If you're looking for a few laughs....
(keep the kids away...and parents)
November 23, 2010
Purple Boots...
So the prince and princess finally met after much struggle and many heartbreaks. It was a full moon night and they were finally together in the perfumed rose garden. Alone and intoxicated, they were eager for their lips to meet. For this kiss was destined.
And then suddenly the princess realised she had forgotten to floss.
And then suddenly the princess realised she had forgotten to floss.
November 20, 2010
"Anthem"
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.
I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.
Ring the bells that still can ring ...
You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
A Portrait of Life...
Look at the lurking lioness...what a beautiful shot!
One day. I'll see these with my own eyes.
Train journeys.
What a handsome bird!
A burning moon?
Foot and Thistle. I love this shot.
Like a colourful painting. I could hang this on my bedroom wall.
Oasis.
I want to go there! One day.
Playthings.
Chopsticks.
Helpless.
Some more stunning shots at Nationalgeographic.
November 19, 2010
Gathering Dust...
From the archives,
"You think its easy to get a guy. most of them just look at me and think oh here's a piece of meat. soon enough they find that the piece of meat has feelings and my brain becomes a liability. I want to fall in love too you know but it becomes so damn hard to find someone who'll just hold you and accept you with all your flaws and idiosyncrasies. I mean sure I'm nice sometimes but I'm gonna be a pain too. And I'm looking for that person who would see the worst in me and still manage to say 'I've seen your worst but I'll help you get over it so that I never have to see it again' and really mean it. That's the sort of person I'm looking for. and that's the kind of person I don't find"
Cry Me A River Baby...
Next time I think I am emotional and extra sensitive, I am going to think about him. And all the men I know. And I'll feel better.
November 18, 2010
Stars...
"Why am I different from others?"
"Why, do you have to be like others?"
Simply beautiful.
The sky is vast enough for all of us to shine. And when we all shine, the sky will only look more beautiful.
"Why, do you have to be like others?"
Simply beautiful.
The sky is vast enough for all of us to shine. And when we all shine, the sky will only look more beautiful.
Don't Try...
Loved this. "Don't try"
Too many writers write for the wrong reasons. They want to get famous or they want to get rich or they want to get laid by the girls with bluebells in their hair. (Maybe that last ain't a bad idea).
When everything works best it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that.
A Broken Horse By The River...
Okay, I am seriously tired of people asking me what my "relationship" status is. I am sick of it, bored and pissed off. In real life, I have always been a private person and I always will be (which is why this blog). So stop asking me these questions. Stop channelling Karan Johar and don't think I am stupid enough to fall for those sly lousy questions. I don't understand why people are so obsessed with others' love lives. Unless, unless, you are a good friend, in which case, trust me, I'l wake you up at 2am and tell you who makes me happy and who is making me cry. So really. STOP.
And what is wrong with the men? Where is the romance? These days they don't even wait for you to finish telling your name before coming out with, "your place or mine". Really. Men. NO!
And what is wrong with the men? Where is the romance? These days they don't even wait for you to finish telling your name before coming out with, "your place or mine". Really. Men. NO!
Erase...
Apple needs to make an iCringe app that somehow connects to your brain and deletes all your embarrassing, cringe-worthy memories. Like your dressing style in the past that you passed off as "latest fashion" or then orange-coloured lipstick, terrible hairstyles, your choice in men (really, what was I thinking falling for those men?), or then your MBA application essays. I cringe. What in the sweet loving name of God was I thinking? Uff!
November 17, 2010
The Love Language...
Daylight's coming, the sun is blazing
New beginnings seep into you
But in the end it's distant shadows
That finally overwhelm your senses
And this time around
Is it love that you crown?
And this time around
You'll be more than who you are
It is in you, to carry on
It is in you, to lay down fears that hold
It is in you, to find your way home
November 16, 2010
Kiddie Things...
1)I don't remember exactly how small I was, but Dad was in the hospital and I had gone to visit him with mum. And while mum went to get Dad's medicines, I went to play in the adjoining balcony. And within 5 mins Dad had to come rushing to the balcony to rescue me. I had got my head stuck between the bars.
I was also one of those kids who inserted her fingers through the grill of a running table fan. Also tried to stop a running ceiling fan by sticking a big rod between the blades. I am surprised I am alive.
2)I also successfully managed to lodge a big (fake) pearl in right nostril at a very small age and it took around 1/2 hour to get it out. Also choked on many coins from time to time.
3)For years I waited for a watermelon tree to sprout from my mouth. I was positive one day a watermelon would tree would grow in my stomach. After all, trees grew from seeds right?
4)As kids, I played alone and always made up stories where I was the central character, ofcourse. I loved draping sister's orange dupatta and playing the character of Sita.
If I only knew what a sucky love-life she had, I would have chosen a different character :|
5)I loved playing "teacher-teacher" and had a box of chalks and a black board and a duster, just like they had in school. I loved giving homework to my imaginary students and ofcourse everyone was punished with double homework if they failed to finish previous day's homework. I taught poems from those little prayer books they sold in school.
6)Every afternoon after I'd come home from school, I would first keep my bag in one particular corner, finish my school homework for the day and only then change and eat. Go to tuition class, come back home at 6 PM, finish tuition home work, light diya at 7 PM with mom and say my daily prayers and then watch news with Dad. Help mom with Dinner and sleep by 9PM. In later years after dinner I would promptly iron my washed pinafore and polish shoes for the next day and pack my bag and keep it ready.
I wish I was even 1/10th as disciplined now.
7)I was one of those kids who *had* to buy something during a trip to the market. I would, like all bad kids, sit on the road and cry my lungs out. You had to atleast buy a vegetable to make me quiet.
8)I was also one of those kids who insisted on wearing new shoes in the store itself. Parents always got the old ones packed while I immediately got to show off in new pair of shoes.
9)I loved Sundays as a kid. Every Sunday mom would make "special" breakfast and we'd all eat while watching Ramanand Sagar's Ramayan/Mahabharat.
10)Every morning a kingfisher bird would come and sit on the electricity wires in front of our balcony. Dad and I had this daily routine, where either one of us would check if he was there that morning. For years, every morning, that kingfisher bird would come, sit for sometime and then fly away.
I wonder if he knew we waited for him every morning.
11)As a kid, the only way you could get me to wear an underwear was if you'd let me have a tail too. So mum or cousin sister would hang a waist string (petticoat nada) from the underwear and I'd go around the house shouting "Jai Hanuman". Too much Ramayan obviously.
12)I had no friends growing up(till about 4th grade) and parents had to actually drag me to the playground and ask other kids to include me in the games. I wanted to instead study.
What are your kiddie memories like?
I was also one of those kids who inserted her fingers through the grill of a running table fan. Also tried to stop a running ceiling fan by sticking a big rod between the blades. I am surprised I am alive.
2)I also successfully managed to lodge a big (fake) pearl in right nostril at a very small age and it took around 1/2 hour to get it out. Also choked on many coins from time to time.
3)For years I waited for a watermelon tree to sprout from my mouth. I was positive one day a watermelon would tree would grow in my stomach. After all, trees grew from seeds right?
