phone calls are the best

Life presents itself with a blur of confusions, discoveries and questions on some days. Like today. So many things have happened in quick succession that I’m left wondering, questioning my own decisions, my own principles and commitments. I fear sometimes that I will be led astray by people who don’t know life any better than I do. Just as I drown in my own fears, a friend will call me and say the most profound things and explain to me my own emotions.

Do I know you?

Tamarind, sunscreen and flowers.
Poetic license,
Rain and funerals,
Candles and chocolate syrup,
Skin that jumps under my fingers
Memories and tears
Gooseflesh and innocent eyes,
Lips that taste of cola,
Clothes that smell of you,
Silent conversations,
Hold your breath
And I’ll hold your arm
Catch me and I’ll fly away
Speak when spoken to
Kiss when looked at like that
Tell me lies with truthful eyes
And the truth with a deceiving smirk
Confuse me, make me cry
Ask me my story and expect your own
Accept my shortcomings and misgivings
Be my mystery and my answer

Furious

I’m angry with the world, for the unfairness of emotions.
And the pretentiousness of charm.
I’m angry with infidelity, for how it throws itself in my face.
With blind faith, for asking me to believe.
With words, for not finding me when I need them.
With myself, for being yours and then no one’s.
I’m angry with the world you created for me.
I’m angry with you, for your haste.


"In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry – Ephesians.

The only thing more beautiful than realising your dreams is probably understanding another’s. Maybe it’s a sign of adulthood, maybe it’s just familiarity, maybe it’s love, maybe it’s knowing another like the back of one’s own hand… :)

using emails for blogger-fodder

i thought i would write to you, only because i'm utterly bored and i need to do something to keep myself awake. my head hurts. night shift always makes me feel ill. blah.


maybe i should write and tell you all about me, about what i like and dont like, about the things that mattered to me as a child, the things that mattered to me last year and the things that matter now.
i should tell you about the surgeries i've had and the scars they've left. or about how i miss my mom but will never talk about her.


you should know that i have had a very happy life and i believe i'm very very very blessed. my life has been easier than most people's and i know that God has a soft spot for me.


i should tell you that i'm not bothered about looks because i myself am not perfect. far from it. intelligence, kindness, humour and love are probably the things that matter to me most.


my biggest fear is that i will lose the people i love. you should know that i want to allow myself to fall in love with a guy who has come into my life and changed my beliefs. i want you to know that trust isnt gained easily and as attracted as i am to you, i dont know you ... i dont know how you treat others, i dont know whether you have a hundred women running after you, i dont know what you they mean to you and what you mean to them.


i should tell you that i've told lies, lies that have hurt others perhaps, lies to cover up my own shortcomings. should tell you that money doesnt matter to me, that it did matter... not anymore
.
i could advise you a bit on love. i could only tell you that there is no sense in holding back and playing mind games with people... you should know that mind games scare me, turn me off and hurt me…


i want to ask you to be open with me about your past ...nothing hurts more than wanting to know things like that and not knowing… and as much as i hate to admit it...i'm insecure about things like that. i want to know that you will be honest with me, no matter what. i want you to know that there is no mistake impossible to forgive and nothing that i would knowingly do to hurt you.


i have to confess that i have a crazy schoolgirlish crush on you and i want to stop now. 

Did I disappoint you or let you down?

Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?

'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,

Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.

So I took what's mine by eternal right.

Took your soul out into the night.

It may be over but it won't stop there,

I am here for you if you'd only care.

You touched my heart you touched my soul.

You changed my life and all my goals.

And love is blind and that I knew when,

My heart was blinded by you.

I've kissed your lips and held your hand.

Shared your dreams and shared your bed.

I know you well, I know your smell.

I've been addicted to you.

And I still hold your hand in mine.

In mine when I'm asleep.

And I will bare my soul in time,

When I'm kneeling at your feet.

Goodbye my lover.

Goodbye my friend.

You have been the one.

You have been the one for me.

As we drove by that road today, with the weather the way it is… I thought of school. I thought of play-practice in that rambling house, on that road. I thought of staring at random crushes from the other end of the classroom. I thought of you and of me. And mostly, I thought of her.

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together
Is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other,
That we are still.Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way
Which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever
The household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you,for an interval,
Somewhere very near,just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt,nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall smile at the trouble of parting,
When we meet again...
- Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)

As it is written

Tell me again, all about heaven.
Show me once more how I used to be.
Remind me of those days.
Don't ask why I left.
Bring it all in, bring it back.
Bring You back into my life.
Revive me.


Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. Corinthians. 

Just sometimes

Sometimes, I feel as if I understand, as if I know... Sometimes, I’m confused…like a blur of dreams from a night’s broken sleep. Sometimes I miss you. Sometimes, I want us to talk, about you and about me, about all this that has come our way. Sometimes, I want to ask you why you won’t give in and I want to find out what you’re afraid of. Sometimes, I wish you saw the unnatural measure of faith I have in you. Sometimes, I want to run away, from all this that has come our way. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Like a blurred dream from a cold night’s broken sleep.

Scene - I

"Where do you sleep?"
"Nowhere, I don't sleep". She stubs out her cigarette and makes deliberate eye contact before moving away to empty the ash-tray.
"And where do you make love" he asks rakishly, moving closer below the high-ceilinged grey of the apartment and the garish city sky.
Her fingers pause for a moment as she crooks the index one moving swiftly as she steps out of her dress answering, "Everywhere"

romance was ignorance

It seems to me that growing up has meant the loss of romance.
Romance was…the way wild bushes grew on the slopes of the hill nearby,
The cold winter afternoons spent out on the verandah,
The long walks on hot tarmacs after games of spot-the-mirage,
Evenings spent out under the stars,
Romance was …our first kiss,
Our innocence,
The hope we gave ourselves…
Romance was… our dreams, hopes and plans…
The sweet nothings you said to me,
Romance was… talking to you without worrying where we’re going,
Knowing you’ll be by my side,
The trust we had,
Knowing that we would never hurt each other,
Romance is my memory of you and how we used to be
Your concern for me still…
The way my name sounds when you say it
Romance is you, romance is me
Romance, it seems, is a pure function of availability

That kind of love

Love that is as recurrent as waves on the seashore
As unconditional and certain as the sunrise every morning,
Love that comes softly and takes you by the hand…
The kind that leads you in the darkness
That you linger in corners waiting for
Love that stops your heart.
And fills your soul.
Love that is complete,
The sort that is unreal.
Love that overwhelms…
That calms your spirit.
Love you can come home to…
That makes you want to dance.
That teaches you to ask forgiveness,
The kind that brings relentless joy
Love that makes simple moments into memories
That turns sweet nothings into history
Love that breaks you
And the kind that makes you

The Southwest monsoon was scheduled to hit Bangalore yesterday, I think it forgot to come. I actually THOUGHT the monsoons were here a few days back, but I wrong, said the newspaper. Those were just April showers that didn’t know when to stop.
This seems like a relatively good year for this city, that I have grown to love and call home.
For a long time, until recently, I never called Bangalore home. I never called myself a Bangalorean. Things changed. There is no place I’d rather be right now.

Emotionally unavailable.

“What sort of a man makes love to one woman and goes back to negotiate a dead relationship with another?” The sort that is so beyond knowing the meaning of love.
She thought he was secure, confident, intelligent, clear. When he spoke to her for the first time, she thought, “This man has character”. And now she was realising how wrong she had been.
When she learnt that he was capable of grovelling the way he was, she lost all respect, love and admiration for him. Just like that. In an instant.
“You talk of high ideals, high standards, high goals. You have none. You aren’t even sure of yourself. You don’t even know if you’re worthy of the standards you’ve set for yourself. And you complain. About life, about events, about how things never went your way. You aren’t a man. Not even close,” she said to him, eyes filled with fury.
He looked at her, surprised, taken aback, shocked that this girl, who had said she loved him, had turned against him with such vigour.
And then it hit her, she was worth more than this. And she left, silently, walking into the darkness, smiling to herself…

Unforgettable, that’s what you are
Unforgettable though near or far
Like a song of love that clings to me
How the thought of you does things to me
Never before has someone been more

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

I remembered “our song”. Hold me, Thrill me, Kiss me. It wasn’t really our song, we forced it I think. We forced a lot of things. I think I forced less though, I think I loved more, felt more, cared more, he took care of me, for the most part. And which woman doesn’t want to be rescued? He rescued me from all things evil, from situations at home I didn’t like. From people who I believed hated me.

Then I grew up. I realized my own shortcomings. I realized I wasn’t a victim. That I was just being silly, that I was ok. You can’t love another till you’re okay within yourself. THAT I’ve realized. Only two whole people can love another completely, love isn’t meant to complete two incompletes. That’s probably the biggest lie sold to us in songs, movies and cards…that love fills us, completes us, makes us whole. Codependence. Boy, it sells. It’s not the same as symbiosis, for those who are wondering. It’s like two parasites coming together, trying to feed off each other. Quite unnatural, quite hopeless, quite temporary, a disaster waiting to happen.

Bad timing. It was all about bad timing.

I don’t have to pretend to be older, wiser, more mature. I don’t have to act like I want to socialize with people who can’t hold my interest for more than 10 minutes. I get to be a child. I get to be silly. I get to be me and you get to be you. I don’t need to pose. I hate posing. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. I don’t need to impress, I don’t need to show you my better side. I only need to love, love completely, feel without worrying or thinking twice about whether I’m feeling too much :-).

I've stopped worrying, being scared. Life fits.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes

"Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God."

I strayed for a while, from things that meant the most to me. I don’t know why or how or when or what for… I wish I could take it all back. Undo. Unfall. I can’t, I suppose.

The monsoons are finally here. Much-awaited. Bangalore looks clean. Washed. The roads are wet, there’s mush everywhere, but there’s an air of happiness that transcends all else. A new season, a new chapter :)

I smiled at random people today on my way to work. They smiled back, fortunately, acknowledging my act of casual human-contact. The rick driver was courteous for a change, thanked me for the tip I gave him.

And now, I want coffee at Barista. I want hot coffee, cold chocolate, muffins and a friend’s company!! I think though, that Cha Bar might be a better idea today. And there’s a Punjabi food festival at work. Right! Like they’ll make Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti! They probably don’t know what that is!! Oooooooohh…I remember winter afternoons at Adampur, when we sat out on the lawns for lunch!! *siggghhh* I miss it all so much!!

I finally found my muse. A muse for the wrong reasons, at the wrong time, in a wrong sort of a way. I never thought I needed one till I met you a few months ago, my desire to write conveniently quadrupled after that day. And now I need you. Oh! How I hate that I need you!! How I love that I need someone, finally!

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

I was 14 I think, when I read Kim, also by Rudyard Kipling. I remember the day I picked it up from the library, sitting next to my schooltime boyfriend:) I remember so vividly, his reaction. How was I moving from Agatha Christies and Nancy Drews. He said something to me about having too much time on my hands. And how right he was. I read the strangest, most irrelevant and (maybe) useless books. I enjoyed it.

Having too much time on my hands has been the story of my life! I’m lazy and I can’t pretend I’m not, but I hate having nothing to do for more than an hour. Weekends are busy, but weekdays aren’t. Work is slow. The bright side is, I get time to do what I love, to write. To write, other than what work expects of me.
If someone had told me, at 16, that I would be a journalist, I would not have believed them. My English Lit teacher did tell me once, that I should make it my profession. And that’s when I started writing recreationally. I stopped caring who I wrote to or what I wrote about. I just wrote. I never imagined, though, that I would get paid to write. I never thought of myself as a writer, I still don’t.

Recently, at dinner with a friend, I told her of my plans to choose a new career path. That I was bored and that I thought I could do much better. That I wasn’t using my head, and I didn’t feel productive. I love numbers and I love words, words more than numbers, and work is the perfect blend. The problem is I don’t get to be creative, at all. I get to be creative here, and elsewhere, never ever at work :)

I still believe my calling is to teach little children. I don’t know when I’ll get to do that, maybe after I’ve had my fill of corporate mania, after I’ve worn my glasses long enough, watched enough CNBC, talked mergers and acquisitions over dinner for years, stared at tickers and stock moves on my three screens for hours on end, played the stock market for a while, and managed to make an impact of my own. Maybe then I’ll teach babies how to count and read and write and spell and subtract.

I find it hard to believe that this is what I want to do, I can’t imagine myself with a hoard of little children running wild, but my heart says that’s where I’d be happiest.

For now, I’m content. I want more, but I’m content.

I want to write to change the world.
I want to influence people in a good way.
I want to feel my hand in yours :)
I want to know if you smile at random people when you pass them
I want to see you smiling at me
I want to see you doing what you do best
I want to learn to lose gracefully,
I want to watch you win everything you are meant to
I want you to be happy ..no..not happy..overjoyed!
I want to sleep, and wake up in manic good moods :)
I want to learn new things, breathe new air,
I want to love unconditionally, selflessly and completely,
I want to play safe and risk everything,
I want to be impatient and wait forever...