Of Simple Lives and Raindrops

The doorbell rang.

I groaned out of sheer laziness as I took the plate of nachos off my stomach and dusted the crumbs off the Abercrombie tee.

I tried hard to shake off the dark mood; no thanks to the dismal, cold weather. 

I should have been happy for my best girl, she’d gotten engaged.

But somehow it didn’t feel right.

I knew exactly what wasn’t right though. I’ve gotten used to having her around and now I didn’t want anything to change. I didn’t want to share the only girl who’d seen through the bad boy act and rapped me on the head when I tried to sip Grey Goose in class.

She was the only one who dared.

For one insane second, I thought I was in love. But I knew almost as soon as the thought flitted across my mind that it was bull. Granted that I might have checked out her ass for a second too long than friends should but that was then end of it.

She might be hot but she was most definitely not his type.

You know how so many thoughts take up a second? I reached for the door knob.

***

I was completely wet… the rain had left me shivering to the bones. It reminded me of the torrential showers in Kerala, where I’d grown up; it was like Nature absorbing my wrath.

I wasn’t thinking straight. I couldn’t. He was the last person to go to for relationship advice, I snorted at the idea. But I didn’t have a relationship now, haven’t since I threw Karan’s ring back in his face an hour ago.

Nor did I labour under the illusion that advice was what I was going to him for. Nor did I have any doubt he’d feel otherwise. I’d seen the looks.

***

She was standing there, her clothes plastered to her body, her hair dripping rivulets all over his mat. And she had that look.

He smirked and said, “Look what the cat brought in.” Typical him.

She uttered not a word. Not one.

She looked like she was struggling with something, like an internal war.

“Unless you’re waiting for grass to grow on the door step, get in,” he said.

***

I never was good with over thinking things. When I do, they don’t work out well.

I grabbed the front of his tee and pulled his head down to mine. That should wipe that cocky smile, I thought.

It did. His eyes widened in real shock as he worked out the next part.

Not that I gave him much thinking time. I crushed my lips against his.

***

She was an amazing kisser. Where did she learn that? 

I had to fight to keep my hands to my sides.

I shook my head. I should be more worried about the whooping Karan was going to give me. I pulled away.

“You’re engaged.”

“Not any more.” Some irrational part of me enjoyed the frisson of pleasure that ran through me; she was breathless.

“Heh?”

“Aditi.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to Leyla’s place, California.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

We looked at each other for one long second, the air almost crackling around us.

“Is this rebound?”

“Yes.”

***

His hands went behind her as he pulled her up against him. Was she always this soft?

She went limp as her hands met at the nape of his neck. Did he always have such luxurious hair?

As the kiss deepened, buttons and zippers became outlived their usefulness and normal thought processes had come to a standstill.

Breath shortened. The mirrors misted up. Her barely audible sighs filled the laden air.

And the rain belted out a rock song against the windows.

***

What happened to their story? Maybe someday you’ll know.

But neither California’s lush tomatoes nor Deloitte’s prize package made them forget the beauty of rains in Bangalore.

An Ode To A Family

*touchwood*

Have you ever experienced the feeling of completeness that a family can give you?

You know the part twenty five years after happily-ever-after? The part that they don'y show in movies or write about in stories?
That's the part when you know that a man and a woman a gentleman and a lady have taken the life that God destined for them and made it a success, a life that they can be proud of having lived, the beautiful family that they made from scratch.

I have had the opportunity to be a teeny part of this family or rather I have adopted myself into theirs.
(In case you're still lost, I went to my bff's place for the weekend and it's their family that I'm talking about)


I love the way they have made it happen, love the way they bound together bits of yarn, wool and all things nice to make their little world cozy. It's not perfect and they don't pretend that it is and maybe that, the fact that they live for themselves for each other, is what makes them so *searching for the right word, none seem to be enough*.


The Father is everything you think of when the word comes to your mind. Responsible, solid, dependable, a wee bit intimidating, honest, respected in every sense of the word, fun, loving, caring beyond all else, typically grumpy when sick, supportive, witty, quietly proud of his daughters, provides guidance not advice... and so very much more. I respected him much before I even met him; it only grew. He is the foundation for their worlds, everything begins from him.
And I keep wondering what he thinks about me, if I measure anywhere near the high standards he's set for his daughters.

