Serendipity of Nonsense

Earthen floors, maybe clay even. Lamplight, flickering but not eerie, casting warm shadows on uneven stone walls, smooth to the touch nevertheless. Inside the room, the lamp makes everything yellow, orange, amber, brown. Its light is bright enough to make the outlines of the objects in the room visible, but not bright enough for individual colours, textures, to be seen clearly. A thin curtain separates this little oasis of light from the rest of the world. Outside, the night hasn't yet surrendered to dawn and the sky and the world shift between shades of blue, as if uncertain whether it's time for light or darkness. There are no trees outside, only bare mountains, rock and stone, but beautiful in a hard way and not inhospitable. Inside, on the cool floor, a cold breeze rippling across the room, I sit cross-legged , covered with some kind of dark, woollen shawl or robe, only my face uncovered as I drink hot, spicy, unfamiliar tea through a small earthen  pot. ...

Everybody gets to hear them at some point. Before job interviews and first dates, while writing scholarship essays and before meeting prospective spouses. Just be yourself, darling, they're told. Me; not so much. I get pearls like, "Don't use long words and scare him off", "Don't make fun of anybody", "Maybe you should tone down your bitchy a notch", "Don't be sarcastic and intimidating, you know - don't be all...   you ." A quick survey of my immediate social circle reveals that people think I'm loud, abrasive, sarcastic, cynical, overbearing, domineering, high-maintenance, blunt, semi-attractive (despite all this, apparently), not as cool as I think I am, evil, weird, hard-assed novice feminist. If one colleague is to be believed, barely a woman at all*. An overwhelming majority of people also assure me that I shouldn't worry because I   will  find the right man, all the above points notwithstan...

I've been thinking, about nothing in particular however everything in general. The outlook is rather grim, for some reason. I'm not very clear as to what that reason is. I suspect it is because of self indulgence than any concrete malady. So, now I obviously have to over-analyse it. Goodness, this blog must be the most mixed up collection of pap in the world. Maybe not. Let's not be presumptuous this early in the night. I almost never blog in the morning. That's because I'm almost never up. That doesn't mean that I can't, does it? Sorrow, pain, misery.  It has some sort of strange glamour attached to it. The songs that touch us the most are the ones that speak of loss and unrequited emotions. They speak of what could have been. I've heard people talk of migraines as if just the act of suffering a migraine is one of martyrdom that somehow makes them deeper, more intense people. I suffer from it. I used to think it makes me superior to others. Ta...

Stop crying now. Don’t be a whiner. She’s gone, she won’t come back. Your tears are no magic elixir of life. I sent her away for good this time. I’m always the one doing the hard things to keep us together. But it’s nice that you need me that way. Let me tell you, love is bandied around too much. The word is stupid. You don’t need to love to say the words. But I did. You remember that schmaltzy song, the one which said ‘Love was when I loved you'. I did love you, enough to know that you needed me. Even when you kept lying to my face. What do you mean by that? Of course this is love. Yes, it’s vengeance too. What makes you think the two are different? Vengeance is just love gone bad. You know how love feels when it changes? Like a light inside you that suddenly turns into an inferno. You’re always burning, keeping it from the world, but smouldering inside. Your heart turns black, but the love/vengeance keeps it alive till it consumes everything around. The weak ones let it destro...

I love this time of the year because the air feels like silk over your skin. The wind still retains a little bite and the nights are perfect for long-winded stories, remembrances of a softer time. This time of the year has always been amazing, because there always was a book to be finished in the sweet sun gazing through the curtains, exams to be done away with and meeting friends again. There always was the first smell of mud and then of the spring lilies.  I remember my mother being good with plants. Putting down new roots, adding here, pruning there. Organic fertiliser, and lots of love. Chrysanthemums and snowballs, forget-me-nots and dahlias, gladioli and daisies. Home grown tomatoes and mint leaves, flat beans from the garden in the balcony. Fragrance in spring; sharp and piquant, mellow and soothing. Bursts of color amidst seas of green, celebrating life in the only way that mattered. Life turned brown for so long in between that I stopped looking for spring. The s...

Men, I'll say this again: you have it easy. In school, in college, even in offices. Male bullies stand up and practically announce that they're bullies. They shove you on the playground, trip you in front of girls, tell everybody how you got shit-faced and threw up at the last office party. Girl bullies are different. Tina Fey got that bang on in Mean Girls. Girl bullies play mind-games, pretend to be your friends and then, when you've let your guard down, they swoop down and crush your self-esteem with one quick barb. I don't even mind the overtly bitchy type. Like male bullies, they broadcast their pettiness and that can be easily taken care of. She: "Wow, that top is not looking good on you." You: "Funny, your boyfriend didn't seem to think so..." Badambambhish. It's that easy, but the underhanded bitches, them I can't stand. Their bitchiness is disguised. Sometimes as well-meaning concern, perhaps even as jollity or sm...

