A Dying Girl...

There's no electricity at home. Didn't go to work. I am sitting on my bed, in an airless room, with Latika's theme playing on my laptop. Inverter gave up. But it's not so hot in here. But everything seems still. Even the breath I exhale seems to hang in the air much like the heavy gold-beige curtains in my room. I've shut the windows, essentially, to keep the heat out. But the dark, reflective film covered window panes cut out light and noise both. I feel alone and cut off from the world. And then suddenly, I am transported back to 2009. My train journey from London to Glasgow and then Glasgow to Aberdeen. I find myself by the window, in an A/C car, in a foreign country, and fields after green fields pass by me. Then a salty, frothy cold sea. Grey clouds. Sheep. Little houses.

I feel again the feeling of independence. A sense of achievement brings a smile. The feeling of being burdened drowns in the sea. All my worries melt. The feeling of being in love bobs on the sea of memories. I feel a bit sad now. I wonder if I'll ever feel love again.

That. That time. Those precious hours. That was pure unadulterated happiness I realise.

Every time I think of happiness, I think of a happy green grassy field. A huge field with a beautiful sky above. And I see myself running in the field (not the DDLJ type). But I am not a grown up in this picture. I am a girl dressed in a red frock. Sometimes it's a white long dress. With ribbons in my hair. And I am free. Unrestrained. That's my definition of happiness.

I think that image must say a lot about me. But I don't know what.

I am craving monsoons. Rains, I am missing you. Come.

Right at this minute, I feel age slip by. Time. It will never be back. It's an intense feeling. I wish I was a writer enough to put it in right words. It's a hard realisation. I want to run away from it, but I let it weigh down on me like a lover instead, I feel its every cell and every pore, so I can memorize its every detail. I am scared that I will not have more of those happy moments. The happiness I felt in that train. I can see life slip from my hands, much like sand in an hour glass. It's an desperate feeling. But I can't do much. It's an helpless feeling.

I want to run in that green grassy field with ribbons in my hair.

I want to feel raindrops slide down my cheeks.

I am craving happiness.

But at the same time, there's this feeling that something is about to happen. Something big. Something important.

I wait.

But does fate care enough?

I have an email in my inbox.

Be Ok...

well you might be a bit confused
and you might be a little bit bruised
but baby how we spoon like no one else
so I will help you read those books
if you will soothe my worried looks
and we will put the lonesome on the shelf

Follow Your Heart...

I ask nothing but this: give me the strength to follow my heart.

*****
Give eyes, give voice, give feet...to what lives within.



*****
if you stole from me 
i blame myself
i gave too long, didn’t i
it’s no mystery

the sun makes its course
by the eve across the sky
be be be just as sure
i’ll get up and wipe my eyes

i can see far from here
i can see far from here

We Are Here For A Reason...And It's Not Fun...

Having the nephew for 1 whole month has been quite a revelation, to put it mildly. Now that that one month is coming to an end, I can pretty much boast of being semi-qualified as a mother.

For the one whole month sister was here, she was on vacation (meaning she got to sleep for 5 hours at a stretch, poor thing), so it was all left to Dad and me to take care of the nephew. Nephew didn't take to mum a lot, so he pretty much stuck to dad's side or then mine.


So my repertoire includes bathing an one year old, feeding him, clothing him, changing his diapers, keeping him entertained for hours and though it still requires monumental effort to control my shrieks every time I feel something warm running down my legs, I am now also okay with things like baby pee and baby poop without puking. What else? I can even sing lullabies and put a kid to bed. Nice? Eh? And all this without having ever touched or even looked at a kid before. Would it be bragging if I said I was awesome?

No, right? I know, honestly, I deserve a medal!

(Which was duly gifted by sister in the form of payals. And I love them! I almost want to grab the first guy I see on the street and show him how beautiful and feminine my feet look with those colourful anklets and then feel all happy)


Moving on, I am also fully qualified as a hostess. I must have entertained atleast 5 dozen guests in the last one month whilst taking care of the nephew(Clearly, we are not a very sociable family). How awesome can I get? They should like make a new award for women like me!


But I hated every minute of it. Like really, now I know why women want to marry only rich men. Cause rich men can employ two dozen servants at home for all this entertaining business. All the hostess has to do is dress up and sit nicely and smile prettily at the guests and say, "ramu, memsaheb ke liye woh sherbet lana, aur baby ke liye woh lichee ice cream lana", and afterwards, when the party is over, all she has to do is remove the heavy jewellery and remove the pins from her hair and sigh wearily at her husband, who's rich remember?, and tell him how tiring all of it was and Mrs. Snooty-ass definitely wore a prettier diamond necklace. Like really, there's no cooking and washing plates in her life. I want to be a memsaheb too!


