Delayed Pride Syndrome.

Wistful Thinking

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep." The pine cones that plop down from the trees crunch under my feet, the delightful mess that is the forest floor smells so familiar, so warm, yet so mysterious. The tall trees cast shadows so melancholic, it is a place that the sun’s rays have managed to only sliver through. But. It is not a sad place, it is a calm place, a place with leaves that always drip from the incessant rains. Not downpours, just showers, showers that are gentle and kind and refreshing, cleansing, even. Just enough to remind you what fresh feels like, smells like.

The indiscernible path meandering through the trees is visible only to the sharpest of eyes. But I pick my way through it easily, for I know every twist, every break, and every turn like the face that stares back at me in the mirror. The forest clears just a bit, a wee bit to make way for the house. A delight crafted over a decade out of wood and love and sweat and laughs and broken nails. I push the door open, the holly you hung last Christmas is still there, still green. That’s what I love most, I think, the suspension of time in this place. Like nothing ever changes, like nothing ever will.

The deliciousness of vanilla fills every nook and cranny, assaulting my senses in the best possible way. You always wonder how, not a cake in the house, yet the warm, pastry-like aura hangs in the air, all.the.time. I know the secret, I smile to myself, I have taken my obsession with it too far – vanilla body wash, vanilla body mist, vanilla body butter… not to mention the vanilla tea lights, the vanilla essence, the vanilla incense. Also, the vanilla sachets hidden under the pillows. And the couch cushions. And the curtains. Haha, you will never know why we always smelling warm, and inviting, and comfortable, and rich, and just. so. damn. yumm.

Ah, the couch. That damn couch will be the undoing of me. Of all my resolutions to get things done. It… envelops me. That’s it! That’s what it does. It envelops me in a warm embrace, that is not too tight to be confining, not too lose to be impersonal, just the right amount of squeeze. I slide into the embrace and tuck my cold toes under myself, the window is open, I like the nip in the air, the petrichor that mingles with my vanilla. And you let me leave it open despite the sniffles because you have noticed the restlessness that creeps over me when it is not.

The soft knit of the coverlet flutters onto my lap, vintage colors, as mellow as freshly-churned butter. My book is right there. My fingers graze the spine, my eyes graze the black and white cover art, my soul smells the timeless fragrance of the pages. The owl bookmark is lifted right out, I’m surprised I finished 200 pages last night before I drifted off. I read a few words, my mind goes back to recall the story, and then cuts out everything else in the world except the warm hand that reaches out from the other couch. Absently, I take the hot chocolate proffered. Absently, I take a sip and let it burn my tongue. Absently, I intertwine my fingers with yours as I lose myself to the delights of Sherlock’s adventures.

P.S: This is where I want to be. May, please take me here. Please? 

How to Overuse the Word 'Strange'.

So here I am, sitting in a strange office, at a strange desk, on a strange computer with a strange keyboard, opening a strange browser (that does not know me or have my passwords stored) and trying to find my favourite font to type with on a strange version of MS Office – they call it my new job.

Fancy title. Fancy pay. But nothing is familiar. Nothing is comfortable. I cannot even lean back in my chair without wondering if people are judging the newbie for relaxing too much. I haven’t been the newbie in almost three years.

I keep Whatsapping (because the new place is too upscale for G-talk-_-) some of my Bangalore family (who I used to call colleagues) in my Bangalore home (which I used to call the Flipkart office) and wondering if they are finding it strange that I didn’t show up late and go up to the cafeteria for brunch with them. I’m wondering if everyone is getting their work done, despite not having to send articles to me for audit.

I miss the familiarity the most. The kind that comes with having spent every last day of your three-year-old career in a single office. Every fifth minute I ask myself why I did it – chuck up the most comfortable job ever in the history of corporate jobs. But I guess I’ll get the answer only once I see the number of zeroes in my new payslip.

