Any dream will do

These days go on.

There are tears that you cry for yourself. And then there are tears you cry for the ones you love. And there are those tears that you cry for those you haven't even met and probably will never know beyond a face in the newspaper or a name that someone mentions in passing or the distant look in someone's eyes. These tears are the kind that leave grief behind even after they're shed.

I see dust everywhere. I have this need to look at a pristine, blank wall. Preferably butter yellow or blood red. Nothing on it, no picture, no switch, no stain that a dirty hand left behind. Just blankness, single colour. I can't even begin to tell you how closed in I feel with all the adorned walls around me.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I read a phrase in a book that I loved. "Dependable as sunrise". Yep, Nora Roberts. If memory serves me right, I think she's used that in a couple other books as well. But, this year, seems to me "Season's greetings" is the most redundant phrase in usage. The seasons just can't be depended on. An inconvenient truth, anyone?

Rechristening's the order of the day. At least in my city. Bengalooru indeed. If you really must know, Bangalore's origins can be traced to "Bendakalooru" which in Kannada roughly translates to "Baked Bean Town". It's quite ironic, actually. This city is governed by a bunch of farts, anyway. I have to close my eyes en route to work every morning. Otherwise, I have morning sickness. Blech.

Walking down the so-called bridge this Sunday, I saw the clouds hovering above. Remember that pretty, pretty song from years ago?

Kaale kaale baadal jab bhi chhayenge

Yeh din pyare pyare yaad aayenge...

If memory serves me right (it doesn't often nowadays, I'll have you know), I think it was picturised on Raveena Tandon and that cutie, Vivek Mushran. An extra 'i' to his name did not have the intended effect, but hey, whatever floats your boat. 

One thing common in all of the unconnected information above? Still praying, still waiting. The hope that creeps up on you when there's no hope left.

Like I was saying, these days go on. And someday, not too distant in the near future, I'm going to look back and think of these days gone by. 

I'm not. She made me do it. Err, I mean, write it. Now where this all begins is about a year ago. I met her at work and she used to be my cabmate for a couple of months till she decided to bring her own car to work. Of course, the unsaid part of this statement is that she is too lazy to wake up early in the morning to come by the office cab :o). And one day, another cabmate was telling yet another cabmate, rather animatedly, about how well-endowed or flat-chested another of our species was or something to that effect. To which said girl said, and I quote: "Uh, they're called boobs."

Wouldn't you know it! Yes, it was love at first sight. We went on to become fast friends then on. Both of us amply endowed every inch of our frames, we couldn't exactly remain strangers for long. For simplicity's sake, we shall refer to her as Divslexia or D for short.

Yes, she is the typo queen. Read her comment when she comments for proof if you don't believe me. We have almost ditto taste in men - straight or gay. Josh Holloway or Jack MacFarland. We spend most of the time discussing how hot Josh is and how we would TOTALLY do Jack. We've also decided that in a couple of years' time, if we are still unhitched, we're both buying a one-way ticket to the Amazon. Big women are worshipped there, if you didn't know it already. 

Hope this is background enough to understand what I'm coming to. D comes over to my desk last week and asks me to check her work for the day 'cause her computer's hanging. Which it does, almost every day. I think it resents the fact that she commutes by herself everyday and doesn't depend on office conveyance. To me, it's a Godsend. Sorry, I prefer riding of another kind altogether. I digress again. (I promise we shall come back to the last line later.) So, she comes over and pokes me on my right arm. I have Popeye arms, and I don't exactly eats me spinach all the time, toot toot, so it hurt and I told her so. Only, I worded it wrong. I asked her why she was feeling me up.

To which she replied, and I quote: "Uh, for that, I would have to be completely sloshed, with half a bottle of vodka in me, blah blah and stoned out of my wits blah blah..." Okay, that wasn't verbatim. But you get the picture.

To which, I replied, and I quote: "Uh, D, I love you, but even then, I wouldn't..."

There. She didn't take umbrage, but she wanted me to write this, because she wanted to say what she wants to say in the comments box.

Sit back and watch the fun unfurl.

End note: Divzy, baby, me apple, you orange. Wait, I don't have small hips. Okay, me apple and pear, you orange. There is no way in hell we can be gay. What with cups of joy running over, and flunges everywhere. Both of us would be dominatrices then. But give up chicken for me and I promise to rethink :D.

Man, I can almost see Brokeback Mountain(s) 2 shaping up :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D.

Update:  D has told me she will not be commenting. That comment about chicken made her chicken. Cluck, cluck, she went, at lunch today and said her sweet nothings were reserved for my ears and my ears alone. Erm, I still have to teach her where the ear is on the human body, though.

She says she's practising Gandhigiri :P. Pipsqueak!

A walk in the park

Five days a week without fail

Slow but sure results.

  

Shake and a shimmy

To the music in my ears

Three extra cals lost.

 

My thighs nowadays

Sing songs of separation

Erm, from each other.

 

My old button-ups

Love the loss of two inches

Less to suck-it-in.

 

Green, green everywhere

Marvel at the foliage

Never see the grass.

 

Some things never change 

My kindergarten teacher

Is still 'Miss' to me.

 

She sits on a bench

Smiling at the years gone by

And the world she knew.

 

Resplendent in red

Not a wrinkle mars her face

Stop. Good evening, Miss.

 

Men with nagging wives

Time for commiseration

No blah-de-blah, bliss.

 

Old men with grandkids

No generation gap here

They love each other. 

 

Huff, puff, help me, God

Help me make it home this once

Promise I won't binge.

 

Apple on the fridge

Bite, thank the powers-that-be 

More fibre, less fat.

 

Head hits the pillow

Sleep be a lady tonight

Any dream will do. 

 

End note: Alternatively titled 'A story in Haikus' or 'Benefits of exercise in Haiku form'.