No surprise then, I have just postponed marriage by another 5 years and don't plan to have a kid. Unless someone pays me a few hundred lakhs to have a kid (which ain't happening).

Err, yes.

I cried the first day the nephew was here. Now, I am a very private person. I need my "me" time. I need loads of alone time. Which was like zero when the nephew was here. Usually, frustration comes out in two forms: loud, peppered with swear words yelling or then muffled sobs. Since the loud yelling would have woken up the nephew, I had to settle with the sobs. The first day I had to deal with a kid, it freaked me. I am, even now, after one month, can-pee-in-my-pants scared.

Motherhood is not easy.

Let me say it again, motherhood, is not easy. 

I said semi-qualified, cause motherhood is more than bathing and feeding a kid. It requires a whole different sort of sacrifice. A whole lot of patience. All women with kids are not mothers, some are just child bearers. It takes something much more to be a mother. You need true whole genuine love in your heart to be a good mother. Every woman should be scared of being a mother, cause it's a tough job. No demand is exaggerated, no sacrifice too big. Motherhood is not all toys and rainbows. At times you'll want to hate your own kid, but you can not. You can not disown your kid, or give him away one day you're tired and frustrated and under-slept and underfed and on saline cause you're so weak or even dying the very next day. You have to count to10, take a deep breath and paste a smile on your face and tell your kid something funny.


Married couples, please please spend atleast minimum two years with each other. Do not, really, do not rush to have kids. Your whole life, as you know it, will change once you have a kid. It will never be the same again, ever. Even after they, your kids, graduate from high school.


Enjoy your precious independent days. Stop hankering after marriage, those who are single. You know how you plan your day without a single thought for anyone else? That? That is gold. That freedom. Treasure it. Love it. Respect it. You'll miss it so much once you have a kid, but it'll never come back no matter how many times you say you miss your single days.


Having a kid means timing your loo breaks, means forgetting the idea of a full meal, means thinking atleast 10 times before going downstairs even, means thanking your stars if you get to sleep for 3 hours at stretch one fine day, means celebrating with canned juice if your kid sleeps without crying for one whole hour first, having a kid means no time for exercise, no time for looking good, being cut from the entire world, means no alone time ever with your spouse, and definitely, forget anything about sex once you have a kid. For one, your bodies, women, will be your worst nightmare. But you'll accept it anyway, cause every time you want to curse having a kid, you'll look at your baby looking at you with eyes full of hope and innocence and then she'll/he'll flash you her/his best smile and you'll say, its okay, I don't mind it, it gave me you. But yes, any man who sleeps with you post baby, tie him to your bed and never let him go, ever. And two, if you ever get any time, even like 20 mins alone, sleep! You can never bet when you'll get 20 whole uninterrupted minutes to sleep again.

Sex? Forget it.

Alrighty, I am off to make some watermelon juice for the nephew then. 

Revelation, Darling, Revelation...

My curves are not for kids. 

Cornfields & Cool Breeze...

Don't kiss and tell. #NoteToSelf

A Mulish Heart...

In the garden of forgiveness
the ego
is suddenly there
he will make you
plead and beg
then he will
have you for dinner.

Twinkle Twinkle...

And suddenly, one day, she found in her the strength to kill one of her cherished ones. She wept for him. She made sure he died a quiet one. She then washed her hands of his blood and went about her life. 

Great Expectations...

The secret to happiness is constant improvement. 

Frisson...

"I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with.


And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.


I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn't do at all.


That's one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket." 

—Sylvia Plath

No Sugar For You...

I wonder why people continue to be mean and hurtful to others, when they know what harm it can cause. I guess maybe they enjoy it, I guess maybe it gives them a high. I guess, people hurt others cause it makes them feel powerful. But I wonder if that high wears off into regret ever.

Under The Bell Jar...

"Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences."

Reading a wonderful book is like falling in love. The heady rush you feel when you know this book is what you were waiting for, all along, and you can't wait to turn page after page, and devour all of its loveliness like a hungry wolf, make it your own, live inside it and get lost in his mysterious folds. You know you're in love with a book when you want to tell everyone about it.

Found...

