn’t been for these wheeler-dealers would it have lasted this long??? Guess underhand and behind the back dealings are the stepping-stones to success and longevity.

Friends…. not an absolute blank. Hardly half a dozen but who’s complaining? Then again, the frivolity of those Delhi days has passed me by. But I sorely miss those drinking sessions followed by dancing and then eating out in the middle of the night, hitching a ride back home…. Surprise element…am suddenly in touch with people from my earlier innocent days in Kerala. Nice to relive a childhood phase in bits.

Family…. well we seem to be seeing more of them given the proximity and it hasn’t been so bad. And I could play mommy to my brother all over again, after our childhood years. And him I will miss acutely when he moves to foreign shores.

Life…it has its moments…. of quiet love, of tumultuous fights, of sweet nothings, of long drives, of ice creams from a roadside van….

So all in all…. a 6/10.

Forever Young???

2007-08-03T14:08:00.000+05:30

I yearn to be carefree again.
Those years of sheer abandon, when everything seemed conquerable and attractive.
Times when you could go on without food or sleep, the sheer thrill of the experience filling you up with the necessary stamina and energy.
Those moments when you seemed to have the blessings of the stars in everything you undertook.
Those fleeting glances, of furtive pleasure, and implied interest.
Those smiles beckoning strangers to share a thought and some words, maybe random moments and desires.
Those winks that were meant to wound and tease.
Those sniggers aimed at everyone who crossed you.
Those walks, staring at every fallen leaf, wondering about its life, wanting to stand and stare as humanity passed you by in a random shuffle to gain something more, make another buck, prove a point.
I long for those nights, when the sheer darkness made me want to walk in the middle of the road, or sit by its side, chatting away even as the first rays of light whitened the rock I sat upon.
I long for those winter mornings, when cuddling warmly in my blanket, and watching the chilly breeze outside my window, I lazed in bed, nodding off into sleep at every alternate moment.
I long for those walks in the rain, and the freezing chat beside the tea shop, clinging to your hot cup while the clothes and hair dripped and when a cold seems the smallest price to pay for a evening of fun.
Those afternoons when I walked back for lunch, and the whole world seemed to be fast asleep and the sun shone for me.
So many wonderful moments…
What I would give to have them back…
To live them once more,
In a more indulgent and memorable fashion!
I long to be young all over again.

BLOCK US OUT!!!

2007-08-03T12:37:00.000+05:30

The conspiracy to shut us off from the world is gaining in strength as each day passes by. Its funny even as the world is trying hard to become part of the social networking bandwagon and global leaders are talking about breaking down boundaries to finally have a seamless global village, my company is now downing another nail on our lives. We who have been reduced to dependency on Indiatimes (HAR HAR) and Gmail for our communication needs are now being taken off the Google network also to ensure our productivity is enhanced.

Journalism I thought was all about keeping in touch and talking to multitudes of people continuously to get information. But looks like we are supposed to sit in our little corners or then spend money in inane coffee shops and on travel to get our information while TV channels score by merely thrusting a mike in the middle.

What really are these people trying to prove? The more they cut us off, the more time we will spend trying to physically catch up with people and the more our time in office is reduced and the less productive and efficient we are. How much of knowledge of astro physics was necessary to make out those connections?

The BOSS

2007-08-02T19:19:00.000+05:30

It was with sheer pleasure that I exited from the theatre after watching Sivaji. I have always pictured watching a Rajni flick in Chennai amidst rows of fans who hooted, clapped and mouthed dialogues of the superstar. But am yet to sit through such an exhilarating experience. Anyhow some of the memorable lines from the flick demand that they be repeated and shared.

Here are some I could remember…

Sachin adicha sixer, indha Shivaji adicha stretcher
Naan nenacha athu nadantha mathiri, naan nadantha athu jeyicha mathiri
Naan 1 centimeter dhooratthukku nallavan, aanal 20 kilometer distancekku kettavan
Kanna andha sivajikku nadikka mattum thaan theriyum, indha sivajiku nadikkavum theriyum adikkavum theriyum
Kannaa, sirikkaama PM aga iruntharu antha Narasimha Rao, ( late PM of India ) aana sirichukitte pattaiyai kilappurathu intha Shivaji Rao
Naan nallavanukku sami, Nayavanjaganukku Tsunami
Kanna, vittukoduthavan ennaikum kettathillai, kettavan ennaikkum vittukoduthathillai
Solli adikiravan veeran, sollama adikiravan kozhai, naan sollavum maatten, adikkavum maaten… aana konnuduven
Nallavanukku naan DHARMAN Kettvanukku naan YEMA dharman da
Pongal choice Karumbu, intha Shivaji choice Kurumbu
sivaji nenacha sona mathiri, sonna mudincha mathiri
annikku solrathuthaan innikkum, innikku solrathuthaan ennaikkum
sollaama vantha TSUNAMI, solli vantha SHIVAJI
Singathe konja mudiyathu…Sivajiya minja mudiyathu…
paambe patha padaye nadungum, indha Sivajiya pathe pambe nadungum!
Six kke apuram 7nda, shivajikappuram yevenda?
"Panni ellam kootam kootamaaa thaaan varum…annaa SINGAM SINGLE aaathaaaan varum

DHOOM OR DOOM???

2007-07-31T15:09:00.000+05:30

Two nights ago I managed to sit through Dhoom 2. And funnily enough have been feeling under the weather since last evening. Connected? Could be. But I have to say this…. WHY DID THE OH SO FOOLISH JUNTA REVEL WATCHING THIS FOOLISH AND OVERLY FLAWED FLICK????

I never thought I would sit down and list the flaws of a movie that stars Aishwarya Rai nee Bachchan. For the way I look at it, merely casting her in a role, demands that the movie be avoided like the plague, unless of course there is a Mani Rathnam factor included. If so all prejudices aside, I shall sit through anything. But having said that…. DHOOM 2 was painful to say the damn least. Though the first part was much more bearable despite Uday Chopra.

Okie so where do I start?
1. Why show Rimii Sen and Bipasha in this flick at all? Both could’ve been willingly chopped off. Neither really added any actual value to the movie!
2. The crappy bit between Uday and Bipasha. Irritating.
3. Jai is the only officer across the globe who manages to find a connection between the various robberies of A! (Right! considering he is the most incompetent cop who can catch no thief and lets them jump off or pretend to die in front of him. KILL HIM OFF FIRST!)
4. Uday sees the A’s face, but even without passing on information to Jai, he manages to turn up in a helicopter just at the juncture where he loses A.
5. Aishwarya’s horribly irritating attempt at being cool and imitate a wannabe thief. (Her deplorable use of like, cool. Her finger movement etc etc)
6. The first robbery…how come the diamond was not protected using infrared beams? So that he could easily get a toy to flick it?
7. The scene at the theatre…where both men flank her and the robber does not recognize the cop.
8. The twin Bipasha…and how she does not know HINDI!!!
9. The second robbery…again attesting the fact that jai is a deplorable cop and that one should never trust him
10. How after that jai knows exactly where the villa is
11. And then where to take his bikes and follow them
12. Why they never bring in Aryan for questioning despite having enough reasons to suspect him.
13. Why he turns humanitarian and lets the lady walk after she shoots a world renowned criminal
14. And then why he waits for 6 months before turning up and demanding details
15. Better still why no other cop is pursuing this thief who has been committing robberies across the globe as they claim

Okie there are many more…but now more than ever I am terribly bored and pissed that I took time out to list them. How very un-needful. Anyhow.

It was disgusting to say the least. Please refrain from making another one.

A Page from SR's Life!

2007-07-21T13:46:00.000+05:30

“Suspicion is most often useless pain.” Samuel Johnson

"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal." Tennessee Williams

He wrote….“Despite my love for you, you will never get rid of your suspicious nature…do what you want, I don’t care…”

I was angry, irritated but for once I was not ridden with suspicion. I merely wanted to know why he hadn’t picked up my call. And to accentuate my anger, I cut his calls. Why was anger and rebuttal only his prerogative?

Now he has once again made accusations. He has made them in the past. Like I have. But I had begun to lay off. Matrimony I had believed would gradually ease me from all my jealousies and suspicions. My concocted visuals and fears were beginning to die a natural death. I had slowly begun to laugh along at jokes about women, flirtations and all else. So then, why push me into the abyss again?

I have never masked my failings. I have proclaimed my flaws pretending often that it would allow me to choose and belong only to the worthy. Today it seems to have turned on its head. Its biting at my soul and threatening to kill my happiness.

I was betrayed once. While on the road to recovery, all my fundamentals were rudely shaken when another mental blow was dealt me. This time I had to play nurse and help the others involved in order to restore a semblance of order. My upper floors creaked and groaned. They couldn’t take all the weight. The unexpressed fears, anger, wailing, abuse, hurt, disgust, helplessness all faded into a corner. They scratched into the fabric like there was no tomorrow. I was afflicted with a disease, which I had guffawed at when my peers had told me about it. Now I was the worst victim I knew. Or would ever know.

Then I found love again. I thought it would cure me. Over time. And all I asked for in return was patience, for I had promised fidelity. It was hard, and self-defeating most times, but I had promised and that meant more than anything I could ever delude myself of. So I persevered. I was getting there though with baby steps.

But my reputation prevents him to see the light. All my follies of the past are playing catch up and he seems to have donned the hat of referee. I am not proud of my actions, but to punish me forever for those acts in the distant yesterdays seems inhuman and terribly unfair.