Till then, I’ll try and figure out the quirks of this strange keyboard and ask Chrome to store each password of mine, painstakingly.

This is how I WISH my new desk looked like. Lets see if I can make it happen :P

What I See In The Mirror

I see locks of hair which seem to have a personality of their own; poker straight from the top and those annoying (sometimes) outward flicks towards the end – no matter what products I use, how many different styles I try or how much heat I apply, those flicks have refused to leave my side for almost a decade now. We have made our peace with each other; I even get compliments sometimes, people asking how I style my hair to get those flicks.

I see bangs that fall into my eyes the day I shampoo, the bangs that I admired on my mother. The bangs that made her look pretty and young and me, very wannabe back in high-school. High-maintenance bangs which never really look the same each day but have to be ironed out every single day. Otherwise, they curl up into unsightly Clark Kent-like versions making me freak out if the power goes out when I’m getting ready for work.

I see eyes which are always painstakingly lined with kohl. But I don’t know why I bother: I have Chinese eyes, ones that disappear when I crack a smile, even a small one. No amount of kohl or liner help in “defining” the eyes, which is unfortunate considering I’m a writer who believes a woman’s doe-like eyes are both the windows to her soul and the keepers of her secrets.

I see a nose, a button nose. Nothing as cute as it sounds, but nevertheless. One which gave me so much trouble as a teenager by producing oil enough to run a small country. Now, it just sits there, functioning. 

I see skin, remnants of tan, scarring from picked-on pimples from a time when I didn’t know better, bags under the eyes from nights spent trying to pick a chapter after which I should put down the book, the beginnings of fine lines fanning outward reminding me to act like the 24-year old that they see.

I see a body that is full of overdosing on junk food, a life of two years that has been an indulgence, to say the least. My time in the city of no rules, my yearning to get the unwieldy love for food out of my system, my efforts to live life at the unhealthiest best.

I see clothes that have been picked out with no care. As a child, I was constantly prettifying myself up for no other reason but to just be pretty. Now, I see an adult who hates to shop, even online, has no penchant for putting outfits together and always waits till the last possible minute, quite literally, to rummage through the wardrobe to find something appropriate for any occasion.

I see hands and feet that desperately need some yummy-smelling, indulgent cream after the chill in the wind has nipped them of all moisture. I keep thinking I’ll do it tonight knowing full well that ‘tonight’ will be spent zipping through the pages of another story, yet not having the will enough to fetch the bottle from the shelf that sits just out of reach.

What I see in the mirror is so imperfect. So flawed, so full of faults.
So human.

But then I realize: I’m not a sum of all that I see in the mirror. I’m a sum of all that I don’t, a sum of all that I am.

P.S: This was written for Sharath Kommaraju's contest, never got around to posting it.

My Dearest....

.... Daughter,

People say your life changes after you have a baby. They say that, apart from the complete change in the focal point of life, one starts to live for the baby. I wonder if that is true – I find it difficult to care about most people beyond a certain level, I can’t picture myself giving my everything up for anyone else other than my own mother. I wonder how much I will love you, whether I will be any good at it.

What is the world like when you are reading this? Right now, I hear news – the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer, Beyoncé’s song; flights being shot down, disappearing; people, societies, cultures being bombed out of existence, massive corrosion in safety to human lives…. Yes, that IS the order of our priorities. Has anything changed? Become better? ....Worse? I pray not.

Forget the world for now – we are capable of being truly ignorant of how insignificant our individual lives are in the face of the bigger picture, so let’s make use of that talent – tell me about you. What are you like? Do you look anything like me? Do you like to read? Dance? Or are you more like your Father? Do you pick out tomato peels from food like your Uncle? Do you sneeze explosively like your great Grandpa? Do you know how to ride a bike? What are your favorite subjects? Do you love English like I do? Whoever you are, remember that you are the best you, possible. It is easy to get caught in a society full of comparison, trying to be better than this person at this and that person at that. But, trust me, just like we all have unique thumb prints, we all are so very unique that trying to better someone at something will only be like pitting oranges against cows. Unless you are setting world records.

Also, always remember to say “thank you” and “please” and then smile afterward. People might laugh at you, for believing in such supposedly outdated manners, but being nice never hurt anyone and never cost anything. And keep in mind that your aukaad is shown, not in how you treat your seniors or your peers, but in how you treat those who are beneath you. Waiters are not there for your convenience, rickshaw drivers are not your personal drivers and nobody in this world is yours to order around. Humility and politeness are two forgotten traits that both your mother and your grandmother are determined to inculcate in our offspring.

By the way, little one, do you know that there is a theory that we were born of stars? That we are made of stardust? How truly awe-inspiring is that? To know that we are truly precious. The theory fascinates me to no end. But if I love you as much as I am supposed to, I’m sure I’ll think everything you are made of is better than stardust itself. 

By now, I’m sure you have heard my holier-than-thou litany about how I don’t believe in religion. And yet, we pack up and go to Church on Sundays, we walk around temples and the nav grahas, you see me fasting and whatnot. Don’t be confused. Always remember that you are but a tiny, very tiny (but cute), part of humanity and that there is always a higher power to surrender to. That the God we say resides in us is that conscience that pricks when you put a foot forward on the wrong path. Abide by that, and with our blessings, you will never go wrong.

Take care of yourself, won’t you? It is okay to go nuts once in a while. But live healthy, mind AND body. With family history of a wide spectrum of diseases, it is important that you treat the body that God has given you right. It is the only body you have and if you damage it with as much Coke and fries as your mother has, you will have to face the consequences yourself – there IS no spare.

Fall in love as many times as you want. But marriage is for life, so choose wisely. Having a boy around might be fun but unless you are independent and strong, it is easy to lose your own identity in the relationship. Respect yourself. Very important. But don’t take yourself too seriously – you should always be able to laugh at yourself. And never, ever, ever toy with anybody’s emotions. Breaking someone’s heart will hurt you more than anything else can.  

Being alive is not an easy feat, my love. Life constantly throws googlies at you to test you – there will be highs so high that euphoria will go to your head and there will be lows so low that you will just want to give up. At some points, life will be a breeze but at most points, every single day will be a struggle to just get through. But regardless of which point you are at, keep in mind this too shall pass. It’s gotten me through some tough times. And never forget that I will always, always be there – you can come to me for anything without fear of judgment or consequences. We will ride the storm out together, if that’s what you want.

And whatever you do, however you live, you must always be able to do two things:
1)    Look yourself in the eye in the mirror and sleep a good night’s sleep.
2)    Never be ashamed of owning up to who you really are, in front of anybody. 

I promise I will try and give you the very best of everything I possibly can. Promise me you will be the best you, you can possibly be.

So much to say, so little time… I now realize that a lifetime is not enough to prepare you for life.

Lots of love,
Your Mother, when she was 24.

Summertime Sadness

When everything is just *this* far from perfect, when everything is just *this* far from complete, that feeling at the pit of the tummy and that blank space in the confines of the mind that leave you distracted and not in a good way but dreamy in definitely a good way. Is there a word for it? 

It is not as simple or exciting as "intriguing" but it is not as sad as "melancholic" either. 

 

I find it easy to lose myself in the world of the whimsical these days.... dreaming of summers by the beach, rainy days by the hearth, plenty of books and food and words and sitcoms. And cell phone signals.

It is probably because reality is stark, black and white and boring.

I'm not complaining, life IS good, I'm where I want to be.

But the heart always yearns for the stuff that quotes are made up of, dunnit?  

 

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”. 

Our Trysts w/h The Dark Passenger

Never ask a question you don't want to hear the answer to because most likely, the messenger will bear the brunt of the storm that usually accompanies the truth and you'll end up worse for the knowledge.

This applies not only to the literal asking of any question (like the eternal favorite with the ladies, "Do I look fat?" that will make any man cringe with helplessness) but also to the doing of things that will give you information that you don't necessarily need. Like snooping around your better half's phone/inbox - you might stumble across things that you don't want to know, that you wish you'd never started off on the quest in the first place.

Once you end up with the information/result, thanks to your annoying little feline alter ego with its annoying little curiosity that will get something killed, you will see another side of that person, one that you might not necessarily like. One that might put an end to whatever good thing you have going, for no good reason. Sometimes you get over it and move on, sometimes the scar never really fades away. 

What I'm trying to say is once you get to know something, there is no way of un-knowing it. So pick and choose what you want to find out, especially if it is someone you care about.

Also, everybody has a dark side, a side that they are not proud of but they have it anyway because that is what makes them human and whoever it is, however close you are, you do not have the right to pry into their cupboard of skeletons, unless you have been specifically invited to. While this applies to everyone you know, it specifically applies to people you love and care about the most.

In a lot of places, at a lot of times, ignorance is bliss.

P.S: R.I.P Paul Walker.

Silence = Solitude?

Think about it…
Being cut off from the world and its noise.

Being cut off from human contact.
Being cut off from ego, anger, denial.

Being cut off from the annoying neighbour with the loud TV at three in the morning.
Being cut off from the warmth of hot masala chai made for you.
Being cut off from the constant phone calls that you are loathe to attend.
Being cut off from explanations, excuses.
Being cut off from heart-break and heartburn.
Being cut off from soul mates and fairweather friends.
Being cut off from diseased body and soul.
Being cut off from chocolate.
Being cut off books and food.
Being cut off from family.

Being cut off from a billion, trillion, gajillion other things that, pieced together, comprise of normal human life.

Could you live like that?
In complete silence?

Doing what you want to, when you want to, how you want to?

Being Lord and Master of your own little Universe with no one, NO ONE to question your motives, confuse you, hurt you, piss you off?
With no one to hug, cuddle, whisper, hold hands and look up to?
No one to make you doubt yourself, lower your self-worth, destroy your confidence?
With no one to fall back on with blind faith, give you sound advice, reinstate your faith in yourself?

No one. But the deep, dark silence weighing in on you as you go about daily life, brushing your teeth, lounging in your night clothes, working when you feel like until you push the laptop away and curl up with Jane Eyre.

Like living in a black hole, suspended somewhere in the time-space continuum until the Maker calls you back. (I realize that the last phrase kinda causes the volatile worlds of religion and science to collide(?), but eh.) 

Would you do it? Out of choice?

What scares me is that it sounds almost… appealing. Almost.

P.S: I really don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Somethings are better off not analyzed?
P.P.S: Inspired by Gravity, the movie.

119 Seconds

My laundry for the week is done. Oh wait, I still have that bedsheet to deal with. Ah well, I'll give it to Sancy. Damn, they charge a lot. Oh, I have to stop at the ATM. Screw it, I'm too tired to stop anywhere, go straight home and into bed. Erm, dinner. What should I eat? Those sattu parathas from Food Junction are brilliant. But I don't want to go alone. Too many guys at this time. Ergh. Grow up. You're not in a small town anymore. And those guys are cute too. Ah well. Dammit, forgot to call Mom again. She's going to be upset. I have to book tickets too! How long is it to salary day? Damn that's too long. And the office trip is this weekend. Shit, I have nothing to wear. Shut up, Conscience, I DO NOT have anything to wear and that's true. Reminds me, where is that shrug I got last week. I hope she didn't flick it like she flicked the last one. I have to talk to her about moving out. Better still, I hope she moves out. God, why does she have a problem with how late I get home! Just because her boyfriend is too busy to entertain her. Ugh. Why do I get stuck with such people. And I cribbed about my college roommates. I miss them. Okay, now I feel guilty, I suck at keeping in touch and I still crib about missing them. I'll set reminders to call Indu this weekend. I should go down and visit her sometime. Been too long since I even talked to Aunty. Oooh, that be a sexy bike. I wish I had legs long enough to ride one of those. Damn. What and all God chooses not to give us. I should ressurect my Twitter. Well, fine, I'm hopeless at fitting things into 140 characters but still, I like the new app. And I need to check my inbox, too many messages unreplied. Why is that guy revving his stupid scooter? 19 seconds more to go and he's already in a hurry. The last straw will be if he honks at me. There he goes, asshole. I'm not budging until it's green, moron, go over me if you want to. Ah, here come the pedestrians, one day I'm going to take the time to stop and tell you how fucking awesome you are, not. I should get pizza and watch the rest of Magic Mike. No pizza, no money. Tickets. Tatum, I love you, how could you marry Dewan. The Duchess is having a baby! No shit. Please start. NOW. Ah, thank God.

P.S: In case you didn't guess, this is a depiction of what goes on in my head when I'm waiting for the traffic light to turn green. Yes, I'm entirely, hopelessly random like that.

 

Not Love. Na uh.

They walked on either side, hands barely touching, eyes purposely averted. Each lost in the workings of their own convoluted thoughts. Ironically, every thought that flitted through the trapped corners of their minds had one common focal point - the other. As the path they chose seemed to peter out right in front of their eyes, swept left, right and centre by the storm that was ravaging their lives, they were left in its wake helplessly wondering how they even happened on this particular path, that too together.

Brought together by society, bound together by fate, they wondered if love would ever grace their union.

Unbeknownst to them, exquisite Love had already intertwined their lives together... Their hands just needed to inch a little closer. Their hearts, a little more giving. They need to learn to weather it together, to accept the other's support. The perfect ending, already deigned in the minds of higher beings, is them finding the boat of togetherness and the oars of companionship.

To part ways in the middle of the storm was not what was written for them, for they have tasted what it feels like, known what it could be like. And neither would ever feel or be complete without the other ever again.

P.S: This is for Cutlet. I'll never really show you this. But 1) I'm real tired of telling you, there has to be a happy ending. There always is. You need to believe in it 2) You're awesome the way you are. Really. Don't believe me? Ask your friends. And let nobody tell you otherwise. 3) Flaws are good. That's why we're human. Accept them and move past. 4) I like your mommy face :D 5) It's a pleasure to make you smile <3

Some days...

...you wake up with a weight crushing your chest. Your hair refuses to behave and a large, red zit makes itself comfortable on your nose. The toast gets burnt and the coffee burns your tongue. You drop the phone on the staircase and it bursts into three separate pieces, the battery goes flying right down to the last step. After you reach your car, you realise that the keys are still sitting daintily on your coffee table and you turn your front door knob three times the wrong way before you get it right. The rains cause damage to the already crappy road and the traffic police insist that you take diversion. You give him the best glare you got, wishing you could get away with showing him The Finger and drive off through the long, windy road to sign into the office a good 30 minutes late. The senior manager chooses this day to be cranky for he couldn't really get it up last night. You get all the numbers wrong and redo all the sheets and double check to find that the final figures don't match. The management announces that there are no hikes this year; they ask you to stay back and mail all the employees. The best friend ditches drinks and some dub step in your favourite watering hole for his girlfriend is in town and he's getting lucky. The person you hit on, almost out of desperation for something positive, turns out to be gay. You head home, sadder but none the wiser.

Creme de la creme? You get one good bang on the back of your head courtesy the headboard as you try to snuggle in and block the world out. One last sigh, one last prayer... Please let tomorrow be better.

Some days...

....you get a mail of appreciation from the strictest of bosses.
You get a mind blowing makeover for free in a swanky saloon on Brigade road.
You discover clarity of Skype on international calls.

And you go to sleep with a grin that refuses to be wiped off and a prayer... Please let everyday be exactly like this one.