The time of the day- one sunny irritating morning on a relatively late-to-work Friday. Yes, I am one those who have a bad face when I reach office, it's not the work; it's the morning.  The place it was- The Barista outlet across the road where I asked my auto-rickshaw guy to stop, paying him extra 30 bucks!  The characters involved- The Barista counter attendant (read: BCA) and yours truly, me.  Me: Hey! Morning! (See, i try to be chirpy despite the PMSing weather) I need a small strong coffee. Do you have anything smaller and stronger than your regular cappuccino or latte? BCA: Sorry ma'am, we don't serve small coffees. Although, our sizes of cappuccino is suited for one person.  Me: Yeah i know what size is your Cappuccino or for that matter even the Ethiopian. Tell you what, just give an espresso with a shot of milk on the side.   BCA: Espresso is plain black c...

I haven't written in a long time. Not on the blog nor on the paper towels. My learnt lessons are so interspersed and polarised that I can't find a way to put them down in writing; in an earnest manner. So I am going to rant about what I experienced, with a little hope that it provides a little insight to what the country taught me so far. It is not a conventional message. Eight months ago as I was getting prepared to engage in a few month-long development project in India, I was constantly getting startling reactions from concerned faces; not because of the difficulties that would naturally arise from being in the project, but because I was going to travel and city hop every week and spend my time in regions I have never set foot in. November was marked with red ink, I was supposed to be in Bihar for a fortnight. Remember that 'Akeli ladki..' dialogue courtesy Jab We Met; yes, that one! It was always implied, never told on face. I was told I wouldn't survi...

Disclaimer : It is a long post. Very Long. Some where it will feel I am talking to myself, kindly ignore. In our times, the most inaccurate and overused word is a "mutual breakup". I am an expert at this because I've had multiple  mutual breakups, we are friends now because I initiated those.  Save it sweethearts, there is nothing like one. There is nothing mutual about a breakup. You can go through the dusty, never touched archives in the history of relationships and see for yourself; never have two people realise  spontaneously that they want to call it off and expressed it at the exact same moment. Never. It's always one person suggests it and then the other one, seldom with a smile, often with a simple shrug, other times with a lot of drama and more often with a lot of waterworks, accepts the suggestion. Some don't, well then you can't even call it a breakup, can you? There are times of course; when one person suggests breaking up, the ot...

"Sorry Madam, we don't open before 11 a.m" "But you are open. Already." "We cannot serve you before eleven" "I will die" Not many customers say these three words to a coffee shop counter person. That day she made an exception. And also the Cappuccino. While making a mental note to hide under the counter, the next time she sees this crazy girl walk-in.  Getting a coffee shop to start operating earlier than they should and shut later than they should, is one of my talents. I cultivate it.  Addiction teaches you many a things.  Not only am I an addict. I am a fussy addict.  It has to be a cappuccino. It has to be in a takeaway cup, extra hot, lot of froth. I want my opium designed to my specifications. If the froth and fragrance are right, normalcy sets in. Else, god help. :) Too many people have taken the pain for me. I want to kiss all their hands. Like the guys in the coffee shop at the tinsel tow...

An hour ago a good friend ' S'  was talking to me about this phenomenon called the Midnight Blah! (Now don't Google search, you may land in a thatch of no hay.)  It is what happens to you sometime late after midnight, after you have played several games of Angry Birds, read the funnies and the news in many a e-papers, glanced through a few blogs, of course stalked each of those hot faces on Facebook, scanned your instant messenger and done everything possible to keep yourself occupied in the marked absence of real world. Today, one of many such nights, writer that I claim to be, I am venting my angst against boredom by writing about it. Please forgive me. To this you would be happy to hear, the friends i was praising yesterday, one of them said I should write anonymously because I am not fit to live and write simultaneously in this world. Like, I never knew that! There is something tragic about boredom. I mean, there ...

           I have to claim I have amazing friends. You may be hearing this quite often from me (oh wait! you don't! I don't write quite often), but yes! I am surrounded by all the amazing people. Apart from bearing with me when I am PMS'ing to a plethora of other stuff they do for me and ask nothing in return, today I mention them because they are such sweet cushions. Whatever I write, whenever I write I feed it to them and pat comes the reply "Its awesome"! So everything I rant comes out awesome to them. :) SO now you know, the reasons for my tantrums! I am unconditionally pampered. Last week was a girls week. No work. No phone calls. No role-playing. And mid-week I made a short touch and go trip to the maximum city because we had nothing to do. Oh yes! there are days like that. And off course, it was a train ride. Six a.m, ladies coach, window seat (Oh God! why did I even think travelling without reservation was a good idea?), I was reading   "...

A hiatus of almost 4 months and I finally had to give in to publish this post! Better, call it clicking the "publish' button at a gun-point. At this moment, I have 153 posts in the draft section. Thank heavens for Blogger to include such stuff. And why I decided to publish this is not-so-a-random reason. A was bored. He wanted to read something from my blog. So I got extremely annoying calls and texts from him until I decided to give in and publish it. Also, H for being so sweet she is told me I should be writing so as to let off my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for calling up random people at random times and forcing them to talk to me. Add to that, she mentioned she needed a reason to get online and read something, now that she got a LIFE after deactivating her Facebook account. Few urges and I am good to go. Oh yes! I am that gullible. Say yay!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------...