Your kisses
Ave told me
That i'll never be alone

The only
Place on earth
That truly feels like home

I'll never
Recover
Bewitched as i am by you

You grew me
Orange trees
From under new skies so blue

And you made shy
Flowers bloom
From under the falling snow

Through my life
I love you
'Til these words all cease to flow

Oh you're so
Beautiful
You make my blue eyes ache

The looks that
You send me
Are causing my heart to break

Bewitched as i am by you

Unfulfilled Dreams...

It's hard to swallow failure. It's hard to tell yourself not to shed tears. It's hard to smile when a friend tells you to keep trying, something good is waiting for you. It's hard to believe that something good is actually on its way to you. It's hard to get up and get going and not wallow in self-pity.

But by god, I am exhausted. I am bone deep, soul aching tired. I want to go away. Far from all these expectations, from this life, from all these people too. Just be alone and do nothing. Sleep in your arms, curled, warm, safe. Build me a castle, lock me in and wake me up after a hundred years. Let me be a loser and run away and hide and blame it all on some invisible power and not try again. 

Little People, Big Horrors....

It's been almost 10 days since the nephew came to India, and I have come to understand three universal truths about having kids. I shall write a whole big post later, when I get some time, but for now, pay attention:


Realization# 1: Forgot all about yourself once you have a kid. In short, your freedom is fucked.

Realization# 2: For a cleanliness and neatness freak like me, having a kid around is like my worst nightmare come true. Either have two dozen servants at hand to clean and mop constantly, do it yourself and die of exhaustion or then close your eyes and learn to enjoy living in something like a pigsty.

Realization# 3: Women, oh dear women, your beautiful divine body, it will resemble something close to a overstuffed potato sack after having a baby. And that'll be the least of your worries. Unless ofcourse you're Victoria Beckham. In which case, you can go sip a martini and worry about your $20,000 manicure.


Nature, you are most biased toward men. 

Japan And The Earthquake...

Ours might be a country populated with humans, but ours is no civilization. I shudder every time I think what would have happened had it been India and not Japan. These japs, I used to call them crazy, but I now say that with utmost respect. 

A foreigner's perspective about Japan. Better be safe than sorry, Japan shows us how and why. 

A Woman...

I immediately took to her. We met at the airport. She had come along with the bride's brother to pick me up. We said our hellos and me, like always, the curious cat, asked her a 100 questions. But she had me at the first one itself. There was just something so calming about her. Confidence and self-assuredness almost radiated from her. She was my exact opposite. While I am perpetually confused, she seemed calm and composed. Like she knew where she was heading and she was prepared. She didn't have an identity crisis like I do. She knew herself, and that self-awareness reflected in everything she did.


She was beautiful, not in the classical sense, but to me she was beautiful. Wholesome. She looked best in a Saree. When you look at me, you don't think woman, maybe the word girl comes to your mind. But there was something so womanly about her. Graceful. Her thick arms, you could cry in the circle of her arms and she would build a warm wall of love around you. She could envelope you in her bosom and you'd feel safe. You could imagine a kid straddled on her ample hips playing with her hair. You could imagine her with a brood of 6, calmly feeding them and then happily playing with them. She wasn't dainty, fragile, easily breakable. She was strong, wall-like, you could depend on her. While even a slight breeze could blow me away, she looked like the anchor you could hold onto. Flustered. Yes, that's the word. While I am, often, flustered, she was the kind who could stare in the face of a storm and then turn and look at you and tell you in a very sober voice to run, run for your life.


There was an openness about her that I so envied. I might walk like I was going to a war, armed, my face closed, betraying any emotion, but she? She looked like she was walking in her own garden, maybe out to fetch some fresh tomatoes. Always so uninhibited. Like she had a protective shield around her that would prevent any harm from coming near her. I would seek her out in crowds, wanting to be close to that protective shield. She told me she was getting married in two months time, and I envied the guy who would have her as his life partner.


If I was a guy, I thought, this is the kind of woman I would want to spend the rest of my life with. 

Men, Oh Lousy Nasty Men!

"Please let him come, and give me the resilience & guts to make him respect me, be interested, and not to throw myself at him with loudness or hysterical yelling; calmly, gently, easy baby easy. He is probably strutting the backs among crocuses now with seven Scandinavian mistresses. And I sit, spiderlike, waiting, here, home; Penelope weaving webs of Webster, turning spindles of Tourneur. Oh, he is here; my black marauder; oh hungry hungry. I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait; and he plays on the banks of the river Cam like a casual faun. " — Sylvia Plath

Why are we so stubbornly staying apart when we have so little time together?

