Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Holding you close, chasing the moon...

It was Lohri, January, 2006.
Like every year, everyone who was going through a very bad patch courtesy nothing in particular had masked all anxiety to participate in the community celebration. I am usually a happy person, who isn't? That time, I wasn't. Sadly so.

There I was, smiling lamely at the fifty thousand people I didn't give a shit about. I remember being dressed up to lift my mood.
I didn't feel alone, just very lonely.
I didn't feel ugly, just not beautiful.
I wanted to cry. Actually, I think I wanted to kill the entire race around me, I'm not sure. It was such a long time ago.

Through the corner of my eye, I could see him looking at me. Clearly, my attempts of feigning the fun i was not having, failed. It grew more and more awkward, since we hadn't spoken since we quit being 'us' and became 'him and me'. It was strange because the last time I had been this sad was because of him. Funny, how every time something screws up, you think it's the worse you will ever have to face, until something crappier comes along! Anyway, newer elements were making my life a living hell, back then.

He text me; "See me behind *R's* house in two."
Ah. The commanding. 
The assumption of the right he had over me, still.
The fact that he did.

I went.

He was there.

I walked up to him. Shivering. The cold had very little to do with it.
He looked at me. Didn't smile. Didn't speak.
The tension grew stronger.

He did it then. He hugged me. Held me for many many many seconds. I was breathing into him. I cried a little bit too. He just kept holding me; really tight. 
There wasn't any romantic inkling, really. However, the loud, crass Punjabi Lohri music in the background started sounding like jazz.
After an entire two minutes, he let go.
We walked back to join the celebration again. We didn't talk, almost as if to induce drama. We didn't talk all night.

Later, i left him a message saying "Thank You", hoping that he won't be a jerk and ask me what for.
He didn't.
I will always be indebted to him.

Over the years, we have been kindred spirits, for real.
And then, last night he told me 'I just love the way you hug me'. I gushed so much I could cry just thinking about it. I almost wanted to say it back with so much more passion.
I didn't.
We know what we have. Almost clearly. Mostly, anyway.

Holding someone tight, if you ask me, is the most underrated action in the universe.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

A Free Bitch, Baby

Her desires are whores
Her dreams, too, sluts
Thought the heart was all hers
Turns out, he's a tramp too

Apologies to the life that got her
She ate the life up
Frustrated it
Filled it with plague

She told them to get her the stars
The stars in a pretty cage
She told them to light it up
The stars in a pretty cage

But they were prostitutes
All of them

Her stories were whores
Her ways, too, sluts
Thought the heart was all hers
Turns out, he's a tramp too

For every face she tore
She was faced by uglier ones
A naive little bird danced
Danced and became a peacock
She became the prostitute and the saint
They became the wives and the virgins

Her liaisons were whores
Her lovers, too, sluts
Thought the heart was all hers
Turns out, he's a tramp too

Friday, October 22, 2010

Arriving Somewhere But Not Here

Passion I think is one of the most important things in life. You need a drive, a force that carries you through. Personally, I think your driving forces can change from time to time; change is the only constant, is it not? 

It was only a few years back when I thought I wanted to do so many cool things and believed that I would be so fucking good at them!
Belief is necessary! There isn't any getting anywhere without that.
I think it was school when I thought I was in possession of super natural powers and was certain that I will nail whatever I chose to do. I think we all were like that in school. We were constantly working... not to score well all the time but to arrive; to get somewhere. We were convinced we were getting somewhere; somewhere we wanted to; somewhere we knew we belonged.
Unlike most people, I have never had qualms about passing on my textbooks. I never cherished them as much. The matter and information in them just didn't seem as important to me. However, the little of the five million books that still enjoy rack space in my house are filled with nostalgia. There are doodles about people we liked and didn't and tid bits and notes about our life crisis and happiness and life changing conversations and issues about the world and so much more. It is in these pages that our respective lives and our lives together reside happily and will do ever after too.
I miss the insanity.
I miss the confidence.
I miss the passion.

I have had my share of very weird trajectory when it came to choosing life paths for myself. I would like to believe I am not the only one.

