‘Naah’, she said to herself after trying the sleeveless pink top. She looked too ‘babyish’ in it, and she’d heard from her friends that she looks like a kiddo with pink-on. ‘Skip that’, and she tried on the red, waist length, just above her navel, and just deep enough to show her cleavage in an interesting way. Well, she did look hot, she smiled at herself in the mirror. She did her eyes smoky black, wore a lustrous gloss, and tinted her cheeks a bit red. Her fair skin had responded well to the red black color combination; her hair were open, just the way he liked them. He? Well her boyfriend for two years now, and it was his birthday today, the eighteenth birthday. That explains the dress, and all that make-up? Well, yes it does, most of the part, except that she’d do promised him that on this day, both of them will loose their virginity to each other. And, they’d planned it tonight, after the treats were done, in the park behind her hostel, beneath a widely spread shadow of trees.
She cast a long, lasting look at herself in the mirror, admiring her, and wondering how he would react on seeing her. She was slim, and on many occasions she’d felt that her frame fit perfectly into his arms, and when he’d whispered “ Ria, I feel like tasting every inch of you ‘, in her ears one night during an intimate scene a movie they’d gone to see together, she’d imagine every bit of her naked flesh being tasted by him. She’d wanted to tell him so, but she remained calm, and soon after, when he asked her how did she plan her birthday, she revealed how she wanted to live that line he’d said that day.
At precisely quarter to nine, she stepped out of her room, all perfumed, and in high spirits. She waited for him at the back gate, and smsed her friend, where he was to drop her after the act; that she’d left the hostel, and will call her once they are done. Her friend replied with, ‘hump his brains out, all the best for the first time...Yipeee!!’, encouraging her more.
Exactly 5 minutes later, he arrived at the gate. Moonlight, reds, passion and a glimpse of cleavage, made a deadly combination for him. He held her hand, she smiled, they both seemed so sure of themselves, lost in the world of fantasies and unknown ecstasies oh physical contacts, that even the 10 minutes walk getting to the decided ‘spot’ seemed like a million years walk. ‘Hey, did you get that’, she whispered. ‘What? The condoms?? Oh yes, I have, and Kunal has even told me how to go about it,’ he winked at her. The night seemed perfect, she’d dreamt her man making love to her on a clear, starlit night, with only the moon as the light on her body. ‘Perfect, I love you’, she told him, just as he pressed his lips on her bare shoulder. They looked for a soft spot in the lights of their cellphones, and before they could settle for one, she felt his hands running up her waist. A hundred butterflies cropped in her stomach, she felt her eyes close as he undid those buttons......
‘Kaun hai wahan?’
Arey kaun hai wahan?
The watchman, obviously, way older than both of them, took no more than a few seconds to judge where this was going.
He got up, being the man, and it took the watchman a gentle hit or two on his head with the lantern to make him lie down. She knew not where her phone was, she knew he was smiling hard at her and the light grew stronger and brighter on her body. She now understood why this man seemed to be so nice to them whenever they sat in the shades of the trees on their dates for long hours. He was, she concluded there and then trespassing them. And he always dismissed the watchman’s ogling eyes for her as mere misunderstanding.
The old man ripped the unhooked buttons, feasted on the tender body with his beedi smelling mouth, felt the unexplored areas, and after about half an hour, glanced a dirty look on her face. She did not shout, for she’d have to explain many a people what she was doing with her friend here at such an odd hour of the night. Teenage is confusing, you want to do things that you aren’t supposed to, and then when you are there, you want to hide it from the world. Tears were her only solace, and she let them out freely. Some time after he’d gone, she gathered her loose clothes, cared no more for him, and got on her heels. Her body did not suffer many wounds, her clothes weren’t torn, but her soul was ripped off into pieces.. She wondered what she’d tell her friend, and the smoky, beautiful eyes a few hours before, turned empty and sore for the better part of her life.
Musings of A Life Time...
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Emptiness Within....
I laugh heartily,
I make myself heard,
I smile often,
And talk aloud.
I eclipse myself in sands of pretention,
Hiding myself in an invisible cloud,
Layers of deception,
Loosing myself in the crowds.
My fears scare me,
And the loneliness inside me grows,
My wounds pain, and the scars tease,
And I wonder, how many more blows?
Somewhere inside me,
Like a conjoined twin,
All I can feel is
Emptiness Within….
I make myself heard,
I smile often,
And talk aloud.
I eclipse myself in sands of pretention,
Hiding myself in an invisible cloud,
Layers of deception,
Loosing myself in the crowds.
My fears scare me,
And the loneliness inside me grows,
My wounds pain, and the scars tease,
And I wonder, how many more blows?
Somewhere inside me,
Like a conjoined twin,
All I can feel is
Emptiness Within….
Friday, July 15, 2011
A Glance At A Lifetime.......
In the rocking chair, which is almost as old as me, or possibly older, I try to think that I am not dying. I look at the wrinkled skin on my hands and feet, and the receding flesh on them, shouts back to me, that I, I am just a matter of days now. Death, eventually, has struck me – not that I didn’t want it now, but how I had lived a lifetime, with instances of thinking and wishing for my death much more than thanking God ever for giving me life.
The tragedy with Death is, it doesn’t envelope you the way you want it to – sudden and instantaneous. Instead, it gives us all a lifetime to think about, to feel sorry, and to justify the wrongdoings, and to indulge in self appreciation of some deeds worthwhile, atleast from the thinker’s perspective. My eyes heaved down under the thought, my eyes - the once big, attractive eyes had now ceased to be a pair of small openings with graying eye balls and a spectacle over them. Tears, however, still rolled on, easily and swiftly, though now sometimes they would hang a little in the wrinkles of my face. Generally, as it had become a routine now, I started with my childhood memories. Childhood Memories, wherein I found myself the most innocent, and the most vulnerable. The follies that those years had witnessed seemed guiltless and naïve, and even now, without fail, ran a shrill smile on my curved lips, once so full of color and fervor.
