Barely There...

Yes yes I am alive. Old, but alive.

Arms...

And he looked like that hour of the early morn, and the promise of more.

One Step Closer...

A Warm Bundle Of Dimpled Joy...

What I am listening to these days...

P.S: I might still not like kids, but I do like one liddle kid, a whole damn too much. Of course, who else is to be blamed but my dear friend hormones? Sometimes if I sit very still, I can even hear my bones creaking. Sigh, and it's 2011 still.

All Happy Souls...

I should have been born up in the hills somewhere, where there's wild grass and wild flowers, wind and blue skies. I should have been born in such a place and stayed there.

P.S: Maybe I just need a vacation.

P.S.S: Sorry for all sappy posts. Yes yes, I am going to blame it all on hormones. 

Nude...

Unseen...

You know, I never realised how awesome it was to have you around in the same office at T. Everytime there was something I needed to talk about, all I had to do was get up and walk over to your desk and you were there. I still sometimes get up from my desk here and imagine walking to your desk, the one next to the cafeteria. I see you wearing your white woolen jacket and your black-rimmed funky specs. I imagine you looking up from your laptop at me, and I imagine saying, "Munira, guess what happened". I miss you. So damn much. Why did you have to get married? :( They say you're happier when you stay close to your friends. I am unhappy. Call me to the US too. I'll come.

The Short Version...

Bible, Kuran, Bhagvad Gita, Guru Granth Sahib.

Books are our Gods.

Save The Carrots For The Horses...

At times when you are faced with an uncontrollable desire to be close to someone else's skin, like when mine seems to forget how to breathe on its own from time to time, one will sit by oneself and often wonder, what can one do? At such times I have found a couple of things to help. These are after my own experiments and one must try, if they so choose to, at their own peril. Try this to begin with at first: Sit quietly in your closed room, and let the noise of the creaking fan drown your every thought, better than chanting om's, I assure you. But if you don't happen to be fortunate enough to have such an entertaining equipment at your immediate disposal, try reading. Politics, I have come to realise, helps immensely. And at times like the present, you will agree there be no dearth of reading material. But if you are not so inclined to reading politics, you might want to try astrophysics or interviews of famous personalities. But do not ever venture anywhere close to poetry or romantic literature. That-will-not-help. You will find yourself howling into the book even before you reach the third paragraph and who, honestly, wants to soil a pretty book of poems? No sir, you don't want to do that. Now, if you're no so much of a reading person, you might want to listen to music. Choose rock, heavy metal, and if you can stomach death metal, I'd suggest that too. Again, no jazz, no romantic music. But if in spite of chastising yourself a dozen times, you still gravitate toward those soft romantic numbers, another solution in the form of Orange Blossom could be tried. And while that fragrant amber liquid warms you inside out, you could gently nudge your mind into doing complex arithmetic. You might want to check how many sachets of Orange Blossom remain in the tin. Only 10?! Bad news, you must now ration out missing the person.


Oh wait, we are backing to missing then? Alright, try watching a funny video, a movie, maybe call a friend? And if all else fails, plumpling, pick up that damned phone and call that person who's causing so much misery. Do it. And then hear that person talk to you in the rudest fashion ever and as you struggle to get over the shock of those coarse words, ask yourself, do I still miss this person? I guarantee the answer will be a big fat NO.


Now, calm yourself down and make sure you don't leave any evidence behind. Gloves. And oh, you might want to double-check the carpets if any.


But if I were you, honeybunch, I wouldn't bother in the first place. 

Almost Family...

It's a strange kind of sadness, this. It doesn't stop you from going about your life. A normal day, a normal week, a normal month. The daily chores at home, the tedious work at office, the daily social interactions, everything is as it used to be. No crippling pain. No hopeless impasse that stops you from moving forward. No sinking feeling that sucks the life out of you every time you see some happy love. You feel it's gone. You've managed to deal with it, finally. And just when you have managed not to notice it long enough, it makes it presence felt. One day you're sitting in office, formatting an excel, and you'll notice you've been crying. When did that happen? Last you remember you were thinking about colons and semicolons.

It's a strange kind of sadness, this. It'll give you the permission to go to the party but expect you be back before the party begins.

Woman In Progress...

In a world where more and more women are trying to be like a man, here I am, struggling to be more of a woman.

A Mouse's Nest...

A room or two for our love and rest of the house for our differences. 

The Gardens Of Kabul...

Quest...

It has taken me 27 years to figure out what I really want in life.

Now to work toward achieving those things. 

The Promise Of More...

If it was not words, it had to be touch.

You can not love and do nothing about it.

*****
Love, I have realised, can not be packaged into neat little word containers. It makes you want to spill inside the other person.

*****
One day you're afraid and then the next you see love driving you on the unsteady bridge, the broken road, through the dark tunnel and you, for the first time, don't panic. You seem to accept the horror of it all. You know you'll be suffering, but you seem okay suffering. You even welcome it.

*****
She didn't want wild things from it. She wanted, for the first time, simple, ordinary. She wanted to sit in a pub with him and drink beer. Be in the same room without the need to say anything to each other. Sit on the grass and eat sandwiches with him. She wanted to wake up in the mornings and not feel apologetic for being grouchy. Listen to music while doing your own thing. Share a library. Cook a simple meal together. Peaceful domesticity. It looked less scary, even desirable for the first time.

Kaho Kya Khayaal Hai?

Oh, what a beautiful song! Makes you weep and smile at the same time.



Dhadkano ki taal baaje
Saanson ka iktara
Aangan mein sajaye baithein
Sooraj chanda taara

Dhadkano ki taal baaje
Saanson ka iktara
Aangan mein sajaye baithein
Sooraj chanda taara

Chalo baant lein hum zindagi
Zara aaj yun kar lein
Kaho kya khayal hai

(Bengali chant)

Ik jahan chota sa apna
Ik jahan tumhara
Muskaan chahe meethi ho
Ya aansoon ik khara

Chalo baant lein ghum aur khushi
Thodi guftagoo kar lein
Kaho kya khayaal hai

Aap se do baat kar lein
Yaadon ko jebon mein bhar lein
Aaye hain hum kuch dino ke baad

Yaaron ki saubat mein aake
Dheere se kuch gunguna ke
Yuhin kat jaate hain din aur raat

Muthi mein tum bheench lana sawan hara
Ek dhanak tum bhi tod lana falak se zara
Muthi muthi baant lenge kiranon ka katra
Ik sikka dhoop humse lena gar kam laga
Betuk hi Be matlab hans le hum
Kyun na is lamhe mein
Haan jee lein hum

Chalo baant lein hum zindagi
Zara aaj yun kar lein
Kaho kya khayaal hai

Aap se do baat kar lein
Yaadon ko jebon mein bhar lein
Aaye hain hum kuch dino ke baad

Yaaron ki saubat mein aake
Dheere se kuch gunguna ke
Yuhin kat jaate hain din aur raat

If Only We Were Human...