The Mother is a copy of mine. Ditto except mine is slightly more harum-scarum and she's slightly more Malayalised. This itself is my greatest tribute to her for my mom is, like, the ultimate to me.
And she treats me no different from her daughter; I say this not because she said it to me (she didn't) but because I can feel it. I can feel it in the way she holds me by my waist and talks to me. Apart from all that, sensible, iron-willed, AWESOME cook (I put on two kilos in as many days, you can imagine), organised, careful, pious, squeaky-clean, ordered are words that do their best to describe her but still fail a little bit.

Sisters to match, a paired set who are complete opposites to each other and beautifully accomplished in their own way but very much a part of the parents. And a muthashi (grandma), who is cute and fluffy and is a vast treasure trove of surprises, stories and tradition.

They have their own ways of dealing with problems, with life, with social situations. They are a unit, a tribe unto themselves.
They are stable.
They have deep-rooted value systems, beliefs that are the DNA of who they are.
They respect. They care. They follow the rules and make some for themselves.
They teach their children. By example.

They are a family.

I haven't done them justice, not even close.
But I'm glad they let messy, scatter-brained me into their lives, even for a weekend.
And if my own family, one that I'll start sometime in the future, is even half as beautiful as this one and mine, then I'll count myself lucky.

*touchwood*

Moments (Part II)

Have you met my extended family?

Shaina - The Angel

She walks around with the most apologetic face, a very fussy eater and the founder of the Sheaba-Haters Club.

Sheaba - The Actual Dog

The only one which exhibits dog-like attributes, guards the house and is a perfect working Mom. Loves coconut.

Sharuk - The Spoilt Brat

The self-proclaimed King of the brood, has a lazier butt than me and doesn't like eating anything but Pedigree. But fluffy as hell.

Shania and Sasha - Our Babies

They are Katrina and Irene rolled into one. Firm believers in destroying annihilating everything they can get their pearly whites on. Beautiful, fun and awesomely puppy-ish. They don't like their mother (Sheaba) much  and their father (Sharuk) doesn't like THEM much (because they cramp his style). Love coconut, grass and chocolate;) And love my sister more than me.

So whaddya think?

Ain't they the cutest things ever?

And they don't smell either:P

P.S: I had NOTHING, not even remotely, to do with their names.

An Ode To A Best Friend

There were once two little girls who drew on classroom walls and invented a ‘computer language’ that only they could understand.

One bit the other during a fight, made herself the butt of all ‘teeth’ and ‘dog’ related jokes for years to come and it was the start of something called friendship.

One had an irascibly know-it-all attitude and the other, an inevitably bad haircut.

They tried recruiting members for their ‘club’ and when everybody called them crazy, they moped.

They grew up ten minutes away from each other. They argued over who’d marry Rahul Dravid and bonded over Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin’s Armaan, Rahul Dravid and WWE.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatics, they became. ‘Dog’ biscuits, they ate. ‘Evan’, ‘Conner’, they crushed on. School was a blur of nonsense, long walks & talks and secret meetings at one’s place.

Same obsessions, same loves, same pains. But two entirely different people.

One knew what the other was thinking and they smirked at everything in perfect tandem.

They wrote letters to each other about the five hours they spent apart and laughed about it the next day.

Bhajans they attended, dances they performed, called each other five times a day (they dialed each other’s numbers on auto-pilot every time they picked up the phone).

They started blogs and blogged about utter nonsense. They went to lame farewells and still had fun.

One fell in love with an entirely wrong person and the other picked up the pieces. One had sense to limit the damage and the other was, predictably, an idiot.

Then they grew up.

The secret visits dwindled. The dreamer chose the dreamy life and the practical one, the proper one.

They made other friends, lived separate lives.

The bond dissipated. They no longer knew what the other was thinking.

They ran out of things to talk about.

Their beliefs changed. Their crushes did too.

WWE and SOC lay forgotten in the deep recesses of their hearts.

Today, they stand at different places, looking in different directions, wanting entirely different things from life.

One doesn't miss anything else from her old life except the girl who understood her better than her own mother.

And she is scared that the old bond is gone forever and a part of her childhood that she cherishes the most, is lost in the sands of time. The worst part is that she knows she has no one else to blame but herself.

Gayathri Chandrashekaran, whatever happens to us, you will always be my first best friend and you’ll always be special.

I love you. And I miss you.
Are we still on for the world tour?