I once asked him about a “Cinderella”. He accused me of reading his mails on the sly. I had never ever dreamt of such an action.

I accused him of wanting to spend time with “his genuine colleagues and friends”. He reminded me of my wrong doings during our rough shod days, when we almost called it all off.

Today he has told me that he doesn’t care any more since I can never get rid of my suspicious nature.

The fault it mine and mine alone to bear to the grave.

Maybe I was never meant to settle down. Those had been divine messages to prevent me from embarking on a holy matrimony trip.

My affections have cost someone so dear and so close, his entire life and his shot at companionship.

It has caused many hearts to ache and still I persevered.

I wasn’t the best in town, but we chose each other knowing all our faults. So now to hold them against the other is the most shameful act.

When he decided to pursue his dream I relented and stepped back to support as was necessary and right.

Today I suffer in silence of the many times I let my dreams run asunder and put my love above me.

Today I am a long way off from some dreams I had cherished since the day I knew to tell the clock.

Today I am doling out advice to all and sundry while I languish in the darkness of the choices I have made for myself.

Did I deserve this?

Was I the most despicable thing to walk this earth that I am being tested over and over again?

What more is in store?

Why did you create me in this form and give me all my follies if you were going to make me pay every time I used one of them to meet my ends?

Why create me at all?

Why put so many flaws in me that everyone wants to keep me at arms’ length and still they cringe when they have to pick me?
Why not give me the courage and strength to be on my own?

Why not deliver me from my sins and leave me with a pinch of happiness?

I can’t take it any more.

I am tired. Or being made to err. Then being made to pay for the crime.

They say all our lives are written out in that gold book.

Erase me.

I don’t want no more.

NOTE: From the diary of SR.

The only thing I have wanted to possess since my student days. And finally it’s mine, to keep and savour.

Unfinished Tale

2007-07-16T18:31:00.000+05:30

I had been meaning to write for a while...and this was all that came out...suddenly I screeched to a halt....I could think of multiple versions this could take…I didn’t want to continue…seemed like one of those mushy Tamil movies….why was I writing this? I simply have no clue. I do need to keep at it, though…before words forget me…

Anyhow if anybody straying here has enough time to kill might as well read on……

They sat across each other not uttering a word. Life had seemed such a pleasure and possible just a few moments back.

Sumit had been waiting for Reena at the wayside café they always met in. The last two years had been difficult with both not finding much time to meet or talk. She had enrolled for a Masters degree and now suddenly when things seemed to be slowly falling into place he had just received the acceptance letter. He had always wanted an MBA to slap behind his engineering degree. And now finally he was so close to it…. but he was confused. There were so many things to consider…. Reena’s family for one….

Suddenly interrupting his thoughts the sound of anklets filled the room…. she was climbing down the stairs…. he swiveled back with a huge grin on his face. And there she was. Her hair swinging in rhythm to the bells at her ankles…. she was smiling and had something hidden behind her back…

The anklets had made him look at her the first time. He had been waiting outside the college library, patiently whiling away time as his sister made a scene sorting out her friends, books and what not. An innocent face, completely wrapped by a head full of jet-black hair, tied neatly into two plaits…she seemed to be hopping in tune to some unknown rhythm. He had smiled at her childlike demeanor. And then dismissed her till a week later. When she bumped into him as he climbed the steps to the cafeteria in search of his sister. Their eyes met, muttered sorry and they turned back at the end of the climb to smile at each other.

The next two years were the easiest of his life….they had talked into the night….sipped coffee at inane hours while his accomplice sister had woven her own love story. He dropped by after classes and only exams kept them at bay. He finished his engineering amongst the top five of his class, she graduated with top honours from her college. He had been picked up by an MNC. She decided to take a year out to figure out her priorities and give him time to decide on their future.

Now four years after they almost walked into each other, they had to take a tough call. They had never been away from each other. The casual glance had satiated them and they didn’t ask for much more. But knowing that the other was somewhere close by, to run across when required had always kept them happy and content. But that was about to change.

Reena had wanted them to tie the knot at the end of the year. She was finishing in two months and had already found herself a job. They were planning to stay with Sumit’s parents since his sister had moved to the US. Once her exams were over, they would fix on a date. After today she would meet Sumit only after two weeks. He was going to his village to meet his grandmother and seek her blessings for the wedding. The first time they would not be meeting each other for so long. She had bought his grandmother a small gift and couldn’t wait to show him the grand Afghani shawl she had bought. As she raced down the stairs she kept imagining his face when he saw it. His smile made her go weak in the knees even after four years. The world was a happy place, she thought as she saw his back slowly grow in size as she reached the last step.

His back was arched and the minute Reena saw his face she knew something was terribly wrong. Usually he yelled out for tea and stood up with his arms open. Today he sat still, looking at her with forlorn eyes. Her mind was racing; his grandmother had been unwell for a few weeks now. Had something untoward happened? She ran up to him and stood quietly. He took hold of her hand. She froze. It was ice cold and there was an envelope lying on the table. He nodded to her and as she tore open the cover to look at the contents, her heart kept chanting please let not anything go wrong.

At first she smiled, and hugged him. Wondered out aloud why he was being morose when his dream was about to come true. And then suddenly realization dawned........

The Captain & The Mermaid

2007-07-06T18:46:00.001+05:30

These lines struck a chord…. I wish I had chanced upon them way earlier in life…. for then I argued about the fate of the captain and the mermaid with someone dear…. she believed her fate would be as romantic and spontaneous as the mermaid’s…If ever you look down and see this….

This is for you.

"I have followed your ship for many a mile.One day the sea reflected your smile.And I'll give you my kingdom, eternally,If you'll marry this Mermaid that lives in the sea."

And the whole thing can be read here…http://www.ovff.org/pegasus/songs/captain-jack.html

Bon Voyage!

2007-06-15T17:46:00.000+05:30

Well finally the jinx is broken…and I am off…to other wonderful shores to soak in the sights, smells, colours, people, places, food and what not!

I am headed to a place, where they claim food is a national pastime and one that has more than 1000 malls…Singapore…

Just FYI: The name Singapura is derived from the Malay words singa (lion) and pura (city), which in turn is from the Sanskrit words simha and pura. According to the Malay Annals, this name was given by a 14th century Sumatran Malay prince named Sang Nila Utama, who, on alighting the island after a thunderstorm, renamed it Singapura after spotting an auspicious beast identified as a lion.

Anyhow I don’t have too much time since I am more worried about the nitty gritties of getting into an unknown land and making do with strangers for company…for now this is all…

What is marriage?

2007-06-08T17:49:00.000+05:30

A marriage...makes of two fractional
lives a whole;
it gives to two purposeless lives
a work, and doubles the strength
of each to perform it;
it gives to two
questioning natures a reason for living,
and something to live for;
it will give a new gladness
to the sunshine,
a new fragrance to the flowers,
a new beauty to the earth,
and a new mystery to life.
-- Mark Twain

Bugger off Ass Holes..........

2007-06-06T20:02:00.000+05:30

They want me to do them a favour…

So many previous occasions…when they have never bothered to be nice or even respond…

Why should I be nice?

Am I under any obligation to be nice?

I am simply not interested you fool?

Why the hell won’t that enter your brain or your sensibility?

In every possible decent way I have tried again and again to explain to you that come what may I am simply not interested.

So bugger off.

Don’t bother me so.

What you sow, so shall you reap!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Didn’t know revenge could taste so sweet.

To hell with you and many more of those uppity arse holes, who think they are oh so above everybody!

Hail Me????!!!

2007-05-30T20:34:00.001+05:30

Its funny how at times you can sit across the table from you and watch in absolute stillness as life unfolds. Those moments of absolute incoherence or rationality…I detest with absoluteness. It makes me wonder at me, my madness, my reasons for survival….

I have wondered umpteen times if this was really the way things had to shape up…if I had given in to those demented pangs would the world have been a better place minus one mental wreck?

But then again the drama that unfolds in my wake has been nonetheless interesting….and now as I once again decide to sit and watch this little plump soul type into the night as if her life depended upon it, I can but smile…

The journey has been frightening, amusing, debilitating and what not…but now I realize I wouldn’t trade places for anything in the world…

Hail my madness…hail my life….

Hail me!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning- Sonnet XLIII

2007-05-30T13:38:00.000+05:30

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath;

Smiles, tears, of all my life!

- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Absurdity that's life

2007-05-29T19:09:00.000+05:30

This life so worn out,

a mirage

not of consequence

to end up as ashes.

Why an over concerted effort?

These unwanted concerns

of human existence

a trivial pastime

to merely satiate a stranger's curiosity.

Why take on the excess burden?

One that could be avoided.

Yet these nonsensical forays

that rule our senses

add meaning to the very absurdity

called life...

So I wrote way back in 2001....

Why rehash now? It just seemed so apt at the moment...

From my yellowed Delhi walls…

2007-05-25T15:20:00.000+05:30

There are many reasons I took to writing. The first trigger was when my grandfather tore apart a poem I wrote when I was hardly 11, rewrote it and told me this was how it was done. Second was reading the God Of Small Things. Third was the fluidity with which I could write and amaze my teachers during my English exams and topping my school in my ISC English paper. The list is endless.

