Any dream will do

So much to say, I don't even know where to begin. Summer's here and everything's the same. I look down on the road below and nothing's like it was a year ago. This 31st summer is not like the summer that was 10 years back, and funnily enough, I don't even remember what that summer was like. I can't believe it's March. It can't be March, it was just January yesterday. And July the day before that. Where are all the days going? I wish there was some way I could record every moment, every day somewhere. If not, at least those moments that make a difference. And the thing is, there are too many of them, but not quite enough. Somehow, not quite enough.

We're quite the sad species. We want company when we don't want it. And when we do have the company we yearned for just a day ago, which seems like months ago, we can't wait to get away from it. And yet we claim to be the most evolved of species. Like Tom Petty said, we're too alone to be proud. And yet, oxy-morons that we are, we're too proud to be alone. Somehow, that didn't make sense so much as I thought it did a moment ago. Maybe it did. Maybe it does. No, it doesn't. Of course it does.

How we outgrow relationhips. How we look for ways to escape what we wanted just last night, a lifetime ago.  How we look for ways and people and things to change our perception of tomorrow, and yet, when the change is just round the bend, are too scared to grab it. How we make excuses for those who let us down. How we're quick to judge our loved ones and fob it off as love, which gives us the right to judge them. In a way, it's admitting our own lack of judgement, if you will. How we pretend we don't need anyone and yet, know, somewhere in our minds, if not in our hearts, that maybe we really don't. Nothing changes, nothing changes at all, yet people do. How is that possible, we wonder. And we keep on wondering, never quite finding an answer, but always hoping that we will, somehow, someday.

How we lean on pillars and yet pretend that our spine will do quite well, thank you very much. And how we ignore the pillars once we've left them behind.  How we try to bribe those we love with thoughtless gestures that would have meant needless expenditure yesterday to us, even if it was just a few rupees. All because we're guilty of somehow betraying them, but not wanting to own up to it. How we live with those we love and yet look for someone else to love. How we live with those that love us and yet wait for someone else to. How we're as susceptible to human frailties as everyone else, yet trivialise them when it's someone else's frail moment.

How we always say that nobody has all the answers in a way that suggests that "I know more than you do AT THIS PRECISE MOMENT, YOU BRAIN-DEAD BASTARD FAGGOT." How we look for validation from those who've hurt us and our own, all because we just don't think it's enough that we love and are loved. How we want our yesterdays so desperately, so badly that it completely takes away our thoughts of tomorrow from focus. And yet, we fumble and stammer when we do get a chance to revisit the good old days. Time is just not on our side, and when we do figure it out, if we ever will, it's always, all-the-freaking-time too late.

There is so much to say to you today, and all of a sudden, I don't even know what to say to you anymore. 

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. 

Interesting weekend.

Background: Some time back, I did work for a friend in the US for which I was supposed to be paid X dollars. Post 3 weeks of 20 hour days and loss of sleep only because I could see my bank balance going up in one single move, I was informed that I would be paid somewhere to the amount of X/3 because the finished product didn't meet their requirement. Sixpence none the richer, haha, but smarter about the ways of the world. I let my ego speak and said I wouldn't accept it, to which I was given the reply: "We've thought it over and decided we'll round it off to amount Y (which was marginally better than X/3). We think you should take it. Translated into Indian currency, it is a sizable amount." Hmm. Ignore, ignore. Mailed the said party yesterday in very polite terms that thanks for the very considerate increase in remuneration, but no thanks. Never did accept pity or charity graciously. Maybe they could use the money for office petty cash. Don't know the yankee equivalent of that term, don't care. So, please refrain from telling me what it is. If you do, take it and shove it you-know-where.

She became my friend through another friend eleven years ago. Arian, smart, funny, small in stature, but a tough cookie. She married her first boss. Arian. Plump, with a ready smile, warm, and yes, funny. Arian+Arian = Frequent squabbles at home over trivial things. Last week was no different. Cold shoulder treatment Monday thru Wednesday, make-out session on Thursday. Just before the, erm, most vital part, she tells him - "We need to talk." To which he responds - "Yes, we do." To which she says - "Okay, we can continue." Gotta love that beeyatch. Of course, he did request her later to NEVER, EVER do that again, that it could make or break the, erm, situation. Asked her to go swipe-happy with his card over the weekend. Naturally, I was the shopping partner. We three went for dinner and drinks at night. His treat, as is the usual case. He's got a US visa stamp on his passport. Have told him to bring me back Bath & Body Works country apple body spray when he goes. Have a yen for fruity perfumes. Have vanilla, two or three citrus ones, melon, mango, something called Hawaiian Ginger which is more banana than ginger, but no apple. She did ask me to mention her name, wanted to be famous, but I won't. Can't have someone else stealing the thunder from right under my nose now, can I?