This species is a dear, hateful, sweet, barbaric, tender, vile, intelligent, confused, virtuous, evil, thoughtful, perverted, generous, greedy species. In short, great entertainment. 

As I said before, humans are the only species that systematically tortures and murders its own for pleasure and personal gain. In fact, we are the only species that systematically tortures and murders its own, period. 

We are serial killers. All our poems and symphonies and oils on canvas will never change that. Man's noble aspect is the abberation.

Those who argue that art and philosophy are proof of human worth neglect to mention that, in the scheme we have devised, artists and philosophers are completely powerless and largely without prestige. Art, music and philosophy are merely poignant examples of what we might have been had not the high priests and traders gotten hold of us. 

Most animals, when fighting one of their own, will show aggressive behavior, but very little hostility or intention to harm. And when the outcome of the struggle is inevitable, the losing animal will signal its defeat by exposing its most vunerable part to the victor, affording it the opportunity to finish the kill. The victor then walks away without inflicting further harm. These are the creatures we feel superior to. - George Carlin

Safe Distances...

If there was someone who had to be shown what lay beneath, I always knew it had to be you. I don't know why I chose you, I have tried to reason with myself. You don't even care any more, and if I told you this, you'd expect me to come up with a brilliantly convincing answer. But I can not. I am not clever, I have no sense of occasion and specially to you, I say the most stupid things. I wonder if this is one of those stupid things I am better off not saying. But even as I try to articulate everything I want to say, I feel you already know. You already know me, don't you? Your knowing scares me, but I know if I don't get out now, I'll choke. 

Baby, It's Cold Outside...

A Thousand Kisses Deep...

Don't matter if the road is long

Don't matter if it's steep

Don't matter if the moon is gone

And the darkness is complete

Don't matter if we lose our way

It's written that we'll meet

At least, that's what I heard you say

A thousand kisses deep

I loved you when you opened

Like a lily to the heat

You see, I'm just another snowman

Standing in the rain and sleet

Who loved you with his frozen love

His second hand physique

With all he is and all he was

A thousand kisses deep

I know you had to lie to me

I know you had to cheat

You learned it on your father's knee

And at your mother's feet

But did you have to fight your way

Across the burning street

When all our vital interests lay

A thousand kisses deep

I'm turning tricks

I'm getting fixed

I'm back on boogie street

I'd like to quit the business

But I'm in it, so to speak

The thought of you is peaceful

And the file on you complete

Except what I forgot to do

A thousand kisses deep

Don't matter if you're rich and strong

Don't matter if you're weak

Don't matter if you write a song

The nightingales repeat

Don't matter if it's nine to five

Or timeless and unique

You ditch your life to stay alive

A thousand kisses deep

The ponies run

The girls are young

The odds are there to beat

You win a while, and then it's done

Your little winning streak

And summon now to deal with your invincible defeat

You live your life as if it's real

A thousand kisses deep

I hear their voices in the wine

That sometimes did me seek

The band is playing Auld Lang Syne

But the heart will not retreat

There's no forsaking what you love

No existential leap

As witnessed here in time and blood

A thousand kisses deep

- Leonard Cohen

Broken Glass And Light...

Ask not "when will I find love?". Ask, instead, "when will I find someone who forgives me?" --Via Twitter

I think that's all you need to know about love. Ever.

Curl Under My Hairy Toes...

I know there is a heart inside me.

This is a love poem I sent to Hallmark. I said Fill me

with your papered mush. I was so excited to talk

to you, I put on the wrong lips. I said My other lips

mean business. I said Did you see the sky get angry

this morning? I was trying to impress you

with my ability to look up. I said Polka Dots, get off

the floor when you sneeze. I never want you to catch

a cold. There is a snow globe at the end

of this poem. Inside the snow globe: fake snow,

my skin I have rolled up for you, hello.

-Gregory Sherl

Living The Wrong Story...

There has been a battle going on inside me for years and I never realised, till now.


I still remember the summer holidays when mom took me along to her needlework/stitching class cause there was no one to take care of me at home. I played with the lady's daughter who was perhaps two years younger than me. I remember the flowery, dark leafed, perfumed garden and the corner under the guava trees where we sat and played house. We made tea that afternoon in little ceramic teapots and drank from little teacups. And I had never done that before. I never played "ghar-ghar" like all girls did. All sister's toys, dolls, were given away when we moved houses. When I finally met R and girls in 6th standard, I played with dolls for the first time. Being an asthmatic, I was never allowed to play like other kids, so I would end up spending all time alone, with my imaginary friends, talking to myself, reading, playing with trucks and lorries that dad would get, or fiddling in the kitchen and getting yelled at by mom.


I can't dance. And I am always wondering how dancing comes so effortlessly to most Indian women. So many women can dance so beautifully without ever having received any formal instruction. I realised why the other day while I was leading another girl in the Rumba class. I am not comfortable expressing myself. The "aada" that is such an instrinsic part of every Indian woman, it is so alien to me, it's there somewhere, just that I have never let it out. I have never allowed myself to feel womanly. Being the second daughter, I was raised like a boy. So while all girls played with dolls, I played with jeeps and trucks. While sister was flirting with guys in school, dad was teaching me how to repair a broken fuse. While all girlfriends danced on stage, I wasn't allowed to, so I stayed backstage and looked and wished I could dance like them.


Last year when I joined ballroom dance class, I hated it. I didn't realise what I was doing wrong but I was really bad at it. I would come home and write down steps in a notebook, 4-3-2-slow-1. Everytime I faltered, Shelly would say, "A, you dance well, but just feel the music, don't concentrate on the steps." I didn't understand what she meant. How could I not concentrate on steps? Wasn't that how you learnt to dance? But I see now what she meant. I am finally enjoying dance. I am finally letting myself go and feel. And I am loving it :)


Dance is such a direct extension of who you really are, it's an expression of your soul. You can't dance, if you aren't comfortable with yourself.

"Raat ko jab chaand chamake, jal uthhe tan meraa

mai kahoo mat kar o chandaa, is galee kaa feraa

aanaa moraa saiyaa jab aaye..."

I love this song. I love Waheeda Rehman. She has been my idol for so many years. She is my definition of a woman. Ins't she so lovely? So womanly, so graceful and so very beautiful! There are nicer songs featuring her, but I don't know why I love this song. Even when she's sad and yearning for her love, she's so beautiful and womanly, you can't take our eyes off her. You want to love her.