4)As kids, I played alone and always made up stories where I was the central character, ofcourse. I loved draping sister's orange dupatta and playing the character of Sita.
If I only knew what a sucky love-life she had, I would have chosen a different character :|
5)I loved playing "teacher-teacher" and had a box of chalks and a black board and a duster, just like they had in school. I loved giving homework to my imaginary students and ofcourse everyone was punished with double homework if they failed to finish previous day's homework. I taught poems from those little prayer books they sold in school.
6)Every afternoon after I'd come home from school, I would first keep my bag in one particular corner, finish my school homework for the day and only then change and eat. Go to tuition class, come back home at 6 PM, finish tuition home work, light diya at 7 PM with mom and say my daily prayers and then watch news with Dad. Help mom with Dinner and sleep by 9PM. In later years after dinner I would promptly iron my washed pinafore and polish shoes for the next day and pack my bag and keep it ready.
I wish I was even 1/10th as disciplined now.
7)I was one of those kids who *had* to buy something during a trip to the market. I would, like all bad kids, sit on the road and cry my lungs out. You had to atleast buy a vegetable to make me quiet.
8)I was also one of those kids who insisted on wearing new shoes in the store itself. Parents always got the old ones packed while I immediately got to show off in new pair of shoes.
9)I loved Sundays as a kid. Every Sunday mom would make "special" breakfast and we'd all eat while watching Ramanand Sagar's Ramayan/Mahabharat.
10)Every morning a kingfisher bird would come and sit on the electricity wires in front of our balcony. Dad and I had this daily routine, where either one of us would check if he was there that morning. For years, every morning, that kingfisher bird would come, sit for sometime and then fly away.
I wonder if he knew we waited for him every morning.
11)As a kid, the only way you could get me to wear an underwear was if you'd let me have a tail too. So mum or cousin sister would hang a waist string (petticoat nada) from the underwear and I'd go around the house shouting "Jai Hanuman". Too much Ramayan obviously.
12)I had no friends growing up(till about 4th grade) and parents had to actually drag me to the playground and ask other kids to include me in the games. I wanted to instead study.
What are your kiddie memories like?
Lucky Escape...
"I think of life as a good book. The further you get into it, the more it begins to make sense."- Harold S. Kushner
Sometimes it's good not to get the things you want. Sometimes, you are better off without them :)
Sometimes it's good not to get the things you want. Sometimes, you are better off without them :)
Proceed With Caution...
So today for the first time I broke my vow and used MC's and BC's while shouting at a guy on the road. A drunk taxi driver. And his bloodshot eyes should have scared me, ideally, but it just so frigging pissed me off that such *be prepared* low-IQ people are given license to drive! What does the government think driving is? Child's play? Our stupid corrupt RTO's are in a way responsible for all these road accidents! Yes, driving on Indian roads requires skill and very very high amount of intelligence. Every tom, dick and harry becomes a "driver" these days or then buys a motorcycle and starts riding on the roads. They know shit about traffic rules and they are not smart enough to intuitively know what "right of way" is. So hang me, but the only way to weed out such retards from the roads is by having stricter tests! And completely remove these so-called "agents" who through underhand means get you a license without you even having to sit for the test! I say, make these agents stand in the middle of the road and let these other idiots drive, let's see how many manage not to wet their pants! And ofcourse not to forget my own gender! I have seen women ride scooters with both their feet touching ground. WHY? Dear Aunty, if you can not bloody balance a two wheeler, you know what to do? Ofcourse you do not. So let me tell you, you don't ride a scooter in the first place! Practice first in your garden no? It's really simple. But clearly you are dumb enough not to understand such a simple thing. Why are these people take a chance with life? Have they no fucking brains at all? Or old uncles! And rich young 16 year old daddy's boys! Arghhhh....I can so murder someone right now :|
I think instead of teaching subjects like "moral education", the government and all private schools should include "Traffic rules" as one of their subjects right from 1st grade. Every child should be inculcated with "traffic sense" right from the time he starts riding his tricycle. I think with the kind of monstrous traffic conditions in the cities these days, a society that is more aware and well-educated about traffic rules and safety is the need of the hour! If only our government was listening!
*****
Talking about trying new things, recently I did something I never thought I would.
So I had clothes for every, what should I say, occasion? So I had club wear and pub wear, ofcourse there's a difference between the two and ofcourse clothes had to be different. Then there were separate clothes for dinners and separate for lunches. There were specific clothes I'd wear when going for the movies, there were separate ones I'd wear with parents (ofcourse it'super embarrassing when some guy is staring at your ass in front of your Dad, better avoid pissing Dad off, no?). There were separate type of clothes I'd wear when going for shopping and there were separate clothes for going down to the grocery shop. Separate ones for office, which again had formals, casuals and Indian wear. Indian wear were categorized as Indian-wear for everyday use and for "special occasions". There were clothes to be worn in the house (you don't want to look shabby even at home!), and there were separate ones for sleeping time. Am I missing anything? I am sure I missed something. Anyway, so yeah, so very tedious and so very vain. I don't know what happened to me. Maybe I saw sense or maybe I am just tired now or maybe I get no time these days.
Anyway, so I went to a club, like a good up-market club, in a patiala salwaar kameez and ofcourse more than me, Munira was super embarrassed. Heh :) I think more than embarrassed she was just shocked that I didn't run to the nearest mall and buy something "appropriate". I think I have reached that stage where I don't give two hoots about what people have to say. And really that's a wonderful thing. I think I cared about "propriety" and "what people think of me" a tad too much and it somehow affected everything I did. Which is quite sad actually. So in a way this is liberating. I think if I can pull off an Amritsari Patiala in a club, not get thrown out and yes, do look hot too, I definitely can sit at home in just my bathrobe and no one should have a problem, right? Right.
*****
And oh, I talked to him today :) but damn! He's not that smart :( Quite a shame.
I think instead of teaching subjects like "moral education", the government and all private schools should include "Traffic rules" as one of their subjects right from 1st grade. Every child should be inculcated with "traffic sense" right from the time he starts riding his tricycle. I think with the kind of monstrous traffic conditions in the cities these days, a society that is more aware and well-educated about traffic rules and safety is the need of the hour! If only our government was listening!
*****
Talking about trying new things, recently I did something I never thought I would.
So I had clothes for every, what should I say, occasion? So I had club wear and pub wear, ofcourse there's a difference between the two and ofcourse clothes had to be different. Then there were separate clothes for dinners and separate for lunches. There were specific clothes I'd wear when going for the movies, there were separate ones I'd wear with parents (ofcourse it'super embarrassing when some guy is staring at your ass in front of your Dad, better avoid pissing Dad off, no?). There were separate type of clothes I'd wear when going for shopping and there were separate clothes for going down to the grocery shop. Separate ones for office, which again had formals, casuals and Indian wear. Indian wear were categorized as Indian-wear for everyday use and for "special occasions". There were clothes to be worn in the house (you don't want to look shabby even at home!), and there were separate ones for sleeping time. Am I missing anything? I am sure I missed something. Anyway, so yeah, so very tedious and so very vain. I don't know what happened to me. Maybe I saw sense or maybe I am just tired now or maybe I get no time these days.
