INCOGNITO - INCOMMUNICADO

Sweet 'n' Low

2011-11-02T01:20:00.004+05:30

i feel bad for you

i feel smug for me

i feel glad that she

left you all lonely.

i feel guilt

i feel pain

i feel messed up

all over again

i can hear that

dark laugh in my head

we are no more

we are yesterday

i know.

i feel bad

i feel good

i feel much

more than i should

This is why

you and i

may never

have that

elusive

happy ending

and why

i understand

your garbled

language

one fruitcake

to another.

Show me

2010-12-07T02:34:00.011+05:30

cry for me once today,
it's the anodyne i need.
copious tears and
shards of pain,
is what i need to see.
i wonder, i watch,
i hold my breath,
i blink not,
i stir not,
still and mute i wait.
from afar i look,
mesmerized i gaze..
as fear slithers
up your spine,
into your mind.
your eyes turn to glass,
your breath is now ice,
your nails tear skin,
but this will not suffice.
crumble to the floor,
gasp. claw. writhe.
cry for me once today,
i need to see how you
fall apart when i go away.

Yellow

2010-10-22T19:47:00.001+05:30

sun
on skin
eyes
aflame
hands
run amok
wind
hop
skip
fly
chase
that voice
hide
behind
an oak
steal a look
strings strum
voices hum
heads bob
veins throb
skin prickle
spine shiver
amber voice
spun gold
bite lip
nibble ear
reeling
spinning
hush
pause
freeze time
i won't leave yet.

Dance for me

2010-09-26T17:15:00.002+05:30

i see you..
hanging around
in that corner
awkward
shy
reticent
quiet
waiting for
something,
someone.
could it be me?

i walk towards you
you turn to me
a light breeze
scampers by
and you come alive
twirling
humming
dancing
singing
at times,
you're earth
you're music
you're my clay chimes.

Immortal

2010-09-23T21:46:00.011+05:30

i stand

on the edge

of a lonely abyss,

the silence

breathes..

the darkness

shrouds..
the zephyr
devours
the void
with a hiss.

i fall

i fly

i float

i sink

i laugh

i weep

i twirl

i sing

i choke

i gasp

emptiness

i clasp

senses broken

soul frantic

as a bird

in the hand

flutter..wings

beat..heart

glaze over..eyes

no fight

or flight.

bow down,

embrace

nothingness,

for i
for me

there's only

what was,
what will be..

the black

the silent

the endless night.

Black

2010-06-09T22:24:00.001+05:30

sharp

flat

play for me

bow

tails

dress up for me

storm

cup

brew for me

night

stars

dance for me

skin

ink

paint for me

all

black

all for me.

Big Fish

2010-06-01T13:48:00.003+05:30

I is happy
like a song
head bobbing
fingers snappy
look through
walls and doors
at yellow fields and
mysterious moors.
walk
through
endless
time,
talk
only
in
rhyme.
a winding road
with a view
serpentine
- la belle rue.

i stroll through
a field of green
then i see you
you see me too
with your lazy
benign eye
you look at me
i look at you.
it seems rude
not to greet
so i mutter softly
to my feet
"how do you do?"
you nod your head
i wave at you
and you say moo.

i saunter past
a babbling brook,
with a crooked sign
and sneak a look
big fish i see
squints back at me
i wave at it
enthusiastically
and then as it
turns out
it's no trout
the big ol' fish
is big ol' me.

Big Toe

2010-05-31T23:09:00.007+05:30

drown the

soprano voice

chanting

"what if"

in my head.

so i focus on

the neighbours

and the noise

they make

in bed.

break

the silence

into splinters,

ambush ears

with music,

attempt to

mask the

cacophony

of fears.

push you away to

the farthest corner..

to hide you

but nothing can.

you are so

damn

persistent,

insidious,

conspicuous,

you big toe..

tapping on the pane

of my window..

behind my eyes

between my ears

incessant

tapping..

you will never go

away..

i know.

On Solitude

2010-05-28T10:46:00.012+05:30

where is it?
frantic
breathless
I search
for refuge
to hide
to think
to listen
to a song.
dream
elevate
me to

a place
where still
and mute
I celebrate
solitude.