Wandering further, I found myself being clutched in the hands of lust, love, greed, power, success and money. Lying and pretention came easily to me, I wouldn’t think twice before hurting people around me, my tongue seemed to have grown poisonous arrows that I would use as a final weapon to my victory. Yes, at the end only victory mattered to me. I did gain attention, for I had a face and an attitude to match, and I made use of that undue attention to gain further prospects. I looked down upon myself, a simple grey colored gown! Ha! Just a simple cloth was what I needed to cover myself, and all my life I ransacked stores after stores to find that ‘perfect fit’. I was successful, yes, for if you measured success in terms of the package I carried home as my ‘Take-Home’, I’d certainly did well. Though, I happened to write less, paint even rarely, and compose only to remind myself that I could. I could never be a writer, like I’d always wanted to, neither could I paint a canvas, so much so as I’d promised in my younger years, and never ever composed a song, much unlike the days when I was young.
Promises of loyalty and faithfulness became statements of utter blatant lies. Loved ones, (If I really loved them), were left behind in the race. I had mastered the art of pretention, and could weave out deceitful stories in minutes. Now, though, I had difficulty even in remembering the names of my kids; I reminisced over how I would build in characters after characters in my woven net of lies and deceit. All I ran after were my desires, the need to have money, to flaunt good clothes, the desire to be touched, and the need to be fed and cared about. I invested in relationships, but relationships need a solid foundation to whither storms of life, and when my existence itself was a lie, my relationships crushed into pieces at the slightest tremor of a blizzard.
Lonely and desperate situations made it all the more compulsory for me to keep me occupied, unlike the days today when I spend hours in this chair, doing absolutely nothing. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, and all such things came in handy when the tensions of work and personal life built walls around me. Wonder how a cloud of smoke and a glass of Vodka could make these walls disappear, atleast for the eyes and a part of the mind. I smiled at the thought of Vodka, in mango juice, for it still had some tantalizing effect on me, though its been long since my lips got to touch it. Married, yes I was married, to some extent forcefully, to the man who rarely said that he loved me, but whose eyes had the look that said he did. He was totally unlike me, all silent and secretive, and where my life was an open book that could be read by anyone, his was a mystery to me. He wouldn’t confess, he wouldn’t lie. All he did was touch me somewhere so deep, that I agreed to spend my life with him. Little, little did I know what love was, and little did I imagine his love for me. He came into my life, like a cool breeze, his presence around calmed my senses, I learned to communicate more without using the tongue, and I felt peace in his arms that held me every night , to this day of my life. Did I blush, @ 73?
He changed me, or maybe I changed myself to match him. I longed for him in a way that can’t quite be explained, and he restrained himself if I’d had anything that he considered not good for me. He knew his power over me, and I knew that I didn’t mind losing to him. Finally, I relieved myself of victory, in losing all of myself to him. Yes, I changed as a person. My mind was suddenly light, and I did away with my occasional cravings for smoke. Though he still spoke less, I would know what was going through his mind when he would touch me. That made up for most of our communication.
A lifetime with this man had given me two kids, a few books written by me, some canvas with colors spread over, and some compositions exclusively for him. A life that had begun to rot and rut, had towards the end seen the light of her own aura. If ever I thanked God, it was for him.
‘Chai’, he whispered in my ears as the tray was laid in the table separating the two of us, across the verandah. It is difficult to say If I had loved someone, or even if I understood what love was, but yes, this man who’s making tea for me here today, definitely knows about it. I closed my eyes, and his weak hands touched my forehead to see if I’d be running a fever. I knew this was it. And I released myself, finally, and united with the universe……
Sunday, July 3, 2011
The AfterMath.......
She pushed her eyes close, but sleep would still deceive her. Allegations, and accusations, thrown to her hit her like burning arrows, cutting through her, making her all the more vulnerable, so much so, that she knew sleep would win, another battle. To put in other words, she would loose, yet again.
She wondered who started it off in the first place. And then why did she let out her deepest fears and secrets to them? Alcohol dashed with emotions is a dangerous thing, she’d learnt it long before, but probably forgotten the lesson.
God, let me sleep…Today….
I will deal with this tomorrow.
She’d faced her biggest fears today. Not even once did she let her eyes off the speakers who took their turns to tell her what and how things should be done. Tricky games, they played on and on, and each passing second, her past came haunting up to her, biting its teeth into her soft flesh, making her shed a tear here and there. They knew her no more than what she knew them , yet they had created something in their perceptions that was probably unlike her. She wished someone would stop, somewhere, surely, none of them would breach a level. But no, they did. What started off as a stupid sounding game, turned into a reality checkpoint show. She had failed someone, maybe repeatedly, and she dreaded to hear things about her, that were unfortunately true, yet, superficial. As she pulled herself close, she heard them arguing over her circumstances, present and past, and the irony was that she wasn’t a part of those discussions about her. ‘Did they know my part of the story, or they just pulled all the strings together on their own to make bow and flung burning arrows at her?’ Did she smile? She pulled up all her courage in the world, and though she tried hard to forget the night never did happen, somewhere, some words, stung her like a cobra’s bite, poisoning her entire self, her entire being, questioning her existence, and possibly her deeds.
Humans are a strange race. For I, am aware of what and where I lack, but I never prefer it to come to me by anyone else. Not in a night like this.
Someone said they wished to see me and him happy, forever, (though I doubt the integrity of the word ‘forever’, it more or less implies ‘fictitious’); yet the sincerity of the speaker drifted her mind away from the use of the chosen word. Someone else wished the same, but whether it was the alcohol or something else, that she possibly couldn’t understand fully, he wanted her to quit, quit something that could harm her, “No cigarettes ever, no nicotine in any form”. She wondered what made him say so. She wondered if she needed so many approvals to light a butt. To take a puff, deep, so deep that she would cough for the next half an hour. Well, she knew it was the most polite of their ways to say that, yet somewhere it hurt her. Someone mentioned her being way low than what had been expected, after they’d heard my stories. Stories. Like what? Her eyes searched for a pair that would have said ‘You are perfect, perfect in all ways’. No, this imaginary set of eyes didn’t exist. She smiled. Someone mentioned the hardships that lay in the front, taking care to view the situation from one angle, yet making statements on her. Stating, how hard life must have been to her. How long she’d been smiling, she knew not. Did she need that appreciation certificate?