But apart from those many personal reasons, there is one human being who inspired me to write. My erstwhile roommate during my Delhi years. She used to keep a diary and I used to sneak a peek while she was in the shower. There was this one piece that she wrote on a piece of paper and put it up on our hostel room wall. When I left after my stipulated two years, the only thing I asked of her was this frayed yellow piece on our wall. She guffawed then told me sometime after our grandchildren were born we would laugh over this stupidity. I have it till date. Today I thought of writing it down and preserving it for life. She is asleep in the US and has told me now that one of those mentioned is dead and gone she doesn’t mind me putting it on my blog. So here read on….

“The day is painfully slow and I am at a loss for words to describe the tumult inside me. I am confused, angry, hurt, defeated and a lot of other crap. One of them can be eliminated if I get into a solid argument with this bitch who is technically family.

She, for one has taken after certain members of the family (my paternal grandparents…hence their obsession with her I assume) so perfectly, it’s eerie. She screwed one man after having two of his children and is now trying desperately hard to play havoc with the brains of another. The family has time and again banished her for being the root cause of shame, but she relentlessly tries hard to get her foot in. Surprisingly, rather sadly, she has been successful in finding some members who sympathize with her cause and make it even more difficult to cut her off like a gangrene-infected finger.

The men in her life adore her no end, but then the infamous bitches and witches from every era have had their share of male supporters and lovers, so this is no case in isolation.

Coming to the point, I don’t understand the primary motive behind her existence. She wants fame, (she is more infamous than the woman who was deported for being entangled in a sex scandal), she wants adoration (she has enough men according to me and everyone part of even my extended family, eating out of her fingers and her toes!!!!) and she wants money (for which she screwed one husband, killed a father, shamed a mother and her sisters and another man). So what is it that can satiate her? She is by every standard possible, an actress par excellence…in fact if only someone could get the Deepa Mehtas of the world to ping her she would run with her bosom thrust out…. and frankly many a time I have wondered if someone should not simply set up an acting school and ask her to turn dean!

The lady evokes such violence, hatred, anger, disgust in me it isn’t funny. I have time and again wanted to tell her off in a public forum but many a time family has tied me down. In fact I think for now she is content with milking my dad, who according to her is the biggest supporter and sentimental fool she has been able to bag. The woman will run to him if her ass doesn’t open wide enough to let her feces pass! That’s how wonderfully dependent she is on him. My father…. the poor, innocent, foolish milch cow and uncle par excellence!

I have been resisting the temptation to call her and give vent to a lot of emotions I have been storing safely in some tucked away corner to shower upon her when the moment arrives. I have often wondered if my love for a few has superseded my judgment so that I have strayed from justice at so many emotionally swayed moments? The answer is a big terrifying yes. I have put aside feelings of immense strength to prevent my loved ones from being in the line of fire. Have I then actually saved them from the clutches of harm, or have I pushed them further down the tube? I am at a loss.

In this case, I am more than convinced justice has to happen, and it has to be ME who makes the move. I don’t expect my blind dad to do shit about anything except get after my mother for not liking the poor orphan. He wouldn’t listen. So then who will tell the whore what her faults are and where she should stop. I have to intervene before it becomes irreversible. I have to do something now. Right NOW!

Its ludicrous that I vent my venom is such uninhibited fashion at this moment…. when in all the 27 years I spent at home I never dared to utter a word…. now sitting in a distant city…. all by myself…trying to string words together…. I seem to have found many past instances that I want to articulate and eliminate from my system…each time I switch on the yellow light, I see these frayed pieces of paper adorning my wall with pieces of my history laughing back at me…if only I had set aside my silence and spoken forth…. would we have been a happier family on some counts? I wonder…and will continue to do so for the remainder of my living years….

Dated July 23, 1998
SR”

Forceful Intentions

2007-05-17T16:20:00.000+05:30

“The want of logic annoys. Too much logic bores. Life eludes logic, and everything that logic alone constructs remains artificial and forced.” Andre Gide

She tried yet again…I don’t know if she understands that certain things are given in certain lifetimes for reasons best known to those involved. And to try and change that makes no sense whatsoever…under any pretext or good intention….

It only leaves everyone a tad more tired and angrier than they were before it all began.

And to what end….

People make decisions after enough rambling and thought…and to try and infuse a certain rationality into someone else’s way of functioning or living simply because you are part of their lives does not make sense. We are all individuals here, who like to lead our own lives in a manner fathomed by us alone. And to try and bend that to suit another’s sense of fairness and rationality is absolutely absurd and uncalled for and not appreciated in any fashion.

All I am is angry and upset.

I wish she would understand.

Heated thoughts....

2007-05-16T21:24:00.000+05:30

The office is reeking of sweaty scents…. they are cutting costs and saving on electricity by not using the AC in SUMMER! The night and its people are blissfully unaware of these drudgeries that we overcome as we churn out intelligent sounding copies about all that’s even remotely news-ish (if there is such a term…. newsworthy and all that’s making news has been done to death anyhow!) to fill up all the glaring white holes on the paper!

Everyone seems so absorbed in their little worlds amplified those glowing computer screens…everyone believes he is making a contribution to the world in general by merely adding a syllable here or there, correcting the punctuation in a sentence, making a paragraph read better.

Does the world really care? When they are being bombarded with non-stop news as it is called by a medley of channels, which all sound the same and in essence look the same?

Does actually clutching on to a piece of black and white make one feel much more important and credible than those who have had their say 24 hours earlier? Do we delude ourselves that we “add value” a day later by looking into the intricacies of the whole episode and saying it as it is in a more leisurely and long drawn fashion?

Why am I ridiculing the profession that is putting bread on my table, letting me indulge in crazy shopping sprees, make innumerous phone calls to my mother, and message my hubby all through the day?

I should be grateful. I guess it’s the heat that is making me fuzzy up there…

Hmm maybe I need some hot coffee to add to the confusion!

Al Pacino's Inch By Inch speech from Any Given Sunday

2007-05-16T17:57:00.000+05:30

"......You know when you get old in life
things get taken from you.
That's, that's part of life.
But,
you only learn that when you start losing stuff.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is football......"

Cliched did you say? Did I hear lack of things to write...?

Many a time this has been sent to me in the form of a forward. (yet again today and hence this post....)

I saw this on a cold winter night in Delhi at the Russian Cultural Centre while I was still studying in JNU.

And the memories I have of this movie are many….

1. Me and my then boyfriend were great fans of Oliver Stone. So we pulled a friend along in the hope of igniting in him some love for good cinema. He watched while munching on something right next to my ear and at the end of it all...he looked at us and all he had to say was..."What was that movie all about? I didn't understand a word of it!"

2. We wanted to get back to our respective hostels. We were on a deserted street looking for an auto and none seemed interested in us and the dark was making me jittery...and to add to my woes the fog was closing in.

3. There was this bunch of girls who had been sitting across us watching the movie. There was one PYT amongst them and for some reason our "friend" decided that the first auto should be relinquished in their favour since they were "girls and pretty too!"

We finally boarded one close to 90 minutes after we had trooped out of the viewing hall.....

I detest one of those two men at this stage in my life....the other sends me perfunctory hello notes in between....

Anyhow if you want to read it all over again.........
http://essaysfromexodus.scripting.com/stories/storyReader$1492

Can I still string them together?

2007-05-11T19:37:00.000+05:30

Short-lived bubbles skim the surface
Spluttering
Whistling
A passing kiss of the air
And Kaput….
I am gone….

Cowardice he says...

2007-05-10T13:12:00.000+05:30

I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.

Virginia to her husband Leonard Woolf before killing herself…

When I mailed this across to my hubby, he said only cowards opt for death instead of standing up and facing the music…. and why choose the easier and stupider path when you have navigated most of the curves already and know what is in store?

Do I agree? There are a million moments when I want to but be a coward!

.......Stumped

2007-04-27T16:39:00.000+05:30

The traffic is crawling in contrast to the peppy rhythm of that Bollywood tune blasting out of the radio. The car seems slower than a snail and the air is heavy with tinges of gasoline and vapour.

I am bemused at the honkers and the little kids trying to sell their wares amidst this cacophony. I have been intently staring out of the window…deliberately avoiding conversation. I feel angry…terribly angry and maybe even let down.

The master of the house has decided…he has to attend that silly charade to please the higher ups and ensure nothing goes wrong with his stellar career…. while feasting on visuals of skimpily clad bimbos from his office and their offshoots across India. The agenda of this do…nothing but partying and so-called training (for what and in what I don’t want to speculate…but there it is managing to make everything seem so official and desirable)

Reason asks me if I shouldn’t merely let go…considering nothing in this world can be saved my mere paranoia or fear or concentrated thinking by one. I have my fears…my insecurities…and I have absolutely justifiable and valid reasons for all of them…. unfortunately everyone seems to think its silly to impose my quirks on someone else and suffocate them too….

How else does one find redemption…do you allow yourself to be continually sucked into the vortex of fear, abandonment, jealousy, insecurity and a lot of other meshed up shit? Or do you find someone who understands and hankers along without triggering another panic attack? Or do you bury them so deep they can’t surface at all? Or do you put on an act every so often sometimes you forget what reality is?

The world warned me against straying into such a situation…. they pleaded continuously asking me to stay single in order to deal with my demons and allow myself justice and sanity. As always I didn’t comprehend then…and I disobeyed. Now I am beginning to pay the price.