I think heartbreaks are good :) They serve as a good wake up call. Shake you up from my la-la land and force you to introspect and change and for good.


Sigh, I have such a long road ahead of me. 

The Deprived Goat...

And as I sat alone in my empty flat, away from home on a festive day, more to punish myself than anything else, I realised a couple of things about myself that I never knew. Sometimes I wonder if people, normal folks, go through this too. Discovering new things, new facets of their personality, as often as I do.


But anyway, coming back to the topic at hand, I grew up on a healthy dose of romance novels. I saw more romance movies than action movies (though I love action movies too). Come to think of it, I was always lost in the beautiful locales to notice what the heroine was saying to the hero in an oh-so whisper-y voice. And when M, exasperated, said, how can you not know? I was forced to take a good hard look at myself and accept that maybe, I am just not a romantic. That came as a shock to me. All my life I believed myself to be a romantic. Somewhere, I still think I am, but maybe I am a closet(whatever that means) romantic you know? Does that make me sad? It does. (No the closet bit, but not being able to weave poetry all the time and not knowing what to say and  more importantly, how to say it).


Women are supposed to be romantic, you know? They are supposed to be born with all tricks of the trade. Getting men to do their bidding is a cake walk for most women and I am always left with my jaw on the floor. How do they know what to say and how to say it? Like is there some class I missed as a teenager? I can flirt all right, but when it comes to the real thing, I am always left fumbling. I'll either say something entirely stupid and spoil the moment or just not know what to say and keep quiet.


So when someone says you have such beautiful eyes, I'll stare blankly at him and say okay. (I still don't what the correct response should be).


And although it does make me feel less like a woman, that's who I am. I am artless. I am stupid. And I am, most of the time, scared.


So, I give up. Maybe I really should go up in the Himalayas and learn how to chant and stuff.


P.S: Next time you want to get all romantic with me, get a list of responses you'd like in return. I am good at reading.

iRest...

‎"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because 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." --Steve Jobs

Love, Again...

The single most cause of unhappiness in my life has been fear.

I don't know how and when I'll get over my fears.

But till such time, happiness is going to be a choice.

The World Itself Is A Bad Dream...

You take something really good and screw it up. Royally. 

There's no one to blame but yourself. What do you do with such things?

You could spend your entire life in self-blame games.

Or then, you could promise yourself.

Phir Wahi Raat Hai...

"kaanch ke khwaab hain aankhon mein chubh jayenge...palko mein le na inhe aankho mein rut jayenge"

The Good Wife Commercial...

A World Made Of Words...

I remember once imagining what my life would be like, what I'd be like. I pictured having all these qualities, strong positive qualities that people could pick up on from across the room. But as time passed, few ever became any qualities that I actually had. And all the possibilities I faced and the sorts of people I could be, all of them got reduced every year to fewer and fewer. Until finally they got reduced to one, to who I am. And that's who I am. --The Weather Man

Where I'm Calling From...

I Would Like To Go Back To Venus, Please...

At 26, I finally realise that the joke is on us women. And I am not bitter about it. I find it funny instead. Funny and even relived that I am freed from all illusions (Okay, maybe not all, just this one then. And I am sure there will be many more such epiphanies and I hope by then I will have learnt not to hit myself on the head with the "Why" bat but till such time, this is the "Oh My Gut" revelation of my life).

So okay, if this is how it is meant to be, this is how we shall do it. Countless women have made peace with it and so who am I so special to fight it? Nobody. I have to make peace with it too. And I have.


But you know what gets my goat? Why for the love of kittens (lot of expletives) did no one tell us all this? Like seriously dude? You told us not to trim our own bangs and you think this would not be important life-changing information?


But that's how life is, no one tells you the important bit and you have to learn it the hard hard way. Like I always say, it is unfair that they don't hand us some sort of a guide when we land here on this planet. Gross gross injustice.


G, I am finding it all very comical. I know you don't and I just hope you get over all this. I hope one day we can sit in some fancy bar with our fancy cocktails (or plain old beers) and look back at all this and feel nothing but calm and maybe even manage a chuckle, who's to know darling? :) Maybe we will! And I hope it's all soon.

(And I so wish you were here. Miss you so very much and equally hate you for being so goddamn far!)


And yes, I know there are no handbooks and that we have mothers instead, but listen, which daughter listens to her own mother? Right? And I know it's a tad bit too late but I accept: Mothers are right. Every daughter should listen to her mother. Even at 26. Remind me that often now.



P.S: It should be noted that I was not cribbing throughout. I am sure you will agree. I was merely, what do they say? Oh yes! I was merely "stating facts". Okay, doll?

The Wheel Breaks The Butterfly...

I am tired. And hurt.

Very.

But I won't do anything about it. I'll just soak in it for now.

I am angry at myself. I am so angry at myself.

*****
UD asked me why I am not moving out of this place. Almost all things here are broken and to make matters worse, I have one weird flatmate.

I couldn't answer then.

I always liked taking the broken and fixing it. I have never understood this about me. Why? Why this obsessive need to just fix things? I will live with the shittiest things, in the shittiest circumstances, but I will not quit...just so I could make the shitty not-so-shitty. It is a weird kind of pleasure I seek. Transforming things. And I realize what a dangerous habit this is.


But I guess which is why I am still living in this place. It's a nice house, or rather it has so much potential to be a nice house, but so many things are broken here, I guess that is what is keeping me here. I'll leave once I fix this place up. Make it nice.


I wish I could fix things in my life as easily. I wish it was as easy as buying a new wardrobe or buying a new pan and a nice green plant and adding new fixtures and nice gold curtains and spraying some air freshener.


But it's not.


And I am learning how it's not. And I am learning to let it just be. I am learning to live with the broken.


I'll soak in that too for now.

*****

Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.

When she was just a girl,
She expected the world,
But it flew away from her reach,
So she ran away in her sleep.

Dreamed of para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Every time she closed her eyes.

Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.

When she was just a girl,
She expected the world,
But it flew away from her reach,
And the bullets catch in her teeth.

Life goes on,
It gets so heavy,
The wheel breaks the butterfly.
Every tear, a waterfall.
In the night,
The stormy night,
She closed her eyes.
In the night,
The stormy night,
Away she flied.

I dream of para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.
She dreamed of para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

La-la
La-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la.

Still lying underneath the stormy skies.
She said oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
I know the sun's set to rise.

This could be para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

This could be para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

Oh, oh. Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo.

This could be para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Para-para-paradise,
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.

Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo...

Underpants For Miss Sussie...

I now realise why I have always loved the sea, why I always felt this pull.