Beds. I always change sides when sleep deceives me, thinking perhaps on one of the entourages, it will enter my eyes thinking I am someone else. And that side would be preferred the next night. And the next, till sleep gets my game, and then I would explore the bed yet again.
She felt the need to clarify her actions, and justify her steps, right or wrong. Why did she need the approval of others, she couldn’t really make out. Whether it was alcohol or was it her deep rooted hurt, she didn’t know, but when she heard that voice taking her name, in the most informal manner, stating that ‘I’d be forever around’; she blurted. As I said, the word, though fictitious, associates with itself having dreadful impacts, perhaps like this one. She said something he never liked hearing, just the way she didn’t like mentioning it. Something dark, something rave, yet something that was the reason of her being here. She went on, after he was done, and let out her story, the way it was to her. Scary, torturous, and uncertain, lost in the unknown, amongst the known. There was no need. She didn’t need to. Infact, she shouldn’t have let it out.
Justifications are a waste of time, and emotions. They call for unwanted bouts of self appraisal, and self reprimandations. Pity. I hadn’t still learnt her lessons. Perhaps, there were more chapters to be unfolded.
Just after she spat out, she felt naked. She wanted to escape, away, and her wounds drew fresh cuts. The stupid after remarks felt like salt, only making the pain much more unbearable. She wanted herself, with her, in the perfectly imperfect world of her own. She screamed she wanted to go, for she knew they wouldn’t let her, not at this hour of the night. The night was almost dead, and her fears had come to life yet again, mocking her from all possible corners, and the only way they could do it in a callous way was being with her, alone and vulnerable. ‘My fate is such, that my fears will rearrange the chemistry of the universe, so that I could be cut, bled, and stung’. She was home.
Switch side, I said to myself, tears didn’t scare me anymore, what scared me was something inside of me. I begged sleep to envelope me, and like everyone else, it had its conditions. ‘I will, enter your eyes through the sides’, it said, ‘but the centre of the canvas will be painted in the colors of the night’. Devious. I know.
She wondered who started it off in the first place. And then why did she let out her deepest fears and secrets to them? Alcohol dashed with emotions is a dangerous thing, she’d learnt it long before, but probably forgotten the lesson.
God, let me sleep…Today….
I will deal with this tomorrow.
She’d faced her biggest fears today. Not even once did she let her eyes off the speakers who took their turns to tell her what and how things should be done. Tricky games, they played on and on, and each passing second, her past came haunting up to her, biting its teeth into her soft flesh, making her shed a tear here and there. They knew her no more than what she knew them , yet they had created something in their perceptions that was probably unlike her. She wished someone would stop, somewhere, surely, none of them would breach a level. But no, they did. What started off as a stupid sounding game, turned into a reality checkpoint show. She had failed someone, maybe repeatedly, and she dreaded to hear things about her, that were unfortunately true, yet, superficial. As she pulled herself close, she heard them arguing over her circumstances, present and past, and the irony was that she wasn’t a part of those discussions about her. ‘Did they know my part of the story, or they just pulled all the strings together on their own to make bow and flung burning arrows at her?’ Did she smile? She pulled up all her courage in the world, and though she tried hard to forget the night never did happen, somewhere, some words, stung her like a cobra’s bite, poisoning her entire self, her entire being, questioning her existence, and possibly her deeds.
Humans are a strange race. For I, am aware of what and where I lack, but I never prefer it to come to me by anyone else. Not in a night like this.
Someone said they wished to see me and him happy, forever, (though I doubt the integrity of the word ‘forever’, it more or less implies ‘fictitious’); yet the sincerity of the speaker drifted her mind away from the use of the chosen word. Someone else wished the same, but whether it was the alcohol or something else, that she possibly couldn’t understand fully, he wanted her to quit, quit something that could harm her, “No cigarettes ever, no nicotine in any form”. She wondered what made him say so. She wondered if she needed so many approvals to light a butt. To take a puff, deep, so deep that she would cough for the next half an hour. Well, she knew it was the most polite of their ways to say that, yet somewhere it hurt her. Someone mentioned her being way low than what had been expected, after they’d heard my stories. Stories. Like what? Her eyes searched for a pair that would have said ‘You are perfect, perfect in all ways’. No, this imaginary set of eyes didn’t exist. She smiled. Someone mentioned the hardships that lay in the front, taking care to view the situation from one angle, yet making statements on her. Stating, how hard life must have been to her. How long she’d been smiling, she knew not. Did she need that appreciation certificate?
Beds. I always change sides when sleep deceives me, thinking perhaps on one of the entourages, it will enter my eyes thinking I am someone else. And that side would be preferred the next night. And the next, till sleep gets my game, and then I would explore the bed yet again.
She felt the need to clarify her actions, and justify her steps, right or wrong. Why did she need the approval of others, she couldn’t really make out. Whether it was alcohol or was it her deep rooted hurt, she didn’t know, but when she heard that voice taking her name, in the most informal manner, stating that ‘I’d be forever around’; she blurted. As I said, the word, though fictitious, associates with itself having dreadful impacts, perhaps like this one. She said something he never liked hearing, just the way she didn’t like mentioning it. Something dark, something rave, yet something that was the reason of her being here. She went on, after he was done, and let out her story, the way it was to her. Scary, torturous, and uncertain, lost in the unknown, amongst the known. There was no need. She didn’t need to. Infact, she shouldn’t have let it out.
Justifications are a waste of time, and emotions. They call for unwanted bouts of self appraisal, and self reprimandations. Pity. I hadn’t still learnt her lessons. Perhaps, there were more chapters to be unfolded.
Just after she spat out, she felt naked. She wanted to escape, away, and her wounds drew fresh cuts. The stupid after remarks felt like salt, only making the pain much more unbearable. She wanted herself, with her, in the perfectly imperfect world of her own. She screamed she wanted to go, for she knew they wouldn’t let her, not at this hour of the night. The night was almost dead, and her fears had come to life yet again, mocking her from all possible corners, and the only way they could do it in a callous way was being with her, alone and vulnerable. ‘My fate is such, that my fears will rearrange the chemistry of the universe, so that I could be cut, bled, and stung’. She was home.
