Checkered...

I think I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with men.


*****
Dear October, it's all in your hands now. Be nice, please?

*****

You know what I like about myself? That I can fool all these people who look at you and think they can guess where you come from. Well, you know what? No one, not one single person could ever tell which region I come from. Among other things, people have called me a UP'ite, a Keralite, Marwari, Christian, Punjabi (weird huh?) and most of the times, Bengali. And I love it when they go, "Oh you're not from the north?", the baffled look on their faces when I tell them they're wrong :)

I guess I like it cause I don't like when people read me so easily. And I have gone out of my way to cloak my real self in public. Sometimes to maintain an element of mystery and sometimes just to protect myself. Either way, I like :)

*****
There's this friend who's crazily, atleast he says so, in love with his fiancée. Their wedding is scheduled sometime in December and from the looks of it, they seem like a happy couple. What I find interesting is that this guy is completely head over heels in love with Priyanka Chopra, the actress. And funny thing, his fiancée is complete opposite of Priyanka Chopra. She's quite healthy, and I am being nice here. Why I find this interesting is because I would never desire something and go for something opposite. I love smart men. If I look back, all guys I have loved and liked have been intelligent. Maybe weird, but definitely intelligent. I know I could never ever fall in love with a dumb or even an average smart guy. And I believe same holds true for most people. You don't lust after blue eyed women and marry an African. Or you don't desire a tall man and marry instead someone who is 4 feet short. Or you don't dream about big brown eyes and marry a Korean instead. 


I am not saying he should marry a Priyanka Chopra lookalike. But if he lusts after her sexy curves, how does he find someone with no curves sexy? I am not saying fat or healthy women are not sexy. I personally find healthy women sexier than thin, skinny ones. Some fat is necessary! But his case, I find it weird.

Magical Moods & Dark Rooms...

His was the colour of blue. Confident and happy. He wore his mask well.

She wore white. Pure and innocent, like a daisy.

But beneath it, they wore identical hearts. Black.

*****

They met at the cemetery.

He had killed his wife. Car accident.

She had killed her husband. Poisoned coffee.

They thought it was a sign from the heavens.

They lived happily ever after.

*****

"You have a strange house," she said, "There are no windows and your plants talk."

"Yes, but you can see the stars in the night", he said.

She looked up. She knew he loved her.

*****

They both loved words.

He used them as a trade, to sell and to buy.

She thought they were too precious to be traded. She saved them only for loved ones.

One day he bought her.

She never spoke again.

*****
He left her on a rainy afternoon.

He returned one summer evening.

"Go away," she said, "there's nothing left for you here. My heart is empty."

"It can not be empty," he said, "there was nothing in it to begin with."

A Letter To Future...

A Lily Pond...

It's amazing how things can seem simpler once the maelstrom of emotions within you has calmed down. It's true, the only thing worse than people not understanding you, is when you yourself don't understand you.

A little clarity will go a long long way.

*****
There's so much baggage we carry all through life, that over the course of time it becomes a part of your daily existence. It becomes such an intrinsic part, that you don't even realise you're so many stones heavier, all thanks to the past you're carrying along with you.

Sometimes you do need to get lost so that you can find the way back to yourself.

*****
And I do know that I'll get dirty again. Like a friend pointed out, with good-intentions. It's a cycle. I know I'll come back to this junction again where I'll find myself without a map and without a friend to help me along, but for now, let me enjoy being in my own skin. I can worry about being lost, when I come to it.

*****
"Why did it happen?"

I have asked this question many many times. I don't have the answers, or rather, I don't know if they are the right answers. It doesn't matter. What matters in the end is that you loved.

Knotty Issues...

This song is pure unadulterated mush.



I think this is one of those perfect honeymoon songs. So perfect infact that it makes me want to get married just so I could wear those awesome sarees, braid my hair, fill maang with sindoor and all that. Nice? Indian women are hot I say. Hotter than any Jolies or Foxes.


And why don't women wear gajra these days? It's one of those Indian womanly things that makes you all...beautiful. Flowers in hair. Lovely, no?


And I don't understand why people go to places like Switzerland and Mauritius, book a nice plush hotel and order champagne and strawberries. I think that's pretty boring. My idea of a perfect honeymoon would be Egypt, or Morocco, Israel or Turkey or Cambodia or Mexico**. Or even a backpacking trip to the interiors and less travelled places in India. I always wonder if couples get bored during a honeymoon***, I mean, really, there's only *that* much sex you're going to have. What then? Honeymoon is supposed to bring you closer, and a big four poster bed is not going to that. How about a tent on the Tibetan Plateau? That should be fun! Or travelling through Sikkim in a rickety bus or even walking through the jungles of South Africa (Okay, maybe you can wear high rubber boots?). Now that's a good business idea there. Someone needs to market these destinations as honeymoon places.


And I need more crazy people around me so that I can say, "Are you crazy?". I can even say that in 7 different ways, really. Maybe you can ask me out for coffee and I could do a little demo for you. But I don't promise.


I think I have started appreciating Indian men. What was I doing all these years? Dreaming about Italians and Brits. You know, only if Indian men weren't such mumma's boys, they'd be perfect! I mean at 64, my Dad still raves about his mother's cooking!


And how beautiful is a relationship between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law where both love and appreciate each other? It's difficult, this relationship, but when you get it right, it's one of those rare beautiful  friendships that has the power to brighten even the dullest moments.


I know what you're thinking, but it's the song. I swear. God promise!


Alright I'll go read some man-hating book now. That should cure!



**Someone please gift me a couple of million dollars!
***I could ask Anoop, but I doubt he'll answer.

Than Sorry...

GK is a good friend. She's what you might say, "truly golden at heart". She's funny, sweet and smart but not "chaloo" or clever. She could fool you, but she would never, her conscience would never allow her. She has a fair complexion, green eyes, is pretty. But unlike the rest of her Punjabi family, even remote aunts and uncles, she's short. At 5 feet, she's the oddest member in her entire family--where girls are slender and tall, men broad and tall. She's different.


When GK was conceived, accidentally, her parents decided they did not want a baby so soon. And so they, her parents, decided to opt for abortion. Only later did they realise that the abortion pills had not 'killed' GK, but just stopped her growth. So while GK was born, she was born unhealthy, frail, tiny and many inches short of her family height average.


She's a positive person, but at times, just sometimes, she does lament about her height. If only she could be a few, just a few inches taller.


The moral of the story is pretty obvious. There's the question of someone's, some child's, your child's life, and you're putting it at risk.

Account...

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.
                                 --Czesław Miłosz