Mango And A Jackfruit...

What do you say of a girl whose worst fear is that she would turn out to be like her mother?

Icy Kisses...

I want to pluck out my heart and give it to you. I know you'd keep it safe. Protect it better than I ever could. Keep it, won't you? 

Thank You...

The wonderful thing about writing is that someone, somewhere, at one point in their life felt the same as you do, and had the better sense to put it in words. And did it better than you ever could. And you read those words and suddenly you don't feel lonely anymore. It's like they suddenly appear next to you, sit by your side, and gently press your hand and smile at you, a smile that says, it's alright, and all that through words. Such power. Really, such life saving power. Thank you Sylvia Plath. Thank you so very much.

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

*****

"Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn."

*****

"I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy."

*****

"I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love's not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I'll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time..."

*****

"God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of "parties" with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering."

*****

"Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all this is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always supposedly in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night..."

*****

"I want to be important. By being different. And these girls are all the same."

*****

"But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get."

Reason Not To Kill Yourself...

This must sound mean, but heck! Kate Moss has got cellulite! That gives me the license to be imperfect.

To Wish Or Not To Wish...

Dear God/Destiny/Universe,

It's fun getting things you want when you want them, not 1 year later, 2 years later or like in my case, 4 years later. Or is it my mistake? Should I be more specific in my prayers? Right. I'll remember to mention what I want and more importantly, when I want it, since you clearly dole out stuff as and when it pleases you:| Thank you nevertheless. I shall try to be happy.

Yours Grumpily

A Virgin In The Garden...

"When the morning light came into the room it found them curled together in a nest of red and white sheets. It revealed also marks, all over the pale cool skin: handprints around the narrow waist, sliding impressions from delicate strokes, like weals, raised rosy discs where his lips had rested lightly. He cried out, when he saw her, that he had hurt her. No, she said, she was part icewoman, it was her nature, she had an icewoman's skin that responded to every touch by blossoming red. Sasan still stared, and repeated, I have hurt you. No, no, said Fiammarosa, they are the marks of pleasure, pure pleasure. I shall cover them up, for only we ourselves should see our happiness."— A.S. Byatt

*****

"She didn't like to be talked about. Equally, she didn't like not to be talked about, when the high-minded chatter rushed on as though she was not there. There was no pleasing her, in fact. She had the grace, even at eleven, to know there was no pleasing her. She thought a lot, analytically, about other people's feelings, and had only just begun to realize that this was not usual, and not reciprocated."— A.S. Byatt

*****

"Vocabularies are crossing circles and loops. We are defined by the lines we choose to cross or to be confined by." — A.S. Byatt

*****

"They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side...He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase."— A.S. Byatt

(I think siting or sleeping with your ankle overlapping another's is so subtly romantic and sexual at the same time, so nuanced a gesture, it's a shame that most people disregard it as an insignificant gesture.)

Somethings, Sometimes, Someone...

I heard that you're settled down.
That you found a girl and you're married now.
I heard that your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you.

Old friend, why are you so shy?
It ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I'd hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded,
That for me, it isn't over.

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don't forget me, I beg, I'll remember you said:
"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead"
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.

You'd know how the time flies.
Only yesterday was the time of our lives.
We were born and raised in a summer haze.
Bound by the surprise of our glory days.

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I'd hoped you'd see my face  that you'd be reminded,
That for me, it isn't over yet.

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don't forget me, I beg, I'll remember you said:
"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead".

Nothing compares, no worries or cares.
Regret's and mistakes they're memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don't forget me, I beg, I'll remember you said:
"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead"

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don't forget me, I beg, I'll remember you said:
"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead"
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.

Tall Shoes...

Real men don't need to bash/belittle other men to look good in front of the women.

Powerful...

Proud to be a woman :)

Very, Very Much...

Now I can say fuck you and sound all mellifluous.

Cleaning the room just became fun.

Love.

Life Inside A Book...

The problem with people like me is that we want to have a life worth talking about, but even more, worth writing about.
People like me, we look for beauty in even ordinary everyday actions, motions, gestures, expressions.
We want to romanticise everything.
Lead a significant, not rich, not powerful mind you, but meaningful, poetic life, beautiful life enough to be shot in slow motion.
We want to have a certain magic in everything in life, even when life plain sucks, we desperately search for something that'll save us.
People like me want to lead lives where even a simple thought like, Mrs.Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself, is worthy of being the opening lines of a wonderful book.
Like we need to wow ourselves. A tall order.
People like me don't want to waste life living ordinary, plain, simple, common. It's the biggest nightmare, of not making anything of your life.

And then when we don't find it, we become miserable and waste away. Waste the same life that we want to adorn with the finest jewels.

Where Angels Fear To Tread...

I can never understand how a guy can hit on a girl who is very good friends with his girlfriend. How he can be hopeful even! Like, baffles me. Do guys think all women are stupid enough to put up with such crap or easy enough to have a little thing on the side, without any complaint, cheerfully? 

UnJumble My World...

Mountains. Happiness. Blue Sky. Laughter. Yellow Butterflies. Free. Field of Red Poppies. Love. Flowing River. Dreams. Clouds. Possibilities. Fragrant Earth. Smiles. White. Hands. Ribbons. Chase. Twinkling Eyes. Open. Heart. Rebirth. Song. Endless. Peace. Secrets. Checkered. Reach. Time. Warm. Wings. Soft. Golden. Morning. Circle. Kiss.

Happy Is As Happy Does...

We might think we can hide it from the world. Cover our imperfect lives with smart pleasant looking clothes, that we can hide our bitterness behind a bright smile, that we can blend in our tear stains with fresh makeup, but it's not so. Humans, much like dogs, can sniff it out in a second. The stench of our unhappy feelings will eventually rise through the fabrics of our bodies alerting passersby about our grief. And honestly, who wants to associate oneself with an unhappy person? Unless he/she is a good friend? Right? Yep. Don't think you can fool people by humming a tune when they walk just a little bit ahead of you to escape your grief laced breath. And don't blame the world.

Cruel. But true.

Two...

I dream a great deal. It's almost like I am living another life in my head.

Few Seconds In The Light...

It's funny how we see a relationship in retrospect. How we see a relationship in terms of how it ended. How easily we forget the first impressions, the unsure start of a relationship, its beautiful journey to love, all the happy days, all the warm moments, its blossoming, how it was while it lasted.

Why do we always remember it in terms of how it ended? What do you remember of your loved ones?

How should one remember a relationship? I think that is a better question.

*****
I think silence, however golden, is sometimes overrated. There are times when keeping quiet will do you more harm. Sometimes, it's good to speak out, empty your heart of its buried emotions.

Miserable Letters...

Maybe all the signs, all the words, all the warnings...maybe it's all always there. Maybe when you're in love, you just build this mechanism, where you ignore anything the one you love says that would make you unhappy. Your brain just automatically filters out words that might hurt, and blindfolds you when actions that might trigger panic take place. Gestures that might alert you.'Cause you don't want it to end, you foolishly imagine that it would go away if you closed your eyes. And you go on about life, with love in your heart, in a non-thinking phase, floating through days, building your air castles. And then one day, crash.

And then your take on the role of a psychologist and analyse every small thing, every small detail and you exclaim, astonished, "But how did I not see all this?" And you realise, the signs, they were always there. All along. You were just too much in love to notice.

A Rose By Any Other Name?

Okay, so you know what they say about women? That all of them, no matter how deeply they hate men, or marriage or kids, they all have already thought of their kid's names? Well,  I'd like to argue that I have already thought of names for my pets too. My fat lazy cat would be named Hippo/Garfield, if he's cute, fluffy little thing, then Candy. If she is a beautiful, mean, grey-eyed feline, Cleo. Dogs...I yet have to decide. I have christened my bike and car and soft toys too(sister's soft toys she left behind). So come on, it's absolutely irresistible not to think of names for your kids! I have been busy thinking of nick names for my nephew these days and let me tell you it has nothing to do with being a woman! Like really, I am the last person to have any maternal feelings! It's just convenience sake. Really.

Okay, so, now that that's out of the way, I already know what I'd name a boy, and I always wanted to name a girl baby "Dream", but since that sounds a little crazy, I have found the perfect name. Ruya. It's a Turkish name for dream:) Nice, yes? :)

Like A Drug...

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

This lovely article reminded me of my younger "library" days :)

I had just finished my 12th grade exams and had plenty of time to read. And I read. I had a membership at a local library, which was conveniently at a 5-min walking distance. The owner of the library was an old man, who sat there in the evening, surrounded by oldies, they'd all sit outside on the veranda and chat and laugh about things. He knew me ofcourse, I came there every day of those summer holidays. Three girls worked there. I doubt they ever read the books in the library, but at times I envied their jobs and wondered if I should instead become a librarian. I remember mom once had a huge fight with me in those summer vacations. I had not got out of my room for two days except to eat and go to the loo, so she came storming into my room, snatched the book and threw, literally flung my copy of The Fountainhead on the floor, like it was a porcelain vase. I cried. Its pages torn. I didn't speak to her for days.