Switch side, I said to myself, tears didn’t scare me anymore, what scared me was something inside of me. I begged sleep to envelope me, and like everyone else, it had its conditions. ‘I will, enter your eyes through the sides’, it said, ‘but the centre of the canvas will be painted in the colors of the night’. Devious. I know.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
In Search....
I am not sure where I am going, or where is my destination,
Am wondering what I am looking for, I need some explanation,
I am confused, and insecure, I don’t have a clear path,
I feel lost and uncertain, filled with tears and uncalled wrath,
I am unknown to the world, I can’t even say if I know me,
I am looking for answers, to the questions I myself build,
I am driving down a road, and can’t say if its right,
I am standing up for something, not sure if it deserves a fight,
Where have I landed myself, I know not,
Where I am headed, I haven’t yet thought,
Am I over, and all is lost?
Is this a beginning, or a full stop?
Am wondering what I am looking for, I need some explanation,
I am confused, and insecure, I don’t have a clear path,
I feel lost and uncertain, filled with tears and uncalled wrath,
I am unknown to the world, I can’t even say if I know me,
I am looking for answers, to the questions I myself build,
I am driving down a road, and can’t say if its right,
I am standing up for something, not sure if it deserves a fight,
Where have I landed myself, I know not,
Where I am headed, I haven’t yet thought,
Am I over, and all is lost?
Is this a beginning, or a full stop?
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Somewhere, It Rained....
He hadn’t changed in his looks at all- contrary to what she’d expected.
She skipped a beat.
She had instead put on some weight, dark circles under her eyes, and pessimism around her persona.
She weighed herself against him.
Somewhere outside, the breeze sung a song; she knew she’d heard it before, long,long ago.
He held her tender fingers, sending shivers down her body, his eyes held hers, and his lips moved closer to her hands. As his lips touched her palm, she gasped for breath, her eyes closed, half with pleasure, and half with the pain that the callous world had given her. She felt like she’s melting, and how she wanted him to hold her.
He pulled her close, ran his fingers through her hair, touched her cheek, and pressed his lips against hers, slowly now; withdrawing then; again and again, before giving her a passionate, lasting sensation of ecstasy.
Outside somewhere, the music began loud, the winds murmured.
She let the passion and love, held so long in their hearts, flow freely. She dropped a tear here, and he swore her name, they dived into each other, the times came to a stand, the hearts stopped beating; the feelings knew no bounds, and they’d defined no boundaries…..
Yet, the winds turned crazy, the music played loud, and somewhere, it rained.
She skipped a beat.
She had instead put on some weight, dark circles under her eyes, and pessimism around her persona.
She weighed herself against him.
Somewhere outside, the breeze sung a song; she knew she’d heard it before, long,long ago.
He held her tender fingers, sending shivers down her body, his eyes held hers, and his lips moved closer to her hands. As his lips touched her palm, she gasped for breath, her eyes closed, half with pleasure, and half with the pain that the callous world had given her. She felt like she’s melting, and how she wanted him to hold her.
He pulled her close, ran his fingers through her hair, touched her cheek, and pressed his lips against hers, slowly now; withdrawing then; again and again, before giving her a passionate, lasting sensation of ecstasy.
Outside somewhere, the music began loud, the winds murmured.
She let the passion and love, held so long in their hearts, flow freely. She dropped a tear here, and he swore her name, they dived into each other, the times came to a stand, the hearts stopped beating; the feelings knew no bounds, and they’d defined no boundaries…..
Yet, the winds turned crazy, the music played loud, and somewhere, it rained.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Blue and Black
She crumpled the sixth piece of paper.
Why was it so hard to tell him that yes, it is over between them?
The ink, she thought, yes the ink, why is it blue? I always write with black. Where is it?
A fresh piece of paper, and black ink, she began to think how to start.
Dear X,
There are so many things that I wish we would have discussed face to face, but your busy schedule….
He is home on time, always.
Well, if you think I am just another maid in your house to take care of your house,….
Was he dusting the house yesterday?
I hate to be cooking for you all the time, when all you do…..
Wasn’t the chicken she had last Monday cooked by him?
I am sick of you watching TV all the time, especially the action packed movies….
No, can’t be, she just watched Dragon Island day before yesterday.
I am not a laundry guy, why can’t you do your own…..
Seems like he ironed the clothes for her a few days ago.
How long have I been telling you to get me those diamond studs, but….
He promised, they would be hers next month.
Crumpled again.
Leave it, she thought, seems like there’s still something between us.
She washed the veggies, and started to think what should she cook for him for dinner……
Why was it so hard to tell him that yes, it is over between them?
The ink, she thought, yes the ink, why is it blue? I always write with black. Where is it?
A fresh piece of paper, and black ink, she began to think how to start.
Dear X,
There are so many things that I wish we would have discussed face to face, but your busy schedule….
He is home on time, always.
Well, if you think I am just another maid in your house to take care of your house,….
Was he dusting the house yesterday?
I hate to be cooking for you all the time, when all you do…..
Wasn’t the chicken she had last Monday cooked by him?
I am sick of you watching TV all the time, especially the action packed movies….
No, can’t be, she just watched Dragon Island day before yesterday.
I am not a laundry guy, why can’t you do your own…..
Seems like he ironed the clothes for her a few days ago.
How long have I been telling you to get me those diamond studs, but….
He promised, they would be hers next month.
Crumpled again.
Leave it, she thought, seems like there’s still something between us.
She washed the veggies, and started to think what should she cook for him for dinner……
Monday, March 7, 2011
I am a PROUD WOMAN
I don’t need to shout to make myself heard,
I don’t use inappropriate words.
I can make statements with just a glance of an eye,
I am strong, yet it takes a little to make me cry.
I like things tidy and clean,
I face reality, doesn’t mean I don’t dream
I can manage a job and a home,
Without having you say ‘I’m awesome’.
I am quiet, I am shy,
If need be, I can also defy.
I don’t get into fights, I am not loud,
Yet I am someone, you will always be proud.
