The GAH Post

Person: Senior Manager
Age: 30

Key data points: Hot. Does not read fiction because he considers it to be frivolous. Hot girlfriend turned wife. Cool car. Respected. Roughly around five teams working under him including 8 TLs, 5-6 managers. Reportedly earns a pretty penny. So pretty that it probably doesn’t need makeup.

Person: Friend’s Cabmate’s cousin
Age: 24

Key data points: Chartered accountant in Australia. Owns two houses. In Australia, if that wasn’t clear. Reportedly earns a crore a month in Aussie dollars. Footloose and fancy-free.

Person: Another team’s TL
Age: 24

Key data points: Made TL when she was 22. Younger than most team members. Up for promotion again now. Lives in a beautiful apartment in HSR with maid and gym and whatnot. Perfect 32-28-32 figure and is one of those people who looks super perfect in formals.

Person: Classmate from school
Age: 24

Key data points: Assistant Manager of Marketing for a prominent company. B.Sc, MBA, M.Sc and a few more strings that I don’t know of. He earned over a lakh in bonuses even before he was promoted. Model child/model man.

WHATHEFUCKAMIDOINGWITHMYLIFE. 

*tearing hair out and running around in circles*

Smitten....

You know you are a greedy child. You want all the love and all the warmth and you know you don’t want to share.

You can hear him humming in the washroom, almost picture him dancing in the shower with the shampoo bottle for a mike and you smile even when you are half asleep. When he comes out, he tells you to wake up and plays “All of me, loves all of you”. Not that you specifically love the song but you like how he gets to the ‘all your curves and edges…” bit and looks at your face with feeling. You smile dismissively and cuddle into the covers till it’s a tangle of fair arms, dark legs, stubble and pink-tipped nails but…

… You know you are a greedy child, a greedy child who wants a few more moments of the quiet and cozy and John Legend crooning voice even when running late. 

You are chattering away, in the middle of animated conversation about your favorite topic and all your friends laughing at your jokes but you still want his undivided attention when you are around. And you throw a make-believe fit. And he knows that it’s a make-believe fit. He puts up with all the teasing that your friends put him through with that smile on his face, all because of the undivided attention that he gives you, and mouths ‘I love you’ secretly right before leaving. You don’t reply because you want your friends to think you are the cool one, the one who doesn’t obsess over the boyfriend but….

… You know you are a greedy child, a greedy child who loves that he loves you and secretly prays that he never becomes un-smitten. 

You bang on the door when he’s busy with something else, demanding that he deem your new dress pretty.  He ‘hmmms’ you first and then quickly snaps out of his reverie knowing that you’ll pout at his distractedness. He feels the silken hem and runs his hands over the fitted waist all the way to the lace trim at the shoulder, conveying how sexy he thinks you look without words, without even glances. He finds the perfect balance to deal with your constant switches between the child you want to be and the woman you really are. You never make a big deal out of how much he spoils you, you tell him it’s his duty, that it is the price he pays to be with the awesomeness that is you but..

…  You are secretly doing the happy dance because you are a greedy child, a greedy child who is glad to have someone do all the things you have always wanted Prince Charming to do but is too independent and grown-up to actually say it out loud. 

You know you are a greedy child. You want all the love and all the warmth and all the attention but you know you don’t want to share. And here he is giving you all that you wanted. And then some.

Enough to make even you want to share.

P.S: Inspired by this gem.

What Makes The Weekend The Weekend

Long post after a long while. At your own risk :)

1) Laaaaate mornings - At home I was never allowed to sleep in late; Mom used to have us (me and my little sister) up by 7.30ish, at the most, saying girls who sleep late will bring a curse upon the household because it was ashubh *rolls eyes*. But as much as I love Mommy dearest, one of the reasons I love living away from home is that I get to sleep when I want, as much as I want. Therefore the weekends are very much cherished for this specific luxury - I make it a point not to wake up before 10 a.m. Admitting it aloud makes me strangely guilty and a little shameful, but then I think about all those years of waking up at 3 a.m to study for tests and exams, I think I have earned it :P

2) Saaf safaayi - Strange as it might seem, cleaning is therapeutic. Atleast for me. The week goes by in a blur with mornings spent in battling Bangalore traffic to be as less late as possible, afternoons spend in trying not to order the YUMMY alu masala cheese sandwich from the canteen (because of which I have become an alu myself) and the evenings are a blur of aching shoulders and arguments about unfinished work. All these result in my house looking like Hurricane Katrina Part II with my omnipresent clothes being...well...omnipresent, my earrings finding their way everywhere but the designated box, my kajal frequently falling on the floor (the Colossal people should really think about making sturdier versions for people like me who drop the damn thing twenty times a week) and the trash slowly accumulating. And when the weekend comes, I chide myself for living in a dump like a pig, make a few grumpy statements to myself about how I have gotten used to living in a pigsty and go on a cleaning rampage until everything is so sparkly and shiny, I hardly recognize the place. Doesn't matter that I collapse with exhaustion right after but it's worth it. Happens every single weekend (how I manage to wreak such havoc on this small a space in such a short span of time is still a question I'm looking for an answer to).

3) Beauty regimen - I'm basically a very lazy person who will not do anything that does not actually require doing. Resultantly, I hardly spend any time making myself up (which works out quite fine considering I don't have to shell out a bomb for makeup :P) - a facewash, Lacto Calamine, baby lotion, kajal and a couple of tinted lip balms is all I have the patience for.  But weekends are my lets-experiment-with-everything-in-the-kitchen days and I go all out - bring on the eggs, tomatoes, sugar, coffee powder, the slightly questionable powdery thing I bought last year and whatnot, mix it all up and apply it on my face for the next few hours. And God help anyone who shows up at my door during those hours, my pack-laden face is sure to give them a stroke. At the very least.

4) Movie/TV Show/Book catch-up - So like I said, the week passes by in a blur leaving me with no energy to take out and plug in my laptop, stick in my HDD and try to locate which episode of what show I last saw/what part of which page of which book I was at. So during the weekends, I camp out on my bed, stretched out with my dear old chocolate-goop-in-a-mug and comforter and I finish off whatever episode/book/movie it was that has been playing hide-and-seek with my concentration the past week. And I could do this from Friday evening till early Monday morning without a break, if no one hauls me out. Which brings me to point number...

5) The 'hanging out' - I never was a fan of lounging around in ridiculously expensive coffee shops for just the ambience - if the chocolate cake was good, then it is a different matter altogether. But what with people dragging me out, sometimes literally, these days to places with fascinating names like 'Toit' and 'Banana Beach Bar' and 'Arbor' and whatever else, I realize, 'hanging out' is not so much about the place, as is the company - if you have the right company who can bakarbakar on into the night without needing any full stops, without any pauses save those spent gulping down food and air, then 'hanging out' becomes quality time spent doing all those things that you forget to do in daily life - laugh, stretch, unwind, socialize with people who are very unlike you but get  you, have a decent conversation... Just. Perfect.

In school, weekends used to be the boring pauses in the active flow of school life. In college, weekends were not so happening considering my stupid college had a closed campus. Now, weekends are the shots of pure mountain streams ka cold water in the middle of the desert that is work life. And I have a feeling that these things, right here, are the nascent stages of what will become traditions in the future.

As I finish writing, the clock beeps indicating the arrival of khooni Monday, my nemesis. Ah well, life has to go on until next Friday:) Happy week, y'all!

The Thing About Photographs...

...is that they preserve memories.

Memories which fade from our minds with time, memories that we hold on to despite everything because we cherish the happiness in the moment – with photographs you don’t have to struggle so hard, they capture the moment exactly as it is, the head thrown back in laughter, the coffee cup tilting to a side threatening to spill, the fingers which are barely touching, the perfectly-plated food that was eaten with gusto…. The photograph transports you back in time to that exact moment of happy perfection that is sure to make you sigh. Sigh with the incapability of the human race to create a time machine to transport you back and forth.

The thing about photographs is that they preserve only happy memories.

A year from now, the photograph will not immortalize the terrible fights, the words flung, the vodka drunk, the pain felt and the despair drowned in. Two years from now, someone will look at the photograph and comment that you looked so happy, what ever happened to it. Kisi ki nazar lag gyi hogi. Three years from now, the photograph will have documented the ecstatic highs but not the depressing lows that have left deep scars. The scars which serve to be the antonym of the photographs.

Should we leave the perfect moment alone because, well, it was perfect? Or erase it off because nothing good ever came out of a photograph that gave the false impression despite the good memory?

P.S: This is the result of having browsed through old photos, both legal and illicit, under the hangover of “The Fault In Our Stars”. 

My Trooper

Cute little trooper.

He comes running in from the yard, tiny feet pattering across the stones and sand without a care. His chubby face is pink with the exertion yet the rose-bud mouth is pulled out into a great big grin, two little pearls of teeth making their appearance right in the front – the kind of grin that makes you inadvertently break into a smile of your own at the innocent optimism and quick contentment that life seems to take away as we grow older.

I think we lose a lot when we forget how, as a child, we could go from zero to elation in the time it takes to say ‘toffee’.

Anyway…. he comes running in, voice garbled with words that he does not know yet and eyes shining with excitement – he found a butterfly, his first. He reaches the entrance only to trip on the door step; hardly noticeable to the rest of us but to this two-feet-something ball of sheer joy, I’m sure it seemed like a high jump hurdle. He trips and fall onto the floor, the only teeth he has making contact with a soft little bottom lip – the sight of blood twists my insides into painful knots.

He bursts instantaneously into loud heart-rending cries as I scoop him up and check how deep the cut is. Not that deep, I sigh with relief. Then I go into damage-control mode, I coo soft nothings in his ear while cuddling him close as his wails die down to whimpers and then quiet sniffles.

I hoist him onto my hip as I reach for the jar on top of the fridge and pull out a bright red piece of candy. He looks at it and shakes his head, the sniffles growing a wee bit louder. I put the red one back, pull out a yellow one and hand it out. He closes his pudgy, pink fingers around it and chews one end – by now the sniffles have died down completely. I set him down on his blue kiddie chair and search the cabinet for oral ointment, it takes me a good five minutes to locate the tube of Zytee.

I turn around only to hear receding pitter-patter of feet heading off towards the yard again, accompanied by slurping sounds and the occasional word that he cooks up when he’s talking to himself. He’s off looking for the butterfly again.

Brave little trooper.

If only we learn from them, children. If only.

P.S: Dramatized real incident, my brother has grown up so much since this happened, both literally and figuratively, that I cherish the memory of this phase of his so so much. If it weren't for memories.

Love Unbounded

She laughs heartily at my jokes - jokes designed, exaggerated and enacted to get that precise reaction out of her and when she laughs, crinkles appear at the corners of her beautiful brown eyes while she absently brushes away the bangs that are her trademark.

She believes in me with a will – I doubt if anyone else will ever believe in me and my abilities and the person I am like she does – and she thinks I’m the best ever, which in itself makes me want to be better, do better, just for her.

She loves me so much that it almost hurts, hurts to think that I might fail that love.

She is so very cool – she thinks that a live-in relationship will help two people understand enough about each other to ensure that the subsequent marriage works.

She’s who I call Momsuey, the only person in the world I love unconditionally.  

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
 

Aggrandize With Gold

I found this quote on Facebook and I have one Mr. Rohith Ramdas to thank for it. It's surprising how you can find these little nuggets of pure, unadulterated perfection when you sift through the wasteland that Facebook has become.

Anyhoo, isn't the quote just perfect? Makes you think about all the flaws you have, all the things that you hate about your past in a better way.

Everyone suffers in life - some more, some less. For some it is the wrath of their Fate or, if you so choose to believe, the repercussions of their actions, Karma. While for others, suffering becomes what they will upon themselves, either creating sadness for sympathy and martyrdom or refusing to acknowledge all that is perfect in their life for the sake of one tiny thing that they don't have.

Either way the suffering is real.
But it goes away. It will go away.

What truly matters is who you become after it.

You can either be that person who is pitied by all, languishing in the throes of sadness or you can choose to become more beautiful for the suffering which has made you better and your history is what defines who you are today.

Which one do you choose?

Trippy

 

It's amazing what you can do with an 8 MP phone camera, fairy lights, patience and timing. No? 

P.S: No edits, whatsoever.

 

Of Putting Yourself Out There

You know when Meredith Grey said, ‘Pick me, choose me, love me’ I said ‘Good for you! You go girl... standing up for yourself and all’ but I also heard another mean little voice in me saying, ‘ahem, needy much?’

But now I realise that she wanted Derek to pick her, not because she wasn’t a strong, independent girl who was perfectly capable of becoming as great as or even bigger a legend than her mother but because Derek was the only one who seemed capable of dissipating the ‘dark and twisty’ that her life was at that point.

Derek made her happy in more ways than one, like no one could before.

And not wanting to let that go, wanting him to know what a big difference he made to her life, wanting to return the same love, to give him the life he deserves - the life with the babies, the family-thing and the works - I understand that. That’s not needy. That's just you having the courage to put yourself out there for the sake of a chance at happiness.  

"If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lie with me and forget the world"

It takes courage to ask that of someone. And that is not needy. Not even a little bit.

P.S: Grey's Anatomy might be a chickflick for a lot of people but I swear I have learnt more about real life from it than anything else. It's all about what you take away from something.

Silent Night - III

Part II

24th December 2013

I brushed away the annoying wisps of hair from my face as I squinted in concentration - the tails of the white shirt that I was wearing fluttered in the wind as my pale legs shivered in the cold and my fingers flew over the keyboard as I churned out another scene for my protagonists.