Anyway, so I went to a club, like a good up-market club, in a patiala salwaar kameez and ofcourse more than me, Munira was super embarrassed. Heh :) I think more than embarrassed she was just shocked that I didn't run to the nearest mall and buy something "appropriate". I think I have reached that stage where I don't give two hoots about what people have to say. And really that's a wonderful thing. I think I cared about "propriety" and "what people think of me" a tad too much and it somehow affected everything I did. Which is quite sad actually. So in a way this is liberating. I think if I can pull off an Amritsari Patiala in a club, not get thrown out and yes, do look hot too, I definitely can sit at home in just my bathrobe and no one should have a problem, right? Right.
*****
And oh, I talked to him today :) but damn! He's not that smart :( Quite a shame.
November 14, 2010
Marriages Are Made in Heaven?
It took a lot of courage and many dialogues with my self to come to a stage where I thought marriage was not so bad after all. And I did not want my faith in marriage shaken. Not after I struggled to believe in it in the first place.
But I see failing marriages all around. Both, arranged and love marriages, and they have done what a jerk would do to a cookie perched on the corner of a high table. The cookie has fallen down and crumbled into particles, like my faith in this "great" institution has. Or perhaps, not in this institution as much as in people. And in their innate goodness. Goodness, what goodness?
It wrenches your soul to watch a 55 year old woman cry for her only child's well-being. She is so heart broken, she does not even pray for her daughter's happiness anymore, she only prays that her daughter and her two granddaughters simply stay alive. Yes, where is God at such times I wonder. Where is justice?
Today's men are simply literate. Not educated. They're not.
Working in the US and studying in UK has not made them open-minded and/or understanding. They have travelled all over the world but they still live in their caves. They still treat their "better" halves as slaves, as maids. What has 21st century done for us women I wonder. When the husband locks his pregnant wife and denies her food while his son is growing inside her. When he treats her nothing more than a piece of furniture in the house. When he refuses to take her close or even talk to her for 5 years. Yes. That long. And yes, these men, they are from what one would say "good families". Families that have colonels and college professors as parents. Families that are respected in the society. Good families. I don't think so, if they raised such beasts as sons, I don't think so! What kind of children have you raised? I feel sorry for the women who raised such men! Sorry cause you not only failed as mothers but also as human beings. What a shoddy job you have done raising such imbeciles who do not realize how badly it affects his own children when he beats their mother because she spent an extra dollar on baby-food or didn't mow the lawn on time. Yes, six-year olds and 2-year olds can not say much, but they understand. And it's so sad that when even a little girl can understand, this grown man can not see that he is murdering his own happiness when he refuses his wife basic respect.
Yes, I am very bitter. I know all men aren't same, not as contemptible. All marriages are not quagmires, not made in hell. But what can I do? It's so difficult to see all these ruins and still hope that your house will be beautiful. It scares me. It scares me to know that we might be living in 2010, but women today are still treated as bad as they were back in 1700's.
This pain is not what we dream of when we tie that black thread and leave our carefully built world to make a home with you. We don't raise your children to have them hit and hurt by you. We don't give you our heart, body and soul for you to butcher them with your bare hands. We dream of happiness too. And so, look into our eyes and tell us that we don't deserve to be happy.
November 12, 2010
Manufactured Love...
So what do you do when you're talking insane? You shut up and let others speak. And so this blog needs some sanity I thought and so just like that, I asked Divya to write something for the blog. Here's a guest post by her :)
P.S: If I was a guy, I'd totally date her. So if you're in London...you know what to do, right?
*****
Soliloquy on Manufactured Love
They say the young ones don’t know what love is
(or what love was)
back in the day
of stolen glances,
inked words in parched
papers, reeking of
innocence and simplicity
of a bygone era
laden with warm,
lilting words which
tilt hearts and heads
towards the buoyancy
of love and youth.
They say it’s all gone now, in this fast-paced,
(i-Everything) world
where the machinery
of love and loving
is alien to the old,
to the lovers of yesteryears,
who waged and raged
against odds, against scorn
to give birth to
the youth of today
and yet, the same flesh and
blood don’t speak the
same words, or make
the same vows.
We, the young, the strong, healthy bodies and limbs,
drink a different concoction
of love, made out of
various material ingredients,
purchased from Amazon,
with bits of the latest Apple gadgets,
a dazzling sprinkle of De Beers,
and the hallmark of today’s love
-Hallmark cards and gifts.
Who needs romance?
Who has time for gestures?
Who notices hand-written letters?
Who has the time to remember?
Or to be reminded of moments?
They say the young ones don’t know what love is
(or what love was)
We stomp our feet and say this is what love is:
Manufactured, hassle- free, next day-delivery, (and gift-wrapped?)
P.S: If I was a guy, I'd totally date her. So if you're in London...you know what to do, right?
*****
Soliloquy on Manufactured Love
They say the young ones don’t know what love is
(or what love was)
back in the day
of stolen glances,
inked words in parched
papers, reeking of
innocence and simplicity
of a bygone era
laden with warm,
lilting words which
tilt hearts and heads
towards the buoyancy
of love and youth.
They say it’s all gone now, in this fast-paced,
(i-Everything) world
where the machinery
of love and loving
is alien to the old,
to the lovers of yesteryears,
who waged and raged
against odds, against scorn
to give birth to
the youth of today
and yet, the same flesh and
blood don’t speak the
same words, or make
the same vows.
We, the young, the strong, healthy bodies and limbs,
drink a different concoction
of love, made out of
various material ingredients,
purchased from Amazon,
with bits of the latest Apple gadgets,
a dazzling sprinkle of De Beers,
and the hallmark of today’s love
-Hallmark cards and gifts.
Who needs romance?
Who has time for gestures?
Who notices hand-written letters?
Who has the time to remember?
Or to be reminded of moments?
They say the young ones don’t know what love is
(or what love was)
We stomp our feet and say this is what love is:
Manufactured, hassle- free, next day-delivery, (and gift-wrapped?)
November 11, 2010
Flowers That Can Fly...
So when Divya asked me who my best friends were, for a moment it reminded me of school days when you tried to have as many best friends as you could, 'cause having many best friends was supposed to be "cool".
And when D said, "we're two very different people, yet we are alike too", I realised in friendship that's a good thing. Being different is good. However, in a marriage, I am not even saying a relationship, in a marriage, I have come to realize that "similar" works and not different.
In a friendship, try to seek out varied and different people. There'll be much more learning. When it comes to marriage, try to look for someone who is similar. Who has same likes, dislikes, interests, goals and dreams. And this is completely opposite of what I used to think some 12 months back. I always thought two people who were alike would spell boredom in a marriage. But that just ain't true. It would be a generalization, but it takes many compromises and adjustments and a lot of "understanding" for two dissimilar people to work a marriage and more so when it's arranged.
Anyway, coming back to best friends, what makes a friend a best friend? I think the people I call best friends are the ones with whom I am not afraid to be myself. I can be me, whoever she is. Weird, flawed, good, awesome, bad. Grumpy, cranky, petty, bitchy, loving. Me. And they will not mind.
