Semblance

They peeked from corners and winked at me through mirrors,
the eyes that saw everything.
And everywhere her eyes looked
they shattered into shards of agony.
The pieces reflected small holes.
Or small wholes perhaps.
She didn't know which.
They lay unobstrusively on the ground and glittered
with her glory.
In them she lay hidden,
Reflected for all to see.

Kiss Good Bye

Is it what you feel or what you know? Deep down inside at the bottom of your heart where you're busy churning love in various new forms is probably where it all begins. The mediocrity of people combined with yours makes one big average. It's more average than the individual spirit. And then the standards are formed. To which one must conform. The big average becomes the guideline for things good and small. There are moments when you can feel yourself floundering and lost. And the scariest part is that you relinquish that too. Because it's alright to flounder in everyone's combined average angst. You sacrifice your anger for a time and once it finally comes and pats you on your back you drown it and yourself in misunderstood rage and selfish grief.

There is hardly a point to life. Except to simply feel the fact that you exist. Every single day. Just that. And everything else is simply a bonus - good friends, a decent place to live, loves of lives and the occasional craving for blueberry cheesecake.

Life

The purpose of living was surely not to spend most of our time in pursuit of small spurts of happiness that resemble contentment but are too fleeting to be anything but pretence. Dissatisfaction has a foul stench. And jealousy is at the root of every disgusting discourse. Knowing what you don't want eats you up on the inside worse than knowing you what you do. It seems too futile to put into words. So I stop trying. The constant consternantion and erratic behaviour which must be explained to someone day in and day out so that there is a proof of conscience is simply proof of the fact that there isn't. Sometimes I stop myself before it becomes tangible. I wish it would break. So that I won't have to touch it. Always tentative, always watchful, always waiting, always afraid. It's as if I read 'Life for Dummies' and am still too dumb to understand it. I doubt the answer will lie in 'Life for Dumber Dummies'.

Arranged Marriage aur Hum

The marriage mafia presents..: not-eligible match for your idiotic, dim witted, pot-bellied, weird, uneducated bania lump of a son.

Name: Manasi Chatpalliwar

Height: 5'8'' ( yes too tall for your lump, I suggest you not read ahead.)

Date of Birth: 15/06/1988

Age: 22

Views on marriage: If it involves what's described above please kill me now.

Place of Birth : Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania (Will bet you a hundred dollars your son does not know which continent)
Time of Birth : 8.30 p.m. (Non- Manglik - which totally is besides the point but because your brain power is limited to thought processes involving fried food and getting married, discussions on this will help you feel intelligent and thoughtful.)

Qualification: B. A. Honours, History, Pursuing LL.B. - No package (Maybe that will deter you greedy bastards)

Other Details : Girl is a voracious (yes it's a word, yes it's very common) reader. Enjoys Music and travelling (trips to Manali in borrowed Innova taxis do not count as travelling). Family-oriented (towards her own family that is, not yours). Simple, not down to earth - chances are she might bully your son. Is said to be witty, which is a pity because all that humour will be wasted on your blob.

Convent educated, tall and slim.

Family Tree

Father : Government Official

Mother: Government Official

[Neither possesses the capacity to discuss your jewellery, cars and business beyond 5 seconds]

Brother: Possesses more intelligence in his little pinky than your entire khandaan put together and will be immensely cooperative in secretly poking fun at you behind your back after you leave.

Note: If still interested after reading this, kindly note that NO, we will not give your blob gold or a car or a washing machine, or a television set, or a house or pay for bathroom fittings etc. if by some sheer fluke this marriage does actually place.

Shrink Sessions With Kangaroo Babies

There is nothing wrong. With anyone. Education comes easy and love doesn't. We screw up, take wrong decisions or we just lose ourselves completely and make a royal mess of things. We get irritated and grumpy. We are young and we are wasted.

They're people who'd rather focus on your handwriting rather than what's written on the page. They will not appreciate that you can read fluently in four languages but would rather mock your accent instead. They'd rather make fun of your physical attributes than appreciate that you're the one person they come running to when they want something from the top shelf. They'd rather smirk at your sweaty hands rather than try and understand what it's like to be constantly in need of hydration and how the Indian summer screws you over more than most other people.

