Nine Cats...

What if I had many lives?

I'd be a writer in one life, sitting in the courtyard under the shade of a neem tree, I'd sip sweet tea and pen stories of you and me, of life. I would be a traveller in another. So many wonderful places I would see. Israel, Morocco and Canada. I'd travel to Mexico, Japan and Srilanka and Peru. I'd send you postcards from South Africa and Egypt, Brazil, Turkey, Cambodia and Jordan. And in another life I would be a farmer in Spain, and grow oranges and grapefruits and limes and lemons or even a farmer in Italy, and grow tomatoes and olives and nuts and peaches. In another, I would teach creative writing to the kids in Bhutan and I'd have a small but cozy house on the river bank. I would climb the mountains to touch the clouds often and Tiger's Nest would be my favourite hangout. In another life, I would be a wife of a good man and live in a white picket fence house with rambling roses and bougainvillea and I would pack lunch for my two kids and take the dogs for a walk in the evenings. I would be an artist in another. I would spend my days surrounded by colours and ideas and nights immersed in beauty. In another I would be running a company, sitting in my corner office with a glass view of the NewYork city, I would clinch another deal, another victory. In another, I would run my own beach-side restaurant and during the off season, I would swim in the blue seas and read under the coconut tree(not a good idea). In yet another, I would be a monk in Tibet, and find answers to my many questions. I would be a daddy's girl in another, shopping and eating and partying and coming back home at 4 in the morning and partying again in the evening.

And in each one, I would try to do a little good, to even out all the bad I did in another life.

But I don't have many lives. And so I endeavour to live all those many lives in this one life.

Phantasm...

In today's world, with easy access to everything that your little heart yearns for and more importantly, access to internet from your mobiles, it's no wonder we're dying under the stress of having fun. When you see everyone on facebook and twitter updating what and how much fun they're having, you sitting at home are left to feel sorry for yourself. Or since everyone else is having fun, you're forced to have fun as well, lest you be left out of the group.

It's funny that we force ourselves to enjoy these days, not because we want to enjoy, but because there's always the pressure to enjoy; so we can publicize our adventures.

Sometimes a quiet Sunday afternoon is enjoyment too. Hope we remember that.

Ego...

The most evil of all things on earth.

Towels & Trunks...

In Baisers volés, Delphine Seyrig explains to her young lover the difference between politeness and tact: ‘Imagine you inadvertently enter a bathroom where a woman is standing naked under the shower. Politeness requires that you quickly close the door and say, “Pardon, Madame!”, whereas tact would be to quickly close the door and say: “Pardon, Monsieur!”’ It is only in the second case, by pretending not to have seen enough even to make out the sex of the person under the shower, that one displays true tact.

When I read that quote, The first thing that went through my vain mind, was not, "I would be thank-god he didn't see me", but, "I would be embarrassed, yes, but I would be slightly mad at the guy to have thought I was a guy! I am sure he saw *something* and how could he have thought I was a guy! I think I would be rather sad".

Not related, but the above quote reminded me of the towel question. Long long time ago, someone asked me what I would do in the following situation: So you're in the shower when there's an earthquake and you have to rush out immediately. Now would you stop for that 1 second to collect the towel? Or knowing that you'd possibly be crushed under the building if you use that 1second to fetch the towel, would you then just run outside naked?

The above quote somehow also reminded me of something I heard many ages ago on Mtv. Remember they used to have those show where you called up the VJ and requested a song? During one of those shows, Nikhil Chinappa asked a caller a rather embarrassing(atleast then it was) question. "Would you keep the toilet door open if you knew there was no one in house?" And I remember wondering for many hours what I would do.

And I leave you to wonder, what would you do?

Trouble...

	Coldplay - Trouble .mp3

Your love

Should never be offered to the mouth of a stranger,

Only to someone

Who has the valor and daring

To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife

Then weave them into a blanket to protect you.

--Hafiz

Winks...

She laughs like a child and she cries like a child, but she loves like a woman.

	Billy Joel - She Always A Woman .mp3

She can kill with a smile
She can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child,
But she's always a woman to me

She can lead you to love
She can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth
But she'll never believe you
And she'll take what you give her, as long as it's free
Yeah, she steals like a thief
But she's always a woman to me

CHORUS:
Oh--she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She's ahead of her time
Oh--and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind

And she'll promise you more
Than the Garden of Eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you're bleedin'
But she'll bring out the best
And the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself
Cause she's always a woman to me
--Mhmm--

Bridge

CHORUS:
Oh--she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She's ahead of her time
Oh--and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind

She is frequently kind
And she's suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases
She's nobody's fool
And she can't be convicted
She's earned her degree
And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you
But she's always a woman to me
--Mhmm--

ToyHeart...

You grew up reading Sherlock Holmes and other mystery stories. And when they asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, you said you wanted to be an undercover detective. And your mum bought you a black fedora hat on your 10th birthday and your grandparents gifted you a black coat on Christmas and you ran around with your toy pistols, fake knife and magnifying glass, pretending to uncover the goons and save the gold. You loved stumbling upon things, it made you feel like you discovered a secret that was never meant to be found. And so one day, in a fit of boredom, when you told me let's play a game, I said yes, knowing well what it would be. But you anyway went ahead and told me to hide something and you promised you would find it for me. And so I hid it. Under the mattress one time, in the microwave another time, you hated it when I hid it in cookie's doghouse, and you felt so proud when you found it hidden under the broken table lamp that you still haven't fixed. Then under the pillow you found one morning when you woke me up with a kiss, and then under the blue bell that one evening, and behind the yellow pinwheel that lazy Sunday afternoon, behind your dirty shoe rack when you were late for that important meeting, in the Periwinkle pot that I asked you to water while I was away, and one time in the garam-masala jar when you decided to impress me with your cooking skills; I hid it and no matter where, you always found it. Except this one time when I gave it to you. Why won't you see? Why won't you keep your promise this time and find it for me? Or was it, I fear, was it always just a game for you?