These people, they have seen the worst in me, the best, the good and the bad. And they are still around. I think that is what makes them special to me. That is what makes them "best friends" to me.
Who's your best friend?
And when D said, "we're two very different people, yet we are alike too", I realised in friendship that's a good thing. Being different is good. However, in a marriage, I am not even saying a relationship, in a marriage, I have come to realize that "similar" works and not different.
In a friendship, try to seek out varied and different people. There'll be much more learning. When it comes to marriage, try to look for someone who is similar. Who has same likes, dislikes, interests, goals and dreams. And this is completely opposite of what I used to think some 12 months back. I always thought two people who were alike would spell boredom in a marriage. But that just ain't true. It would be a generalization, but it takes many compromises and adjustments and a lot of "understanding" for two dissimilar people to work a marriage and more so when it's arranged.
Anyway, coming back to best friends, what makes a friend a best friend? I think the people I call best friends are the ones with whom I am not afraid to be myself. I can be me, whoever she is. Weird, flawed, good, awesome, bad. Grumpy, cranky, petty, bitchy, loving. Me. And they will not mind.
These people, they have seen the worst in me, the best, the good and the bad. And they are still around. I think that is what makes them special to me. That is what makes them "best friends" to me.
Who's your best friend?
Doggy Question...
I wonder if it's a dog's way of attempting suicide when he throws himself in front of your vehicle or crosses a high traffic lane.
A Heart Missing, A Mind Numbed & A Soul Lost...
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness--that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what--at last--I have found.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.
Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.
This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.
--“What I have lived for”, Autobiography, Bertrand Russell
November 10, 2010
The Beauty & The Beast...
I am sure after reading this article husbands all over will convince their wives with, "if you can put it on your face..."
It is amazing what science can do, no?
It is amazing what science can do, no?
Self-involved...
I was always bad with details. Details, details, details! I need to take care of the details.
*****
In other news, kajal has become such an essential part of my life that I just can not step out without first applying kajal to my eyes. But today I did. And I look so incomplete, like something's missing, like I just lost someone.
*****
I think we get so involved in our own careers and industry, we often become blind to other industries and professions. Like everyone time those sales people call I ask them to come late around 7-8pm. I get free after 6:30pm but I never realised till now that those people also have their own "personal life". Maybe I am just plain insensitive and when I throw tantrums like, "Your company provides terrible service! Why can't your people come at 8 PM?", am sure the guy at the other end must think me a bitch. Which won't be far from the truth. Am sure he had a hard day and at the end of the day, which should be 7 pm for him too, he just wants to go home and spend the remainder of day with his family. Or has his own personal work. Or needs to take his dogs out for a walk, has friends he wants to hang out with or needs to give time to his girlfriend or wife. And then someone like me demands he come at 8 pm and he doesn't want to lose one customer so he agrees. I think it's important to be aware of the lives of people around us. Those of our maids, the sales people, the janitors, the office boys, the fruit sellers, the autowallas even. Your own watchman. The man who gets your newspaper.
I am sure we will be a bit more considerate if we knew atleast a little about their work day. I am positive we'd sympathise and possibly come to care too.
*****
In other news, kajal has become such an essential part of my life that I just can not step out without first applying kajal to my eyes. But today I did. And I look so incomplete, like something's missing, like I just lost someone.
*****
I think we get so involved in our own careers and industry, we often become blind to other industries and professions. Like everyone time those sales people call I ask them to come late around 7-8pm. I get free after 6:30pm but I never realised till now that those people also have their own "personal life". Maybe I am just plain insensitive and when I throw tantrums like, "Your company provides terrible service! Why can't your people come at 8 PM?", am sure the guy at the other end must think me a bitch. Which won't be far from the truth. Am sure he had a hard day and at the end of the day, which should be 7 pm for him too, he just wants to go home and spend the remainder of day with his family. Or has his own personal work. Or needs to take his dogs out for a walk, has friends he wants to hang out with or needs to give time to his girlfriend or wife. And then someone like me demands he come at 8 pm and he doesn't want to lose one customer so he agrees. I think it's important to be aware of the lives of people around us. Those of our maids, the sales people, the janitors, the office boys, the fruit sellers, the autowallas even. Your own watchman. The man who gets your newspaper.
I am sure we will be a bit more considerate if we knew atleast a little about their work day. I am positive we'd sympathise and possibly come to care too.
November 09, 2010
Spat...
You know not.
Then tell me.
No.
Why not?
I don't want to.
Please?
That will not work.
Then what will?
Nothing.
But I want to know!
Then you will have to find it out yourself.
How?
I can't tell.
Why not?
'Cause I can not.
But why?
You heard me.
You're being impossible!
You're being a pain.
Tell me, please! It's killing me!
I am sorry. I am not trying to be cruel. But I can not.
Alright. Is this how you want it? Fine. We'll play by your rules then.
I am not playing any games. There are no rules.
True.
True what?
Nothing.
What?
Nothing.
Tell me.
I can not.
Why not?
'Cause I don't want to
Why not?
You heard me too.
Then tell me.
No.
Why not?
I don't want to.
Please?
That will not work.
Then what will?
Nothing.
But I want to know!
Then you will have to find it out yourself.
How?
I can't tell.
Why not?
'Cause I can not.
But why?
You heard me.
You're being impossible!
You're being a pain.
Tell me, please! It's killing me!
I am sorry. I am not trying to be cruel. But I can not.
Alright. Is this how you want it? Fine. We'll play by your rules then.
I am not playing any games. There are no rules.
True.
True what?
Nothing.
What?
Nothing.
Tell me.
I can not.
Why not?
'Cause I don't want to
Why not?
You heard me too.
Happy Clouds...
The weather today is *perfect*. Just perfect. Reminds me of London. And my train journey from Glasgow to Aberdeen. And Glassgow Green. The Castle. And Bhutan. And perfect smiles. And perfect friends. And perfect stories. Perfect happiness.
And somehow, I feel perfect too.
And somehow, I feel perfect too.
A Blossom...
There are few words that will stir, inspire and make you happy. This is full of such words. If you read just one thing today, let it be this.
And so I want to start by giving one piece of advice to the men: when you’ve already won her heart, you don’t need to win every argument.
What you should prepare for is mess. Life’s a mess. You are not entitled to expect anything from it. Life is not fair. Everything does not balance out in the end. Life happens, and you have no control over it. Good and bad things happen to you day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. Your degree is a poor armour against fate.
Don’t expect anything. Erase all life expectancies. Just live. Your life is over as of today. At this point in time, you have grown as tall as you will ever be, you are physically the fittest you will ever be in your entire life and you are probably looking the best that you will ever look. This is as good as it gets. It is all downhill from here. Or up. No one knows.
Do not waste the vast majority of your life doing something you hate so that you can spend the small remainder sliver of your life in modest comfort. You may never reach that end anyway.
The truth has a great capacity to offend and injure, and you will find that the closer you are to someone, the more care you must take to disguise or even conceal the truth. Often, there is great virtue in being evasive, or equivocating. There is also great skill. Any child can blurt out the truth, without thought to the consequences. It takes great maturity to appreciate the value of silence.