'Cause it always listens. You don't need to say a word...all you need to do is just sit there, just be...and the sea takes in all your sorrows, your pain, and worries and drowns them in its vast blueness...it just accepts everything you throw in. No wonder then, every time I am close to the sea, I want to drown.

*****
Thanks to the mid-night conversation with a dear friend, I have decided I won't crib henceforth...a BIG resolution. It's going to be a little difficult sticking to this one...but I'mma gonna try (So many people around me are going to be happy! Heh).

And while I am at it, I am gonna throw in "Don't sweat about smaller stuff" too.

You can tell me how awesome I am already.

*****
I am now singing this.

If you watched the video too, thanks :) I feel much better now.

Escaping Life...

A friend once asked me if I think I'll ever find my happily ever-after. Without thinking I said no, maybe not. I am such a miserable soul I said, I am always pining after something, sulking, brooding. I wonder if I'll ever be happy.

I have been thinking about it. As the 27th inches closer, I have been thinking about a lot of things. These days what gives me a fright is that very thought of happiness. Will I ever be in that place where I'll be happy? Where I can feel my soul satisfied? I am not satisfied. Something's missing, a lot many things actually. I want them all. I wonder if I'll ever get them. Am I being greedy? No. I just do not want to settle.

And deep down, I believe, or atleast want to, that I'll find it. The elusive pot at the end of the rainbow. Somewhere, something tells me I'll find my own slice of inner peace. Maybe it's that bottomless well of optimism that's pushing me through. Maybe I really will. I don't know.

For now, I think I am going to believe that I will. Maybe if I believe, I really will. 

It's Easier Waiting Than...

I don't know if he has written to you after that. I sometimes imagine he did write you letters, many letters, but chickened out at the last minute and stowed them away in the bottom drawer where he also hides all those ghosts. You know what a chicken he is when it comes to these sort of things, don't you now? Maybe he even did send those letters to you and maybe they just got lost somewhere on the way. I am sure they'll reach you one day and you'll come running happily to me and read them aloud and we'll both smile and be happy for each other.

In the mean time, I know it's painful to wait, painful to check your mailbox everyday and not find anything in there, painful to hope when even hope has given up on you, but, won't you make yourself a nice hot cup of tea and just wait?

Maybe, maybe he's just waiting for the right words?

Just Have Something In There...

“I want a soul mate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.” - Henry Rollins

Where Did That Word Disappear?

Go on, I dare you. I can see you looking at me the way you are, just like that. What are you going to do with it then? Yes I’m challenging you; look at me standing here, I’m not budging, it’s your move. I’m an elven Liv Tyler steeling against a wraith—if you want me, you can come and claim me. I’m not even packing Hobbit over here, I’m just waiting casually for you to cross whatever obstacle you see in your path. See, I’m tired of touching your thigh just this way, or placing my hand over yours just so; I want you to romance me.

Now you know I’m not one for gender stereotypes, I’ve asked guys out in the past and I’ll do it again. I’ve paid for their drinks and their dinners and I don’t care. I’ve changed their light globes. I’ve been strong for them when they’ve been emotional. I don’t like it when people say women are so-and-so or men are so-and-so, but goddamn it I am tired of this realism. I don’t want to be politically correct any more, I just want you to romance me. I am empowered, educated, and aware, and now, just for a moment, I want to be the princess you think is worth slaying dragons over.

I want you, once you’re done awkwardly avoiding catching my eye, once you’re done pretending you don’t notice me, once you’re done with insecurely waiting for me to make the first move, to ask me out. I don’t want you to text me or email me. I want you to say it to my face. I want you say it in a moment that will catch me completely off guard, and I want you to stumble over your words and I want you to blush, and I want to do the exact same as I accept.

Or you could just skip all the formalities and just kiss me. When we’re laughing the way we do, you should just kiss me. It doesn’t need to be in the rain or with fireworks exploding in the background. It can be at the bar or in a crowded street or anywhere, I don’t care—just kiss me you fool. And let’s both be gleefully embarrassed afterwards and hold hands in silence for a moment while we both digest the euphoria of our first kiss.

I want you to not let anything stand in your way. I want you to come for me, to sweep me off my feet with a simple look. I want you to want me in this grand, clichéd way, but without doing any of those grand cliché things. We can just watch a movie and drink some wine, as long as you let me snuggle into your side while we do it. And then, because you listen to me when we’re talking and you’re getting to know me so well, I want you to let me have the last slice of pizza, or the last bite of cake (but I’ll insist that we share it anyway, because I’ll know you are romancing me).

You should be impulsive when you’re romancing me. You shouldn’t wait the requisite 3 days to call or text me, you should just do it when it hits you. When your desire for me, to see me, to smell me, to hear my voice is so compelling there’s nothing else for you to do. I want you to be constantly thinking about me, and to do innocuous little things that to me, are loaded with meaning because they reflect the ways in which you are learning me. I want you to be reckless and passionate and I want you to let me be reckless and passionate too. I want you to disengage your baggage for me, and I want you to romance me like you’ve never romanced before.

And when you’re romancing me, I want you to challenge me and argue with me about my opinions. I want you to romance me in this dangerous haphazard way which screams of imperfection—which makes everything all the more romantic, because it’s so wildly flawed, and present and LOUD. I want you to look at me like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when I’m at my worst, and I want you to embrace all the sides of me as you get to know them, as part of some ineffable creature you can’t untangle. I want you to romance me because when you think about it, you really can’t see any other way.

From, Thought Catalog.

Making Mirrors...

Heh...

Tea...

Weekend Meditation by Dana Velden (from the Kitchn)

Making a cup of tea, a proper cup involving loose Assam and a strainer and gently warmed milk, is a start. So you go to the kitchen and put the kettle on and pull down the old white pot with the bright flower decal on one side. You start to feel the comfort of your task, the purpose of it filling up some of the empty space that sadness has carved into your heart. There's a reason for ritual, you discover, as you pour in a little hot water to warm the pot and then encircle it with your chilled hands: the repetition, the body memory, the soothing rhythm of things happening in a certain order and with intention. 

The tea is hot and milky and for a while it is enough. But soon you realize that even though what you are experiencing is sadness and loss, there is also a request, a whisper, for celebration. A tiny acknowledgment that life and appetite must ultimately prevail. So you go to the pantry and find a crinkly package of butter cookies, just three little star-shaped ones with red candy centers, and a clementine. And a pretty plate to put them on because the request for beauty is somehow penetrating, sunbeam-like, the fog of sadness. 

The clementine is, of course, a little too cheery but you gamely dig your thumb into the peel for you know that this is your responsibility now, to turn towards the brightness. The clementine answers you with a gruff, almost rude, spray of juice, sticky and fragrant. Suddenly you find yourself surrendering to it, to this little orange dictator that demands your attention and appreciation. And of course it is sweet and fills your mouth with joy. 