When everything above your chin is completely screwed up and enmeshed in crap…the best option is to isolate yourself and deal with the nonsense one by one. Or even assuming you cant deal with them…the solitude will offer suggestions and solutions…. when in a pairing…. the vapour thickens…clarity eludes…you subvert the issues to ensure peace and longevity…but where does that leave you?

To Borrow Celine Dion's words...

2007-04-25T21:00:00.000+05:30

I always loved this song more than the Titanic track for the sheer beauty of the lyrics. This one's for you Bali....

For all those times you stood by me
For all the truth that you made me see
For all the joy you brought to my life
For all the wrong that you made right
For every dream you made come true
For all the love I found in you
Ill be forever thankful baby
You're the one who held me up
Never let me fall
You're the one who saw me through through it all

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith coz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

You gave me wings and made me fly
You touched my hand I could touch the sky
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me
You said no star was out of reach
You stood by me and I stood tall
I had your love I had it all
I'm grateful for each day you gave me
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true
I was blessed because I was loved by you

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith coz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

You were always there for me
The tender wind that carried me
A light in the dark shining your love into my life
You've been my inspiration
Through the lies you were the truth
My world is a better place because of you

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith coz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith coz you believed
I'm everything I am
Because you loved me

I know we'll pass the test of time.

2007-04-25T20:59:00.001+05:30

I’m straddling moments of lucidity and near deafness. The pain is irritatingly numbing. I have always chided myself for getting into these spots with my eyes wide open and yet once again I am exactly there.

I have descended from the mountains…where we sat watching the stars, sipping on rum and freezing beneath our woolens. Amidst the hillocks of Mussoorie we regained moments of innocent love we had relinquished in favour of maddeningly silly and materialistic corporate lives.

The silence was absolutely rejuvenating. The smiles, the cuddles, the sleeping ins, the panting sighs and grumbles as we navigated one slope after another, the gulps of water and the gasps for air, the silly laughter, the benumbing TV shows to kill the time in between when conversation had left our tongues dry, the Tibetan flat noodles, the nicely flavoured chilly momos, the sprinkly and warming alcohol, the hot air emitting heater by our feet, the small shawl beneath which both of us tried hard to hide, the yellow blossoms on our balcony, the naughty apes playing on the other side of the window panes, the green valley spread beneath our legs, the chilly air that made us cling close not allowing even a hair’s breadth between us, and so much much more…

The trip away from humanity and everybody was a welcome break. We renewed our beliefs, our love, our promises, our tears, our passion and lots more.

One year under our belt…we promised to forge ahead come what may. And vowed never to let go even if the going got so tough we couldn’t bear it anymore.

I wanted to print this on something and hand it over to him…. but I bought a cosmetic card from Archie’s.

Here is what I wanted to tell you…. corny though it may seem….

“I didn't think that I could love you more than I did a year ago.But little did I know that in sharing my hopes and dreams with you, my love for you would grow.Bali, I'm so thankful for your love and all the joy it brings.For better or worse, through thick and thin, you've been there by my side, sharing the laughter and the tears, through life's uncertain ride.
You are so much a part of me; I know we'll pass the test of time.Hand-in-hand I'll walk through life with you for your hand was made to fit perfectly in mine.”

Taking stock

2007-04-16T18:40:00.000+05:30

There is a sense of loss filling me up…even as the smiles cling to my skin I wonder where this phase is headed.

I know deep within that this might make or break the next leg of my professional career and even as I navigate potholes with the dexterity of an F1 driver, something in me cries out at this injustice.

All the moves can be dated back to the fights I had…the numerous arguments fighting for my worth and for justice…for promises made to me that were forgotten…for mistakes I didn’t commit and was forced to take the blame for…against egos that could not take the anger and resilience in a voice that refused to shut off….

Those have blotted my career like none else…Everytime I was passed over for a more mediocre yet more accomplished “sucker” I watched from the sidelines…holding on to shards of confidence that warned of slipping away.

I never learnt the art of tact, diplomacy or mere networking or hob-nobbing with the powers that be. I have always believed (still do) that my work alone should speak for itself…and hence the many coffees and dinners I turned down and the many smiles I refused to flash earned me nothing but wrath and anger.

The people of the world were never my concern and hence I could not sympathize or empathize with those that deserved not a second’s attention.

And it has left me way behind in the race for recognition. And each time a face from my times, stares back at me from the TV screen or otherwise, while furiously climbing the ladders of success something in me dies. The belief that maybe mere mediocrity, and sometimes even things way beneath that coupled with sheer people skills could take a person to the echelon of success has made dents in my brain and many other places.

The anger and hatred I feel at these silly fools is so immense I refuse to take stock for fear of it consuming me. But then again I cannot but turn a blind eye to those who stare back while I fight for what is rightfully mine. Maybe I should have been amoral, dishonest, a pseudo who could sweet-talk the pants off anyone. Alas that one eludes me like the plague.

I sure don’t deserve this. The result of working hard, giving away my better years, my life in a sense…of being scrupulous and simply honest.

And today taking stock just prior to entering my 28th year, I wonder if I weren’t equipped at all for all the better things in life and for the success I thought was due me!

For a mad GOODU!

2007-04-12T18:12:00.000+05:30

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." Anais Nin

She is crazy…a supposedly mature teenager in the garb of a middle aged woman. Shaking her snaky hair free, she giggles and talks like a mad hatter and bursts into insane laughter at the innocuous language she has invented!

She was “suggested” to me by someone close. And she turned out to be the best thing that has happened to me in a long time to come and that too of the same gender!

The weird thing is the many experiences in isolation that we share…and the fact that despite the gaping years we have managed to find so many levels of similarity. The many quirks we share too make me laugh. Who would have thought in this creepy land of computers and wannabes there would be one soul who still loved old books, the smell of bread and the scary greens she gorges on like a cow.

My husband wonders at this new found proximity and togetherness. He had been amused at the fact that I kept only males for company. This is a pleasant surprise alright but he wonders at the constant need and actual comfort we derive from each other.

Our world is one of inanities, stupid jokes, shared pain, misunderstood anguish, unchanneled anger and worry, deep seated fear of losing control, of being swarmed by these stupidities enough to want to bail out, of silly chatter, or sniggering comments about unknown and known souls, of steaming cuppas, crunchy beetroot filled cutlets, so many childish pleasures, chocolates, saris, tantrums, jealousy, and what not….

Her glasses perched on her nose, her stiff saris, her matching accessories, her aching hands, her sparkling diamonds, her little bindi, her aching belly (courtesy crunches to lose the flab), and her vulgar white-capped phone. She makes me smile, comes running every time I need her and listens when I tell her silly pains that make me want to run away. She feeds me, worries and obsesses about me (or so I presume), and eggs me on Every time I am down!

I so adore this mad lady…. I am really grateful for that one phone call from Delhi that directed her in to my world!

Dr Shrinkari, I am not letting you go come what may!

Reliving the Past!

2007-04-06T14:30:00.000+05:30

I keep hearing that noise from deep within…I am yet to ascertain what it could mean or be. I am confused. I know there are those you want to stay on with you for life, despite all your efforts to push them into the farthest recess in your being…but would that be one of them calling out to me?

And then there is this soul I have been calling out to in every language I could conceive. But it evades me like the plague. Glorified payback I believe. Not unwarranted either. But penance seems no good an answer.

That one dissenting voice I would give the world to hear cackle in my ear…. the wisps of breath that punctuate that conversation so lost in the clouds…the little pats that I imagine every time he laughs at my achievements…the sweet nothings that I wish would dot the night instead of mere shiny stars…

Flashes from the past…barely enough to kill a lifetime. Infernal longing to rewrite the equation…to relive the past…to undo the horrendous impetuous mistakes and regain the laughter.

Of Arts & Farts!

2007-04-04T19:46:00.000+05:30

He kept fingering his well rolled and set curls…it was pissing me off. This arty farty old man…with his rudraksha beads and bulging waist with even bigger pockets and a bag large enough to hold him within, supposedly to scare off the less intellectual kinds…. his unkempt beard was another turn off…I was maintaining a stoic silence so as not to upset the delicate balance between them. She had forced me into this…and now she sat trying to make polite conversation with this man I wanted to tell off…trying so hard to hold on to his smoke even as he fidgeted with the empty pack looking around for a lighter in all those deep pockets of assumed wisdom and literature.

He liked to keep his cards close to his chest for fear his literary knowledge might fly away with a stray one…like his tousled locks and his brain was playing havoc with his visuals. He was looking for scarlet-o-hara amongst his umpteen messages saved to again strengthen the façade he had built around him. The point being, what use are these pitiable graspers of literature? I mean, no harm in having a well read and intelligent soul around you? Why does it necessitate a particular physical feel to be intelligent or even artistic? Why is it that the world assumes a normal person cannot get into the skin of a character while reading or creating it simply for the lack of disheveled locks, an untidy room and smelly feet?

These archaic myths have turned into a mockery the decent soul’s yearning for genuine knowledge. For one, if only people would refrain from imposing a certain eccentricity on someone who loves word play, we might be closer to actually enjoying the nuances of the language, which is not necessarily exclusive to “those quite not there”. The worst part they are the most hurt souls this side of the Atlantic if one were to freely offer them a reality check…then you shall fry in the fires of hell for having questioned the credentials of so simple and pure a literary soul!