If one changes one’s looks, personality and values, one can be loved by anyone. Rather, I exhort you to love another human being. It may seem odd for me to tell you this. You may expect it to happen naturally, without deliberation. That is false. Modern society is anti-love. We’ve taken a microscope to everyone to bring out their flaws and shortcomings. It far easier to find a reason not to love someone, than otherwise. Rejection requires only one reason. Love requires complete acceptance. It is hard work – the only kind of work that I find palatable.
Despite popular culture, love doesn’t happen by chance, at first sight, across a crowded dance floor. It grows slowly, sinking roots first before branching and blossoming. It is not a silly weed, but a mighty tree that weathers every storm.
Don’t work. Avoid telling the truth. Be hated. Love someone.
A Cold Winter Morning...
I don't think there can be anything more beautiful than a winter morning. Specially when it has rained the night before.
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing in this concrete jungle. Surrounded by these tall buildings that compete with the not-so-tall mountains. Surrounded by clothes that flutter on the clothes lines along with the trees that sway and leaves that delicately shiver. The distant motorcycle horn that drowns the chirping of birds. The early morning breakfast bustle that breaks the morning reverie.
I should be somewhere else. Not here.
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing in this concrete jungle. Surrounded by these tall buildings that compete with the not-so-tall mountains. Surrounded by clothes that flutter on the clothes lines along with the trees that sway and leaves that delicately shiver. The distant motorcycle horn that drowns the chirping of birds. The early morning breakfast bustle that breaks the morning reverie.
I should be somewhere else. Not here.
Soft Pink Kisses...
Most women in arranged marriages don't love their husbands when they get married; and later, they don't have a choice.
*****
*****
You know what is the first thing I am going to do when I go to Bombay? Make friends with this lady here and do what she does. SHOP. Swasta and Masta indeed!
Oh, the joy of finding something good! And the greater joy of finding it cheap! Nothing can beat that! Not even a good foot massage!
*****
I just arranged the Shelf above my study table today and how come I never realised it? I love my books-cum-other-things shelf. It's awesome. I am awesome.
I have all these awesome books neatly arranged by size and thickness and colour. And I have my copy of Bhagvad Geeta (I like having it there nestled amongst the likes of Cervantes and Oscar Wilde). And then I have my hand-painted gods** and then these little things(curios/souvenirs) gifted by friends. Like this candle which has a metal elephant or the little metal tower of Paris Apeksha brought from Paris. Or then the earthenware with Warli painting made by Garima. Or then those little colourful aboriginal tequila glasses by Praveen. Then there's the Orange blossom tea tin gifted by Praveen again. I love that tea. Like my favouritest ever. What can be better than Orange flavoured tea? My two favourite things together! Then the Capricorn cup with a little fairy on it by Munira. I do have awesome friends :) Then my sister's soft toys she left back. Then my bachpan ka mickeymouse walla pen stand. My paint brushes and pens and pencils in my favourite blue coffee mug. My favourite Dior jewellery box. And other little boxes. I love boxes. Like little treasure boxes. How exciting they are! Then Vitamins bottle, sea cod pills. Almonds and walnuts ka jar. Pink nail paint bottle. My diaries. My cds and my perfumes box gifted by Jiju. And a photoframe with my kiddie pic.
I like the idea of shelf. You know, if want to really understand someone, go see how they live. I think a person's private space says so much about him or her. I think it's fascinating how much you can glean about the person from just his shelf.
**I had made this Ganesh idol from clay in 7th grade. And I guess I must be watching too many Bollywod movies back then cause I remember telling myself that if that Ganesh idol ever breaks, I'll die. Ha! Well, now you know how to kill me.
*****
I really do hate the fact that most of my guy friends can cook and cook well. Like really! They compete with me! :( You know, I can not sing. Or dance. Or be funny. I can't even be all intelligent or sexy. Like really. Can you leave one thing that I can do well? Please men?
I remember as kids while sister could get away with being beautiful, I had nothing to show off in front of the guests (Yes, insecurity breeds since childhood. I am still looking for that yellow dress just in case). So while parents would place my sister in front of the guests and they, guests, would gush over how cute and pretty she was, my parents would say, "A, go get that plate of biscuits from the kitchen."
Or then bad still, "A stood 3rd in her class." And no one would bother.
And you can not, just can not imagine my trauma, and what a trauma it is at 10 years of age, when the guests break your happy little I-am-worthy-of-some-praise bubble, when they beg your parents to take you away before you start entertaining them by telling them funny (atleast in my mind they were!) jokes. My jokes! No one wanted to hear my jokes :( And such nice jokes they were too!
And now these men! Who can make better mustard chicken than I can! *sniff sniff*
I think my sister's hex is finally working. As a teenager when I used to laugh at my sister's attempts at cooking, she used to give me that look that only older, arrogant sisters are capable of and say, "A, I hope you get married into a house where no one loves food! And so you can cook and cook and no one will appreciate you!"
Yes. She did say that. Can't believe it right? Me neither :( What can I say? I do have an evil sister. And when I used to go crying about it to mom, she used to just ignore me :( Or if I was lucky, shoo me with a, "go cut an onion or something".
Sigh. Maybe I am adopted after all. I should go cry now.
November 08, 2010
Overheard Love...
If I don't take care, you'll be lost in these pages without numbers. Never to be found again. Forever lost.
*****
One needs to remember that relationships are as much about giving space as they are about coming closer.
*****
I'll remember mylate mid-twenties as the time when emotions were uncontrollable, almost maniacal. Like wild hungry monkeys left unsupervised in a banana plantation. Yep. Like wild monkeys.
*****
"Parrots, parrots, parrots! Everywhere I see parrots! Why are there so many parrots in your house?", She almost yelled.
"I like the attention", he mumbled.
*****
One needs to remember that relationships are as much about giving space as they are about coming closer.
*****
I'll remember my
*****
"Parrots, parrots, parrots! Everywhere I see parrots! Why are there so many parrots in your house?", She almost yelled.
"I like the attention", he mumbled.
November 07, 2010
Love Is An Empty Inbox...
Love not our love
love isn't supposed to be this way
love is a poison ring
and love has poured you drinks
now love waits for you to sleep
don't lend it to a friend
'cause you may never see that friend again
don't bother with a cover 'cause love can
pick out the fakes
but that's not our love
not our love
this crime of love
love isn't supposed to be this way
love will sting and love will burn
love will steal all you've learned
yes it will but not our love
sometimes in your back
and sometimes in your heart
it's a double edged sword
don't you bother with a cover
'cause in a crowd love can pick out the fakes
but that's not our love
not our love
(and the girls sing along) do you hear this cry for
love
do you see this crime of love
love waits for you to sleep
don't lend it to a friend
you can easily pick out the fakes
don't you see this crime of love
this crime of love holds you here
sting burn steal learn
don't turn your back on my heart
you can easily pick out the fakes
Cleavage...
Okay, I honestly think if anything after sliced bread should get the most innovative invention prize, it has got to be this! But before you proceed, if you're a guy, watching below video might ruin cleavage for you forever, like it did for a friend. But I still highly recommend it :)
I never thought that was possible! Like really, dude! I used to actually think all those men dressing up as females stuff oranges in their bras. This is, for lack of words, highly fascinating!