You're living with people who refuse to grow up. Who can't stop being petty because they'd have to face themselves. You have to pretend about caring to remember birthday and events in their lives while they pass you by. When you pull away they claw you back into their lives as if you matter and always did. You do not and never will.

In the midst of all of this, despite the blogging like angst filled teenagers you have nights of laughter and disdainful humour and still manage to somehow be.

Blah Blah

It's become a tug of war. With people and events. By the end of it you wonder if you even care.
A few weeks ago I received an email from someone I have spent years hating. I read and had nothing but disdain and contempt for them. The fact that I still had some sor of feeling was disturbing. I knew them at a time when I was just out of school and trying to grow up right. I gave that up a year ago. Now I'm just growing up in a lopsided manner with messed up views and staunch principles.

Experimentaion. Seems to be the rule of the day these days. This is what some of the most annoying conversations sound like:
"So you don't drink?!!" followed by weird contortions of the face in astonishment accompanied with a lopsided judgemental grin. As if I've suddenly grown a tail.
"Not really, I don't like the taste." I say honestly. Because I am stupid. This is met with more judgemental snickers. In my mind I have already stopped bothering because I realise that I'm talking to a dumb fuck. He persists however. As is the habit with dumb fucks.
"So nothing at all?! What do you do to get hammered?" His face is ugly. I want to punch it.
"I don't get hammered." I reply and start examining my nails.
"Shit, dude.. you're some chick... !" He drawls. I really want to punch him. I want to see if the various rings I'm wearing will leave a mark on his face.
"Are you retarded?" I ask.

It is not a good feeling to feel tired at the age of 22. Emotionally and mentally sapped of all ability to care. It's the one thing I used to have in abundance. The ability to fret. Now, I just give up on things. There are no more tears. No more angst. And it's a strange high to be done with people before they're done with you. The one with the nice smile I was done with two weeks ago. The one before that with the long fingers just wouldn't let go. So I left him standing in a busy street and walked off. There was one yesterday who pretends to know these things. Women and all sorts of things. I think I'll let him pretend and be done with him today.

And So It Begins

I stare at my lap. Look out of the window. Stare at my lap again. Look out of the window again. I have never been this nervous. Or perhaps I have and don't remember.
He seems fine. Drives. Smokes. Drives.
I wonder if he's smoking because he's nervous too.
"Is it the music?" he asks.
"No." I am mortified. I curse every single Western musician silently under my breath and then myself for never having been able to understand or appreciate it!
I'm actually very proud of myself for keeping so quiet! I guess he notices as well.
"What's with the silence?"
I smile. I feel like a retard but I smile.
He gives me this huge grin and I realise I'm fine.
It begins to rain and I gather up the courage to fiddle with the radio. I give him a sideways look to see if he minds. It doesn't look like he does. I feel myself suddenly relaxing. I smile again.
A long drive and a bit of rain and a little bit of music.

Two and a Half Men

How do men do it? How do they always have their radars reading signals that are not even there? It's disappointing. Some things I'd like the men to know:

1. When we call you up to get someone else's number it is not an excuse! Honestly we're just not bothered enough to find a better way to do it.

2. Also if we call you up at a certain time of the night there is no need to read too much into it. Most of us are insomniacs and sleep during the day if ever and need someone to stay up with them.

3. If we laugh at something you say it is not because you are funny but because we find you and your sense of humour pathetic and ridiculous. Most of us who are above 20 no longer do the seductive giggle tactics on the phone! Especially never to prolong sleepless nights!

4. If you think you are witty and you are not please do not try to drive the person up the wall by simply repeating the thing you think is witty in different tones!

5. If you are aware that your wit is below average and your humour stale, resist the temptation to tell a well practised joke. The chances are that you will mess that up as well.

6. If you own a goldfish and somehow never tire of talking about it, marry it. Do not invite the person you are talking to to the ceremony.

7. If you have past girlfriends that were just like you, marry them and chuck the goldfish. Do not obsess about them to the other person over and over until they wish to kill you both.

8. If you think you are like any of the characters in Boston Legal, keep it to yourself. Constantly saying "Denny Crane" in little bursts does not give you the right to be so annoying.

9. If you think certain parts of my anatomy are appealing try not to make it obvious by staring. When I catch you staring do not try to stare me down. It is not polite.

10. If you believe in getting laid simply say so. No one is going to judge you. We will judge you if you declare you do not believe in it, because then you're just a weird guy.

To you and you and you

"Ooooohhhhh.... I'd love to be skinny!"
"Give me your metabolic rate!"

I never knew thin was the cause of such envy... A certain someone told me they'd die to be so thin... I tell them often that I'll probably die because of it... :-)

I'm envious too.. of raging appetites and risky lifestyles..

IF I COULD I WOULD:
vodkas with cokes (more than half a glass) and
dhaba food and
sweet concotions and
chocolate milk! and
maggi, maggi maggi! and
chicken sandwiches from subway and
chhole kulche from roadside vendors and
momos from obscure carts and
glasses full of coke with loads of ice! and
ice creams after every meal and
chicken!! rolls, gravies anything!

This is for all of you.. who can eat and eat and keep it all in.. savour it! fuck the weight issues! they're dumb and stupid!

Purge

I wish I could scream. I wish that there was some place that you could go to and then just scream it all out. It'd save a lot of people a whole lot of trouble.

There are impressions of me that do not match. There are definitions that do not fit and there are lies which are sometimes so true it's insulting to have to believe otherwise.
Every single day, there are voices in my head and it's like they killed my angel and buried it somewhere so that all I can hear is myself and them.
I wish I could scream. I hope that when I finally do it, I will be understood.

Rime

When they were newly married, they'd sleep in positions which ensured physical contact throughout the night. Sometimes, they'd be face to face so that their foreheads would touch, sometimes, he'd put his arm around her waist and draw her close. She would always end up saying his name out loud in deep sleep.

One morning, she awoke to find him looking her and was thrilled that he'd been watching her sleep. He kissed her on the nose and then lay back looking forlorn.
"What is it my love?" she asked.
"Why do you say his name every night, night after night?" he whispered sadly.
________________________________________________________

I hold his hand for lack of something better to do. The distance between where we are and where we should be is immense. The restlessness, anguish and pain of both our beating hearts creates a cocoon inside which we exist in each other's solitude.

If I find what I am looking for, I fear it may be something that will be the manifestation of my vilest most horrid beliefs.
His rancor, through which I have discovered a void within myself where I wish to be buried alive, has made my soul splinter into little pieces which do not feel complete anymore.

They say live... with it.... and without it...

I wish they'd tell me how.

Night and Day

There were hours of sunshine and minutes of pain.
Seconds of ecstasy existed in both. My knowledge of the dozen rotations upon an axis was limited.
Once night fell, the recollection of golden moments eluded me and one by one the instances of hurt came and fenced my bed. The length of the ordeal could not be measured and the expanse which it covered was shadowed in moon light.

There, perched upon a gleaming bough sang a lark. Further below at a window sill, a sparrow morosely pecked at bread crumbs. The lark had perhaps forgotten the five dozen seconds of ecstasy, the sparrow had perhaps never been in the sun.

My Take

When he walked into that room I changed my mind... as always. I wanted to say something but couldn't because it would be rude. So I let it be. I knew it was going to hurt and it did. A lot. And then not so much. I am no longer scared of physical pain...although my own whimpering has disgusted me quite a bit. Maybe it'll not be so bad the next time. Maybe I'll gag myself.

Poltroon

By the end of it you're a coward. You arm yourself with guns and swords and whatever else may protect you and you stand, feet apart, waiting.

Upon hearing the numerous war cries and horns you charge headlong into confusion. Everyone makes a mess and all the colours get mixed up. You get hit or stabbed or shot and dizzyingly fall to the side like an archer's broken arrow. You see your own blood staining your shirt and decide to give up. You wait patiently for death while lying on the sidelines, when you can perfectly well remain in combat and get finished off sooner without the wait.

At the first sign of pain you forget that that's the one reason you're standing in that damp muddy field with sweat and blood pouring out of you. It wasn't that they didn't warn you. You aren't to be blamed either. Effulgent fantasies cry a gloriously brave, victorious death.