Yes, I am a woman, I can take it all,
I can be the Goddess, or Just a Doll,
I am the power, I am the reason,
Yes, I am a PROUD WOMAN.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
I am......
I am the Dream,
And the Inspiration,
I am the World,
The Creation.
I am the Universe,
The entire System,
I am the Future,
And the Vision,
I am the Faith,
The Aspiration,
I am the Power,
The Triumph,
I am the Struggle,
The Survivor,
I am the Mistake
The Forgiven,
I am the Greed,
The Satisfaction,
I am the Occasion,
The Celebration,
I am the Love,
The Passion,
I am the Warmth,
The Obsession,
I am the Peace,
The Salvation.
I am the Dream,
The Inspiration.
I am the World,
The Creation……
And the Inspiration,
I am the World,
The Creation.
I am the Universe,
The entire System,
I am the Future,
And the Vision,
I am the Faith,
The Aspiration,
I am the Power,
The Triumph,
I am the Struggle,
The Survivor,
I am the Mistake
The Forgiven,
I am the Greed,
The Satisfaction,
I am the Occasion,
The Celebration,
I am the Love,
The Passion,
I am the Warmth,
The Obsession,
I am the Peace,
The Salvation.
I am the Dream,
The Inspiration.
I am the World,
The Creation……
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Immature @ 28
Well, it that time of the year yet again. But I guess it is different this time. Gone are the days when I would be so excited for it, and the plans would be all set something like 3 weeks before the day. Friends and cousins would call and ask me if there is something special that I would want from them. And yes, when the phones were not so much in place, and we had to queue up awaiting our turns on the PP numbers (we all had these PP numbers, yeah!!) to talk, somewhat in code words, and try our best to put the message across the other side, effectively. And be nervous if the friend has understood that the ‘umm’ I said to something she asked was actually a ‘no’.
Yes, those were the days. Days when my friends would turn up on this day at my place early in the morning. Warm hugs, and cold weather, made for a deadly combination. The sweetnothings and the wonderful wishes. Those lovely cards with a prose or two, handwritten and self composed. The symbols signifying our friendship and the group union. The friendship quotes, something like ‘ Some like blue ship, some like red ship, I like One ship, that is friendship’.
Sometimes, fresh flowers were put inside the card, so that the flowers would fall on me when the card would be opened. And then the grand luncheons, @ home, sponsored by Maa...The Gajar ka Halwa, and the masala chai. The evening on the Mall, in the freezing cold, hands in hands, and the warm Gulabjamuns with Ice Cream...Yay!! Nostalgic....
And then, we grew up. Busy lives, hectic schedules, and deadlines to be met. Thank God for the incoming free mobile technology, a few bucks and wishes still flowed. The cards did stop, and so did the flowers. Once long PP conversations shrunk to short calls and forwarded SMSes. Friends gave way to boyfriends, and I don’t really remember the last Gulab Jamun Ice Cream combination I had with my friends. No more guys walked upto me on this day, with a pretext of initiating a conversation. The day was spent in pieces, half in office, and half with the guy I thought I’d get married to. It was still better.
With me and the rest of my friends married now, the calls have gotten fewer, all thanks to the Facebooks and the Twitters. One line messages generally mean that you are still thought of. The excitement has lost its hold to important issues – more so budgetary. The gifts have grown bigger in size and value, but the feelings are forced, or so I conceive. And, on this 8th, when I shall be turning 28, I happen to be lonely than ever – and perhaps, make way for more lonelier days to come. The most mature decision, to let go of forced relationships and friendships, to pause and think where my life’s taking me, and give a new start, to think and act, immaturely to others, but most mature to me.
I am turning immature @ 28, by taking the most mature decisions of my life. And that too, all alone and by myself.
Yes, those were the days. Days when my friends would turn up on this day at my place early in the morning. Warm hugs, and cold weather, made for a deadly combination. The sweetnothings and the wonderful wishes. Those lovely cards with a prose or two, handwritten and self composed. The symbols signifying our friendship and the group union. The friendship quotes, something like ‘ Some like blue ship, some like red ship, I like One ship, that is friendship’.
Sometimes, fresh flowers were put inside the card, so that the flowers would fall on me when the card would be opened. And then the grand luncheons, @ home, sponsored by Maa...The Gajar ka Halwa, and the masala chai. The evening on the Mall, in the freezing cold, hands in hands, and the warm Gulabjamuns with Ice Cream...Yay!! Nostalgic....
And then, we grew up. Busy lives, hectic schedules, and deadlines to be met. Thank God for the incoming free mobile technology, a few bucks and wishes still flowed. The cards did stop, and so did the flowers. Once long PP conversations shrunk to short calls and forwarded SMSes. Friends gave way to boyfriends, and I don’t really remember the last Gulab Jamun Ice Cream combination I had with my friends. No more guys walked upto me on this day, with a pretext of initiating a conversation. The day was spent in pieces, half in office, and half with the guy I thought I’d get married to. It was still better.
With me and the rest of my friends married now, the calls have gotten fewer, all thanks to the Facebooks and the Twitters. One line messages generally mean that you are still thought of. The excitement has lost its hold to important issues – more so budgetary. The gifts have grown bigger in size and value, but the feelings are forced, or so I conceive. And, on this 8th, when I shall be turning 28, I happen to be lonely than ever – and perhaps, make way for more lonelier days to come. The most mature decision, to let go of forced relationships and friendships, to pause and think where my life’s taking me, and give a new start, to think and act, immaturely to others, but most mature to me.
I am turning immature @ 28, by taking the most mature decisions of my life. And that too, all alone and by myself.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Time BEHOLD
For the stories untold,
Dreams long lost,
For those hidden desires,
And unsung songs,
The ambitions forgotten,
Wishes never answered,
Requests ignored,.
And adjustment pacts,
Compromising situation,
Forgetting self,
Needless explanations,
The long fights,
And sad conditions.
Time behold,
I am scared no more,
I have the vision,
To make my dreams come true.
Time behold,
For no more regrets
Just the will to stride,
And do more than survive
Time Behold…………...