I never thought that was possible! Like really, dude! I used to actually think all those men dressing up as females stuff oranges in their bras. This is, for lack of words, highly fascinating!
Life Before Death...
Second portrait:
January 4 2004
"Death is a test of one’s maturity. Everyone has got to get through it on their own. I want very much to die. I want to become part of that vast extraordinary light. But dying is hard work. Death is in control of the process, I cannot influence its course. All I can do is wait. I was given my life, I had to live it, and now I am giving it back"
From, Life Before Death
*****
You know we just forget that life is not forever. Anytime, any moment now we could die. Sometimes I don't even understand the meaning of the word "death". Its depth. It seems like an alien concept. I could never be ready for death. I just don't know what to expect. And I always thought talking to people who were dealing with the fact that they would be no more might shed some light on death.
Life will pass by and soon I'll be 60 and grappling with my own mortality and that is, if I am lucky. I better have fun while I am here and make it worthwhile for people around me.
Serendipity...
Years later when Abha, her daughter asked her about her "younger" days, Sanjana told her about the one man she had truly loved.
Sanjana had recently returned to India after completing her post-graduation from a French University. She was now working for a multi-national luxury brand in their marketing department. She needed to make new friends in this city. Mumbai, city of dreams, she felt she was in the right place and at the right time. Mumbai was not her hometown but she was quickly falling in love with the city. She came from a small village of Hosur on the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border. From a very young age, Sanjana had big dreams, dreams she knew would come true one day. She was proud of where she was in life and that confidence radiated in everything she did. Meenkashi, her childhood friend, someone she had kept in touch with despite the distance was throwing a party to celebrate her second marriage anniversary. Meenakashi and Sunil had met through relatives at a cousin's wedding. Sunil's parents had liked Meenakshi's quiet demeanour, impeccable manners and homely looks. "Good-breeding", her parents had told Sunil, "You don't find such good girls these days. Today's girls smoke and drink and have many boyfriends. But not Meenakshi. Akka told us she never had a boyfriend and her father is a doctor in the government hospital. She'll make you a good wife Sunil".
Sunil remembered seeing Meenakshi at his cousin Siddarth's wedding-good skin, long hair, docile looks and a good figure. Sunil had agreed. Meenakshi never said anything when her parents told her about Sunil. She had never loved any man in her entire life. She would not even recognise love if he came and introduced himself. She never dreamt like Sanjana. Meenakshi was a practical girl. All she wanted was a quiet family life. And she had left it to her parents to find her a sensible man to marry and they had liked Sunil. When Sanjana had expressed her shock at the fact that Sunil would be away for all 6 months every year sailing, how could you bear she had asked, Meenakshi had just smiled. Solitude, she said she could bear cheerfully. All she wanted was a comfortable home and a vegetable garden in the backyard where she could grow tomatoes to make yummy rassams. She would soon have many kids and their upbringing would keep her occupied she had explained. She was quite happy about her forthcoming nuptials.
Sanjana had soon left for France after Meenakshi's wedding. France, land of romance and poetry in her mind. At university, Sanjana had met a French guy who loved poetry and wine and sex. They dated for two years and on the day of their graduation she left him a note saying that she was leaving for India and that she was happy they had met during her stay in Lille but he should never contact her again. Sanjana never understood her decision. But she never bothered with understanding it either. She left it at that. And him in the past.
And now she was back in her country and found herself surrounded by strangers in Meenakshi tastefully decorated, and by Mumbai standards, spacious living room. Sunil's mini-bar was well-stocked with alcohol from every part of the world. The party was in full-swing. Anything but a quiet comfortable life she thought to herself while taking a sip of cognac. Sanjana scanned the whole living room- quite a few good looking men she thought. Ofcourse most of them were Sunil's friends from the Navy. A few from Meenakshi's literary circle. She smiled thinking how you could always tell the artists from the sailors. But there was one she couldn't place in any box. Dressed in black slacks and a cobalt blue silk shirt, although quite dapper, he looked, oddly, out of place. She imagined he was an i-banker or a model maybe. But before she could muse anymore, she was pulled by Meenakshi to the centre of the room. She found herself face to face with the guy in the blue shirt she was checking out a few moments ago. Almost guilty, she blushed and looked at Meenaskhi questioningly.
"Well, everyone here thinks two people who use the same word in one evening are probably destined to meet. Sanjana, meet Rajiv. Rajiv, my dear friend Sanjana." Sanjana remembered her conversation sometime back where she told Sunil and his naval friends how the word Serendipity, coined by Horace Walpole, came from the old name for Sri Lanka. Rajiv had shook hands with her and offered to get her a refill noticing her almost empty snifter. Unexpected yes, but was this going to be a fortunate meeting? Sanjana remembered wondering that while Rajiv had gone to get her a refill.
Now years later when she looks back, she thinks about all the wonderful times they had. The walks on Juhu beach, the 2am rides on the marine road, the January evenings spent cozily on Rajiv's terrace under the inky, the humidity that drove Rajiv irritable and which always led to silly arguments between them, the single red rose he would offer to make up, Wada-pav for breakfast everyday, the hip-hop parties and late night meals, the incessant rains, Gateway of India, their little corner at the Taj where he had whispered those three words, the shopping sprees where Rajiv would turn into an excited happy 3 year old. All wonderful memories. Sanjana realized he was the first man she knew who loved shopping as much as she did. He even loved shopping for vegetables, which she always found absolutely adorable. So while Sanjana cooked on Sundays, Rajiv would take care of grocery shopping. It was a perfect arrangement. He did buy the most fresh vegetables she remembered. The trick, he had once told her, was to check out every stall before buying from any one seller.
Everyone thought they were perfect together. So much so, that they even loved the same things. The smell of Ratrani, Kafka, filter coffee, sea, travel, local trains, white sheets, the colour blue, Rafi and Madhubala, Kanjeevaram sarees and green bangles. And they hated the same things too. The smell of hena, Bollywood, Punjabi accent and Chinese food, the colour maroon, aubergines, cats, Ayn Rand and common names-they had decided they would never name their kids Priyanka or Akash or torturous still, Prem. They had the same dream of going to Kashmir for their honeymoon. They had decided they would buy a land somewhere far away and build a farmhouse and raise their two kids on the farm. Sanjana didn't mind leaving her Chanels and Diors behind for Rajiv. She had started to crave a quiet comfortable family life too. With Rajiv though, she knew quiet it would never be. Life would be oozing out of him. And it was impossible to stay unaffected by his zest for life. Sanjana realised it was this reason why she had so madly loved Rajiv. She had never felt so alive before meeting him. He had made her fall in love with life itself.
But suddenly the sweet nothings had stopped. Endearments had turned into bitter acrimonious insults. I-Love-You's into barbed taunts. They knew each other so well, hurting came easy. He knew exactly what would hurt her. She knew exactly what would drive him crazy. Words were their arsenal. Romantic evenings had turned in slinging matches where words were thrown at each other like mini atom bombs. These might not have killed them, but they did more damage to their hearts than real gunpowder would have. Soon the kisses stopped. The intimate touches. The togetherness vanished. Their lovingly built world fell apart. Their delicate dreams squashed under the heaviness of hurt, of insult. They had run out of their good luck. They knew they could no longer be together when they couldn't even find words to fight with each other. And with the words gone, just like that, the love was soon gone too.