Had my first Long Island Iced Tea, but substituted the cola with lychee juice. Gave up soda four years ago, and now am pestrified of them. Got pleasantly inebriated and yes, babbled. But since it was them two and both are teetotallers, I was allowed those slip-ups.  Had some very delicious Pasta Alfredo, flavoured just perfectly at this lounge bar called Casa del Sol. The chef made it a bit spicy and less cheesy. Made to order just for me. They don't have a site, or would have linked them. Would've been only too happy to. Belong to the Casa Piccola group. Excellent service, good music, relaxed ambience, and the food? Yummmmm. Heavenly. Orgasmic. Was so happy with the pasta that I turned down dessert. Me! Ha! 

It's Sunday evening and I had my customary cup of ginger tea outside in the sitout. But for once, didn't count the number of black cars on the street below. Looked straight up and ahead at the blue skies and the canopy of trees, and just for a moment, pretended I wasn't here. Was nice. Listening to Kishore on a loop now. My Sunday fix. 

Aa chalke tujhe main leke chaloon

Ek aise gagan ke tale

Jahaan gam bhi na ho aansoo bhi na ho

Bas pyar hi pyar pale

Ek aise gagan ke tale...

Pay close attention to the opening flute piece of the song the next time you listen to it. Hear the birds chirping? Background music makes life that much more easier to take, doesn't it?

Happy week ahead, everyone! 

Single people have a lot of time on their hands, who, if they are brainy like me, will use it judiciously. By single people, I don't necessarily mean those who are not (yet) hitched. I mean even those who cannot stand the sight of their spouses or better-or-worse halfs for reasons only they know and have mutually decided to take a break. But for simplicity's sake, we'll take single to mean single, as in unhitched. We the single belong to the lowest stratum of acceptable society. And by acceptable society, I mean the one that hasn't yet heard of six degrees of separation. I mean, it's just five intermediaries standing between Gorg Clooney and I, going by the six degrees theory, right?

Coming back to singledom, we are either shunned by our well-meaning friends or invited to dos out of pity or downright ignored, as if to convince themselves that if they ignore us long enough, we'll perhaps slink away to get hitched somewhere somehow somewhat somewhen. Even worse, when we are invited to dos, it's because they've come to know of another single Sad Sack (all necessary references to straight, gay, bisexual, trisexual, etc. are left to you, the reader) who's kind-of-but-not-exactly-looking to get hitched. It's worse when you're older and they want to hook you up with the next available single guy or girl they meet. I mean, don't they know at least by experience that two potbellies do not an ideal mating situation make, pun intended? I'm not being a bitch. Really, I'm not. It's just my way of telling you how I spend my spare time, which I have loads of. I mostly spend it overanalysing people's attitudes and actions and how they adversely affect my chances of getting, um, hitched.

From different windows

We look at the same moon

Together, apart

Okay, I can't rhyme for nuts

Single people write crappy poetry. Most of them, at least. I mean, anyone can write about 'waiting for the day my inner demons meet yours' or 'invisible ghosts lurking somewhere in the shadows that follow me around'. But how many are brave enough to write about living amidst the people that they have to for as long as they're alive? They overlyricise sometimes, I feel. Why am I writing this? This is to tell you that I cannot for the life of me write a decent rhyme anymore. When I'm bored with overanalysing, I spend my time blaming my shortcomings on the world and its ways and generalising it till I convince myself that I'm not the one who's lacking in anything, it's the world that is.

The moon's shining bright

My love's taken flight

And there are a million stars

All aglow in the sky tonight...

Along with getting to the point of being totally jaded, reaching the pinnacle of cynicism, going through catharses galore or at least pretending to, finding, losing and regaining my sense of humour,  and still waiting for an ideal tomorrow, I seem to have lost my ability to easily spot the lesser of two evils everytime I have to choose between two. I mean, which is more overwhelming? Too much too soon or too little too late? Yes, when I'm not doing the first two, I ask myself these inane questions masked as introspection. Two-bit philosophy, if you please.  I mean, why should I be scared of the moon one night in a year when I spend the rest of the year marvelling at it? Yes, there is a rabbit inside it. I'm convinced of it. And I'm sure it's made of cheese. Cheese should at least be reason enough to want to look at the moon every chance I get. And it is tonight that it will be at its most beautiful. But would I rather look at the moon tonight and chance an unpleasant episode in the next one year or would it be better to sentence myself to house arrest post noon?

Of rabbits and shimmer

And warm, melted cheese

And tiny little pieces  of romance,

If you please... 

I'm sorry, Mr. Moon. I just can't see you tonight.

Tu bhi akela iss duniya mein

Main bhi akela(i) yahaan

Yeh bebasi ab hum dono ko

Le jaaye jaane kahaan...

This is about nothing at all in particular 'cause it has a bit of everything in it. The bell of this church near where I live, inside this Christian missionary hospital where I was born, has been ringing for as long as it's been there. But off late, I long for its cheerful chime at 12:00 every night. Something about the uniformity between each "GONNNNNNG" is beautiful. It has now branched into a couple of hostels and dormitories, so that Christmas decorations are not restricted to a cosy corner in the hospital and the church anymore. There is a statue outside one of the hostels, of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus under the shade of a tree that is lit every Christmas, so that it fills the whole area with light and good cheer now. The lights are on throughout the year, I guess, but it somehow seems brighter during Christmas. Something to look forward to. YAY!!

Sometimes, the toughest decisions you have to make are when you have to choose between letting your sense of humour talk and saying what you truly feel. Most often, my funnybone wins. The remedy for the scheming voice that whispers in my ear at night when no one else is hearing is usually a good song that I listen to over and over again. Once the song starts buzzing in my head, Mr. Voice goes to sleep. But the side-effect of this is the complete antithesis of the said song buzzing in my head when I wake the next morning. Now, THAT I hate.

Current flavour of the month is he, the leading man of this. I'm truly jealous of all of you in the UK. I love this show!! My happiness knows no bounds at work nowadays, though this might jinx it. But since I already said it, no one else can hex it. (Please, God.) Which brings me to my hero, Krishna's birthday. I always hated it that it fell in the last week of Aug or first week of September every year. But this time, he is a LEO!! How cool is that!! I just love that brat to pieces.  Isn't he the most awesome thing about life? 

And while I go on rambling about nothing at all, elsewhere in the world, maybe in a parallel universe or in my own via the cosmos' ripple effect, someone will read a letter for the last time before crumpling it and throwing it away with the hope that memories get erased too, while someone else will lock the letter away in a box that will never see the light of day again, but lose those memories forever; another will marvel at the sheer force with which a waterfall hits the earth, while yet another will make out shapes in the waterdrops over a dry surface that a dripping tap sprays all over, maybe pictures he will never draw; and maybe, someone will fall in love with their own self for the first time, enough to not hurt for someone else's affection and just maybe, someone else will realise that a broken heart is not the worst thing that could happen.

Like my good man Dave says,

Take these chances,

Place them in a box

Until a quieter time...

And the ants go right on marching. 

They weren't lying when they told you that it all lies in the thought. "The intention behind the gift is what counts", said with a look in the eyes that told you that they were there physically but miles away from you, recollecting one of the many lessons that life taught them. The slight wag of the finger, the almost imperceptible nod, the little smile that they were trying to suppress, lest you assumed that they were laughing at you. They weren't joking. They knew, for they had lived a long while before you even learned what living was all about. And before you know it, the cycle repeats. You've taken their place, someone else has taken yours. This cycle, I believe, is one of the many overlooked miracles in one's life.

Pray, they told you. Your gods changed, maybe they even multiplied, but your beliefs remained. And if you were lucky, they multiplied too. That is the order of things, something that the powers-that-be decided, with or without your consent. From a set of rigid ideals to a faith that refuses to succumb to religion or caste or creed or colour. Faith can move mountains, you were told. And over time, you realised that those mountains can't be seen but are far from metaphorical. And yes, indeed, faith could move them. Pardon me for being an idealist, you'd have to say many a time to idealists who pretend they are everything but.

Speech is of time, silence is of eternity, they told you, I'm sure. Only, it would take a lifetime of speaking out of turn and being unheard more often than not to understand that little pearl of wisdom. Don't be afraid, He is there with you, they told you. The gnawing fear of being typecast made you close your mouth, but your mind refused to shut down. And Someone heard your prayers, even if you didn't speak. That is why you felt lighter after a night's fitful rest. The one prayer that was answered long before you prayed. 

It used to be tough to laugh at yourself just yesterday, wasn't it? You cried when you thought no one was looking. And look at you today. You laugh at yourself, and cry for those you don't even know. They told you you would grow up, only they didn't tell you when or how or why or where. That was not because they didn't know, they just wanted you to figure it out for yourself. 

And look at you now. 

-----------------------

*For my friend who celebrated her 30th birthday today and my little gorgeous lovely pretty one.

May God bless you and give you all you ever wanted.

...strange things happen to me.

And when there's that dull pain in the arm, something akin to dunking your hand in a tub of ice overnight and waking up to this searing pain that you can't quite locate the origin of, it means introspection. And that too, the deep I-am-not-looking-for-answers-I-think-I-have-them-all kind.

Strange conversations are the order of the day, yes. Normal conversations went out of fashion aeons ago as we all know and almost every single conversation I've had ever since I could string words together doesn't fall into the normal category, so, the way this paragraph begins is actually dumb. Who cares?

Even stranger are the times when we speak but don't really talk. Like this grocery store lady who wants to know some detail about someone that I don't care to discuss. Like rhetorical questions that don't call for answers but get them anyway. Like calling someone on their home phone and asking them if they're at home and getting a reply in the affirmative. Like wanting to tell someone how much they mean to you and not being able to say what you want to because you fall way, way short of the right words. Like not getting a chance to speak in an argument because the other person wouldn't shut his mouth and then stewing in your own anger because you couldn't get a word in.

The TV is on full blast in the living room and I'm in this little corner in my room typing at a furious pace with Peaceful, Easy Feeling playing on the speakers. I don't know exactly what it is about having crossed 21 that makes young, inexperienced children wax eloquent about life and love and faith and time and integrity. Life's not going anywhere, they say. Try sitting on the beach and watch the ocean relentlessly do what it does from dawn to twilight to dawn over and over again, I say. I don't think I love the person I'm supposed to be in love with anymore, they say. Try waking up the day you're sick to a cool, gentle hand on your clammy forehead and ask yourself if you can live without that person, I say. There's no faith and trust and sincerity and steadfastness in any relationship anymore, they say. Try standing in the kitchen when the lady next door is making chapatis for her family at dinnertime and listen to the hubbub at the dinner table and sniff the aroma that wafts in from the window, I say. Time's of the essence and I haven't done anything worthwhile, they say. (You're telling me!) Try going without sleep for a couple of days and see if you can lift your head to look at the clock after 48 waking hours, I say. My integrity is my most important possession, they say. Integrity? You might want to try some country music before you spell the word, love, I say.

Rest and be thankful. Yes.

                    

Sidenote: Rob Morrow as Don Eppes in Numb3rs gives me a peaceful, easy, nice, dare I say molten liquid warm feeling. Kind of like dark chocolate in a double boiler. Note the way his eyes crinkle breaking his face into this I-feel-my-smile-do-you? grin. My heart just didn't stand a chance. Mmmmmmmmm. We likes. A lot.

Ever since I started this new job about a year ago, I've been waking to chirping birds. I would love to tell you all about the magpies and the cuckoos and the pigeons and the thrushes (no, sick minds, I do not imply an unwanted infection around the mouth) that coo and twitter and wake me up long before the alarm has a chance to trill, but for all I know, and I think I do, they may be the little grey sparrows that I've missed ever since I grew up. They used to frequent my childhood home, which, technically, is right downstairs and I used to leave a few grains for them to peck on and a small bowl of water for when they got thirsty. 

I don't know how many of you remember a post of mine on another blog some years ago (the blog's since been deleted and I'm not known to save my posts) where I wrote that I wanted a job where I could wake up to sunrise and walk back home to sunset so I could see the oranges and the silvers and the greens of real life that I could see only on my computer screen. Back then, I had this quality called ambition - as far as my career goes, that is. I digress most of the time that I do talk, other than when I'm talking with my girlfriends about the men we wanna, ahem, you know, but a conversation that I had recently with an old friend convinced me that any ambition I had to climb the corporate ladder has taken a walk and fallen off a bridge somewhere into a water body from where it probably won't ever rise again. Some very pertinent questions were raised and I admit that I tried to pretend that ambition was still my best friend for a few days after, but I realised yesterday that I was lying to myself - something I'm incapable of. 

So, between lacking ambition and birds that sing, what am I really trying to say? 

This. Sometimes, you come across a few lines or words in a book or a song that are far removed from real life but closer to a sense of connection than with any single living known person that you love or live for. Emotions that have been hibernating for so long that you might have forgotten they exist miraculously come alive once again.

Life is so beautiful sometimes, it makes you cry.

I'm alive. Gloriously so. Pears are my best friend this season. Got new stuff for the kitchen, got to shop for curtains and bedspreads this week. Picked up really cute coffee cups from a street vendor. Watched Fanaa. First day, first show. Review will follow, hopefully soon. Feels good to have been in love with someone for 19 years. Liked the movie, but will review it tomorrow, promise. Not that anyone reads me anymore, heh heh. Go, Aamir! We loves ya, me, myself and I. Nobody else matters.

One chapter of life saw closure. Funny, saw it coming ages ago but it happened just yesterday. Big words, no? I like to amuse myself. Yesterday was important for another reason, too. I made awesome stuffed mirchi bhajjies. See the contrast there? The way the cookie crumbles, the pendulum swings and all that blah.

Got the sweetest ever compliment yesterday from me love. He got a ticket to ride and he went away to faraway land with buxom blonde belles. I asked him if he'd found anyone interesting yet. He says and I quote: "The girls are pretty cute, but you've already made me set pretty high standards..."

Say it all together now, "Awwwwwww." :o) Cheers!