Odi et Amo

I loved and I hate. She flies with her own wings.

I want to colour the dots. Big, gaping holes, in their anonimity they'd be happy. Therefore I take a felt tip pen and make diamonds and flowers with holes as the centre and at the edges and all around. Myopia is a pre-requisite to appreciate my wet ink art. From far away I see a hazy figure- Monet could have painted him... the grey and the black and other black blue dots making sense from a distance in a drizzle of white.

I figured out a pattern yesterday, or the day before or a year ago (I forget when). It went something like Henry VIII's wives : Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.

Sometimes, when it's dark, I practice waiting. When it's light it becomes like Penelope's burial shroud for Laertes, a little bit of which is unravelled every day but without suitors to prompt. I have given it the dawn of a certain day and the dusk of others and the sky is black all the time for all those who didn't know.

For once..

For once I would like to experience basic peace. Not the complicated, obscure shit people keep talking about but the normal kind. The one in my head. I want to see what that is like. I imagine it would be sheer bliss to stop living keeping others in mind..

Silver Rings and Smoke...Small Things and Hope...

It was dark in the room, and cold too. There was the street light pouring in with the cold and fog like last minute additions to an exclusive guest list. I realised then that she was smart. In a very non-apparent way.

It was the quiet expression and the big eyes. Aloof. The smoke coming out of her mouth was like swirls of wisdom. Her words though...I wouldn't exactly call them pearls...

The shadows all seemed intimidated by her and her face in match stick flame light did not glow.

Then it became like my dreams. The ones that sort of turn into nightmares and end with becoming dreams again. Some sort of an abstract script for a neverending saga.

Mutilated thoughts curled up into an aura around her head in a fetal position. Then there was the microscopic perspective to think about. Impressionist dots on a large canvas.

Knees to chest with a chin propped up on one knee. Elbows fit snugly into the palms made only for those joints...

In sleep we're all the same...

Wishing Lemons

With her glasses perched at the tip of her nose she breathed patches of steam on the tram window. She felt very conscious of the fact that this was the night she was running away. She had passed a frozen river on the way. Had contemplated jumping in, but realised just in time that she couldn't swim. Just in times weren't supposed to save her. It always was for others.

She thought about the man with the wishing lemons. Rows and rows of lemon trees in that beautiful orchard. A beautiful sunset in the background and a summer dress blowing around her knees. She had wondered if her legs looked as nice as people said they did and was glad it was warm enough.

All those lemons - all those wishes. Of course there was the possibility that the mass conversion of all those fruits into jams, marmalade, lemonade, pudding, cake, pies etc. would leave a person feeling quite wretched. A wish would cancel out another just as the taste of one lemon dish would cancel out the taste of another. The lemons left on the trees (those that were meant for others) rotted and fell onto the ground and were a pulpy mass squelching under her feet. They were trees of endless possibilities. It was wishes growing in abundance. A lemon in itself was no good. She thought that man was stupid. He was stupid enough to want to look after an orchard like that all by himself. It was stupid how all his wishes failed to take account of others before them. It was stupid how he didn't try making money off of that never ending source of happiness. When she had told him that he had laughed and kissed her for her stupidity. He told her he'd make her a wish dish. Whatever she liked. He couldn't let her do it for herself. There was always the possibility of her stupidity leading to her wishing the orchard away from him. Even in terms of wish dishing, or dish wishing no one knew what they wanted. If they ever did realise it in their dreams (they equated these with wishes sometimes), it was elusive after they woke up.

So, I'm going home. I think I am. She felt very old. Extremely young and very old at the same time. I think it was the coat. The long black coat, boots, the cold outside with the steam patches on the windows and those eyes with the glasses perched on the nose. She adjusted them and everything fell into focus. My wish dishes would be made of rotten lemons.

Winter Favourites!

