Tagged

The last time someone tagged me, I remember I jacked his arse and cut jokes on how silly it is. But this time it's my little cousin who leaves a comment, then follows me onto my messengers and makes sure that I get to the point that I have now. Can't do me much harm, plus it'll be a good break from the monotony that's my life.

I am thinking about:
My thesis. Finished the discussion got all the lose ends to tie up now. Meeting tomorrow. Close bank account. Say bye-bye to landlady and friends. Start printing. Send in the application forms.

I said:
What the frick!? I say too many things. Someone should stop me from saying things!

I want to:
Have sex. Finish printing my darn thesis. Cook some decent food. Go to London. Eat masala dosa. Actually, scrap all the above and stick to the masala dosa part.

I wish:
People stopped complicating things. Relatives stopped judging you.

I hear:
The geese fighting over the water with the hens by making weird hissing sounds. The breeze swimming through the trees. The constant, comforting sound of my external drive at work.

I wonder:
Why were there no gender differences in coping with cancer in the Indian patients!?!? Why are there visas to visit countries?! How can I be this close and never as far away as now?

I regret:
Only one thing. That I didn't save an extra slice of the pizza so that I could've eaten it for breakfast today.

I am:
I.

I dance:
When I'm drunk.

I sing:
Kitni Baatein (firang style) from Lakshya. Aye Kya Bolti Tu (firang style) from Ghulam with my little cousin. The Indian National Anthem when I hear it being played or sometimes when I'm all by myself in my room.

I cry:
Infront of two people, three if you count my dog.

I make with my hands:
Gestures when I talk!! The occasional beaded earrings.

I write:
Alot more than I post.

I confuse:
You for me.

I need:
Happiness. A sense of balance. Friends. Water. Doggie. Parents. Love (to give and get). My muse. Him. Her. God. Bah. I'm a needy person!


I think this tag thing works when I tag someone else. But I can't force this on any other unsuspecting soul. Besides, I'm no little cousin to anyone who blogs. I'll let this one go.

Because Of An Expectation

goodbyes
are trickling out
of my mouth
like the constant breathing
of a fish

---

i can feel uncertainty
creeping up from
behind my curtains
threatening to attack me
any moment
now

---

i'm wrapping up my life
in a
cheap plastic bag
full of photographs
and
'thank you' cards.

---

and if i left all of a
sudden
would you think of me at all?
perhaps the few laughs we had
might echo in your mind
but that's about
all.

---

why
won't you remember me
anymore?

you've forgotten the
memories we made,
the soft touch of
skin against skin,
the love we reconstructed
in our tentative hearts.

you
refuse to remember me
anymore.

---

'get married',
they goad me
and introduce me to the
buffet system of
grooms-to-be.

they tempt me by
displaying the
'good men' in the hope that
one of them can
fix me.

'get married',
they gently embarrass me
like getting maried
will solve all
problems.

Threads and Strings

and just like that
my heart became glass:
at once shining
and shattering.

---

you see
i can't help my
love
for you

---

there are threads,
seams, shreds,
strings
that i can tug on
to bounce back into
a life with you

but sense and
reality
holds my hasty heart back
reminding me of
the leftover scars

---

it's funny how
love was flowing through
my veins once upon
a time
and now it's stuck
in the corners of my heart
forcing for a way
out

---

so
it's back to hanging
in the corridors of
what ifs
until somebody has
the courage
to compromise
or
speak up

---

ah.
the problem is
i still smell that
smoky smell,
feel that thin beard,
the map of skin and lines,
the blanket of warmth
and remember those silly
accents and jokes!

---

hope,
that odd little
fellow,
crept into my dusty
heart.

A Space For Honesty

The dilemma of the
birth of a relationship
once dead
rises many gloomy
questions.

What do I want
from you, from this,
from what we were?
Should we build a chemistry
that we know still exists in our
burnt out hearts?
Can you feel the fire
of what we once felt rekindled
by the memory of our life that
was?

The cutting words, the
despair of our splintered hearts,
the
painful goodbye and
the ruthlessness of our
tumultuous loneliness.

Oh! the memory of our divided love
strangled me yesterday,
but your comforting voice
rescued me and reminded me of the
passion of our love,
how alive we were!
how beautiful and fulfilling
it was!

Memories of happiness wafted through
my barren heart,
I felt the ashes of bitterness
washed away by the tidal wave of
love laden times.

But the dilemma remains.
What do I want from you,
my shadow of love?

I want what we never had -
a companionship that is not
diluted by the war of our egos.
I want a friendship that
can stand the test of our
inflated pride.
I want space for honesty, a place
for gentle words, the time for us to
be the people we really are, to have
the permission to go wrong and the comfort
of knowing that it's okay.

I want what we did not, nay,
could not allow each other:
our friendship and
respect.

Ups and Downs

The worst kind of tears are the ones that are somehow stuck in your eyes and won't dribble out.

***

I don't say I love the people I love often enough. I wish I would let my pride and guard down. I'd make more friends out of people that way.

***

If I learnt how to love him, why am I not able to learn to unlove him?

***

I talk about love. He miscontrues it to be in love and gives me a lecture like as if love is the death of us.

***

We have this socially inbuilt need to do something with everything. It's actually okay to simply allow things to be.