Rajiv's mom had found Rajiv a perfect 10 wife from the US. She was working for a big bank in the US and had a green card. Rajiv got engaged in no time. Sanjana made good use of the mini-bar at Meenakashi's place while Sunil was away on his 6-month trip to Istanbul. It was a December evening when Sanjana, dressed in a kanjeevaram saree, green bangles and gajra, went to Rajiv's wedding. To see him one last time, but returned without meeting him. His bride, she saw from a distance, was dressed in a maroon lengha and her name, she overhead was Priyanka. Sanjana eventually settled down too. She ended up marrying the marketing director of her firm who was a Punjabi. And while she could never love her husband, she did care for him. She had a comfortable family life now, and a vegetable garden where she grew all kinds of fruits and vegetables. No need to buy them from the market. She was quite content with her situation in life, if not happy.
When Abha asked her what had led Rajiv and her apart, Sanjana said it was words. Words, she said, had brought them together and it was words that had driven them apart. Such had been the fate of their silly fairy tale.
Sanjana had recently returned to India after completing her post-graduation from a French University. She was now working for a multi-national luxury brand in their marketing department. She needed to make new friends in this city. Mumbai, city of dreams, she felt she was in the right place and at the right time. Mumbai was not her hometown but she was quickly falling in love with the city. She came from a small village of Hosur on the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border. From a very young age, Sanjana had big dreams, dreams she knew would come true one day. She was proud of where she was in life and that confidence radiated in everything she did. Meenkashi, her childhood friend, someone she had kept in touch with despite the distance was throwing a party to celebrate her second marriage anniversary. Meenakashi and Sunil had met through relatives at a cousin's wedding. Sunil's parents had liked Meenakshi's quiet demeanour, impeccable manners and homely looks. "Good-breeding", her parents had told Sunil, "You don't find such good girls these days. Today's girls smoke and drink and have many boyfriends. But not Meenakshi. Akka told us she never had a boyfriend and her father is a doctor in the government hospital. She'll make you a good wife Sunil".
Sunil remembered seeing Meenakshi at his cousin Siddarth's wedding-good skin, long hair, docile looks and a good figure. Sunil had agreed. Meenakshi never said anything when her parents told her about Sunil. She had never loved any man in her entire life. She would not even recognise love if he came and introduced himself. She never dreamt like Sanjana. Meenakshi was a practical girl. All she wanted was a quiet family life. And she had left it to her parents to find her a sensible man to marry and they had liked Sunil. When Sanjana had expressed her shock at the fact that Sunil would be away for all 6 months every year sailing, how could you bear she had asked, Meenakshi had just smiled. Solitude, she said she could bear cheerfully. All she wanted was a comfortable home and a vegetable garden in the backyard where she could grow tomatoes to make yummy rassams. She would soon have many kids and their upbringing would keep her occupied she had explained. She was quite happy about her forthcoming nuptials.
Sanjana had soon left for France after Meenakshi's wedding. France, land of romance and poetry in her mind. At university, Sanjana had met a French guy who loved poetry and wine and sex. They dated for two years and on the day of their graduation she left him a note saying that she was leaving for India and that she was happy they had met during her stay in Lille but he should never contact her again. Sanjana never understood her decision. But she never bothered with understanding it either. She left it at that. And him in the past.
And now she was back in her country and found herself surrounded by strangers in Meenakshi tastefully decorated, and by Mumbai standards, spacious living room. Sunil's mini-bar was well-stocked with alcohol from every part of the world. The party was in full-swing. Anything but a quiet comfortable life she thought to herself while taking a sip of cognac. Sanjana scanned the whole living room- quite a few good looking men she thought. Ofcourse most of them were Sunil's friends from the Navy. A few from Meenakshi's literary circle. She smiled thinking how you could always tell the artists from the sailors. But there was one she couldn't place in any box. Dressed in black slacks and a cobalt blue silk shirt, although quite dapper, he looked, oddly, out of place. She imagined he was an i-banker or a model maybe. But before she could muse anymore, she was pulled by Meenakshi to the centre of the room. She found herself face to face with the guy in the blue shirt she was checking out a few moments ago. Almost guilty, she blushed and looked at Meenaskhi questioningly.
"Well, everyone here thinks two people who use the same word in one evening are probably destined to meet. Sanjana, meet Rajiv. Rajiv, my dear friend Sanjana." Sanjana remembered her conversation sometime back where she told Sunil and his naval friends how the word Serendipity, coined by Horace Walpole, came from the old name for Sri Lanka. Rajiv had shook hands with her and offered to get her a refill noticing her almost empty snifter. Unexpected yes, but was this going to be a fortunate meeting? Sanjana remembered wondering that while Rajiv had gone to get her a refill.
Now years later when she looks back, she thinks about all the wonderful times they had. The walks on Juhu beach, the 2am rides on the marine road, the January evenings spent cozily on Rajiv's terrace under the inky, the humidity that drove Rajiv irritable and which always led to silly arguments between them, the single red rose he would offer to make up, Wada-pav for breakfast everyday, the hip-hop parties and late night meals, the incessant rains, Gateway of India, their little corner at the Taj where he had whispered those three words, the shopping sprees where Rajiv would turn into an excited happy 3 year old. All wonderful memories. Sanjana realized he was the first man she knew who loved shopping as much as she did. He even loved shopping for vegetables, which she always found absolutely adorable. So while Sanjana cooked on Sundays, Rajiv would take care of grocery shopping. It was a perfect arrangement. He did buy the most fresh vegetables she remembered. The trick, he had once told her, was to check out every stall before buying from any one seller.
Everyone thought they were perfect together. So much so, that they even loved the same things. The smell of Ratrani, Kafka, filter coffee, sea, travel, local trains, white sheets, the colour blue, Rafi and Madhubala, Kanjeevaram sarees and green bangles. And they hated the same things too. The smell of hena, Bollywood, Punjabi accent and Chinese food, the colour maroon, aubergines, cats, Ayn Rand and common names-they had decided they would never name their kids Priyanka or Akash or torturous still, Prem. They had the same dream of going to Kashmir for their honeymoon. They had decided they would buy a land somewhere far away and build a farmhouse and raise their two kids on the farm. Sanjana didn't mind leaving her Chanels and Diors behind for Rajiv. She had started to crave a quiet comfortable family life too. With Rajiv though, she knew quiet it would never be. Life would be oozing out of him. And it was impossible to stay unaffected by his zest for life. Sanjana realised it was this reason why she had so madly loved Rajiv. She had never felt so alive before meeting him. He had made her fall in love with life itself.
