Dream Diary

I have very vivid, very detailed dreams; some terrifying, some good, but mostly very weird. They usually have nothing to do with what's happening in my life and I remember most of them afterward in as much detail. 

Time for Some More Random

Wormery.

Fidget.

Bits n Bobs.

It is 34 degrees outside (at 10pm). This picture is more for me than for you or for the post. 

Don't Date a Girl....

…...who is smitten by wanderlust, you will find yourself pulled into a whirlwind of places and plans and sand and sun and long treks in the middle of nowhere and tea from roadside dhabas of questionable sanitary standards and mountain peak views in the early morn and dirty socks and unpacked luggage that is always ready to accompany the both of you on the next adventure. You will never have a meal on time or a made bed.

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? 

hues, tints, tones, and shades.

PC

The blazing red of the sun saying au revoir for the day, making me thank God for ending the day.

The muted red of my nail tips, already chipping, pitfalls of having a basin full of vessels.

The bright red of Maybelline’s Pure Reds, counteracting the pixie-ness of my hair cut.

The cheery red of my favorite shirt, that I reserve for tortuous Mondays. 

The earthy red of the soil that coats the underside of my bellies, 

bringing a smile to my face, the impending rains. 

The dirty red of graffiti on my phone cover, reminding of the sweetiepie who gifted it to me. 

The sharp red of my hair flicks, as sharp as the statement I’m trying to make.

The fiery red of bell peppers, that is strangely misleading. 

The streaked red of my eyes that mirror the blues of a typical Monday I feel inside.

The rich red of the kumkum on my friend’s forehead.

The happy red of her choor(d)e, that tinkle merrily, distracting me from my Mining Equipment file.

The fake red of the ketchup I push away at lunch.

The deep red of the drop of blood that my cat elicits during a play session.

The worn-out red of the carpet, trodden under the feet of a hundred people.

The angry red I see when I spy typos. 

The clean red of my bedsheets as I sink into them, willing the week to disappear into the long weekend.

Death by Chocolate. No, quite literally.

So this is one of the (many, many) lets-laugh-at-PV jokes that people told at my farewell in the last company. This is my version and the correct version, don’t let anybody else tell you otherwise.

This was about three months into my very first job (in the aforementioned company) and my dear TL, Manjeet Singh, decided to have lunch with his all-girls team :P (I’m already laughing at how this sounds to the outsider and how far from the truth that impression is, but I’m not going to correct the impression because I like being mean to Manjeeta. Heehee. Hopefully, he will never read his or I’m going to get thwacked). Lunch is at a pub, I didn’t know what to order (yes, a girl from the semi-village took some time to learn how to order. Go on, laugh at me.) Conversation is strained with my friend because I stood her up and I wasn’t really on chatting terms with the rest of the team (yes, I was chronically socially awkward. Still am, a lot of times). Needless to say, the exercise was one of extreme discomfort on my part and stomach cramps did nothing to alleviate the situation.

Till somebody said ‘dessert’.

I jumped at the chance but unfortunately, no one else did because a) they had ordered sensibly and b) they had ordered sensibly. At my downcast face, my friend said she’d shared dessert with me and I didn’t wait for her to ask twice (which in hindsight, I should have).

The innocuous-looking item on the menu turning out to be half a pound of chocolate cake, the moment it turned the corner and headed towards our table, I knew I was in trouble. BUT I was comforted by the fact that my friend was going to share it.

Everyone was suitably impressed by the space I’d left for dessert in my stomach, including Manjeeta, and I smiled and waved and took a couple of bites of the cake. Bits of chocolate heaven, no doubt about it. Things were quite okay till my dear friend decided she’d had enough, after only three tiny bites. I was aghast, how was I going to eat all that cake by myself?!! (no, the thought of having it packed in a doggie bag and taking it home to eat later when I would have actually enjoyed it did not cross my extremely intelligent (please get the sarcasm) mind) 

So I hitched up my pants, rolled up my sleeves and slogged through the whole damn half a pound cake.

Needless to say the last bite was the last ever bite of chocolate cake I’ve taken since (not really, but dramatic effect is necessary no?). Needless to say I was just about holding it together till I got home and cried out chocolate cake.

Needless to say, learn how to say no before you let chocolate cake be the death of you.
Or just ask for a damn doggie bag.

Over. And Out.

Semi-life-update-sort-of-not-really

So clearly, the A-Z Challenge is shot to hell and back – don't worry, I've slapped myself for taking it up right in the same month I joined a new job and also, lost my laptop. I couldn't even schedule posts to cheat and get through the challenge but I did write a few posts. I guess I'll just put them up at random.

Y'all know how obsessed I was with chocolates. I named my blog after it, for heavens’ sake.
You read it right. I said was. Before anything else, let me tell you I didn’t give up on my one true love by choice. It was fate. Fate always has the last say, clearly.

You know the worst thing that can happen to a person who loves chocolates? Diabetes. No, don't panic, I don't have diabetes. Yet. That was just for effect. You know the second worst thing that can happen to a person who loves chocolates? I do. It is that current thing that runs through your teeth when you try to crunch ice cubes? Yeah. That. I get that when I eat Twix bars. Just when I thought life couldn't get any crueller.

There lies buried in the annals of life my love story with chocolate. I don't even know who I am anymore.

P.S: Clearly, today is lets-step-up-the-drama-on-tiny-insignificant-things day. And withdrawal-symptoms day. Did anybody miss my disconnected randomness? :P

P.P.S: Who else loves House? Put your hands in the air and say wooohoooo :D

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.

transience

Everything turns into a memory – good or bad – and is stored in the recesses of your mind only to be called upon when life manages to replicate some part of the memory at some point, a smell, a sight, a sound, a word…

PC

I lie curled up in a ball, my favorite pillow yielding no comfort.

My tummy is hurting so bad that I can’t stand up. I will myself to think about something else but the moment my thought process leads away from the pain, a sharp jag brings it back to the focal point somewhere between my ribs and my waist. I hear the clink of vessels in the kitchen next to my room and I wander into a tale of self-pity in my mind – I lie here, suffering, and my mother doesn’t care enough to come cuddle me, say a few soothing words. She gave me some medicine about an hour ago and that was that. Self-pity can be very comforting and very destructive – a few tears leak out of my tightly-closed eyes. It would be years before I realized that there is nothing my mother could have done about it. On the other hand, the way she reacted is what inched up my threshold for pain and for that, I am thankful now.

***

I lie curled up in a ball, my favorite pillow yielding no comfort.

I knew that I’d just gotten past the point of no return. Three years together have come apart at the seams. I’d parroted about a point of no return but when it really comes to pass, I feel dissociated despite the questions about the future that has a big, gaping hole in it. I think what makes me want to break things is that someone who is supposed to know me well chooses to believe the first rumor that comes around. It would be long years before I understood that when you have had enough, the first excuse is enough. I vow I’d never let a boy get me this low ever again. Now and forever, I come first. Me.

But that doesn’t stop me from beating myself up secretly for failing. The baggage is piling up.

***

I lie curled up in a ball, my favorite pillow yielding no comfort.

I feel winded, like someone had taken the air out of my lungs. The long, long post that highlights everything that is wrong with me. Surprisingly, I am not angry at the writer; in her defense, I’d started it. I always thought that I’m only as flawed as the next human being, but seems like I’m more than. I know it is pure spite that is spilling out, that I wasn’t half those things by many other people’s accounts. But I’m like that chef, one bad review trumps twenty good ones. Way to kick a person when she’s down, I tell the author in my head. Forgiving her is easy, chit of a girl... forgiving myself is what is going to take a long, long while.

***

I lie curled up in a ball.

It is only when you are dying that your life flashes by you, they say.

I close my eyes tight and picture frames like the ones from 1 Second Everyday run by my mind’s eye – a half-eaten bowl of rice and a picture book about a hat that grew larger and larger, a beating that came after the kulfi in the fridge was checked on too frequently, Lego blocks in a yellow tub, a raggedy brown bear that wasn’t cute but terribly loved, Rachel, the dinosaur who has travelled all the way to Dubai – farther than I have ever gone, buttons that were bought to make earrings for best friends and forgotten in a bag, the blue credit card that has been buried at the back of the wardrobe, the picture from Grade 10 that brings a cringe to the face, Ma’s biscuit cake, pushing the cousin off his cradle, losing pets, writing stories, talking to the mirror and sometimes the pillow, hospital visits that swung between the best and the worst, the unbearable drama in some relationships, the astounding simplicity of others, one billion thoughts a day, life – past and future. 

***

The best moments of life and the worst are temporary. In the end, they are all relegated to one barrel of memories, each just a blip on the radar of my existence.

NaBloPoMo - Tonight

Tonight, I will be me.

Tonight I shed the inhibitions that society foists on my persona, telling me to be a certain way because it is cool, telling me not to say things which are not.

Tonight I break out of the mould that the world has cast me in, to make me easier to categorize, to fit me into a convenient ‘type’.

Tonight I walk out of the binds of tradition and religion, the chains which wind themselves around my feet – they started when I was a child and now they have become too tight, they hinder my steps, leaps and bounds.

Tonight I shatter the judgments that humanity has cast on me, I rip off the labels and the tags that trail around in my wake.

Tonight I tear apart the stereotype that I ‘belong’ to, I wring out the lessons I learnt to ‘fit in’ and cast away the cloak I hide me in. 

Tonight I step out of the stilettos that society has me wearing, to make my butt look shapelier in the fancy pencil skirt, for they say, a desirable woman should have a shapely butt.

I let the green grass caress my bare feet, I feel the wind rushing through the unbraided locks of my hair, the lips are devoid of the “color-of-the-season”, the eyes are bare and the clothes lack a fancy label.

The feeling of comfort that spreads through my veins, through my person, is a better high than any substance can ever give me. This is the best present I can give myself, to be me.

For tomorrow is a battle I intend to win.

Obligatory Transition Post - Confessions of the Chocolate Obsessed to Cookie Crumbs Inc.

Sometimes there are those things in your life which are precious but redundant. You carry them along on your journeys but your steps become slower, for the weight of the past keep pulling you down. Every once in a while, you need to shake yourself free and start afresh, even only if it is to ensure that you are walking in the right direction.…

.......Blahblahdoodlespapoodleladeedaa...

....

....... I could bore you with more speeches about what Confessions of the Chocolate Obsessed meant to me and my reasons for wanting a whole new place to write at or I could just throw the figurative door wide open and say “Welcome, have a cookie, won’t you?”

PC: Here

Poke around, see if you like anything, let me know if something doesn’t work, drop a line. Or two.
As for me, I start again from scratch. This time, the writer is going to be an adult (so to speak) who has spent a decent amount of time making lemonade in life, paid her own bills and fought with herself and everything she stands for to invest in a Kindle.

In a nutshell, welcome to the next phase of my life. 
Cookie Crumbs Inc.

PC: Here

P.S: I’d also suggest you invest in a bag of Chips Ahoy! and grab a glass of milk to go with it. They really should start paying me for the amount of good PR I do for them, no?
P.P.S: I was serious about the ‘lemme know if something doesn’t work’ bit.
P.P.S.S: I hate Wordpress -_- Justsaying.
P.P.P.S.S: Blogging when you’re supposed to be working be the shitza :P And I’m sure you’ll agree. 

Mandatory Murphy Bashing Monday

Monday is the day

•    Cats decide to scratch me awake
•    Heater decides to not heat
•    Soap decides to disappear
•    Cats (again) decide to play with the roll of toilet paper
•    Shampoo decides to get in my eye
•    I forget to pick out clothes, as usual, and I have to make do with one of my black T-shirts.
•    Blow dryer is missing
•    Straightener not working
•    Can’t find my Lacto Calamine
•    Leaning Tower of Clothes in my wardrobe decides to tip over
•    Whiskas gets over
•    I forget to pack last night's alu sabzi for lunch (which is going to rot by evening:/)
•    Bag is not packed
•    Laptop charger is not around
•    Shoes pinch
•    Activa doesn’t start
•    Petrol is below the red line
•    Caretaker wants caretaking money
•    Wallet is empty. Like EMPTY empty
•    Hunger pangs are clawing the stomach lining
•    Traffic light, which is ALWAYS green when I usually pass, turns red
•    Huge bus decides to plonk itself right in front of me
•    Another huge bus decides to plonk itself on the other side
•    Bag straps are too tight
•    Remember that I forgot kajal
•    Accidently bonk the office laptop on my desk
•    Pantry runs out of all kinds of food
•    Friend doesn’t show up on time (so I can crib and get it out of my system)
•    Day starts with escalations after escalations

Monday is also the day when 

•    When my sweetie pie in the office brings THREE WHOLE BOXES of Chips Ahoy! and hands them over to me, making me want to bear hug her all day long.


Fuck you, Murphy :P

P.S: For those who are not familiar with Chips Ahoy! Here:

 

Things That I Have Gotten So Tired Of, Lately.

In no particular order....

1)    Explaining to people how a “blog” is different from a “blog post”. Seasoned bloggers say it has been a long time since they posted a blog and my ears turn red from all the self-control I exercise.

2)    The whole losing weight drama. I eat. Then regret. Then exercise. Then eat. Then regret. Then forget to exercise. And it goes on. Somebody give me some motivation to stick to SOME form of exercise so that I don’t have to give up on food.

3)    Blogger and its three billion bugs.

4)    My current life. Nothing wrong with it. But I keep feeling nothing is happening in it. Do not ask me to elaborate because that will probably require 40 posts.

5)    People saying there is no food for vegetarians in this world except grass and leaves and then laughing about it. It is so funny that I forget to laugh -_- Am I being judgmental about you orphaning the baby goat and the cute little chick? No right? Then leave me alone. 

6)    Slow Excel sheets. Sometimes I think God created MS Excel to test my patience. Yes, I can be that self-centered.

7)    Kittens pooping in such large quantities. Makes you wonder how they produce that much shit that smells like nobody’s business despite being so small and so cute. (Explanation on why I’m talking about kittens in another post)

8)     Captcha. HAS to be the bane of my internet existence.

9)    Dish washing and laundry. No matter how diligent I am with these chores, there always seem to be more to do.

10)    Of people calling me Pri or Priya. Makes me want to never talk to them again. I don’t know why I feel so strongly about it but I do.

11)    People interrupting me while I’m reading and people pulling my headphones off when I’m listening to something. 

Oh, reminds me.... watch this:

What are YOU tired of?

Randomness Rattling Around In The Head

•    I don’t understand people who say they haven’t read Harry Potter. Don’t understand as in me no comprende. Don’t understand as in my mind stops making sense of the words that come out of their mouths after that. This applies to people who say they hate reading. Not the ones who dislike reading, I understand it is personal choice. But they say they hate it. I feel like a five-year-old then - I want to pout angrily and say I hate you. 
 
•    Grammar is easy when you have to write, but marking someone else’s copy down and answering their questions as to why it has been marked down is just painful. Also, the number of twisted sentences I have to read every day is even more painful – makes me want to go back to happier times.
 
•    My blog reader thingy has finally conked out, leaving me stranded with so many blogs that I have been stalking for years and the painful task of having to transfer feeds individually, manually. Also, goodbye to the days when I follow someone via GFC. How do you manage your subscriptions? Any leads?
 
•    In the last couple of weeks, I have eaten out only twice (as opposed to every single goddamn day in the last two years), and cooked pasta, pudding, rotis, dal, chaawal, alu ki sabzi, salads, dosa, frittatas, pancakes and soya sabzi ALL BY MYSELF. And I find that, considering she didn’t give me any practical training whatsoever, Mom has equipped me well with all the knowledge I need to start using a full-fledged kitchen without too many accidents. My faith in myself grows by the morsel.
 
•    My 25-by-25 list is almost ready and I’m wondering if I should post it as a post-post or a page post.
 
•    I read through my own About Me and find it a little frivolous. Left me wondering if I’m frivolous. I like to think that I'm not. But for all I know, I might be.
 
•    The worst/best part about working with the Books category on Flipkart is that every day I find a couple of titles I really, really have to read right that second. No prizes for guessing who went broke buying books and more books this month.
 
•    I have been a ghost around the blogger world for a long time now – dropping by to read a million posts and never leaving a comment. I realize that the reward for a blogger is the comment that he/she receives and I wonder why I’m denying that joy to some really nice writers.
 
•    Also, I find myself skimming or closing tabs when I chance upon posts for contests and I detest myself for judging. But, but…. So many around!!
 
•    Thrift shopping is addictive.
 
•    I’m going back to my black phase – no more colors and all that sissiness for me and everyone who says my wardrobe needs color and go boil their heads.
 
•    I miss my Enid Blyton days. Those days which weren’t tainted with the knowledge of how bitter and nasty the writer was, allegedly.
 
Most importantly, WHERE THE FUCK HAS THE YEAR GONE?!! IT’S JULY-AUGUST ALREADY??!!

Drunk On You This Summer

Loud hippie colors

The crash of the waves

The grainy sand
 

A gypsy headband

The light diffusing
above her head
Wavy tresses
kissing slender waist
Hard planes of chiseled jaws
Early morning scruff

Sexy piercings and deeply inked skin
Knotted fingers and juicy kisses
Tanned skin against beaded bracelets

Drunk on the bliss of freedom
Satiated sighs
Sharp intakes of breath
Munching on berries and bread
Coming alive to the weed by the bed

Sweet summer love
Fleeting moments
Quick to dissipate
There is finality in the goodbye
An understood period

But also the promise
Of never to forget.