***

What do I want to do during my one year break? I want to read, spend time with my family and friends, travel, swim, play squash, play with my doggie, learn how to dance, sing, bring Creation Theatre to South India, publish that paper, meet up with some of the doctors, party, drink more wine, laugh, unwind..but you see, my uncles and aunts think I'm a wastral. So what if those things don't sound like achievements? They make me happy at the end of it all. Isn't that an achievement too?

***

I don't miss home. I miss the simple pleasures of home, though. Like my dad's feigned horror when the dog shags his leg. My mother's broad smile when my dad eats the breakfast she cooked with unbridled happiness. My grandmother's joy when I buy something with the 200 bucks she gives me for festivals. Rides with my cousin on the bike. Doing the movie and popcorn routine with my friend. Yeah, I miss the small things that home has to give me.

***

I've a simple formula to most things I make decisions about. I ask myself: Do you want to do this? Will doing this make you happy? What does your gut say?

***

I've learnt there is no more a deceptive concept than the age-old concept of good and bad.

***

Nowadays, even missing you sounds like a ridiculous mistake.

The Upside To Life - You Get To Laugh About It!!

My landlady has gone senile. Maybe because I was busy with my friend-with-benefits the house lacked the happiness of youth in it. When I got back into action (not the type I had with my friend-with-benefits, you naughty reader) I noticed how she was biting my head off on every opportunity she got! She screams at me if I use the phone a little longer than expected, if I don't make up my mind between the 20th or the 21st to vacate, if I didn't realize the heater stopped working - she goes about flinging her wrinkled fat arms and increasing the volume of her cracking old voice!! Uuuf. I'm sick of her. She was absolutely fantastic the year I was here, but the last 3 weeks have been a nightmare. I miss home where it's me who does the screaming for no reason!!

---

So I was shopping today. It's been a while since I gotto go shopping by myself. I was all dolled up coz I love gray days. We can discuss my weird reasons for dressing up on gray days later, you judgmental reader. Anyway, I was walking about looking at the various shoes when I saw this girl who was dressed alot like me! She had the same pink shirt, same blue jeans, same two ponytails and she looked so gorgeous! I was thinking in my head, 'Oh my god, this chick looks amazing. Oh my goodness me!! There's a girl who is as short as me in this country! Ayyy caramba. I must go up to her and talk to her!!' And I walked up all determined to strike up a conversation. Guess what I noticed after 4 steps? I was looking into the fucking mirror. So yeah. Maybe we should discuss why am I weird - in general.

---

This Pakistani boy had taken a fancy for me. He dropped me off one day from the kebab shop to my place. I thought it was sweet that he offered to drop me off even though I was just a few minutes away from home. We got talking and he practised driving at dead slow pace. His car was smelling of meat but somehow I withstood that. Maybe because he had pretty eyes. Then he took my number. That's when things went bad with me and Mr. Pretty Eyes. He would call, text..you know the routine. Now, after 3 weeks of torture and a final rude goodbye, all I remember about Mr. Pretty Eyes was his opening sentence for asking me out, 'Are you Indian?'

---

I used to date this extra hot Christian boy a long time back. We were in the middle of some steamy fun. You know how girls are, we are all charged up and thinking thoughts like, 'Oh god. I love this guy. I want to have his babies. Maybe we should make fake babies today. He's got the prettiest eyes. Actually lovely lips. No, no - gentle hands. He'll make a great husband. A better father. But he has to love me more than he loves the kids. And bring loads of money for me everyday. Maybe..Aaaaahhhh...Mmmm!' Okay, am I the only one who thinks like that, girly readers!?!? So when we were in the middle of this steamy fun, as I was saying, he suddenly stops and says, 'I was told that Brahmin girls are hot. I betcha that was right.' Pooooooof went the 'steam' in the fun (and the hotness in the Christian boy).

---

I've grown up. I've grown up so much that it's apalling. This friend and I were seriously making out a few weeks ago when he'd come down here. After we got tired and were lolling in bed he asked me, 'I was told Brahmin girls are hot. Do you think so?' Instead of getting cheesed off that with what he said, I laughed and told him I actually do think that's right. I don't understand when will he ever get the fact that that was a tactless way to handle a girl. Actually, he's the same guy who asked me rather innocently after sex, 'Are you growing a moustache?' Huh!?!?!

---

You know you are eating way too much of chips and mayo when the guy at the kebab van not only knows your order by heart, but also demands why you haven't come the past week. I'm really sorry, kebab boy, but I got frightened when the same friend from the above excerpt told me rather plainly, 'You're gonna squeeze mayo out of your breast for your baby, not milk.'

---

I'd climbed up on one of the towers here to take pictures of the city. It's a lovely cloudy day so I was sure to capture the clouds and the city. Cool view and all that. Well, the tower has this peripheral pathway sort of thing where you can walk. The middle bit is a tin triangle thing. I was looking down at the city that I lived in for this year and a flood of emotions attacked me. I felt so wonderfully warmed with love for this place, how kind it had been to me and how much I was going to miss it. All emotional, I opened my arms wide and allowed the breeze to blow past me while I closed my eyes, plastered a big smile on my face and drunk in the sounds of 'my' city. In less than a few moments, this huge force of wind hit me so hard that I lost my balance and fell on the tin triangle thing. Ouch went my bum. Yeooooowwwwwww went my scream of pain. Freakin' hell. Is that how you thank me for extending my love for you!?!?!