I hate such pretentious buggers who assume an aura of intelligence merely courtesy their appearance. I hate hypocrites and those who plead to be categorized different. If you are more than just your clothes, your stench and your unkempt look should play testimony. Rest should be up there hidden from public view…for you and the creator alone to enjoy and muddle over.

Keep him away from me for the next time my tongue shall not obey my bodily commands. And he wont like spittle on his well curved locks…

Tch tch.

Cranky Dilemma

2007-04-03T18:43:00.000+05:30

The silence is reverberating. There have been random moments when I have been forced to wonder if this is not punishment for my own stubbornness? After all I chose the least trodden path, decided to brave it out with fewer friends than fingers on a hand. And to look back and complain will not help solve the problem.

For some years now, I have been languishing with the bare minimum of friends. Not that the need for multiples was not there, just that finding those that fitted the bill was impossible. Which made things kind of stagnate on certain fronts. The essence of any relationship is the way it can evolve to become something more fresh and interesting with the passage of time. And the minute it recedes into the past, we have to reinvent the whole damn thing to make it appealing at least in one aspect.

I am facing a cranky dilemma now. I have certain clogs I need to unearth, but that will then leave me with fewer than I started out with…which is inherently unhealthy and unwise. So then do I turn a blind eye or a deaf ear to these glaring mishaps? I am really in need of divine intervention at this moment. And that seems to be lacking too.

Has everyone abandoned me to my miserable fate? Christ it is definitely scary.

i like my body when it is with your.....so said ee cummings

2007-03-29T15:40:00.000+05:30

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new

The Truth is Always Bitter!

2007-03-26T16:00:00.000+05:30

Much maligned Simon Cowell…

The only fault with the man is he speaks his mind bluntly…and the fact remains nobody likes criticism…that makes him the most hated and criticized man on the planet.

Surprisingly, 7 out of the top 12 contestants in this season voted him their favourite judge, and I would presume that was the case in the previous seasons too. If he were mortally feared and hated then its small wonder they keep him on the show…but I guess it pays to have someone who is inherently considered rude to do your dirty work for you. Coz left to Randy and Paula many of them would have been voted through for their sexy looks or something else that the lady might mistake as pity.

Keep speaking the truth Simon.

Cluttered thoughts

2007-03-24T18:28:00.000+05:30

As the first year draws to a close…random thoughts clutter my brain….

Everyone says the first year is the toughest. In my case it hasn’t been as bad as some made it sound.

There have been changes galore…where do I start? The first and final rule of the entire relationship apart from the rules we set each other remains neither family shall feel ignored or left out! So lets begin….

Its no longer just the two of us…you realize that the day you decide you want to settle down, but the enormity of it hits you when each decision you make becomes a point of conversation and discussion with everyone in the immediate family (extended excluded if you have been smart enough to put them in their respective places immediately after the ceremony!).
Now vacations mean family visits, and to top it all, exactly divided ones between both houses. No one should feel left out!
Phone calls are no longer based on your prerogative or emotional need…they are to be weekly and in both directions.
At family gatherings language has to be extremely polite if not formal…four letter words should not feature even by mistake
Gifts have to be bought keeping in mind both families
Family will drop in when least expected and there’s not much you can do about it. Which also means screwed sleep cycles and being at your best and no bickering come what may.
It means putting up with extended family the two of you have gone to lengths to avoid…simply because the “close” family believes you should never alienate anyone related to you
No finding fault with family even if they are wrong. You will end up a sore loser.
Early on decide which festivals will be spent with whom so neither gets impacted
Don’t let any “well-meaning” criticism or advice get your goat. It is always meant in good humour and for your well-being.
Never make a face coz then it is used against you at a later stage and they think you are making the other person suffer with your anger.
Try and make an ally on the other side of the fence early on, you will need someone to fight your case at some point, sooner than you know it.
Learn to memorize birthdays and any other event which might matter to one and all
Portray yourself as much more gullible and simple than you really are and earn some brownie points. Will help in the long run.
If a fight is getting out of hand and there is a possibility it might make news in family circles, immediately get someone on your side before the other person makes it public. The first comer is always more innocent in the long run.

Okie there are many more. But this is now making me think …and real hard too. So lemme stop before I get scary thoughts.

Oh and while I am on this topic….I found this really interesting list of things that you “will find in a happy couple”. And guess what I failed only on one account…Very good did I hear someone say? I am patting myself on my unreachable back!
Here is the list in case you need to refer….

They Go to Bed At the Same Time - That's right, they go to bed together. Whether they want to make love, snuggle up and talk or just feel the closeness of each other as they fall asleep, they go to bed together and one partner may get back up after the other has gone to sleep, but they give each other the comfort of being together whenever they are going to sleep
They Develop Shared Interests - Whether they shared these interests before they got married or discovered them after, happy couples enjoy spending time together so much that they work together to find things to do together
They Hold hands - Whether they are in the car, walking in a store or walking in the park - they hold hands and walk side by side, because it's important for them to be together in whatever they are doing
Accentuate the Positive - Happy couples focus more on the positive aspects of each other more than the negative - it's not about the few things they do wrong, but all the things they do right
Forgiveness and Trust are the Rule - If an argument can't be solved or resolved, the happy couple chooses trust and forgiveness over the alternatives
Hugs & Kisses are what happens when the happy couple sees each other after any absence whether it's 1 hour or 1 day
I Love You's are not perfunctory, they are vital for the happy couple to be said and to be heard every morning, every afternoon and every evening
Saying good morning and good night is important because it acknowledges a happy couples partnership and their commitment to each other because they don't let the little or the big things slide
Happy couples reach out to each other all day long whether it's a quick two minute phone call or instant messages where they can keep their fingers on the pulse of the relationship
Happy couples take pride in each other, they are proud to be seen together, they are proud of their achievements and they are proud to just be together

Dali on my walls!

2007-03-24T17:50:00.000+05:30

One of my favourites. At one point the mere fascination with it, propelled me to get a colour printout of the same from an advertiser friend and put it up on my wall…till it tore into a million fragments. All the same I still have it preserved in some corner of my attic.

Would I Look Like Gertrude Stein In Another 20 Years?

2007-03-22T14:25:00.000+05:30

Cinderella Man?

2007-03-16T17:46:00.000+05:30

My friend’s call today caught me off balance…. what she told me seemed like a movie…a nightmare I have wanted to avoid at any cost…. do I want to tell It all…. In such a public forum? I guess what I need is re-assurance that these are random isolated incidents that wont happen to me…. she is hurt and confused. And honestly for once I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know how to save her from heartache. I don’t like to see her like this…in a shriveled state. But hell…wish I could help out.

I tell her story…. it rings true even as I write…and I hate that man for what he’s done to the one woman who I watched over like a hawk all through my teens…. she has been an asset, my soul mate…he hurt her…he let her down. I don’t know what I want to tell him! Do I even want to associate with him?

“Blackened hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked to my little corner, trying to shut out the cruel laughs that refused to die down.

Had my trust been betrayed? Had I been taken for a ride? Had he despite my repeated admonitions and warnings gone ahead and played truant? Had I lost my reason to live? Had I lost my only source of comfort? Or had I lost all?

Shivering legs prevented me from taking my seat…. They were talking about this new person in his surroundings…why hadn’t he mentioned her to me? Why this stoic silence? Even when I ask? And then in retort he accuses me of things I haven’t dreamt of. Why? Is there something he wants hidden under the dirt? Something he is trying hard to abstain from? Something he has done but can’t explain…nor accept. Something that makes him guilty… Something he should never have even considered even when sloshed out of his wits….

Something in me died today.... It was like... I don’t know how to explain...for one moment it seemed like the ground underneath me had moved and my balance was toppled and I was falling into an abyss.... like I had been slapped.... like someone had thrown hot water on my face...like I was not alive and I could stand and hear people talking ill of me in front of my illusion.... like I was not wanted anymore.... like there was this bitch who was trying to creep in….And you almost let her....

God it worries me no end…and now I hurt for the accusations refuse to wash off despite my best efforts…I want this to go away. I want that bitch out of our lives. I don’t want you to share even a breath with her…I don’t want you to touch the machine that might touch her as she walks past….I wish like those loony women I could stick pins into a doll and she would cry in agony and fry in the fires of hell….I pray a car hits her and mashes her to jam as she crosses the road…I wish someone would rape her….I wish she would come under a truck and her head were severed…. I want her dead…. now….”

So do I honey…I shouted into the phone…she was crying….I guess I need to call her. It’s been an hour since we spoke. I need to save her from some stupidity. Moments when I wonder if it weren’t better to be alone in this world?

He came alive!

2007-03-09T18:31:00.000+05:30

I had been watching him from my window for the last 4 days. He sat still… watching the traffic go by…smoking…. scratching the wild patch atop his head for any alien growth…. stroking his beard, whistling, smiling to himself. And suddenly today his world seemed to have jumped right out of his head onto the street. Cats…they seemed to make him come alive.

The transformation was breath-taking. He seemed for once like another of my species. He suddenly had a family to fend for. He scrambled about looking for a piece of cloth to make the trio sleep on. Those miniature versions of the feline family seemed to have awakened something in him that not even a street beauty had.

Its amazing to watch a man struggle to keep alive something he loves. the strength he derives from that single passion makes his eyes burn like nothing else has…he will join heaven and earth if a shadow were thrown across those he would give his life for. God forbid somebody takes that away from him.....

Sanity's end?