  • In the second grade, I knew this women who was straight out of a painting- so pretty, so young, so elegant, so pure, so loved. She was my math teacher..One of the only time I understood anything about the damn subject was back then. Everyone used to like her and all the male teachers would act like lame losers vying for her attention. I knew it then; I wanted to be her- A Teacher. After two years, I think, she got married and left. Took my dream away with her. Just didn't seem worth it.
  • I turned to dancing and I was, if I may say so myself, pretty darn good at it. Hence, a big shot choreographer in Bollywood was where I placed self mentally. Soon, that phase got over too.
  • Then for the longest time I wanted to become a full on glam doll Bollywood actor. I knew I would go straight to the top. I knew it was my thing. I knew I would rock. I had techno-colour dreams, for crying out loud! I was consumed by the glitz, glamour, commercialization, futility, pretence and of course, the costumes of this world. I would practice interviews under the shower for when the paparazzi would stalk me for a quote after I would get out of the success party of my latest release! Then I got fat and the dream couldn't take the pressure of the weight, clearly! 
  • I still wanted to be on TV so bad.. hosting chat shows or something!
  • Through all of this, my very weird parents kept telling me how their being doctors automatically shut all other doors for me and they wanted me to believe that Science was what I would voluntarily choose for self. So much for being supportive and liberal modern working parents. Parents are hypocrites.. more about that later. Being the victim of circumstances (yes yes!), I thought I would have to work around the given framework and hence decided that being a dentist might not suck as much. Reason, you ask? A doctor friend of my mom's husband had told me (I think as a joke) that out of all other medical nonsense, you study the least to become a dentist. That became and obvious calling, hence. Then, magically I just quit passing in Science. Obviously enough it would have been way too far fetched for me to still stick to this. Sigh.
  • Margaret Mitchell, the author of Gone With The Wind became a fleeting icon too. She has written just this one master of a book which earned her fame and fortune to last her a lifetime! I thought it wouldn't be as hard.I started writing a book too. Only, it got lost somewhere in those years of major experimenting regarding boys, toys and some other unmentionables. Poof. OVER!
  • So much so, that I have had very serious conversations with extremely serious people (read: best friends) contemplating the idea of taking up prostitution as a serious profession. Did not get as much support as I had hoped for. Anyway.
  • Finally, I though I will marry a really rich and fair man who spoke good English and had beautiful hands, become a trophy wife and give him beautiful kids. I don't want to get married anymore! :(

Now I am halfway through finishing my college education and though I love my life and everything about it (almost all the time), there is nothing I am working for or towards. I am just here. Back then, so what if I was on the wrong path? I was still on a fucking path!
You need to have tremendous knowledge and passion about at least one thing if not more. None of that I am in possession of. Not yet, anyway.
I had the weirdest things in my school bag- old letters, poems I wrote, friendship bands, oregano and chilly flakes sachets from dominos, broken glasses, ribbons and so much more things that are seemingly crap!
Now, it's all about hairbrushes and lip gloss.
Then, it was fun being weird. I liked being at that thin line between weird and popular with so much ease.
Now, it's almost like people act crazy to conform. To belong.

There are star-studded fantasies about making it. Somehow. Somewhere.
Just not here, maybe.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

One more kiss could be the best thing Or one more lie could be the worst...

You know how you have wanted to be with me since the beginning of time, apparently.
You know how I've been telling you that you just think you want this when, in fact, you don't.
So I thought that maybe I was being too paranoid. I thought maybe you will do all those beautiful things you claim to be wanting to do for me; make me feel all those beautiful things you claim to be wanting to make me feel each day; bring all the beautiful words to life.
So I decided to let one of my, twelve thousand and eighty two, fences down to test waters. You'd told me you'll spoil and pamper me forever.
You'd told me you'll me love with all my flaws.
You'd told me you'll  embrace all my shortcomings.
You didn't.

Too Bad.

For You.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Much Ado About Nothing

Working Parents.
They aren't bad. Really.
There are a lot of perks of being born to them;
You get more money, more permissions, more freedom, more friends.
But there are those times, like now, when you're down with dengue. Yes. Even I though only poor or ugly people got that. Clearly, not anymore.

I have almost recovered now, though. But it does make me stop and wonder that it would have been nice if my mother wasn't working all the damn time that I needed her; if she could come to the phone every time I called her; if she hadn't left the house to work each morning that I woke up with a hell lot of fever. I've grown up in a society where kids are fussed over for no rhyme or reason, Anything they do is cute. I think seeing those shabby little annoying monsters capable of any activity of any kind seems enough reason for appreciation. My brother and I were always cooler than that, or so we thought. Our working parents left us with maids who were nice to us because they were getting paid to do it. In the playground, only that kid can cry about each wound whose very fat mother is present in the background, bitching about the pretty young thing of the block and her new found sexuality. We never had any of that. I never had any of that. No wound was deep enough, no fever was high enough, no issue was big enough!
Hence, I cried less.
No. That isn't a bad thing at all.

But did I not deserve my share of fussing over about bullcrap? My personal area of much ado-ing about nothing? People need attention. I know I do. Only, I get it from other people for sometime now.

I like my mom. A lot.
I try and hang out with her as much as I can.
Just that,
sometimes I wish she did too.
More evidently.