The tea cools, and the clementine detritus curls on the table before you like the skin that a dragon would shed. You listen to the sounds of home, the tick of the clock, the refrigerator's hum. A few random and practical thoughts pop into your awareness: are there enough quarters for the laundry, will the package make it to Milwaukee on time, do hummingbirds migrate? 

Slowly life gathers around you, urging you to get up from the table and start back into the busy doings of the day. You resist, lingering in the sorrow for a while longer, for that's where you last saw your old friend, the one whose passing has brought on this little one person tea party. Eventually you realize that sorrow isn't done with you yet, that it will be your companion for a while longer. So you rise from the table to sweep up the dragon's skin and wash up the dishes, a clutch of tears caught in the back of your throat.

But it's OK, it's alright. You're human and you're built for this.

HT: Divya :)

Hallway Mirrors...

In a strangers house, I turn the clock to 10 am, and I see her sip on cardamon tea by the frosted window pane, you sit on the couch, covered in green cashmere you look adorable, and you read her favourite book, you tell her about the cat who ate too many mice and died of hunger. She tells you how so many people die of happiness each year. You go back to your book later and she rinses her teacup with such love as if it were her own baby.


In a stranger's house, I walk downstairs and I see her sitting on the green grass under the warm sun. I see you plucking red flowers for her, only the reddest will do for her, she wears them in her pale hair. You both sit there on the green grass all morning getting up only to get a snack. She tells you she likes pickled tomatoes and you ignore her. You finish your beer and ask her to get you another. But she's too busy with her pickled tomatoes to listen to you now. So you both sit there all afternoon on a toasty summer day, breathing in each other's warm breath. You both glow of happiness, summer and maybe even love.


In a stranger's house, I open the window and I see the dark clouds enter your bedroom and I see you sprawled on the bed and I can hear her say how much she loves the orange and pink quilt her mom made for her when she was 8. You just nod your head and she takes the cue and tells you about her nightmare. You both cuddle without talking for hours and then she disappears under you.


In a stranger's house, I open the door and only empty walls greet me now.

Stuffed Owl...

I wanted you to be the first to know - Harper & Row

has agreed to publish my collected letters to you.

The tentative title is Exorcist in the Gym of Futility.

Unfortunately I never mailed the best one,

which certainly was one of a kind.

A mutual friend told me that when I quit drinking,

I surrendered my identity in your eyes.

Now I'm just like everybody else, and it's so funny,

the way monogamy is funny, the way

someone falling down in the street is funny.

I entered a revolving door and emerged

as a human being. When you think of me

is my face electronically blurred?

I remember your collarbone, forming the tiniest

satellite dish in the universe, your smile

as the place where parallel lines inevitably crossed.

Now dinosaurs freeze to death on your shoulder.

I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash,

how I once held the soft audience of your hand.

I've been ignored by prettier women than you,

but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence

so far, without spilling a drop.

Jeffrey McDaniel

CPR...

Yes, like a ship just sunk inside my chest. 

LoveSong...

He loved her and she loved him

His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to

He had no other appetite

She bit him she gnawed him she sucked

She wanted him complete inside her

Safe and sure forever and ever

Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away

Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows

He gripped her hard so that life

Should not drag her from that moment

He wanted all future to cease

He wanted to topple with his arms round her

Off that moment's brink and into nothing

Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press

To print him into her bones

His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace

Where the real world would never come

Her smiles were spider bites

So he would lie still till she felt hungry

His words were occupying armies

Her laughs were an assassin's attempts

His looks were bullets daggers of revenge

His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets

His whispers were whips and jackboots

Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing

His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway

Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks

And their deep cries crawled over the floors

Like an animal dragging a great trap

His promises were the surgeon's gag

Her promises took the top off his skull

She would get a brooch made of it

His vows pulled out all her sinews

He showed her how to make a love-knot

Her vows put his eyes in formalin

At the back of her secret drawer

Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves

Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs

In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other's face

-Ted Hughes

Bubble...

It's going to be interesting to see how this turns out. I can see the same thing happening here in Mumbai. Big real estate developers building these big luxurious houses, some even come with their own private swimming pools, and although, Mumbai -the city of extremes- has that kind of money, there are also those who can't afford even an one room-kitchen in Mumbai. And so confused, I asked a friend what happens to those who can't afford multi-crore flats, and then she told me about Virar.

Anyway, back to China, knowing the Chinese, I shouldn't have been surprised:

The second, a Beijing municipal regulation restricting families to owning one apartment each has also failed because, as Chovanec said, “People got around [it] by getting divorced.”

Read, China’s Empty Apartments: Part1 and Part2.

And, Chinese hit by over-inflated house prices. 

Oohs and Moos...

Saturday was spent watching two alien movies-Smurfs and Cowboys & Aliens. Although the friend liked both, I liked neither, only because guys possess this awesome ability not to over-think, whereas I? I obsess about things that no one obsesses about. Like, why were smurfs so much like humans? Oh yea, so they had four fingers instead of five, yes, very wow, very original (clap clap)! Or then why did the aliens from some arbitrary planet look so much like humans? Only a grotesquer version. Watch these alien movies and you realise how unimaginative we humans really are. How shallow our creative abilities. How obsessed we are with our own image. How we have never really learnt to look beyond us, how we still think inside the box. I mean, seriously, if we can't even come up with decent monsters, what does that say about us? Our monsters and aliens drive the same machines, they desire the same things-gold, really? and they look pretty much like us humans-hands and feet and eyes and a brain and all that. Pfft!

Sorry for being such a nitpicker, but I am going to save my wow's for the real aliens.

P.S: If you must watch Cowboys & Aliens, watch it only for Daniel Craig. And then come back and tell me where I can find such a man. Not much fun being a woman these days I tell you. Deep sighs and a tub of icecream.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines...

This ruined my day.

Sigh. That delicate delicious ache when you love someone.

(Sometimes I feel I must have been a man in my previous life and I must have loved a woman with all my heart and maybe, I still love her, in this life.)

I could weep for days today. My soul is not satisfied.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Promises...

From, Thought Catalog:

During the crystalline nights of winter, summer held an almost indecent promise. The kind of promise composed of hands resting lightly on bare shoulders, sliding off a thin slip of a strap from a cotton dress. A time of lying lazily in the grass hoping for a slight breeze to skim your face, of kisses in the kind of cold bars that had dark corners with wooden tables, and of picnics near-forgotten in a whiskey lemonade drenched haze. Afternoons of hazardously licking melting ice cream cones while riding bikes across bridges and nights of telling secrets on roof tops still steaming from the hot sun.