2007-03-06T18:45:00.000+05:30

Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy. Aristotle

I have begun to enjoy my angry, vociferous phases. It’s eerie and almost disturbing. They are gradually replacing those moments of laughter…of happiness at being one with another…of having a life to enjoy…of wanting something more than mediocrity in my life…searching for fame….of silent love…of belonging…of being the center of someone’s private universe….of madness….of debilitation sadness….of sheer warmth and mushiness…of absolute joy….of fear….

The end of sanity is catching up with me…and there seems to be nothing I can do to turn back….

To what crime do I pay this price…my mom quips that its my crimes from my past life that are playing catch and making my living life a hell…she might just be true…if this one is even a shade of what I might have been then I doomed to ignominy…

Only question remains…how fast will it devour me?

BIGG BOSS!

2007-03-06T18:21:00.000+05:30

Seething anger and disgust…. what I feel is compounded every time I set eyes on him. The man is dumb to say the least…I was initially tolerant given his background. But now it makes me wild…and unforgiving.

There is this urge to punch his nose in…. each time he gets off his chair, I cringe in fear…please make him walk to the other end…not realize that I am free and may listen to what he has to say….

Till date I have been polite and subservient given my newcomer status…but soon it will not matter anymore. I will play deaf till I can bear no more…then the anger, the disgust, the pain will all pour forth…and he wont know which way to look.

I merely hope it won’t be too soon…for both our sakes!

Killing Time!

2007-02-28T16:40:00.000+05:30

The last few hours have been maddeningly irritating. Everyone pretending to decipher the budget all by himself or herself. I have been pushed into a corner…to observe and understand the intricacies of unraveling the budget…. gosh it makes me laugh…. the last few years working in TV stations dumbing down the budget for the lay person to understand…and now these paper guys trying to teach me a lesson or two about reading between the lines of the budget.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be more meaningful if I had undergone a lobotomy before joining the print medium. Many a time the pace and the silliness of those surrounding me has made me gasp and wonder…. if I shouldn’t be doing something completely different. There are a few diamonds…whose shine is diminished by the much surrounding them. But who the hell cares…in all walks the story is similar.

For me right now, the one nagging worry is how long I will survive this tomfoolery. I have finally found my niche…but then again not in “the” place of choice…but I am not going to complain….
I am rambling on meaninglessly to be precise…but the attempt is to look busy and occupied while my boss looks for one more soul to contribute to the already over-loaded budget coverage….so I shall sulk and pretend to be engaged completely. And fill up pages with absolute nonsense. But hey, nobody seems to be complaining.

MISUNDERSTOOD

2007-02-27T18:48:00.000+05:30

Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding. Diane Arbus

Obsessed with finding an outlet for my feelings, I completely forgot that man, who loved me and cared for me unconditionally and for life.

He felt wronged…responsible for all my misgivings…. my pain…. my raving and ranting…. he was hurt…. upset beyond relief….

Blinded by rage and misery, I had shut myself off from the surrounding universe… which breathed with me, which sheltered me…felt the urge to care for me….

But the point being…my dialogues with myself were never meant to hurt…or accuse…. or demean…or put down…or insult…or deprive anyone…. I was talking to myself…my asides are merely that…they are meant to be taken and understood in exactly that format…any other meaning imposed on them can make them harmful and hurtful for everyone else, but me!

So read me…. don’t absorb me like a sponge and cry in pain. I talk out loud to myself…to my consciousness…to my invisible breathing twin…so don’t let me affect you or spoil your sleep…let me be!

All by choice! MY Choice!

2007-02-27T13:51:00.000+05:30

My raving and ranting aside, my life has been purely driven by personal choice...at the crucial junctures at least....

I would not have it otherwise...except if I could undo some of those thrashings I was subject to and some of the physical and mental pain...and the monetary setbacks.....despite all that I am in some parts extremely happy and in some parts not so at all....

I don't blame a damn soul for my misgivings....

I got married by choice....I love him, but I can't deal with domestic responsibilities.....

We moved here based on mutual consent of sorts....I love the fact that I finally can do something I always wanted and even get to see my name in print...but I HATE BANGALORE...the elusive maids & cooks...the exorbitant cost of living and the lack of familiarity....and the proximity to home.....

My husband loves me unconditionally....its wonderful....but I can't deal with the weight gain as a consequences of PCOS and the ugliness it brings along with!

There is a silver lining in it all....if only I could live my life by them and intelligently avoid all the potholes of daily living....I will then be the happiest soul this side of the Atlantic!

But alas...life is a BITCH!

How Do I?

2007-02-26T19:00:00.000+05:30

The revelations are scary. I deluded myself into domestication. Now I don’t know if I really wanted all this baggage that came along. With each passing day the muck sticks on a little harder and the more I scrub the more skin I expose to pain. I wonder if I should have listened to more enlightened souls when they yelled themselves hoarse that what I was embarking on was for the sane and the stable. I was neither and yet I figured maybe the constant exposure to these might convert me.

I am way far from conversion and from enjoying the ride. So then what shall I do?

How do I deal with these flashes of wanting to bail out? How do I replace them with fragments of sanity? How do I deal with other “weighty issues”? And convince myself that mere stress is leading me to do things that are merely screwing up my health some more? How do I replace prolonged periods of sadness with minutes of joy that last in the memory to cheer for a lifetime? How do I deal with failure?

How do I deal with the tears? How do I deal with the false laughter? How do I deal with the silly companionship promises? How do I deal with the lack of warmth? How do I deal with the brimming anger that scares even me every time it surfaces? How do I deal with the madness? How do I deal with the insomnia? How do I deal with the fatigue? How do I deal with the hunger?

How do I deal with the lack of intelligence? How do I deal with ugliness? How do I deal with constant bickering with family? How do I deal with those who let me down? How do I deal with those who understood? How do I deal with those who turned their backs on me? How do I deal with who voluntarily harmed me and then left me exposed? How do I deal with ever tempting death and freedom? Why should I deal with life?

I am Tired.

2007-02-26T18:48:00.001+05:30

I wonder if I shouldn’t run away from this sham.

I am tired of adjustments, of sacrifices, of pretending all’s well.

I am tired of the routine that life is.

I am tired of the responsibilities.

I am tired of being me.

I need change.

Some rest.

Some solitude.

Domestic Woes!

2007-02-26T18:30:00.000+05:30

The drudgery is getting to me. I never envisioned becoming dependent on something as insignificant as domestic help.

Today my movements and social life are dictated by her moods. My timings and needs have to suit her lifestyle…or else I’m forced to lead a life of dirt and stench!

She sits in her little hut conniving how to vex me after a long and dull day at work…and while I dream about putting my legs up and enjoying a few nibbles while watching TV, she glares at me and staunchly refuses to come and complete the daily chores because I am ten seconds late!

The foolishness of being part of the population of this town is being overly and emotionally dependent on these silly yet stylish women who dictate our lives as if their fathers had paid for our upkeep! They nag us to death over acquiring material things that will make their lives more comfortable and livable, while we slog in our respective offices trying to make ends meet in this city where everything by sheer snob value costs more than a diamond tiara!

I hate her with all my heart and with each passing day imagine the sheer pleasure throwing some hot water down her neck will cause me…even as I go and cringe at her gate, throwing all caution to the wind pleading with her to please come and scrub my floor even though big dirty black spots will glare back at me the minute she steps aside…yet my need blinds me every passing day….

I need this woman to come and do those dirty menial jobs like I need no other in this world.

And I detest myself for having sunk so low. Yet isn’t this the essence of existence?

Such ignominy we’ve been reduced to!

Consistency evades me unlike her!

2007-02-17T19:10:00.000+05:30

Lady Lazarus by Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God,
Herr Lucifer
Beware Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Let ME Be!

2007-02-16T19:26:00.000+05:30

Fate has a funny method of making things and consequences run around in circles. I have at most points in my life, paid my prices at very regular intervals for any crimes I have committed till date. There has never been one incident, for which punishment hasn’t been exacted from me immediately, making me want to drown myself in the fires of hell.

But as I sit through the images of my life, as I recount my flaws, my narrow escapes from perpetual ignominy and my countless blessings, I wonder if some around me have gotten away with bigger and larger than life crimes.

If yes, when is judgment day for them? Why have I been forced to paying the price in extremely traditional and painful fashion within months of the lapse of the crime? Why have I borne the pain with forced smiles and while hollering into the night? Why have I survived with scars, but those mistakes refuse to subside and die away? Why oh why do some of the ghosts still haunt me even as I have cleansed myself and attempted at a life more meaningful and worthwhile? What has been the permanent and un-fixable error in me?

Why haven’t I been let off the hook till date? I want to lay my ghosts to rest. Let sleeping dogs lie, even as I swirl in the happiness of my present.

Please.

I deserve it all!

2007-02-13T17:36:00.000+05:30

The confusion is driving me insane. One would have thought that merely thinking would not make events occur. Apparently not in my case....some of dreams are playing themselves out...in an extremely eerie fashion....its spooking me to say the least...but the realisation happened only now.

I am caught between the desire to stop imagining silly things and wanting to see them happen, even if its only in the distant future.

