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 :)