It was the kind of promise that keeps you sane, hopeful, and young.

But instead, summer became sad summer. The kind of a season where the thick, heavy air weighs you down—not with the heat from a storm about to break—but with the mistakes you’ve made, with harshly lingering regret. A time that feels full of significance you can’t come back from, of adulthood no longer pending but here. Gone is that childish wonder. Moments of almost incomprehensible glee find you fleetingly and slip quickly through your grasping fingers, disappearing.

Summer became a broken promise.

Now you sit, hours after midnight, chasing tumblers of whiskey with more whiskey, spinning sentences full of meaningful adjectives with your favorite companion in hyperbole. Each of you half in the moment, half inside your heads, claiming—wondering—if autumn turned to winter will hold a different promise you can reach for. If somehow once you stop running barefoot in the grass, unable to capture that same enthusiastic momentum you once had, you’ll be able to find some sense of peace in where you’ve stopped. That somehow months from now, your previous heartaches will be something contained only in memory instead of your everyday breath, constantly reminding you that your recovery time is no longer as fast.

But even to you that promise holds false.

You know winter holds gray days that take you to dark places, brief bits of laughter book-ended by melancholy. That you’ll find yourself silent, listening to the strains of the National on repeat, exile, vilify, wishing it was still summer because even if your heart was heavy, you felt light. That winter has stolen all the sunshine you once twirled beneath. And that snow will fall on your darkest day, burying you. But staring at that white perfection free of foot prints, you’ll smile. You’ll remember one magical night of stumbling, tumbling, falling tipsily through the drifts. And you’ll feel wistful for those icy days when the wind chills you to the bone and conversation brings you comforting warmth that no fire can provide.

Perhaps the promise of a promise is enough.

A Cheap & Easy Affair...

If tomorrow my kids ask me why I didn't marry that very rich and good-looking guy, I hope they'll understand when I tell them that he did not read. I hope they'll forgive.

Paul Bloom: The Origins Of Pleasure

Rain...

The earth, wrinkled, looks up at the sky
They are here, yesterday they weren't
but today they hover, full of promise, dark, heavy, lovely
The earth waits, expectant, eager, (so)ready to blossom
But they come and they go, unrelenting
A little thunder, a little lightning, a little teasing
A little show, but nothing yet again
And so the earth, full of yearning
Aches a little more, cracks a little more, begs a little more.

A Whore's Heart...

Suddenly this defeat.

This rain.

The blues gone gray

And the browns gone gray

And yellow

A terrible amber.

In the cold streets

Your warm body.

In whatever room

Your warm body.

Among all the people

Your absence

The people who are always

Not you.

I have been easy with trees

Too long.

Too familiar with mountains.

Joy has been a habit.

Now

Suddenly

This rain.

-Jack Gilbert  

Stray Words...

"What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don't want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don't want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you." — Jeanette Winterson

*****

"What a strange world this is when you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo."

— Jeanette Winterson

***** 

"I think now that being free is not being powerful or rich or well regarded or without obligation but being able to love. To love someone else enough to forget about yourself even for one moment is to be free."
— Jeanette Winterson

Tears Dry On Their Own...

Someone Else's Garden...

Life will throw the weirdest revelations at you when you least expect any. So here I am, lying in bed, enjoying some good music, reading and I know, suddenly, know with a certainty that I will one day bring my own death. 

Maybe it will happen when I am old and bored, I'll consume a hundred sleeping pills. Maybe when I am in my forties, I'll throw myself in front of a fast train or maybe I'll jump in the Arabian sea one day I am strolling on Marine drive with a friend. I'll tell him I'll be right back, and I'll go surrender to the waves that have always called.

Maybe.

I'll be surprised if I don't.

The Greenness Of Your Grass...

"Chances are, you’re not going to be alone forever. You might joke about being a spinster—about getting cats with diamante collars or maybe an obnoxious Cockatoo you can teach dirty words—but inside you, somewhere deep in your bowel, nestled beneath your utmost fears and insecurities, there’s a little scrap of knowing that tells you that one day, somehow, you’ll have someone by your side...

...start spending more time with you. Laugh at your own jokes. Luxuriate in solitary silence. Walk. Read. Pamper yourself. Be as filthy and disgusting as you please. Learn the comfort of your own embrace. It’s a cliché but it’s true—you will love better once you’ve fallen in love with you. Sleep sprawled on the bed. Snore. When you wake up make eggs and bacon and eat them in bed on your own. Find things—big and small—that you love doing and do them everyday.

Focus on your job. Find a hobby. Do whatever the hell you want. Because when that day comes—the secret day you hold onto in the hidden recesses of your guts—you will have to compromise. You will have to think of someone else whenever you make a decision. You will have to share your bacon, and maybe they wont like it crispy besides, and you’ll have to adapt. You will have to sleep wedged between someone’s limbs. It wont be better and it wont be worse; it will be different, and you’ll have to learn to love it too."

From, Thought Catalog. 

The Weight Of Love...

“Sometimes we love people so much that we have to be numb to it. Because if we actually felt how much we love them, it would kill us. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means your heart’s too big.”
—Riding in Cars with Boys

Also, sometimes, they just take advantage of your love for them.

I'm All Right...

No guy will ever love you more or treat you with more care than your father. You'll be lucky if one treats you with as much. A girl might as well make peace with it. 

He made me laugh
He made me cry
He smoked his stogies in bed
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before
I asked the boy for a few kind words
He gave me a novel instead
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before
It's fine, it's OK
It was wrong either way
I just wanted to say
There isn't much fun when you're drinking wine
He got drunk, he fell down
He threw a few of my things around
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before

I'd like to believe that it's easy to leave
But I have to conceive that wherever you are
You're still driving my car
Sticks and stones break my bones
But tears don't leave any scars
So I'm all alright
I'm all alright
I've been lonely before

Mmm...
I'm all alright
I'm all alright
I'm all alright
Yeah
He played solitaire in bed
Used to blow bubbles in bed
He sang Christmas songs in bed

City Frogs...

Thanks to Garima, this song is now playing on a loop in my head too! :|

Jazbaat...

There will be that conversation you’ve been putting off for as long as you’ve known you’ve needed to have it. There will be those words that you’ve rehearsed over and over–in your car, in front of your mirror, in your bed in total darkness while staring at your ceiling–that tumble out of your mouth inelegantly, tripping over each other to make it out just so you can get this over with. There will be that ugly ball of thoughts that hangs in front of you, the thick, opaque cloud of words that formed in between you, through which you cannot breathe. There will be that moment where you try and scoot away, wanting to disown everything you’ve just said, ready to scream at the top of your lungs just to cut the silence.