Someone asked me if I had ever attempted to annihilate myself. I wanted to say a host of things...but cat got the tongue at the appropriate moment. It ain't a worthless mission at all...frankly there have been numerous moments when I wanted to fly away and be free limp and free like a piece of cotton wool being swept away by the strong gust of wind just before a downpour, when the sand and the trees smell heavenly, when the dust sits in your eyes making tears tumble down without any reason, when every breathe you take feels muddy and suffocating and as if the flu were setting on, when the coffee suddenly turns cold and you are too lazy to walk across to pour yourself another cup, when the packet of chips in that woman's hand seems so delectable you are willing to extend a hand of friendship to that otherwise loud behenji, when all you want to do is cuddle in front of the fire inside your quilt with enough to eat and drink and the TV roaring and your teddy bear tucked in beside you....

I want so many things from life...but all my fantasies seem to play truant the minute I sit down to conjure up a moment of pleasure....

Its funny how, when you are down in the dumps and a stranger smiles at you, you say a silent prayer expecting hell to come down on him with all its fury, for the simple reason that he has what you assume has passed you by....it happened to me, yet again while I was walking past the canteen....and what was her crime...she was thin!

I am being eaten from inside...how much more time do I have to make things fall into place? I don't know. It worries me no end...

I want so many truths to be laid bare...to make amends with my past...to relive those golden moments guiltless...I want to be loved so hard and so deep.....I want so much more...from everybody, all things alive....

But all they do is stare back blankly.

Stop.

I deserve to be happy.

I deserve joy.

I deserve love.

I deserve a life.

I deserve everything.

I write for you, My Love...

2007-02-13T17:30:00.000+05:30

The light ebbed away
I shuddered in the nook of his arm
The chirping outside was eerily calming
We were not alone

Lost amongst wild cats in the jungle
We sat covered by green
Sipping on silence and intoxicants
Holding hands, shivering in the breeze

The log hut swayed to the wild tones
The samba’s head against our legs
We watched as the monkey played truant
Giggling like school children in a zoo

He kissed another year goodbye, smiling
Readied for responsibility
Striding with comfort, wife alongside
Building dreams of home, family

Courtship suddenly seems a fading past
As silly nothings make way for serious thought
We smile knowingly at the mushy yesterdays
While the night comes by kissing us goodnight

We had made our promises, our plans
No longer could we smile and waste nights
There were more years, people coming along
We will never be alone!

Written on Feb 12, 2007

Yours, Forever.....

2007-02-12T17:59:00.000+05:30

“How can you wear something so heavy all the time? Don’t you ever take it off? I thought you didn’t bother about all these things…” squealed this silly nobody I met for the first time about my bulky mangalsutra.

Now one can argue that by merely wearing it nobody can save their marriage…then why am I hell bent on sporting this chunky piece of yellow metal against all my convictions? For one, I have always been a tad old fashioned when it comes to matters of the heart…or atleast I believe that I don’t have to necessarily rebel against something unless it caused me actual discomfort or some other negative feeling. I do that enough in all other matters of living anyways.

So when I got married instead of opting for the diminutive Mallu leaf-like thali, I asked for a cumbersome and big Brahmin thali. Then I went ahead and decided to wear it…. not because anyone asked me to…because I chose to…to the utter surprise of others including the immediate families of my hubby and me…and to top it all I even decided to wear sindoor…. Well considering I have always had a tikka on my forehead, this didn’t change things too much, but here I was adhering to all the rules of wife-dom with utmost sincerity to the chagrin of all around me…

The point is, I have made a lifelong commitment…on all planes…. and I simply believe that these external oddities will not add or subtract from it…but hell why not try it out…. what if the formula that has worked for so many others before me rubs off some good luck on my relationship…and propels it into forever-dom if there were something of the sort?

Back to Educating Maself!

2007-02-12T16:39:00.000+05:30

CUBISM:

Cubism was a 20th century avant-garde art movement that revolutionized EuropeEuropean painting and sculpture, and inspired related movements in music and literature. In cubist artworks, objects are broken up, analyzed, and re-assembled in an abstracted form — instead of depicting objects from one viewpoint, the artist depicts the subject from a multitude of viewpoints to represent the subject in a greater context. Often the surfaces intersect at seemingly random angles presenting no coherent sense of depth. The background and object planes interpenetrate one another to create the ambiguous shallow space characteristic of cubism.

While mostly associated with art and literature, cubism also found its way into the automobile industry, reflected in the engine designs of at least one famous automaker. Ettore Bugatti, founder of the Bugatti marque of automobiles was regarded as a cubist, having himself attended cubist gatherings. Cubism can clearly be seen in the form of Bugatti engines. The American architect Paul Rudolph gained widespread notoriety for his three-dimensional cubist building designs with highly fractured floor plans.

I AM RIGHT!

2007-02-12T16:34:00.000+05:30

Attended a wedding last night, in a place shut off in the back of beyond. Anyhow…met my hubby’s colleagues. Was kinda fascinating…and then again only went on to reaffirm my beliefs about people in a certain profession.

Firstly, we walked in when the wedding rituals came to a conclusion; though that was the intention in the first place…so cant really complain. Second of all, we managed to get on the dance floor after so very very long. It was extremely rejuvenating and wonderful. Thirdly, the crowd was what I call uppity Mallus plus some other confused self proclaimed Westerners…. with a dash of genuine souls…. anyhow the ambience, the booze, the food and the music was good. So well I don’t really care. Only issue…I forgot my smokes at home! But all that apart I had fun to some extent.

Now coming back to my initial line of thought…the kind of people I believe work in certain professions…judgmental you say? Hell I sure am. And why shouldn’t I be? There is no crime against having a vivid imagination, which leads to frivolous yet deep thoughts and thereafter judgments. So there you are…. My husband’s lady colleagues were to say the least…. extremely frivolous and irritatingly dumb. Some were dignified and silent, and for once I was really appreciating the awkward silences…but the others who wouldn’t for a minute shut up were…So what irked me? The fact that they were apparently very fond of my husband, or that they were falling over him and couldn’t emit a sound without laying a finger on him? Or that they seemed bent on laying bare their apparent proximity to him in an attempt to make me flare up and end up “not giving him anything tonight” as they bleated? Hell, wish I had my good old instrument box. The moments when I sniggered in pride as I saw my opponent descend with his pink defenseless bottom onto a compass or a divider back in school made me realize that some pleasures of childhood were priceless.

I am not going to recount each and every creature. But bottom line, I have always maintained that women who can shake their booty, sit pretty and not have any significant and dying passion can take up this job, holds very true. Very few, like those silent self-contained ones, seem capable of having anything remotely similar to a conversation one can enjoy! The others, even as they plan more and more dos so that they can dress up and revel in the company of strange or maybe otherwise attached men, make me want to puke. What is it that they desire from this world in general? I mean, neither do they have the brains to make them want to pursue academics, nor do they have the looks to enter some glam-sham contest…. what then is their purpose in life? I am yet to decipher that one truth that might make me look at them with a little more tolerance.

For now, I shall revel in the realization that yet again, I have proven that I am RIGHT!

Little Wanton!

2007-02-12T13:42:00.000+05:30

A 19th century depiction of Pocahontas or Matoaka or Amonute or Rebecca Rolfe!

Educating Myself!

2007-02-12T13:29:00.000+05:30

Neoclassicism:

In the visual arts the European movement called "neoclassicism" began after ca 1765, as a reaction against both the surviving Baroque and Rococo styles, and as a desire to return to the perceived "purity" of the arts of Rome, the more vague perception ("ideal") of Ancient Greek arts (where almost no western artist had actually been) and, to a lesser extent, 16th century Renaissance Classicism.Contrasting with the Baroque and the Rococo, Neo-classical paintings are devoid of pastel colors and haziness; instead, they have sharp colors with Chiaroscuro. In the case of Neo-classicism in France, a prime example is Jacques Louis David whose paintings often use Greek elements to extol the French Revolution's virtues (state before family).

Neoclassicism first gained influence in England and France, through a generation of French art students trained in Rome and influenced by the writings of Johann Joachim Winckelmann, and it was quickly adopted by progressive circles in Sweden. At first, classicizing decor was grafted onto familiar European forms, as in the interiors for Catherine II's lover Count Orlov, designed by an Italian architect with a team of Italian stuccadori: only the isolated oval medallions like cameos and the bas-relief overdoors hint of neoclassicism; the furnishings are fully Italian Rococo G.B. Piranesi's design for a vase on stand, Rome ca 1780, appealed more to his English and French patrons. Similar gilt-bronze vases were made in London and Paris, from ca. 1768 onwards.But a second neoclassic wave, more severe, more studied (through the medium of engravings) and more consciously archaeological, is associated with the height of the Napoleonic Empire.

In France, the first phase of neoclassicism is expressed in the "Louis XVI style", the second phase in the styles we call "Directoire" or Empire. Italy clung to Rococo until the Napoleonic regimes brought the new archaeological classicism, which was embraced as a political statement by young, progressive, urban Italians with republican leanings.

The high tide of neoclassicism in painting is exemplified in early paintings by Jacques-Louis David (illustration, left) and Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres' entire career. David's Oath of the Horatii was painted in Rome and made a splash at the Paris Salon of 1784. Its central perspective is perpendicular to the picture plane, made more emphatic by the dim arcade behind, against which the heroic figures are disposed as in a frieze, with a hint of the artificial lighting and staging of opera, and the classical coloring of Nicholas Poussin.

In sculpture, the most familiar representatives are the Italian Antonio Canova, the Englishman John Flaxman and the Dane Bertel Thorvaldsen. The European neoclassical manner also took hold in the United States, where its prominence peaked somewhat later and is exemplified in the sculptures of William Henry Rinehart (1825-1874).

Flaming June!

2007-02-12T13:24:00.000+05:30

Flaming June is a painting by Frederic Leighton produced in 1895. The painting was honored in song by Paul Weller on his "Stanley Road" album.

I envy her carelessness!

2007-02-10T15:55:00.000+05:30

Sylvia was right.

2007-02-10T15:46:00.000+05:30

I know exactly what she felt.

It’s happened to me oh so many times. This confusion as to what I should be doing. Do I want to shriek and cry or remain in the throes of some anguish I cannot explain? Do I want to be joyous and break into a smile? Or do I want to be morose and throw things at the window in the hope that some shard will spring back and hurt me letting the blood flow copiously?

Is there a solution to this torture? How do I see beyond this? I want to be happy. Everything around me at present is the way I wanted them to be, then what is it that irks me in the setting? Am I missing somebody? Do I want someone to say something…but there is nothing I am longing to hear. Is there some song I want to listen to at this very instant? Will it soothe my nerves so that I can get back to my chores? I don’t know what I really want. I want to run away from the root of this disturbance.

Why does it afflict me so, that even when I want to be happy, it plunges me into the throes of depression? Why do I feel torn between these two worlds that I shudder to inhabit? What is it that will make it better for me? Or make this moment pass with minimal pain?

Have I wanted to take my life? Have I attempted to make this end? Yes. I am not ashamed. All I wanted was to be free from this torment that made me dither. That made me wonder if I had it in me to survive, to make it to another day, to see the hope in the eyes that watch me through the night, to see the pain in those faces that wait anxiously to take the pain unto themselves, to be able to write once again, to be loved despite my flaws, to be born pure again, to be pristine and simple…

Those moments are not my best. They were shards of illusion when I felt that one single swipe with that knife could make it all go away. When I felt that these un-deserving mortals would be punished for having spoken or thought ill of me. When I assumed that it would finally bring me into a world of peace, where only my intentions and wills mattered.

They are times when I felt; that my sole aim was to walk into another disaster from the one I was surviving. That I lacked the capability of making one sane choice that would let me be myself in all moments of waking.

What did I want from this universe? I have no answers. And that makes me scared. Of lapsing into one of those unforeseen moments of irrationality and senselessness…of worry and suffocation….of fear and the lack of freedom…of wanting to break free…..

I need help!

I rise with my red hair, And I eat men like air....she said!

2007-02-10T14:43:00.000+05:30

Sylvia Plath - In Her Own Words
Author: John McManamy
Published on: May 23, 2000

"Make no mistake, The Bell Jar is THE depression memoir."

It was a bitter cold winter in 1963, and an American mother of two was doing her best to cope on her own in London, not long after being jilted by her husband for another woman. Poet Sylvia Plath, 30, left out bread and milk for her two toddlers sleeping in an upstairs bedroom.
Then she turned on the gas.

Following the posthumous publication of her Ariel poems, Sylvia Plath became a feminist cause celebre, with ex-husband poet Ted Hughes vilified as an accomplice to her death. Completely overlooked by these feminist critics, however, was Exhibit A, the writer's very own words, her semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar.

Check out this description of her shock treatment:
" ... with each flash a great jolt drubbed me till I thought my bones would break and the sap fly out of me like a split plant."

The book also recounted her attempted suicide at age 20, not to mention her morbid preoccupation with death. The Bell Jar was a metaphor for the feelings of hopelessness and despair and self-contempt she carried with her everywhere:

"How did I know that someday - at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere - the bell jar, with it's stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?"

Make no mistake, this book is THE depression memoir, but in an age when the disorder was misunderstood as a neurosis, if acknowledged at all, Sylvia Plath became the silent party in all the finger-pointing and mudslinging that passed for commentary in the decades following her death.

Now that is changing. Publisher Faber and Faber has just released her Journals, never before published in full. Finally, we hear Sylvia's side of her story, in her own words. According to an article in the Guardian:

"It is here in her diaries that Plath reveals what she really thinks - about her depression, about her sexuality and about Hughes."

In an early entry, she reveals her manic as well as depressive side: "God, is this all it is, the ricocheting down the corridor of laughter and tears? Of self-worship and self-loathing? Of glory and disgust?"

And again: "It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous and positive and despairing negative; whichever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it. I am now flooded with despair, almost hysteria, as if I were smothering."

On the day after she met Ted Hughes, she wrote a poem "about the dark forces of lust.." Entitled "Pursuit," it begins: "There is a panther stalks me down:/One day I'll have my death of him."

But first came the grim foretelling of her suicide attempt at age 20. In November 1952, she wrote:

"God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain and the damn little men across the street pounding on the roof with picks and axes and chisels, and the acrid hellish stench of tar ... My world falls apart, crumbles, 'The centre does not hold.' There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation."

With a wisdom way beyond her years, she notes:
"I am afraid, I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralysed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness, I never thought, I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. I long for a noble escape from freedom - I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. There is nowhere to go - not home, where I would blubber and cry, a grotesque fool, into my mother's skirts - not to men where I want more than the stern, final, paternal directive - not to church which is liberal, free - no, I turn wearily to the totalitarian dictatorship where I am absolved of all personal responsibility and can sacrifice myself in a "splurge of altruism" on the altar of the Cause with a capital 'C'."

But the Journals also reveal a very much alive side to the poet, whose run-on writing shimmers with a bebop sense of fifties hip we normally associate with the likes of Kerouac and company:
"Falcons Yard, and the syncopated strut of a piano upstairs, and oh it was very Bohemian, with boys in turtle-neck sweaters and girls being blue-eye-lidded or elegant in black. Derrek was there, with guitar, and Bert was looking shining and proud as if he had just delivered five babies, said something obvious about having drunk a lot ... By this time I had spilled one drink, partly into my mouth, partly over my hands and the floor, and the jazz was beginning to get under my skin, and I started dancing with Luke and knew I was very bad, having crossed the river and banged into the trees, yelling about the poems, and he only smiling with the far-off look of a cretin satan. He wrote those things, and he was slobbing around. Well, I was slobbing around, blub, maundering and I didn't even have the excuse of having written those things; I suppose if you can write sestinas which bam crash through lines and rules after having raped them to the purpose, then you can be satanic and smile like a cretin beelzebub."

You can almost imagine Charlie Parker's magical saxophone transformed into Sylvia Plath's voice, a plethora of notes cascading at an impossible frenetic pace, each one improbably perfect and precise, sweeping reader and listener off their feet and hurtling right behind the poet into the arms of fellow poet Ted Hughes.

Hours later, she wrote her "Pursuit" poem, dedicated to Ted, and later "Lady Lazarus," where she boasted:
"I rise with my red hairAnd I eat men like air"

In a sense, Sylvia Plath has been restored to life, by the power of her own pen, by the power of her own words. That such a vital force was struck down by depression perhaps makes her short life all the more tragic. But her own words also portray triumph, of a woman who overcame tremendous odds just to find some joy in her life, a joy she was able to manifest in full measure.

This is the side to Sylvia Plath we have tended to overlook. Her Journals will hopefully, if belatedly, rectify that oversight.

Dreams Untold...

2007-02-10T13:25:00.000+05:30

Again someone else wrote...

What is it that yearns
in an artist's soul?
To see beauty
on canvas unfold,
To capture dreams
that were untold,
And share with the world
treasures of gold.

Whose Dream Was it Anyways?

2007-02-10T13:21:00.000+05:30

The irony of life...your dreams at so many odd moments are lived by a third party....and you live on to hear the commentary and sighs of sheer joy!

I wanted to be a TV star.....someone else in the family stepped into the shoes....made waves and basks in the limelight till date! Then my better half managed to do what I wanted for myself....be a reporter on live TV. I don't hold it against him.....but I wish it had happened to me too!

I wanted to be a copywriter....instead I helped create a monster....who lived off me, became what I hoped to be.....the silver lining was that someone else in the family decided to get into the same field, albeit in a different role...but well....

I wanted to sing...I can sing....though I hated my music lessons back then, now I look at some of those kids who turn up to cut a deal with some recording company and then wonder...at the sheer waste of talent and hell thats another dream almost gone by....again to my credit my family stepped up and a couple of people are trying to make up for it....but what the hell...its not me at the end of the day!

I want to be a writer...I always wanted to write...I write to please myself....am I any good? Don't know and frankly I don't care....the willingness and the craving to write exists...I don't want to let anybody else step in here. I am clinging on to my dream. I hope this one doesn't pass me by....

Frankly I am scared to dream now...they never materialise to my satisfaction....everyone else steals my little moments and highs....its irritatingly benumbing...

Maybe for now I should merely be content with silly black and white dreams about my little home or my already bought car, or my careening weight issues or my evading monthly visitor or my silly temparament, or my crazed tantrums....or my dwindling intellect....or my forgotten yesterdays....or my streak of individuality....

The losses seem one too many....I need to stop....Or the mere count will kill me!

Part 6

2007-02-07T18:32:00.001+05:30

Mama's right here sweetheart!

Part 5

2007-02-07T18:31:00.000+05:30

Everything will be alright!

Part 4

2007-02-07T18:30:00.002+05:30

Adventures are not my cuppa!

Part 3

2007-02-07T18:30:00.001+05:30

Wanna Dance with Me?

Part 2

2007-02-07T18:29:00.000+05:30

I'm burning some fat!