Both Dad and Mom read. Mom's a voracious reader even today. Dad gets no time now, but he tells me he had read all literature tomes of his time at quite an early age. So clearly love for books runs in the family. Though sister has never read more than one book. I once made her read a book and she couldn't get past the 3rd page. Nothing's happening she told me, it's all so boring. Well, you can't expect action right from the first page. You can't love a book unless you have read the first 200 pages atleast and only then you get hooked. You need patience to read and love a book. She gave up.


I continued reading even after I started with my engineering. So I was supposed to be studying, but I read instead. Dad furious, threatened at first. I never paid any heed to his threats. So one day he stopped my pocket money. No money, no library membership. I was ofcourse devastated. How could he, who loved reading himself, do this to me? I cried and pleaded, nothing happened.


So I had my own pot of money which I used up for the library membership. I didn't shop. I saved. And now instead of hiding the books in my bag, or under my clothes when walking from the door to my room, I openly flaunted them. Which angered Dad ofcourse. Instead of covering the gap under the door with three dark-coloured dupattas to fool dad, who would wake up at 2am to check if I was still reading, I now let him know I read at 3 am even. I would make coffee or tea and read in the living room. So he then went to the library and told the owner not to allow me within the premises. I was barred from entering the little library. I obviously didn't know my Dad had done this. So I went the next day, and what do you know, the girls, looking sheepishly at me, told me my account had be closed by my Dad.


I was angry. I was furious. I went to the gym with my then best friend SB, a book lover herself and cursed him. For days I didn't have money to open another account. Taking pity on me, SB offered me some books from her own collection. I saved enough to open another account that month. And now I had a new account, under my own name, no one could close it without my permission, no. 537. This I think got Dad extremely mad. How dare I? Well, I was his daughter after all. So I said, in your face Dad, and happily went on reading. So next what he did was this: He stole my book and hid it. Yessir. He STOLE it. Unless I returned the loaned book, I couldn't take out another. I could say that I had lost it, pay 150/- and borrow another. But ofcourse I didn't have 150 rupees, remember no pocket money? So I scoured the entire house and on the 3rd day, I found the book. It was like a match, each gloating after a victory. That evening when Dad came home he found the otherwise glum looking me humming merrily. He asked mom, who scared, told him I had found the book. He gave up after that :)

No one stopped me after that but I started hiding my books under my pillow or under the mattress after that(Sometimes even locking them). As soon as I started working, I started buying books. He never complained after that, except occasionally warn me that if I continue sleeping so late, my skin was going to be fucked up. I am those types who needs her full 8-hour beauty sleep, otherwise bad things happen to my skin and he never failed to point it out to me.

In retrospect, I realise I was wrong. He was right in wanting me to concentrate on studies. Guess he knew I was getting lost in the world of books and being a reader himself, he knew how difficult it is to get out of that world and live in the real world. Which for me, still, takes some effort. I guess he was just doing what a good father should have. I did, what I always do.


And I still have an open account with the same library :)

Wrinkles...

Dear Friend,

I was very angry with you. But not anymore. I realise, the incidents that happened in the past few months, broke something between us. I never thought I would not feel hurt, or be ok with this loss. But, I guess, it must be the age. The thing is, after I realised we were no more the same, I did not have the energy and you didn't seem to have the time (maybe even the inclination) to repair things between us. I shouldn't be harsh on you. Perhaps, you never realised things between us are broken. But even so, I have in my heart let you go. I don't think about you anymore and what's happening in your life, and I don't find myself angry at you for not including me in your life anymore. At one time I would have called you and been very angry at you for being left out from your life like this. No updates? Don't call me ever again I would have yelled. But I do pray that  wherever you are, you are good and that whatever is happening in your life, it brings you happiness. I had hoped for great things for our friendship. I wanted to be a "forever" friend to you :) It's sad that it will not be so. And maybe one day if we meet, I am sure we shall be happy to see each other again, and we'll have hundred and one questions to ask each other and we'll look at each other fondly and wonder...what happened, all the while knowing what happened. And maybe even, if we don't speak for very long now, we might call each other and ask how we are doing. You have been a good friend to me, even when I did not really deserve your kindness. Thank you. It was really good knowing you.


Much love.