And there will be that moment, that brutally delayed moment, where they respond with a shrug, a sigh, a casual dismissal of all that you just implied. They will demonstrate with unintentional precision just how uninvolved they are, how little they have emotionally invested, just how very little this has all mattered to them. There will be the moment you struggle to physically scoop up every humiliating statement you made and all their brutal implications and cram them, hurriedly, back in your mouth. You’ll fight back tears as your cheeks fill, blotchy and red, like a veteran alcoholic. You’ll linger on the cusp of wailing, of running in any direction until your lungs ache–but you won’t. You’ll shrug and vaguely shake your head, pitifully mumbling something along the lines of, “Oh, of course…right. No, no, that’s cool.”

But it will pass.

And everything else too...it always does.

The Perks Of Being A Wallflower...

"She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time." — Stephen Chbosky

P.S: These were taken on the way to Dunnottar castle, Stonehaven, Scotland. I rarely, if ever, take photographs, but these, I love and treasure.

Strangers...

It's been a month already. And it's been awesome.

The thing I love about Mumbai, is its attitude and its people. Mumbai is what it is, because of its people. (And I know, this will be taken in totally the wrong way, but I like Mumbai girls, if I was a guy, I'd totally marry a Mumbai girl.) Sometimes, I just want to sit at some cafe, all by myself and absorb it all in, just look and hear and see. There's so much to look, hear and see. I wish I could turn into a fly(or erm, invisible), I would go and sit at each table and listen to them talk, and laugh, and take photographs. I would love that.

I like how Mumbaikars slog their asses the entire week and how they just chill on the weekend (in fact, even on the weekdays). People here don't give a damn about anything other than living life. I like this. I need more of this.

It's been a month so far in this new city, and I couldn't be happier about my decision.

Bombay (Mumbai), you are making me fall in love with you already.

(Slow baby, let's do this slow.)

And next time I crib about the traffic and the humidity, tell me to shut up, ok?

20 Years From Now...

What is it?

If You Knew...

At gate C22 in the Portland airport

a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed

a woman arriving from Orange County.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after

the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons

and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,

the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other

like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,

like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped

out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down

from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.

She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine

her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish

kisses like the ocean in the early morning,

the way it gathers and swells, sucking

each rock under, swallowing it

again and again. We were all watching--

passengers waiting for the delayed flight

to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,

the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling

sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could

taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back

and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost

as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,

as your mother must have looked at you, no matter

what happened after--if she beat you or left you or

you're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernix

not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you

as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.

The whole wing of the airport hushed,

all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,

her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,

little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

-Ellen Bass

The Awakening...

Stumbled upon this today. I am going to frame this and hang it in my room.


*****
A time comes in your life when you finally get it …

When in the midst of all your fears and insanity you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice in your head cries out- ENOUGH! Enough fighting and crying! You are tired of struggling to hold on. And, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum, your sobs begin to subside, you shudder once or twice, you blink back your tears and through a mantle of wet lashes you begin to look at the world through new eyes.

This is your awakening.

You realize that it’s time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change or for happiness, safety and security to come galloping over the next horizon.

You come to terms with the fact that he is not Prince Charming and you are not Cinderella and that in the real world there aren’t always fairytale endings (or beginnings for that matter) and that any guarantee of “happily ever after” must begin with you and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are … and that’s OK. (They are entitled to their own views and opinions.) And you learn the importance of loving and championing yourself and in the process a sense of confidence is born of self-approval.

You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you (or didn’t do for you) and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected.

You learn that people don’t always say what they mean or mean what they say and that not everyone will always be there for you and that it’s not always about you. So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself and in the process a sense of safety & security is born of self-reliance.

You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties and in the process a sense of peace & contentment is born of forgiveness. You realize that much of the way you view yourself and the world around you, is a result of all the messages and opinions that have been ingrained into your psyche.

And you begin to sift through all the crap you’ve been fed about how you should behave, how you should look, and how much you should weigh, and what you should wear, and where you should shop, and what you should drive, how and where you should live, and what you should do for a living, who you should sleep with, who you should marry, and what you should expect of a marriage, the importance of having and raising children or what you owe your parents.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view. And you begin reassessing and redefining who you are, what you really stand for.

You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you’ve outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with and in the process you learn to go with your instincts.

You learn that it is truly in giving that we receive.

And that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a “consumer” looking for your next fix.

You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a bygone era but mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.

You learn that you don’t know everything, it’s not your job to save the world and that you can’t teach a pig to sing.

You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake. Then you learn about love. Romantic love and familial love. How to love, how much to give in love, when to stop giving and when to walk away. You learn not to project your needs or your feelings onto a relationship.

You learn that you will not be more beautiful, more intelligent, more lovable or important because of the man (or woman) on your arm or the child that bears your name. You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be. You stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes.

You learn that just as people grow and change so it is with love … and you learn that you don’t have the right to demand love on your terms … just to make you happy.

You learn that alone does not mean lonely … and you look in the mirror and come to terms with the fact that you will never be a size 5 or a perfect 10, you stop trying to compete with the image inside your head and agonizing over how you ”stack up”.

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over and ignoring your needs.

You learn that feelings or entitlement are perfectly OK … and that it is your right to want things and to ask for the things that you want … and that sometimes it is necessary to make demands.

You come to the realization that you deserve to be treated with love, kindness, sensitivity and respect and you won’t settle for less. And, you allow only the hands of a lover who cherishes you to glorify you with his/her touch … and in the process you internalize the meaning of self-respect. You learn that your body really is your temple. And, you begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin eating a balanced diet, drinking more water and taking more time to exercise.

You learn that fatigue diminishes the spirit and can create doubt and fear. So you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels the soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play.

You learn, that for the most part, in life you get what you believe you deserve … and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different than working toward making it happen.

More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone and that it’s OK to risk asking for help. You learn that the only thing you must truly fear is the great robber baron of all time, FEAR ITSELF.

You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your terms. And you learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.

You learn that life isn’t always fair, you don’t always get what you think you deserve and that sometime bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people. On these occasions you learn not to personalize things. You learn that God isn’t punishing you or failing to answer your prayers.

It’s just life happening.

And you learn to deal with evil in its most primal state – the ego.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.

You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.

You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about; a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never ever settle for less than your heart’s desire.

And you hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind. And you make it a point to keep smiling, keep trusting, and stay open to every wonderful possibility.

Finally, with courage in your heart and with God by your side you take a stand, you take a deep breath and you begin to design the life you want to live as best you can.

A Woman Named Drown...