But suddenly the sweet nothings had stopped. Endearments had turned into bitter acrimonious insults. I-Love-You's into barbed taunts. They knew each other so well, hurting came easy. He knew exactly what would hurt her. She knew exactly what would drive him crazy. Words were their arsenal. Romantic evenings had turned in slinging matches where words were thrown at each other like mini atom bombs. These might not have killed them, but they did more damage to their hearts than real gunpowder would have. Soon the kisses stopped. The intimate touches. The togetherness vanished. Their lovingly built world fell apart. Their delicate dreams squashed under the heaviness of hurt, of insult. They had run out of their good luck. They knew they could no longer be together when they couldn't even find words to fight with each other. And with the words gone, just like that, the love was soon gone too.
Rajiv's mom had found Rajiv a perfect 10 wife from the US. She was working for a big bank in the US and had a green card. Rajiv got engaged in no time. Sanjana made good use of the mini-bar at Meenakashi's place while Sunil was away on his 6-month trip to Istanbul. It was a December evening when Sanjana, dressed in a kanjeevaram saree, green bangles and gajra, went to Rajiv's wedding. To see him one last time, but returned without meeting him. His bride, she saw from a distance, was dressed in a maroon lengha and her name, she overhead was Priyanka. Sanjana eventually settled down too. She ended up marrying the marketing director of her firm who was a Punjabi. And while she could never love her husband, she did care for him. She had a comfortable family life now, and a vegetable garden where she grew all kinds of fruits and vegetables. No need to buy them from the market. She was quite content with her situation in life, if not happy.
When Abha asked her what had led Rajiv and her apart, Sanjana said it was words. Words, she said, had brought them together and it was words that had driven them apart. Such had been the fate of their silly fairy tale.
November 06, 2010
That's Why...
One of those perfect ads. Brings a tear or two.
The little things you do for me
And nobody else make me feel good
The little things you do for me
Making me smile when no one else could
That's why, I like to sit next to you
And hear your mad stories
I know they're not true
And I like that we share a secret or two, together...The little things you do for me.
The little things you do for me
And nobody else make me feel good
The little things you do for me
Making me smile when no one else could
That's why, I like to sit next to you
And hear your mad stories
I know they're not true
And I like that we share a secret or two, together...The little things you do for me.
November 04, 2010
Salt...
Atleast then this much I hope that the tears that roll down my cheeks will sweeten your lips.
November 03, 2010
November 02, 2010
At Delhi Airport #1
Airports are a place for great meditation. Also good for studying human nature. Such wonderful insights.
*****
October is over. You know what that means, don't you?
*****
Kids in our country are treated like little kings and queens. One tantrum here and one whimper there and mummy-papa rush to pacify the kid. The kid ofcourse can have anything. Kids are luckiest people I tell you!
*****
Punjabi people, my god, they love talking. Irritatingly so.
*****
China copied the tubes from London and India(Delhi) from them both. Why am I not surprised? Even Delhi airport eerily reminded me of China airport. Where's the creativity dude? Soon we'll have same looking airports all over the world!
*****
Important advice for females: Always wear flats when travelling. Your feet, babydoll, will thank you.
I have almost completely stopped wearing heels since the accident. Been almost 11 months now. Don't miss them as much as I thought I would. But you know, heels give you a kind of confidence, a certain edge. I mean, if you can manage to walk and look graceful with those pencil heels, you must be awesome, right?
But woman, do not slouch, please? That's sacrilege! Heels are supposed to make you look confident and hot and statuesque and graceful and all those wonderful things. Slouchy? Not! If you are going to drag your half-dead body around like that, just throw away those bloody heels already!
*****
This is what I love about travel. It gives you a chance to meet new different people. People from all walks of life. Lovely.
*****
Delhi women, they are hot. Not all ofcourse. But most women are hot. But the hot ones are hot only till they open their mouth and then damn! All hotness goes *poof*
*****
If I was a guy I wouldn't marry a Delhi girl. I'd like to marry a Bangalore girl however. Or even a Mumbai girl.
Yes, I sometimes think about marrying women.
*****
Delhi men, as expected, pointy shoes and gelled, almost ridiculously spiked hair. Meh. No like.
*****
And will someone just slap these Delhi guys? They stare at you like their daddy dearest bought you from Razori garden solely for their viewing pleasure!
Someone needs to teach Delhi men, nay, all Indian men how to stare. We like you checking us out, but can't you be a bit classy about it? Huh?
*****
Punjabi women I have realised are very hot when young. Beautiful flawless complexions, nice features and well-endowed bosoms. But good lord, they age so bad!
All those creamy lassis and butter naans and aloo kulchas seem to take toll post-marriage. Not hot.
*****
Delhi at this time of the year made me feel like its national pastime is marriage and weddings. Everyone talks about weddings and jewellery and this and that. I agree, it's totally unfair of me to comment when I haven't even seen 1% of Delhi.
But when did I let that stop me from making biased uninformed ignorant remarks? Delhi is flashy and full of wannabe brides. There!
*****
October is over. You know what that means, don't you?
*****
Kids in our country are treated like little kings and queens. One tantrum here and one whimper there and mummy-papa rush to pacify the kid. The kid ofcourse can have anything. Kids are luckiest people I tell you!
*****
Punjabi people, my god, they love talking. Irritatingly so.
*****
China copied the tubes from London and India(Delhi) from them both. Why am I not surprised? Even Delhi airport eerily reminded me of China airport. Where's the creativity dude? Soon we'll have same looking airports all over the world!
*****
Important advice for females: Always wear flats when travelling. Your feet, babydoll, will thank you.
I have almost completely stopped wearing heels since the accident. Been almost 11 months now. Don't miss them as much as I thought I would. But you know, heels give you a kind of confidence, a certain edge. I mean, if you can manage to walk and look graceful with those pencil heels, you must be awesome, right?
But woman, do not slouch, please? That's sacrilege! Heels are supposed to make you look confident and hot and statuesque and graceful and all those wonderful things. Slouchy? Not! If you are going to drag your half-dead body around like that, just throw away those bloody heels already!
*****
This is what I love about travel. It gives you a chance to meet new different people. People from all walks of life. Lovely.
*****
Delhi women, they are hot. Not all ofcourse. But most women are hot. But the hot ones are hot only till they open their mouth and then damn! All hotness goes *poof*
*****
If I was a guy I wouldn't marry a Delhi girl. I'd like to marry a Bangalore girl however. Or even a Mumbai girl.
Yes, I sometimes think about marrying women.
*****
Delhi men, as expected, pointy shoes and gelled, almost ridiculously spiked hair. Meh. No like.
*****
And will someone just slap these Delhi guys? They stare at you like their daddy dearest bought you from Razori garden solely for their viewing pleasure!
Someone needs to teach Delhi men, nay, all Indian men how to stare. We like you checking us out, but can't you be a bit classy about it? Huh?
*****
Punjabi women I have realised are very hot when young. Beautiful flawless complexions, nice features and well-endowed bosoms. But good lord, they age so bad!
All those creamy lassis and butter naans and aloo kulchas seem to take toll post-marriage. Not hot.
*****
Delhi at this time of the year made me feel like its national pastime is marriage and weddings. Everyone talks about weddings and jewellery and this and that. I agree, it's totally unfair of me to comment when I haven't even seen 1% of Delhi.
But when did I let that stop me from making biased uninformed ignorant remarks? Delhi is flashy and full of wannabe brides. There!
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