This morning I was in Delhi, now I am not. Tomorrow I won't be waking up to a radio alarm, an impromptu conversation with the colleague(who goes to work at 8! and calls me) and crying out for the morning coffee with my eyes still shut!    Wrapping up four months of work and life in a few boxes has been tough. And I am not going to mention how many boxes. Coming back to the prohibited state marks an end to my stint at Fashion Journalism. Rise for Two minutes of silence. Okay! It is time for something new again! Do i sound bored? Yes! Well, I have no answer to the "Whats next" question. My mom tried and then called quits. So bear with me. To tell you, I am a round the clock cribber. I cribbed of work. I whined of eleven hour schedules. I cried when had to go to work with a hangover. There was a moment when I cribbed on having to travel to Mumbai every week. I cried of not having enough time on hand. Not being able to meet my friends. Not being able t...

I wanted to tell you that how my life is full of random moments. Why? because it's a better thing to start than saying "yes! I am back again" Yet again .  Well, it doesn't take the wits of a rocket scientist to figure out that this blog has been dysfunctional for quite some time now - very much close to FIVE months. And I have no idea why did I stop scribbling on this blog and when? It just happened. Like falling out of love. Somewhere it felt like a chore and I grudgingly dragged my feet along. all so much so that I did keep up the charade of constantly reminding myself that such a space existed and my regular readers (yes! you can laugh to that) would be missing me. With time, washed away many disillusions, for no one actually missed my constant banter.  That is what pushed this space into an existential crisis and I had no time to figure out answer to any of the questions it asked.  Now that I have explained well about my absence, does this cou...

She was three and a half, very much aware of her surrounding with extremely awakened senses. That of the aromas of her grandmother's meticulous kitchen to her mother's extremely disorganised minimalist urban kitchen. She wouldn't touch the toddler-appropriate food the mother hastily would try make before she left for work. No! That wouldn't work. It had to be elaborate.  The only way the parents could get her to eat happily was if they fed her food that she had learnt to like. It started with glazed-carrots and tiny nibble-sized tea-cakes. So there were glazed-carrots every day for six months on the menu. The parents had to eat whatever she ate. Please feel sorry for them! Over the years, however, the items in list of comfort food increased, much to the mother's relief. It started with Dida's ‘paayesh’ and the father's extremely elaborate Sunday chicken curry rice with potatoes.  Every day, the food situation was a thing that had to be planned and ...

Nostalgia is an odd thing. It garbles your hindsight and does weird things to your mind's eye. So that no matter how heinous a time you've had back in the sulky past, all you remember is a warm glow of contentment, bathed in a soft golden-yellow twilight.  Look at the past through sepia-tinted glasses and you don't see the jagged edges that ripped your emotions back then. You don't hear the false notes that ran fingernails down the chalkboard of your soul. You start forgiving people for minor personality flaws. All you remember is the good times, the cheer, the frolic. You remember how this one time, so-and-so said this-and-that to whats her name and how you all laughed together. You remember that prank you guys played on Professor A, how that one and this one were caught and oh, the times you all passed out shit-faced after a night of binge studying. Good times, good times, you think. The problem is that nostalgia is a lot like alcohol. It can only make...

He’d hoped for a perfect day Of dirty shoes and a long walk While she had made plans To drink coffee and talk He sat behind the curtain Altered by the sugar Took questions one by one Without a perfect answer He almost never had one She whimpered on Walking about restlessly Without any footwear on He had nothing to ask But the one that made her shudder It wasn’t her love for dogs But why she sang in the shower

To the guy who gave me Nickleback's "Figured You Out" because he thought it'd help me cope with a broken heart (it did) To the guy who introduced me to Terry Pratchett, saw bad student films, ate good student desserts and watched fireworks with me on Marine Drive to help me get over another guy To the guy who convinced me to apply for the Rhodes' scholarship, who put the worm of book-writing in my head and who didn't mind that I was crazy. To the guy who loved smelling my hair, who cooked for me and didn't mind that I cried on our second date To the guy who gave me what I asked for, when I needed it the most To the guy who liked me but doesn't mind staying friends To the guy who calls and talks nonsense and doesn't expect me to do the same To the guy who flirts and compliments and lifts my mood and my ego on a daily basis To the guy who thinks I should stay sarcastic and not give a fuck about what others think To the guy who pursu...

I confess I am not a man hater. I surely am not; and I have references to prove that. But, I am jealous of men.  I surely am. Of the many things for which I'm jealous of men ( lack of fear of cellulite, capacity for alcohol, ability to travel anywhere anyhow, guaranteed orgasms, license for immaturity, capacity to burp anywhere and so on) the one that gets my goat vote is the way they handle their friendships.  It doesn’t take much for two guys to be friends. A beer, a shared passion for a game or loyalty to a particular team, similar music tastes, whatever. For men, a friend could be the guy they drink with, smoke with, bitch about women with, watch a game with, play a game with, do lame-ass shit with, and even borrow shit from.   Piggy once told me while returning from I-Rock one evening, her guy friend had stopped a random stranger smoking a joint and asked for a drag. And eventually got one. With the directions on where he could score good s...