Dreams long lost,
For those hidden desires,
And unsung songs,
The ambitions forgotten,
Requests ignored,.
And adjustment pacts,
Compromising situation,
Forgetting self,
Needless explanations,
The long fights,
And sad conditions.
Time behold,
I am scared no more,
I have the vision,
To make my dreams come true.
Time behold,
For no more regrets
Just the will to stride,
And do more than survive
Time Behold…………...
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Rebirth
I flew where the winds would take me,
Crying on the wounds that the world inflicted on my soul,
I waited for someone to call after me.
I searched in others.
My strength to overcome my fears and doubts.
I looked past me for solutions,
I depended on others for my decisions,
Then hung on those, which were wrong.
I ignored my inner self,
And turned a blind eye to my intuition.
Once, just once, I looked inside me,
And resisted being blown
I mustered courage to say ‘NO’
Gave no space to apprehensions,
I had to look for my strength,
I realized it could only be Me.
I rose up to stand
To stand by Me.
Everything
Every damn thing
Begins and ends with Me being Me.
I had taken Birth
Yet Again…..
Crying on the wounds that the world inflicted on my soul,
I waited for someone to call after me.
I searched in others.
My strength to overcome my fears and doubts.
I looked past me for solutions,
I depended on others for my decisions,
Then hung on those, which were wrong.
I ignored my inner self,
And turned a blind eye to my intuition.
Once, just once, I looked inside me,
And resisted being blown
I mustered courage to say ‘NO’
Gave no space to apprehensions,
I had to look for my strength,
I realized it could only be Me.
I rose up to stand
To stand by Me.
Everything
Every damn thing
Begins and ends with Me being Me.
I had taken Birth
Yet Again…..
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Words Do Speak Louder Than Actions
She looked at her 2 year old daughter yet again; beautiful, big brown eyes, white as milk complexion, strands of curly, golden hair, and the pinkish-soft skin. She was the one who had held her mother for these 4 years of marriage (if that is what you call a man’s right to torture his lesser-known, hardly understood better half).
She’d been married for four years now. No, it wasn’t a forced marriage – they had met while she was on training in Mumbai. He’d been introduced to her as the Manager, Training Cell. There was something about his look, the way he talked to her, and smiled continuously. In the party that night, he’d asked her to dance with him, and as the words Nothing Gonna Change My Love for you engulfed every person in love that night, he whispered in her ears – “Marry Me,… I will love you the rest of my life” .
She put on her favorite jeans and top. She dressed her daughter in a pink frock, with silver frills. Boy she sure looked like a doll. Her innocent looks and the sounds of Mamma, mama, did nothing to alter her decision. She was always quick in deciding.
She was surprised and happy at the same time. Less than 12 hours of meeting someone landed her in answering the question that would determine her future life. After some weeks of speculation, a “Yes” was the only word she could think of, Why, she’d known by now that he comes from a reputed family of Delhi, earned well, and seemed pleasant. Not long after, they were married.
She reminisced over the lost times as her eyes caught her big diamond on her ring finger. She’d loved it. She laughed how many times he’d mentioned to her how much he spent for this ring. And not another gift followed for the next 4 years of their marriage. No. he occasionally took her shopping for the bare minimum necessities, though more to insult her choice of colors, designs and styles; bursting her into tears at almost all the stores. She soon took to shopping less than ever.
In order to be in Mumbai with him, she’d left her job, though more because he promised he would get her a job soon in Mumbai, and the idea of partners working in different cities didn’t really appeal to him. “Money isn’t everything, honey”, he’d say.
And,he never seemed to comply with what he said.
She couldn’t find a job; some were refused owing to the travel time involved (‘Who will cook the dinner, sweety?”), others because he thought the boss had an air of cheapness around him (“Did you notice how he stared at you?”) Some were not “respectable enough” (“Do you really think this job fits you being a Graduate?”) “Why the hell do you put on so much make-up? Cant you do without your damned kajal? You think you are a Model or what?” So on and so forth.
That’s why the jeans and the sleeveless top.
That’s why the light pink gloss on her lips and the blush on her cheeks.
Frustration in her was building up. It soon managed its way to crawl in their marriage. Frequent fights soon turned ugly. He’d never harmed her physically, but his words often wounded her much more. Everytime she asked him to take her out, he was busy. She asked him to pick his towel from the bathroom, or arranging his closet, he’d retort “Why?? You are free the whole day; can’t you even arrange my stuff? He’d be out with his friends often and many a times she knew he was lying when he said he was in office.
By an year, she was so tired of looking for a job, that she withdrew from the idea. He was pleased or so she thought. “I must make up for the lost love in us; I should give a sincere try”
That night, as he sat to a table of his choicest favorites, she mentioned to him she’d like to plan for a baby. Boy, he sure was excited. But not for long. His lackluster attitude, the careless behavior, rude words, insulting nature, and above all his all-of-a-sudden-I-am-the-best-husband only made the pregnancy worst for her. He wanted her to switch on and switch off as he pleased. She could never be familiar with his mood swings, one moment he’s the perfect husband, other he’d shout at her, insult her, call names to her family, speak in the most undignified languages of all times. She’d had enough, she thought to herself. She packed her bags, picked her few months old daughter, and declared, “I am left with no choice but to leave you”. He locked her. Made frantic calls to the families, embarrassed her, almost begged her not to leave, successfully. He was as good with his words as he was bad with them.
This time, she’d not bothered to him her plan. She’d ironed his clothes, passed him the towel, picked up his laundry, made him breakfast which wasn’t good enough as per him, packed his lunch, and bade him Goodbye, just as always. She did smile wryly many times, but he’d left noticing her years ago.
She could never have a decent conversation with him – he had an habit of drawing conclusions on his own. He never really let her speak, only made her listen. She could never touch his emotional side, if there was one. For him, a conversation was always about blaming her, making fun of her, ascertaining her faults and sometimes comparison with others. She herself took not to voicing her feelings soon after.
And, now, she will probably never need to speak. She held out the chocolate to her daughter. Both of them dug in the bar together. They had done this often. The little girl smiled and laughed, she loved her mom sharing the chocolate. She laughed and cried at the same time because she knew it was the last time they were doing so. Soon enough, the laughter and the tears died away. An eerie silence followed.
Domestic violence is not always physical. Sometimes, the violence can only be felt and heard. Words speak louder than Actions, sometimes.
She’d been married for four years now. No, it wasn’t a forced marriage – they had met while she was on training in Mumbai. He’d been introduced to her as the Manager, Training Cell. There was something about his look, the way he talked to her, and smiled continuously. In the party that night, he’d asked her to dance with him, and as the words Nothing Gonna Change My Love for you engulfed every person in love that night, he whispered in her ears – “Marry Me,… I will love you the rest of my life” .
She put on her favorite jeans and top. She dressed her daughter in a pink frock, with silver frills. Boy she sure looked like a doll. Her innocent looks and the sounds of Mamma, mama, did nothing to alter her decision. She was always quick in deciding.
She was surprised and happy at the same time. Less than 12 hours of meeting someone landed her in answering the question that would determine her future life. After some weeks of speculation, a “Yes” was the only word she could think of, Why, she’d known by now that he comes from a reputed family of Delhi, earned well, and seemed pleasant. Not long after, they were married.
She reminisced over the lost times as her eyes caught her big diamond on her ring finger. She’d loved it. She laughed how many times he’d mentioned to her how much he spent for this ring. And not another gift followed for the next 4 years of their marriage. No. he occasionally took her shopping for the bare minimum necessities, though more to insult her choice of colors, designs and styles; bursting her into tears at almost all the stores. She soon took to shopping less than ever.
In order to be in Mumbai with him, she’d left her job, though more because he promised he would get her a job soon in Mumbai, and the idea of partners working in different cities didn’t really appeal to him. “Money isn’t everything, honey”, he’d say.
And,he never seemed to comply with what he said.
She couldn’t find a job; some were refused owing to the travel time involved (‘Who will cook the dinner, sweety?”), others because he thought the boss had an air of cheapness around him (“Did you notice how he stared at you?”) Some were not “respectable enough” (“Do you really think this job fits you being a Graduate?”) “Why the hell do you put on so much make-up? Cant you do without your damned kajal? You think you are a Model or what?” So on and so forth.
That’s why the jeans and the sleeveless top.
That’s why the light pink gloss on her lips and the blush on her cheeks.
Frustration in her was building up. It soon managed its way to crawl in their marriage. Frequent fights soon turned ugly. He’d never harmed her physically, but his words often wounded her much more. Everytime she asked him to take her out, he was busy. She asked him to pick his towel from the bathroom, or arranging his closet, he’d retort “Why?? You are free the whole day; can’t you even arrange my stuff? He’d be out with his friends often and many a times she knew he was lying when he said he was in office.
By an year, she was so tired of looking for a job, that she withdrew from the idea. He was pleased or so she thought. “I must make up for the lost love in us; I should give a sincere try”
That night, as he sat to a table of his choicest favorites, she mentioned to him she’d like to plan for a baby. Boy, he sure was excited. But not for long. His lackluster attitude, the careless behavior, rude words, insulting nature, and above all his all-of-a-sudden-I-am-the-best-husband only made the pregnancy worst for her. He wanted her to switch on and switch off as he pleased. She could never be familiar with his mood swings, one moment he’s the perfect husband, other he’d shout at her, insult her, call names to her family, speak in the most undignified languages of all times. She’d had enough, she thought to herself. She packed her bags, picked her few months old daughter, and declared, “I am left with no choice but to leave you”. He locked her. Made frantic calls to the families, embarrassed her, almost begged her not to leave, successfully. He was as good with his words as he was bad with them.
This time, she’d not bothered to him her plan. She’d ironed his clothes, passed him the towel, picked up his laundry, made him breakfast which wasn’t good enough as per him, packed his lunch, and bade him Goodbye, just as always. She did smile wryly many times, but he’d left noticing her years ago.
She could never have a decent conversation with him – he had an habit of drawing conclusions on his own. He never really let her speak, only made her listen. She could never touch his emotional side, if there was one. For him, a conversation was always about blaming her, making fun of her, ascertaining her faults and sometimes comparison with others. She herself took not to voicing her feelings soon after.
And, now, she will probably never need to speak. She held out the chocolate to her daughter. Both of them dug in the bar together. They had done this often. The little girl smiled and laughed, she loved her mom sharing the chocolate. She laughed and cried at the same time because she knew it was the last time they were doing so. Soon enough, the laughter and the tears died away. An eerie silence followed.
Domestic violence is not always physical. Sometimes, the violence can only be felt and heard. Words speak louder than Actions, sometimes.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Learn to Appreciate the Little Things in Life
They say that ‘The most small and neglected things in life, are generally the ones that are of great importance”. Well, indeed, this small line in itself speaks a million words, and sparks off a thousand thoughts in a conscious mind. Not many are aware that the secret to living a life full of joy and satisfaction, lies in appreciating the little things that life has to offer. The greatness does not lie in getting the huge pay cheque, with no time to spare for your family, but it lies in attaining the supreme pleasures of smelling the flowers, playing with your 2 year old, spending relaxed moments with your wife by just listening to her words, surprising your Mom with the drive she always wanted in your big car, and going on a walk with your Dad on a beautiful morning.
Someone has remarked, ‘A man is nothing in himself”. Every ounce of flesh and blood in our body is either out of debt, or an award of somebody else’s actions. Thus, it would not be incorrect to say that a man cannot alone architect his destiny. He needs this constant voice of a loved one that encourages him, tells him he’s going to win, he will pass the odds, and success will fall his way. Some may argue, loners too make for impeccable success. Well, I’d still believe, that no man on his own can create his destiny – a mentor, guide, critic, someone has to be behind the success. And as soon he becomes successful, he finds it hard to share the triumph. He calls it his own win. All other things and people seem a rank below. Dejection takes its course towards the most important people. The happiness lies in seeking bigger successes. And, yes ignorance towards people is bliss!!
Once we start attaining the bigger things in life, a lot of us think of small things in our lives as useless and unnecessary. Why, how many times do we thank our mom’s for cooking us a sumptuous dinner? Or the friend who drove all the way from one end of the city to pick us up on a rainy day?