1. Wet tangled hair at the nape of my neck and a steamy bathroom.

2. Endless cups of foaming coffee.

3. Wearing three layers and still feeling exquisite shivers of cold.

4. Pretty blankets

5. Sunlight

6. Johnson and Johnson's baby cream! Lots of it!

7. All alone on the 7th floor with fog outside which makes it feel like I'm living on a cloud.

8. Mufflers!

9. Cold hands all the time! And a cold pink nose too!

10. My Papa's sweater which smells of smoke and boss...

Wish Upon a Star

I like to think of myself as a dreamer. I have a tendency to get lost in my own world and think for hours on end and dream and imagine and conjure up little fairy tales with real people and real things in my life forming the plot. Ever since I have been a child I remember thinking of something or the other that would glamorize my pretty average life. I still have that. Now of course, it’s a little bit more practical. Now I think about studying, doing well, getting a well paying job, sending my parents on five star cruises, that kind of thing. They’re still huge dreams though. Every time the magnitude of what I want from life hits me and I wonder if it’s ok. I know life isn’t a fairytale. The world is a messed up place because there are numerous people out there who for whatever sadistic satisfaction it gives them like to tell people that nothing is easy, that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, that the tooth fairy is actually just your parents putting money under your pillow and throwing your precious tooth away. The whole exercise is futile. People grow up and eventually find out these things on their own. What’s the point of ruining it for them when they need it the most?

My point is that if life is so hard and difficult to manage, people should just let me see that on my own. I’m not ok with the worldly perceptions ruining my fledgling hopes and dreams because at any given point of time there are people more experienced and wiser than me walking around on the face of this planet. I’m ok with them. They seem to be ok with me. However, I don’t wish to be mollycoddled. I like to believe I’m a person who can work things out for herself. The experiences which have made me believe that about myself are few but still very strong impressions of my childhood.

I couldn’t ride a bicycle. I just couldn’t balance and my mother would come back from work and take me to practice but I just couldn’t keep myself from toppling over. My best friend at that age, a boy from my colony would run alongside me yelling out all the encouraging things children of that age say but I just wouldn’t be able to ride it. It used to bother me that everyone could do it and I couldn’t. Then one day, I remember it was Holi. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the colony to have lunch. My parents stood with a couple of my relatives while I wandered around with my bunch of friends waiting for lunch to start. It was then that I spotted my brother’s bicycle propped up against the park wall. Instinctively, I knew I could do it this time. So I walked over and carefully wheeled it away from any obstacles. My brother’s friends pointed it out to him “woh dekh teri behen teri cycle le ja rahi hai.” He just shrugged went back to playing “kucch nahin hota, use chalani nahin aati.” It was then that I started pedaling and because I’d imagined and dreamed of doing it all along I could do it well and fast and with perfect balance. I still remember my dad’s face when I came and faced him. He was smiling. Out of all the people standing there he was the only one whose face showed that I wasn’t about to bang into any shins. That day I had lunch on my bicycle, with my mother feeding me a few morsels here and there whenever I pedaled close enough. I spent the whole day on that little yellow BMX and it was beautiful. I’ll never forget that bicycle. It was absolutely perfect. I was heartbroken when it was stolen one day and I rode many bicycles after that and owned a couple as well but that was one bicycle which if I could have I would have saved for my kids.

I’m still smiling at that image of me - around 8 years old and wearing one of those frocks (uncomfortable contraptions which I hated but was forced to wear because Indians are very weird when it comes to dressing their children). I taught myself to whistle, to blow chewing gum bubbles and to skip with a skipping rope. I climbed trees, ran faster than any boy in the colony and wasn’t scared of anyone. It was a beautiful childhood. Sure, I didn’t really care about Santa Claus or anything but I think I was able to do all those things because people didn’t bother me or care about me to pay much attention to what I was doing. There was no one telling me I couldn’t so I did.

I never once thought that I would grow up to be a little bit of a cynic myself. I never imagined that when I would look at stars and wish upon them, my focus wouldn’t be that the wish would come true. I would instead be madly hoping that someone would be out there, listening to my wish and at least deliberating upon it if not making it come true.

The thought came to me today when I was sitting on my roof staring at the skies and singing to myself. I realized it doesn’t matter which star you pick to wish to or if you yell your thoughts out to the skies. All that matters is what you wish for and how much you want it. Whether you deserve it or not, is for the stars to decide.