I was sitting on the white patio, overlooking the solid-looking mountain on the backdrop of the clear blue skies. Wispy looking clouds scuttled by and the occasional eagle soared high – peaceful and silent, the place fostered the writing bug in me and stoked the fire high, to fill pages and pages with scribbled words, beautiful words.

It had been a year since I sat on the floor of the bridal suite, a year which had seen me change completely as a person – so much so, nobody from my past even recognized the person I was now.

That random girl you see in the café with messy hair, book in hand, absently sipping on hot chocolate? That is me. That is the me who took a long hard look at the life she was living and was shocked to realize that she had been making the very same mistakes that she had once vowed not to. 

I had relegated loved ones to a prison in my heart, not allowing myself to love, not letting myself feel their love. I had blamed the walls I had built around myself on my past but as I read Justin’s letter, I realized that I had become the opposite of who I really was – a dour businesswoman who cared more about what I did than who I did it with.

When realization dawned, I made an instant decision, I called my manager and transferred power of attorney of my company to him. He was shocked, he called it a whim, a result of the recent heart-break I had faced, but I managed to talk him into it – I still thank God mentally for giving me the sense to hire Sohail for today, I’d be truly lost without him.

As to what I wanted to do after relinquishing the power that had gone to my head and changed me, I sat back in my bean bag and let the tiny flicker of a lost childhood dream play hide and seek with my thoughts – I wanted to write.

As a child, I’d spent hours stitching together the right words to frame the perfect sentences that told stories that came to me as I wrote. I’d won every competition in sight because what I wrote was far beyond my age and that was what made people take notice and scared me at the same time.

One day, my stepfather found and read one of my stories and whispered in my ear, “You want to write, eh? I can’t wait to see you try and fail so hard that you will forget every word you know. You'll always be a failure, I hope you know that” sniggered and walked away. The child in me was so traumatized by such a small incident; the fragile self-esteem broke once again in his hands and I never tried to write again.

And that is exactly what I decided to do to show the ghosts of my past that I was still the same person. After I amended the mistakes I’d made, found a quiet cottage in Siliguri that was picture perfect and settled down, I wrote again.

Now, I was telling my own story. I was penning down my first book and what started as yet another romance novel, found me drawing deeply from my own story, catharsis in a way, brilliant semi-fiction material in another way – it was all I could do to not rub my palms in glee when I realized my own life was so dramatic, it would make a great story.

I was almost done, all I needed was a fitting climax to the fine filigree of emotions that I’d managed to weave into the black words that showed up in contrast on the stark white Word doc.

With the annoying wisps of hair out of my face, I tapped a finger absently on the mousepad as my mind worked furiously – where was I going, how did my story end?

That was when I heard him sneak up behind me before he could say ‘boo’, spoiling his plans to startle me. I looked up at his smiling face, a good morning if there ever was one, I thought. 

To be continued...

A Clean Slate To Scribble On

2013 - a year that saw me through some of the toughest times of my life. And yet, when I look back I fondly recall memories, incidents that have played a huge part in making me the person I am today - resilient, willing to take on change by the horns, someone who is finally comfortable with her own company as much as others'. I made the choice to fall out of touch with almost 90% of people I knew, almost everybody became somebody that I used to know. But a select few stuck on, despite my best efforts, and now I know how important those few are to me.

The year has been one where I have completely let go of discipline - no fixed schedules, no planning, no control over what goes into my mouth from the plate, no budgets, no nothing. And I have learnt that discipline is the only thing I need to get to my goals, everything else I already have.

I recovered from failure. And I learnt that all it takes to not let it get to you is to have the right people around.

I broke almost every rule I had for myself one time or the other and today, I have become better for the experience than worse. I won't bore you with details, we all walk similar paths strewn with similar roadblocks, so you know what I'm talking about. Which is why....

....2014 - I know it is going to be a great year, not because I went to two temples and prayed my heart out (a redundant belief but one that gives me peace of mind and makes me guilty for my sins at the same time) but because I am going to make it so. A great year where I'll read more books, write more meaningful words, learn my lessons. I'll achieve the goals I have set for myself and I'll have fun doing it. I'll smile a lot more and relish each moment instead of being the procrastinating prat that I was last year. I'll go easy on the sarcasm and the temper. I'll make the people I love happy.

This year, I have no resolutions. This year I only have the will. The will to reach out for what I want and get it.

May 2014 bring to you all that your hearts desire, folks. Coz that's all you really need.