Its not that we don’t feel the effort, the feelings behind the effort, but its just that we are too engrossed with the bigger issues of our life that we tend to overlook these minute little things a bit so often that we end up taking people, places, and their efforts for granted. And that is how we ourselves isolate so much from the lives of our loved one, leaving a vacuum in their lives, a vacuum that they will gradually fill with either someone else, or replace it with useless indulgencies, unnecessary shopping sprees, and in some extreme cases by liquor, drugs or perhaps infidelity.
If we could learn to celebrate the smaller things if life, we would make up for the bigger triumphs.
Well, it would not be inappropriate to quote Vincent Van Gogh here,
"Great things are done by a series of small things brought together."
Someone has remarked, ‘A man is nothing in himself”. Every ounce of flesh and blood in our body is either out of debt, or an award of somebody else’s actions. Thus, it would not be incorrect to say that a man cannot alone architect his destiny. He needs this constant voice of a loved one that encourages him, tells him he’s going to win, he will pass the odds, and success will fall his way. Some may argue, loners too make for impeccable success. Well, I’d still believe, that no man on his own can create his destiny – a mentor, guide, critic, someone has to be behind the success. And as soon he becomes successful, he finds it hard to share the triumph. He calls it his own win. All other things and people seem a rank below. Dejection takes its course towards the most important people. The happiness lies in seeking bigger successes. And, yes ignorance towards people is bliss!!
Once we start attaining the bigger things in life, a lot of us think of small things in our lives as useless and unnecessary. Why, how many times do we thank our mom’s for cooking us a sumptuous dinner? Or the friend who drove all the way from one end of the city to pick us up on a rainy day?
Its not that we don’t feel the effort, the feelings behind the effort, but its just that we are too engrossed with the bigger issues of our life that we tend to overlook these minute little things a bit so often that we end up taking people, places, and their efforts for granted. And that is how we ourselves isolate so much from the lives of our loved one, leaving a vacuum in their lives, a vacuum that they will gradually fill with either someone else, or replace it with useless indulgencies, unnecessary shopping sprees, and in some extreme cases by liquor, drugs or perhaps infidelity.
If we could learn to celebrate the smaller things if life, we would make up for the bigger triumphs.
Well, it would not be inappropriate to quote Vincent Van Gogh here,
"Great things are done by a series of small things brought together."
Saturday, January 15, 2011
I Am What I Chose To Be
I have often found myself wondering as to how my life or the lives of the others around me would have been shaped had I made, or not made certain decisions. Would things all around still be the same? There are not much regrets, but a voice in my head that raises its ugly sound whenever I am confronted with difficult situations. I often trace the cause of the problem to its roots, and the roots are nothing but certain misjudged, misinterpreted, or misled steps, that seemed so right at that time.
Whenever I am involved so much in this argument with the little voice, I compare what I am today, to what I could have been had I chosen X over Y. The answer is also not comforting. Where I yearn for some things to remain constant, even if I’d chosen X over Y, I also want to get rid of certain others. Seems like I am never in a perfect situation, with the perfect people, and the result is that I am leading a totally imperfect life. Sad!!
But then, who has been blessed with a perfect life. I think, and I want to believe - no one. Probably, the happiest people are the ones who make their lives so near to perfect by finding perfection in every imperfection, a smile in every tear, a joy in every despair, a challenge in every solution. For they are the people who actually live life, and set others thinking as to how their lives turn out to be all good from the worse. Life sure offers us many choices, time to time, and if we can’t remain faithful even to the choices that we ourselves make, how can we expect any one, be it people, time or even God to be on our side? Taking responsibility for our decisions and taking the onus for the same is the first step towards happiness, for we will then have no one but us ourselves shaping our lives, with a firm belief that I am what I chose to be.
So from now on, I have decided to include this “faithfulness” towards me first, and then turn to others…..
Whenever I am involved so much in this argument with the little voice, I compare what I am today, to what I could have been had I chosen X over Y. The answer is also not comforting. Where I yearn for some things to remain constant, even if I’d chosen X over Y, I also want to get rid of certain others. Seems like I am never in a perfect situation, with the perfect people, and the result is that I am leading a totally imperfect life. Sad!!
But then, who has been blessed with a perfect life. I think, and I want to believe - no one. Probably, the happiest people are the ones who make their lives so near to perfect by finding perfection in every imperfection, a smile in every tear, a joy in every despair, a challenge in every solution. For they are the people who actually live life, and set others thinking as to how their lives turn out to be all good from the worse. Life sure offers us many choices, time to time, and if we can’t remain faithful even to the choices that we ourselves make, how can we expect any one, be it people, time or even God to be on our side? Taking responsibility for our decisions and taking the onus for the same is the first step towards happiness, for we will then have no one but us ourselves shaping our lives, with a firm belief that I am what I chose to be.
So from now on, I have decided to include this “faithfulness” towards me first, and then turn to others…..
Friday, January 14, 2011
Revisting Myself!!
Better late then never, says an old proverb. Well, I am putting this into use here since after much afterthought I have decided to set my blog rolling yet again, with a resolution of keeping it running for a long time to come.
Not only this, in this post, I am going to mention all the New Year Resolutions that I intend to carry on for atleast a quarter of an year. Ahh!! Slow and steady wins the race!! The likes of losing weight, controlling on my anger , mangaging my frequent mood swings et al. i know the list seems endless!
I m certainly slow, for it took me more than a year to realize that I do want to write somewhere, vent my thoughts, clear my veins, and above all be happy about doing something I have always loved : typing on MS Word!!
Bestes to Me!!
Not only this, in this post, I am going to mention all the New Year Resolutions that I intend to carry on for atleast a quarter of an year. Ahh!! Slow and steady wins the race!! The likes of losing weight, controlling on my anger , mangaging my frequent mood swings et al. i know the list seems endless!
I m certainly slow, for it took me more than a year to realize that I do want to write somewhere, vent my thoughts, clear my veins, and above all be happy about doing something I have always loved : typing on MS Word!!
Bestes to Me!!
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