It was hot, as it always is in Mumbai, and we were all back at our hotel after watching No One Killed Jessica. I was in my room, everyone had gone back to theirs, getting ready for the evening. We were supposed to be at Munira's reception venue by 7pm and it was already 5pm. Anjali and I shared one room, Apeksha and Mandy were in the other room. I was sitting on one of the beds, and I could hear Anjali in the bathroom. I was done with my bath, and I should have been getting up and getting ready, we were already late, but I just sat there on the bed in my towel, listening to sound of running shower. Absorbing the sound, her presence. Just the fact that she was around. I felt good. I felt calm. I felt...safe, loved.

I am missing them all today, my people.

I wish I could fly. I wish I could go sit next to them, not talk, not do anything. Just sit next to them, absorb their energies, be around them, feel their presence. And once in a while, have them look up at me and smile. Just that. Not more. Just that.

Two Countries...

Skin remembers how long the years grow

when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel

of singleness, feather lost from the tail

of a bird, swirling onto a step,

swept away by someone who never saw

it was a feather. Skin ate, walked,

slept by itself, knew how to raise a

see-you-later hand. But skin felt

it was never seen, never known as

a land on the map, nose like a city,

hip like a city, gleaming dome of the mosque

and the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.

Skin had hope, that's what skin does.

Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.

Love means you breathe in two countries.

And skin remembers--silk, spiny grass,

deep in the pocket that is skin's secret own.

Even now, when skin is not alone,

it remembers being alone and thanks something larger

that there are travelers, that people go places

larger than themselves.

- Naomi Shihab Nye

June...

"When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. “It’s all right” we whisper, “I’m here, I love you.” and we lie: “I’ll never leave you.” For just a moment or two the darkness doesn’t seem so bad." — Neil Gaiman

Flight...

I should be getting up, eat something, dress up...I have been dealing with it for hours now...but it doesn't seem to budge...like a pest, it annoyingly follows me every where I go...follows me like a shadow...fucking up my neatly lined brain on its way...I check the time again, I have to meet a friend in exactly an hour's time and knowing Mumbai traffic, I should be in an auto now...instead ...I am typing this...why?


I open Facebook, voyeurism is so common these days, we don't even blink before nosing our way into others' life. Lots of photos, people love posting their pics, I wonder why...what makes them want to put up their pics for one and all to see? Then there are updates about who's having lunch with whom...someone's put up a video of catwalk fails....there's dear D posting an article about injustice against women of Saudi Arabia...then music videos...all hip hop, trance, club...no one likes mellow songs these days? Maybe, they do, but are afraid to accept that they like meaningful songs? It's not cool to like slow sentimental songs, you're sissy if you do. Whatever. Who cares? I need a hatchet to drive this thing away, it's not going away. It is instead laughing at my silly attempt to ignore it.


I ask the friend if it's okay if I am late by an hour.


It wins, I give in. 

A Person, A Book, A Love...

Sometimes you weep for life, sometimes life weeps for you.

Three Things...

Erm, yes, I am alive

Jasmines...

It's true, it could happen, even this late...

Chal Diyay...

I am falling in love with this song...



Yeh haryali, yeh asaman
Yeh ghatta meri razdan
Yeh haryali, yeh asaman
Yeh ghatta meri razdan
Raat kay pahlo main diye
teray lia hain bichay
tera haath tham kay
lo hum bhi chal diye
hum bhi chal diye
hai charon taraf
pehli howi arzoo
dil main chupi
ankhon mian hi aaye kion
aas wohi dil main liye
is arzoo main hum jiye
tera haath tham kay
lo hum bhi chal diye
hum bhi chal diye
thandi dhoop main
aik aah loon
sard si pairon talay
paon main rah kion wohi
chaltay jain in rahon pay
teray lia hain bichay
tera haath tham kay
lo hum bhi chal diye
hum bhi chal diye.

Now You See, Now You Don't...

I was speaking to sister today and listening to how naughty the nephew's become, and I must admit I am looking forward to their visit in Diwali this year.


The first time I saw the nephew in real life, I had just come home that morning, he was on the living room floor, dressed in a yellow t-shirt(I think he looks the best in yellow) and diapers, playing with his yellow-red cars. And as I approached him, tentatively, scared that he might start crying, I said look who's here and extended my hand, smilingly, to touch his cheeks, and he looked up, smiled, placed his forefinger on my palm. And the fact that he's such a pricey baby and does not let anyone even close, made that gesture all the more precious.



That same afternoon, having put him to sleep, sister went out for some work. And just an hour later nephew woke up and of course, on finding himself alone in a new place, without his mother around, started howling. After 10 minutes of pacifying him, mother finally gave him to me, just play with him she said. And I, very reluctantly of course, picked him up, a crying baby (for the very first time in my life, I hate crying babies!) and he sat snuggly on my right arm, looked at me, placed his head on my shoulder, wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and slept with a whimper, tears still stuck to his long black eyelashes, much like morning dew on grass.



And with those two gestures he gave me the most precious thing a baby can give you, his trust. And with that, he made sure that his aunt will do anything, but never misplace it.



Every time I think of the newphew, I remember this one time I was trying to put him to sleep, and after twenty minutes I had exhausted the few precious lullabies I knew, and the nephew was still wide awake. So I finally started singing/humming Bollywood songs. No kidding, he slept in five minutes! :P Don't ask me which Bollywood songs now :)



Talking about sleeping, the sight of a sleeping baby must be one of those heart-achingly beautiful images that will never fade from your mind. His little hands placed side by side on the bed, his tiny pink fingers curled. His dark eyelashes making half moons on his pink puffed cheeks, his ruffled hair, his pink soft lips, his little chest rising gently, and you almost swell with pride, as a human, on seeing such a beautiful human infant.



But no, I still do not like kids.

Listen, O Breeze...

Such sweet and simple lyrics...

Life really is about all those simple moments...the cool breeze, the pitter-patter sound of rain, full moon...

I so wish I was in Rajasthan right now, with sand between my toes, under the starry sky, in front of a bonfire, listening to this song...

P.S: It's so awesome the kind of music Coke Studio is making. So so grateful!



senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow


dheemo dheemo madhuro ri baaj re baaireeya
softly, softly, sweetly blow, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

tanri banṛaaoon dhola raaji taansali e lo
I make a serving dish, sweetheart, of my physical being

manṛe ri karoon man waar re baaireeya
and following my heart, I offer up my heart to you, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

raajo ji padhaarya raaji mahal men e lo
when my prince arrived in the royal palace

doodaan barsyo mew re baaireeya
he brought such happiness and prosperity that it rained milk, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

inṛ dis maan mhaaro raaji lo base re lo
in this direction, does my darling prince live

inṛdis aawe ṭhanḍṛi hinṛ re baaireeya
(for) from this direction, blows a fresh and cool wind, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow