Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Eye Spies.

The dark eyes that mesmerized
The Urdu like speech
The voice that was akin to that of the cuckoo birds
The hair that reminded you of captured nights
The tresses so alluring, you were afraid to let go
The lips; the kind that would take not being kissed personally
The dark eyes that mesmerized
The gorgeous eyes that intoxicated
The beauty that poems are made of
The beauty that's always held captive in the sonnets of love.

How come you saw just the intoxication in her eyes and not the sky?

Friday, August 2, 2013

Happy and Gay

The thing with people of "alternate sexuality" is that they're constantly struggling with their big 'coming out' moment. The social stigma that's attached to not being completely straight is somehow conveniently still accepting of the fact that one may have 'dabbled at school/college for a bit' as long as one is into the opposite sex 100% at the current given time. But I don't think it's the fear of rejection from friends or the fact that one's popularity (that one holds so dear) might be put at stake, it's more than that.

We've all read stuff on the internet about sexuality being fluid and have often had much passionate discussions among our 'more adventurous' friends about it. Of course, there are those who cannot stop talking about their faaabulouuusss gay best friend constantly. Even if you put the ever so popular 'dabbling' aside, it does boil down to being in love with the person essentially and not the person's genitalia (which is the point of crucial difference, I am assuming). The conclusive argument more often that not is seemingly 'to each their own' without much affinity to the thought. 

I think the primary obstacle for people whose sexuality does not fit well under the 'mainstream' is the fact that being gay is not the most interesting thing about them and if people were to know of their sexual preference, it would be all about that and nothing else.
And nobody wants that!

Sunday, July 28, 2013

I will remember that date for a long time. 

Or so I think right now. I say that because doesn't it often happen that at a given time, the moment seems so significant yet as we go along the way into our futures, the moment ceases to remain 'the moment' and just becomes a moment? A moment that is vague and of which you can't recollect too many details; at least not correctly. And sometimes, however subconsciously, you probably even make up a few details here and there just to make the story fall into place more beautifully. In your head. 

But I think you always remember how that moment made you feel. 

But I digress.

I will remember that date for a long time. 

Let's call him 'Sky'. 
Sky had got his father's black sedan car for the date. A Honda City, if I'm not wrong. I have always liked that car. It was the car I had sex for the first time in. It was the car that was owned by a friend's father I had a crush on. It was the car my father never liked enough to buy for himself notwithstanding his general love for cars. It was the car that just generally made me happy. So now when I think about it more, maybe in Sky's case I want the black sedan to be a Honda City; just to make the story fall into place more beautifully.
In my head.
It was really the most fun I had had on a date without any alcohol and with my clothes on.

In that fancy car, Sky and I got really stoned on some brilliant stash Sky had got from his trip to the North East. Then I took Sky to this cafe in Delhi that is a little secluded from the general humdrum. We smoked cigarettes and ate some crappy sandwiches and talked. I had dressed up for Sky that afternoon. I had the readily displayed passion for him that, on looking back, can only be the forte of a woman like me. I am not flattering myself, no. But I was too stoned to really follow what he was saying and yet, I don't think he was able to see through my feigned interest. I put my hand in front of my face and just observed it and kept thinking of pictures with bokeh effect because everything that stood behind my hand was really a blur.

Or maybe, he was rather stoned himself. 

We got back in 'our black Honda City' as it was time for him to drop me back home. Yes, I am that feminist who will talk about 'promiscuity being as much a right of women as it is of men as we are all equal' one moment and crib the next moment if I don't have one of my men pick me up from the airport. Back in the car, I don't remember too much of what we were doing or saying. It was a pretty conventional ride back home. Except, on the way, the station on the radio decided to play Rockstar by Nickelback.
It's not even about the song or the band, but somehow we both sang out loud to our heart's content; word for word, tune for tune. We head-banged and air-guitared through the song too. It really was magical!
The song ended, we were out of breath like we had had to hastily make out against a stranger of a wall.
We gave each other a look for a second that the back benchers of high school give each other before pulling a prank, we cussed a lot because we were just that overwhelmed without much cause and not even a quick kiss was shared, which really didn't change anything.
And in that moment, I could swear, we were infinite.


I will remember that date for a long time.



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I am not a reader. I have probably read about 5 books in my lifetime of a little over two decades. Most of these 5 books I had to read by virtue of having graduated in English Literature. But I read The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky last week and I would highly recommend it to everyone.
I should thank Current Lover and the Teacher who is one of the very very few I have ever liked, for making me read it.
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I have been thinking of 'She' for a while now. If you're reading this, I hope you're doing good.
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This post is my attempt to get back to blogging, irrespective of who reads it.
Or well, doesn't.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

"Na mili mujhe tum sitaron mein 
Na hi pardesi guitaron mein
Dhoonda bhi toh dhoonda tujhe doosron ki baahon mein.
Naa ki benaras ki raahon mein.
Na hi banjar sadkon, na fuvaron mein 
Milne ki shayad kismat na hai hamari;
Kahan tum udti ho baadalon mein...
Kahan hum sharaabi, gawaaron mein."

Thank you, you.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Dream Job.

If I could have any job in this whole wide world it would be that of Band Manager.

Of course, I know nothing about any kind of music. But it's a 'dream job' situation so we can easily ignore the insignificant technicalities. Because if there's something you need to have more than knowledge of music to be in a band, it is a big ass van! We'll have a cool van that we'll travel the world in. It would have the most spectacular graffiti  on it that I'd get an old friend's ugly ex girlfriend to do. We'll call the van a 'BandVanGone' so that it sounds a little like 'Bandwagon' because we'd be unnecessarily artsy like that. I have a feeling the background colour of this van will be a deep shade of blue.

We'd have erratic work hours, to cope with which we'd be smoking grass all the time. As Band Manger, I'd meet with all kinds of people and get them to get my band one gig too many. In the beginning, I'll be the lead singer's grab but eventually we'll both realize that we are both too much of  the 'free spirit' kind to be bound by each other on this adventure called life. I'll have a summer romance in Miami because by then I'd have lost enough weight to be running across the beach in a red bikini top and liliputan shorts. Of course, a winter romance in Paris will happen too. And in the transition months, I'll just ride geographically based on the shows my band gets. Weekends will be meant for serious alcoholism but we'll spend New Years' each year performing for the fans because they would've got us to the heights of popularity we'd be at.

So till all that doesn't happen, I just finished by post grad and landed a job as part of the entertainment desk of a media house where I watch soaps all day and file stories about its characters, episodes and events. It's fun and all but it's no Band Manager job. Just saying...

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Back.

I don't even recognize myself anymore.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Sudden Realization #8

My blog turned 3 on the 13th of Feb this year. Shouldn't that be motivation enough to write? Ah. Well. Happy Belated Birthday, Yo. Mama loves you.

Issues.

"Why won't you just dance at the show, man?"
"Bleh.."
"You're so good. You come for all practices. You know the entire routine. Why won't you?"
"I don't know.. I come because I want to these days and it's fun. But what if one day I don't feeel like coming for practice?"
"What if you do?"
"I might. But I might not too, right?"
"Your commitment issues are more serious than I thought"
"..."

It's funny when life presents you with relevant metaphors sneakily.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

This Post.

I'm probably 27 days too late to be doing a new year post. So I won't. 

This is not a new year post. This is a 'new year, same old shit' post.
This is a post that'd get me back to blogging, hopefully.

You're not wronged. Oh no, sir.
Between the sheets with people with their soft skin pressing against yours. 
Their warm breath fell on your cold face.
You spoke about starry nights and winter mornings.
You joked about ending up together.
Of course, you didn't believe it or anything.
Of course, you're not stupid or anything. But it was nice.
Nice is nice.
It's close to a decade maybe. You both have survived. Together and apart.
You know each other and you don't; all at once. But it doesn't matter. It's nice.
Nice is nice.

This is a post that records the fact
...that the love of my life is engaged to get married to someone who isn't me,
...that the current apparent love in my life just can't let me be or go.
...that the two aforementioned persons aren't one.

I think I secretly wish that they were.