Lady Chatterley

2010-05-26T14:04:00.005+05:30

trapped under the words
you speak
again
into that unknown ear.

this time around
you spin a yarn
that's bound
to tangle.

would this excite you
you ask..
voice risen
to a fever pitch .
o recruiter,
you liar.

gesticulating
wildly
at no one
at everyone
at anyone
look at me.

Free Spirit

2010-05-24T15:39:00.026+05:30

what i wouldn't give to be you
fluttering in the breeze
dancing in the rain
and when the wind blows
you turn inside out
and fly to the sky
like an excited child
to a spinning roundabout.

you don't belong to me
you don't belong to her
you've always been free
i know that, and i can see..
how silly that woman was
who sold you for a price

she thought you'd stay

if she tied you up real nice.

it looks like it's gonna rain today
you're gonna leave but before you do..

i have something i'd like to say

to her that gave you away..

that it was an act in futility

and much as she did try

she couldn't bind a free spirit

'coz it was your destiny to fly.

and yes i'll be sure to tell her

that you bid her adieu
that you flew into her window
and broke the china too.

On Black

2010-05-24T15:37:00.047+05:30

an endless night
a tangerine sky
drops of rain on the floor
shadows flitting by.
a song playing in the dark,
a voice like molasses,
words that breathe,
creep through my veins.
all the colours - you stole,

except the one you left behind
in the darkest corner of my soul,
all you left was black.

Basketcase

2010-05-19T21:57:00.012+05:30

Teacher met the boss today

And asked him how things were
He talked of her intelligence
And what he thought of her.
Boss said, “it’s all good, you know,
but it’s just such a pity,
That the mind is sharp and the work is good,
But she needs another personality.

She should change all that she is
And all that she believes in
Smile at the world all day,
And keep the button pressed at “PLAY.”
She should talk more….
And not think before,
Be the sunshine lady,
Be the plastic daisy.
That’s lighter than air,
And smells like Tupperware.

She is fine..she is good
As long as she does what she should.
Maybe she should split down the middle
And become two people in one.
She could be one at work,
And another one when she’s done.
Be perky and chirpy (chirp, chirp, chirp)
In short, be a cute little hummingbird.

All I can say to this advice
Is that I would like to know
Is violence that bad a vice?
Is murder a bad way to go?

Lone Stranger

2010-05-17T19:19:00.007+05:30

You sit there on your high horse

Looking down with disdain

At us - mere mortals.

Your brow is arched,

Your mouth curves down

Till it devours the chin.

You talk of brave deeds

That you’ve done.

And count them out

One by one.

In your mind there’s only you

Who knows the right and the wrong.

Your happy place is on the soapbox

That you carry along.

You sneer at the honest

And laugh at the true

You mock the weak

And hate the strong too.

Go ahead…sit on your high horse

And trot along in your smug reverie

But one day you will find,

That everyone you left behind..

Is strolling past you.

With faces turned to the sun

While you are left with just your shadow,

And you know that darkness will follow.

As you ride on into the night,

All you’re left with are the reins..

To an old horse that drags its feet.,

And demons that you cannot beat.

You thought you were an island,

Now you learnt something new.

You’re just a man..

And yes you’re fallible too.

I know you hear the silence,

I know you see the dark,

I know you smother your cries,

And feel the fear in your heart.

So tell me how it feels, boy.

Ennui

2010-05-03T21:13:00.014+05:30

What a miserable day.

Paranoia holding sway.

The record's stuck again

on the same damn line..

that begins with a curse

and ends with a sigh.

Chrome and glass,

Greetings en masse,

Coffee flowing,

Restlessness growing..

Staring at the screen,

Thinking of what might've been.

When Rome was a-burning,

Nero the fiddle was a-playing.

And now I've figured it out,

And I know without a doubt..

That it must've been a Monday..

No wonder he zoned it all out.

Cold & Blue

2010-04-29T19:44:00.017+05:30

Cold toes
Cold toes
Get outta my bed.
Stupid jokes
Stupid jokes
Get outta my head.
Old girlfriends
Old girlfriends
So he said.
Play the blues
Play the blues
When I'm dead.

You sneaky liar!

2010-04-27T14:16:00.013+05:30

I see you sitting in front of me,
All casual flowing elegance.
I know that the calm is deceptive..
That your spirit is reined in tight.
I can see right through you..
But I know there are hidden depths.
Those meandering curves could stop time,
And you tremble when I touch you.
I try to get you to open up..
I twist you around a bit,
I know I can turn your head.
I knew you were hiding something..
But I didn't see this coming.
Where the hell did the serenity go?
How could I be so mistaken?
I thought you were someone else..
So clear and so pure..
But you're just another goddamn soda.

A Good Buy

2010-04-27T01:03:00.007+05:30

Shut up!

You talk too much.

Bite your tongue..

Or I'll do it for you.

No more talk of leaving,

We have too much work to do!

You said this was our home, didn't you?

And now you're saying we're through!

Is this a big joke to you?

Do I look like I understand?

I told you to reconsider..

I told you to think again.

You know you could've changed your mind, love..

And spared yourself this pain.

You know you should've shut the door, hun..

And never uttered her name.

When I went to the store, he asked me..

How many feet you got?

I said I got just two feet..

But they were twisted in a knot.

And then he gave me this one, love...

He said it would never give out.

You ran plain out of luck today, dear.

This be the strongest rope I ever bought.

Burn

2010-04-14T23:23:00.008+05:30

How stupid are you..

to fall for that again.

How could you not know..

that fire will burn.

You saw it happen to her,

and you swore you'd stay away.

Have wings, will fly?

And now you know why..

moth you have to die.

?

2010-04-13T17:29:00.000+05:30

What do you see when you look in the mirror?
Do you wonder why it’s all shattered and broken?
Haven’t you figured it out yet, fool?
It’s all just you!
All the pieces of you clinging to each other,
Like a jigsaw puzzle no one wants to solve.
Can you see the image of your life?
How it winds all the way down..
To the fractured end?
Nothing but a question-mark.

Blue

2009-09-21T00:08:00.009+05:30

My life you've painted a different hue,

It's coloured in every shade of blue,

From deep despair to deep blue sea,

I have all the blues inside of me.

Who killed the Radio Star?

2009-09-15T19:43:00.005+05:30

The hunt is on....

they're looking for the voice that can spin the most inane tales...

that can wrap the emptiness of conversation into infinity...

when trolls charm the shell-like ears..

and the jarring notes rock the boat..as I hold on to the sides....

Green was the colour of envy...until you came along..

now it spells nausea..

Words you waste...and time you strangle.....

The fabric of the universe you will rend..

and make a scarf for your next party.

No better time for me to find that elusive alternate universe I longed for..

hiding under the blankets at the ripe old age of 6....

Second childishness and mere oblivion...I'm here...

Take me into nothingness..

Bittersweet Symphony

2009-08-24T18:42:00.008+05:30

Why do you hug your knees and rock like that?

Do you need something to hold onto?

Why do your eyes have that haunted look?

Or is it hunted?

Maybe a bit of both?

Would you like to disappear into that swirling smoke?

Or would you like to wake up now..gasping for breath..

..and know for certain that it was all just a bad dream?

Pink

2009-08-06T01:57:00.009+05:30

they're everywhere...an empty space full of empty people...

bugs...with their antennae..strange radar for gossip..

never-ending chatter...skimming the surface like stick-insects..

what is the matter with them??

plastic faces and incessant chatter. flip-flops smacking the floor.

animated floosies. yakkety-yak.

my favourite story...poignant..

I get stuck on the T's..forget to dot all the I's...

when I try to spell "fit in"

whooshing inside my head...words clamouring to get out...

I and me..we are lefty and righty.

political views are fucked up.

veering between yin and yang.

my brain is fried.

the cerebro-spinal fluid has coagulated to form chunks of hostile independent lifeforms that keep running into the walls of my skull..ah the dulcet tones of these banshees. The mere sight of them and the sound of the other splintered voices..like nails across a blackboard.

I look around and I see you frowning at the world..I see a kindred spirit.

you are hiding behind that smoke..

tortured eyes and winning smile...

And now you're clinging to your knees like its a life-raft..

Do you feel like swimming out of here?

Does the open sea look more appealing than this island we are on?

Doesn't it look like Stepford?

Loud...louder....waving their arms...flashing their teeth....flipping their hair...demanding attention....snatching the peace...leaving nothing but noise in their wake.....outside your space...invading your space...the voices in your head clamour for attention...but you cannot give them anything but caffeine..pour it into your veins...and hope it drowns the last of your imagination......

sad? happy? confused?

Nothingness....looking into glassy eyes...

we spin while the earth stands still...

we stand still while the earth spins...

we live, we dance, we savour life...

we live, we laugh, we squeeze the life out of life...

but what do they live for?

to match yellow pumps with the yellow dress...

or the green clogs with the green dress...

why is there no pink dress?

how will they live now?

what about the pink dress?

they just can't live without it.

I think I'll put them out of their misery.

Gyandevi

2009-06-21T13:52:00.001+05:30

Trip to the village

2009-06-21T12:57:00.010+05:30

You and me - a ditty for you.

2009-06-21T12:40:00.007+05:30

You push me, you ignore me.

You need me, you adore me.

You take me for granted.

You say that I'm wanted.

You mock me.

You laugh with me.

You look right through me at what you're missing.

You see nothing but me when we're kissing.

You confuse me.

You make me doubt me.

Before you, my life, it was wild and free.

But if you leave, I'll always be just a shadow of me.

Lights

2008-05-27T14:23:00.002+05:30

Squelch

2007-09-13T01:14:00.001+05:30

What is it about rain? Why do people have such extreme reactions to it? Some love it and run out to get drenched at the first sign of a drizzle..and then there are those who scurry away to hide under anything to get away. It’s almost as if they’re made of salt and would melt in the rain. But there you have it. Personally I hate the rain. I hate the incessant pitter-patter on the roof, the dripping water on the window-pane, the ever-increasing puddles on the ground that call out to the unsuspecting leather shoe just to reduce it to one sound – squelch.
It’s a word and it’s a manifestation of all that I feel when it rains, about the rain, about life, about the grey day that I’m stuck in. One thing can be said about rain, it adds a dimension of pathos to every situation. Everything seems that much more desperate and sad and pathetic when it’s raining around you or if perchance life be happening in the rain. If you can’t find your keys, being stuck in the rain looking for them almost always makes it that much more miserable. You feel utterly wretched. Yelling at the rain can only give you a sore throat and a distinctly maniacal air. But on another day, on some page of some tragedy that’s being played out, the person who came in from the rain and headed out again seems far less pathetic than the person he walked all over. That is probably the most heartbreaking scene, the footsteps head back into the rain and leave footprints all over the miserable soul on the floor…it’s the one sound reverberating all around…the feet…the rain..the shoes..the tears..
He came, he saw, he walked all over me and left. It was raining outside, and it was raining inside. Sad, rainy, drippy day. I don’t know if that was a more pathetic sight or the sight of the drenched man walking through the rain keeping time to his steps with the song in his head – squelch, squelch, squelch. All the while my past beckoned to me from the puddle of brine on the floor, the present stared gloomily back at me and the future called out to me saying, “Psst! Shut the door, get back in here and keep the cold out!”

Hearth

2007-09-13T00:41:00.001+05:30

It’s been a week of a decidedly surreal quality. Too many emotions rushed to the fore and effectively blocked the path to fruition. It was like a bad sinus problem, things just refused to function properly and everything was blocked. Self-preservation is a wonderful thing. What the conscious mind cannot do, the bestial part of the brain achieves. Total shut-down. First there came extreme distress, then disbelief and then there was the urge to talk and demand answers that weren’t forthcoming.
I remember at one point I was furiously searching the face in front of me for some trace of humour or anything that could belie the facts I was being hit with, with no regard for my quaking insides. It was the same face but somehow not one thing seemed familiar. It was all gone. Something was lost and what was found was not wanted by either of us. The brave face was on, the tolerant smile, the dismissive hug and the empty promise to keep in touch. There’s just one predominant emotion I can remember from that day and that is a weird mix of despair and a gnawing fear of loss. There was a tiny part that screamed that it was not happening.
The next day the need for explanations was far too great to be ignored. Talking about feelings on the phone is by far the worst way to go, even the written word has more depth than the distracted voice on the phone. The sounds and voices on the television in the background seemed to trivialize the emotions on the phone. It seemed like the kids on The OC were going through a similar sort of scene and it wasn’t flattering that life seemed to derive such inspiration from fiction or maybe it was the other way around. Either way the scene would’ve been better off on TV, at least it was accompanied by a touching soundtrack there. Disbelief remained the predominant emotion. All those feelings had just vanished..and I could still feel them. I could and he could not. How was that possible? Could this be happening? It’s like they say, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes before death takes over. Maybe it was the death of this relationship that caused me to remember every little moment we’d spent together and apart, knowing all the while that we had each other no matter what. For a relatively intelligent person, I’d been quite stupid, painfully so…and romantic to the point of giddiness, was I expecting a knight to come rescue me? Maybe I did want that on some level. I don’t know. I just knew this couldn’t be true and someone somewhere was waiting to say “gotcha!” at any moment. And I just couldn’t, wouldn’t let myself go..or show any reaction.
Then he started talking about the show playing on TV and I wondered how I could never see what a callous man he was? He couldn’t feel or hear my voice and my heart breaking. I don’t think I’ve ever heard words more cruel than the words I heard that day. Maybe it was the added feeling that never in all the time that I’d known the man had I ever expected such lack of sentiment. All I could feel was an empty void. There was no light, and it felt like there never would be any light anymore. Disoriented and then numbed. That’s the most of what I remember that day. The next few days all I could feel more than hear was the reverberation of voices in my head saying “he doesn’t want me” over and over again until I thought I would land up screaming or calling him.
But I didn’t call. I didn’t scream. Mothers are God’s way of showing us he’s there and he’s sent help. Mum was there for me when I thought nothing could help. She held my hand and she talked me into the night until I slept. I remember I couldn’t put the lights off at night. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but for some reason I couldn’t bear to have the lights off when I slept. She would switch them off after I went off to sleep. She’d be there in the morning to cheer me up if she saw me drifting off into that dark place. After all the anguish I felt this week, the one good thing that came out of it is that I found my happy place. It’s where my mum is and that is something I will remember the next time I feel that it’s dark and lonely out there.

LEVITY – BOVINITY

2007-05-26T12:40:00.002+05:30

It's funny how there's so much to write about and I cant think of a single thing right now. There are multiple tracks in the mind at any given time.Sometimes I think the folks with the one-track mind may be better off, it must be infinitely better than this cacophony in the head. Sigh. What's new? Does everyone think this way..in this haphazard, disordered fashion, staccato sentences, no pretence of order in the chaos, even organized mayhem would do at this point…even though when I think of it..I almost like being in this cocoon, its safe and warm in this ignorant miasma..and no I won't invite people to join me. It's mine. Go find your own.
I've often thought Ebenezer Scrooge would've been a very interesting person to talk to and know before he was "reformed"(read brainwashed)..but then again that would go against his very nature..socializing, being nice, that sort of thing…I'm pretty sure most of the really interesting people are locked away in their ivory towers, far far away from the mundane life the little people lead on land…with the moles and the beavers and the skunks…not koala bears (no they would be fun to live with…so we don't get that opportunity..only the Australians do). We get really dull animals like rats..ugh…and cows which I must say do have certain redeeming qualities..they look so calm, and well, bovine..almost smug and they can look as smug as they want.
But people sporting that look is a different case altogether…yes, I've seen quite a few bovine looking people in all the years of avoiding interaction with humans..because these are the kind of people I instinctively avoid…somehow bovine goes hand-in-hand with smug…it's a package deal…so what do we get as a final product..believe it or not….a smug cow!! Hah..to all those smug cows out there..just sit in your corner and chew your cud..stay away from my part of the pasture.
"The Smug Cow Syndrome". It's a very interesting topic..a theory I came up with…I've noticed most women who start going out with really nice men (an oxymoron if ever I saw one) or if they think they're nice, or if they get married…acquire this peculiar air that could only be translated as "Mooooooo!!" in my book of obnoxious behaviour.
I can think of a few friends who tried the match-making routine with me in mind and how it turned out to be a total disaster with all the debris and headcount making them feel even more determined to fix me up with someone. Sheesh. They target their single happy/unhappy friends..it doesn't matter which..to them their way is the way to be, all else is the road to hell…or the road to being-shredded-to-bits-and-eventually-devoured-by-canines.
A smug cow will be smug as smug can be and she makes sure you know that. She will sit on her soapbox and chatter away incessantly about the salient features of a serious relationship/marriage.. blahblah….and then talk about fixing you up with some accountant friend of theirs (ah the thrill of it all!) or her boyfriend/husband's friend who works in some IT company (yawn!). "That's good right? You like computers and all that stuff (that's just coz I can check my mail without shutting the whole system down like her…so now I'm supposed to like geeks (apologies all around)..been there done that, it's not for me). You really need to grow up now…stop going for the wrong kind of men..all those rock loving hippie type men (reminiscent of lectures given by mum when I left for the hostel)…or the anti-social bad boys...the obsessive almost-psychotic freaks….you seem to get attracted to all the bullies…get a nice boy and settle down…MBA…doctor…that kind of thing…blahblah"…and all the while all I hear is "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
This goes on for sometime and I keep staring at her, trying to be polite…trying very hard not to smash the cup in front of me or pour the contents on her perfectly-coiffed hair. After a while the face in front of me fades away and as I keep staring it's replaced a cow chewing cud and looking very indignant at being gaped at in such an improper fashion. It casts it's lazy eye around the coffee-shop and then looks back at me and says "What ARE you gaping at?! I'm talking about setting you up with that marvelous vet we took our dog to last week and you sit there with your jaw touching the floor! You almost look like a cow or deer in the headlights, you know..hahaha." And that does it..that's the last straw…I burst out laughing and laugh all the way to the counter where I pay for my coffee…come back to the table…and say "the last thing I need is a vet to go out with…really I think I'll just stick to the bad choices I make, hope you can get over your prejudice against the so-called bullies I go out with…after all us cows gotta stick together!"
All the voices in my head applaud and I waddle out of there as fast as my legs can carry me. The smug cow is staring after me wondering if the caffeine has finally replaced the last bit of grey matter in my brain. And she shakes her head in bewilderment while I snort, chuckle and giggle all the way home stopping on the way to pick up some greens from the store.
Time for a healthy meal…will have salad tossed in butter…with a side-dish of mashed potatoes with butter…and a mango-shake….well, the main dish has green leaves…that's a start. If you want to see healthy food, go to the smug cow next door..she keeps greens aplenty and would love the opportunity to feed them to you along with a sermonette on healthy living. Let me have my meal in peace, as I pile up on calories and read a good book or watch Seinfeld or Scrubs…all the while hoping that I don't get a call from the vet. Who can hate a vet more than a cow that eats butter faster than she makes it? Snort!

Bête Noire

2007-04-09T15:35:00.001+05:30

A few days back, I watched this movie called High Fidelity. I have no idea what made me sit through the entire movie, especially when I had full control of the remote. It was about two in the morning and I kept watching, wading through the drivel. It's based on a book, and I'm sure the book's good. But seriously, the movie was a little too sophomoric. It was the story of a man in his late twenties, and his relationships (mainly unsuccessful) with women. He was the tormented voice that guided us through the constant rejection and heartbreak he had suffered. Yes, we suffered with him, but in a very different way and for a very different reason. One of the redeeming factors of the movie was the music they played in the movie and the parts where they discussed various rock bands, artists and music in general. John Cusack, owns a record store and has two absolutely whacko and highly unpredictable guys working for him, one of which is the irrepressible Jack Black. I like him a lot after "The Holiday," he was pretty good. The conversation and arguments about music were the best parts of the movie. And there were the parts where the women break up with John Cusack, they were pretty good..he was funny in a neurotic sort of way. But there was just too much of the "talking-to-the-camera" bit..didn't make the movie any better.
Moving on, there was something else that I found quite interesting in the movie. John Cusack kept talking about his list of top 5 things : worst break-ups, career choices, rock bands, alltime favourite songs..that sort of thing. Sounds like fun. There are SO many lists I could make. Almost makes life worth living again! As if.
So anyway, a list of top 5 pet-peeves sounds interesting. So, if number one is the worst of the lot, I will start with -

(5) The Silent Treatment. Ah yes! My mum has that down pat. She knows it really gets to me in the worst kind of way. Usually, when we have an argument and I go into ultrasonic mode, Mum just shuts up and actually goes mum till I concede the argument..ad infinitum. Sigh. Devious, I tell you. There must be something about it in the "Manual for mothers of precocious daughters of all ages." Now I just need to go find myself a daughter of mine own to play mindgames with..what fun.

(4) This one would definitely be waiting..or plans being cancelled. Let me elaborate. There's nothing much to say actually. It's quite simple, I absolutely detest waiting for anything or anyone. Waiting in line, waiting in a waiting room (yeah, like calling it that is supposed to make it all better), waiting for a train, a flight, arrival/departure/whatever. Highly irksome. That's probably why I prefer watching football to cricket. And why if I were forced to watch cricket at gunpoint, I'd whine and beg to watch a one-dayer rather than a test match. So anyway, as I was saying, another pet peeve is people cancelling plans. That's definitely waving a bright red flag in front of the grazing–in-a-field and looking-very-content bull. If you're not sure you can make it, DO NOT say you'll be there definitely, a 100%. And then make me wait outside some coffee shop. And I don't mean you, sloth-in-arms..really. Well, maybe a little.
After writing about all that tedious waiting and cancelling, I think I'll go get myself a cold-drink. Irritation, aggravation, exasperation, annihilation – words can give such joy, they can release the wailing storm from the teacup and transfer it to paper. Do we ever really realise how important and gratifying words are and can be. Words, pictures and images build up the fabric of life. Well, for me anyway.

(3) Number three on my pet-peeve list would be, most definitely, skinny people (women more than men ofcourse). Damn the skinny people. Especially if they're skinny and glowing with good health! Skinny AND great skin?! Something's very wrong with the universe. Shiny, happy, skinny people. Ugh! Great abs and pecs, toned and tanned bodies. Health food and health drinks. Sheesh! Give me greasy, spicy and fried food any day. What is more annoying is if those skinny people are nice. Sheer impertinence. How dare they be nice? Yes, we know they look good, but now we're supposed to like them as well?! The injustice of it all.

(2) So as we move along, I just have to mention at this point that I got myself a cold-drink AND it's a diet-coke. Number two on my list would have to be unexplained phenomena, unsolved mysteries, and secrets that are well-kept, much to my chagrin...chagrinous if you may. (That is absolutely not a word, but it was such a fun thing to do..it's probably on someone else's list of top 5 pet-peeves…smug people making up ridiculous words!) Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I absolutely cannot sit still if there's something I can't fathom or understand. There has to be a logical solution for every conundrum. A good answer to every question and a satisying unravelling of every mystery. It's SO irritating when people whisper and act all mysterious. Even if they're just exchanging home-remedies or grandma's recipes, it's probably going to be more interesting to me than the Bermuda Triangle or the possibility of life on Mars. Those are interesting mysteries too, ofcourse..but the smaller picture please, people!

(1) Drumroll! And so we come to the number one spot, no pun intended..or is it? Maybe on some pro-Freudian subconscious level? Hah. Anyway, the top spot is taken by goodbyes. Anything that spells finality of any sort. Doors slamming shut, the words "The End" at the end of a movie..perhaps, that's why I like movies that end with the phrase "The Beginning" or some such corny albeit reassuring words. Goodbyes are so chilling. The marrow freezes over and the vertebrae vaporize when faced with the sad scene, resulting in the total collapse of this escapist. Why can't people just say "will be seeing you soon" or "talk to you soon," for God's sake?! Then ofcourse, there's Death – the leveler, the big daddy of all goodbyes. It's so much more than a pet-peeve, it's a pet tarantula. (That sounded really funny in my head. All the voices are chuckling.) To be honest, death doesn't scare me that much if it's mine own demise I'm talking about. It's more the process of dying. If it's going to be relatively painless, I'd be just fine with it. All in a day's work and all that. What really scares me is the idea of death of my loved ones.What I really want to do is gather all of them and keep them in a huge eagle's nest on top of some high cliff, safe and warm and away from the claws of death. Wish that was possible. Also, it would be kind of fun to watch a few of those people being stuck in the same high-rise hideout together. They'd probably push each other out or claw themselves to the bone. That would make for an interesting bit of writing.
The sadist in me needs to nod off now, to the sounds of a favourite lullaby:

"Rock-a-bye babies, on the clifftop,
When you come to blows, the birdies will squawk.
When the bones break, the morphine will call,
And down will come babes, schizophrenics and all."

Bravo! Interesting tangent, that. So anyway, as I absolutely cannot handle the thought of death.. and it's not something I can think of without wincing. So I'll just end my list here. Au revoir.

The Beginning

How Rakesh's Standing Wife Sat Down..Finally

2007-03-17T15:24:00.001+05:30

Elections are over. The rosy days and cosy evenings are over. As soon as the last vote was cast, the lights went off. The little town was hurled back into the dark ages. Apparently, we were getting electricity in the day only because it was election time. The whole town was lulled into a false sense of well-being and urban prosperity, and the people followed the Pied Piper straight from the pot into the fire.
Now we're sitting in the dull shadows of a winter afternoon, all bundled up in wool. The results have come out and the non-pretty female candidate won. There's hope for this country yet. Apparently Rakesh's standing wife lost and how. By the way, Rakesh is the cable guy in this town and he has increased the cable charges from this month. I think he spent a fortune on campaigning for his wife. And now he wants to make up for the losses incurred. I feel bad for the wife, she has probably bid adieu to town politics forever and gone back to ruling the roost at home. An ignominious end to a mini-fairytale that could have been so much more.
And that's how Rakesh's standing wife sat down..finally.

Dear Diary Syndrome

2007-03-15T21:32:00.002+05:30

Dear Diary,
I’m trying to fathom the endless bottomless pit that is love. For it has to be a pit, why else would countless people continue to fall into it?! Hah! Yes, I know..that was a sad sad joke.
But seriously, I’ve been thinking hard about this ageless phenomenon. I got a mail from an exboyfriend today. He was a very good friend at one time and by far the sweetest, nicest, most dependable man I’ve come across till date. I loved him to bits, as a friend and a little more but not enough to commit, and that’s what he wanted. Sigh. So, the love-story was tragically aborted and stored in the archives for further reference. I’m still not over the regret, most of all about losing such a good friend. And I’m scared that someday in the future I might look back and shake my head and say “that was such a big mistake.” I really hope that day doesn’t come. I would hate it, regretting decisions I made in the past.
So anyway, the ex wrote me a few days back and informed me that he’s getting married next month. He’s mentioned how he’s been really swamped with marriage preparations and how he’s really looking forward to it. I’ll be damned if I can look at this objectively. Am I supposed to? Do people really do that? Turn off emotions like a tap..at will? Well, it ain’t gonna happen here. No sirree. Will go through the whole gamut of emotions a person can feel in such a situation. I’m hurt, angry, and jealous..but most of all I feel a deep sense of regret. I’ve lost him forever and nothing can happen between us now or ever. But then again I’m the one who broke it off and said we shouldn’t stay friends anymore. Then why this feeling of emptiness and regret..and anger at him? I think it’s because he got over me real fast considering he’d said he loved me truly, madly, deeply etcetera. Boyfriends, romantics, and other men lend me your ears..“if music be the food of love, someone please kill the deejay.”
So anyway, I knew that his parents were bride-shopping, so to speak, and I didn’t want to cause any trouble. He deserves happiness and marital bliss if that isn’t a giant oxymoron. But he was engaged just a month later. Now, that was too fast for comfort. Don’t get me wrong; I do want him to be happy..eventually. But if he could get over his true everlasting love in two months, then my cynicism is justified. Does any man really feel the actual emotion? Or do they just think they do and then proceed to convince the unsuspecting woman to that effect? Disillusionment is settling in pretty fast, and being around these don’t-believe-in-love-almost-bitter women doesn’t help. Mum says it’s all a farce and men aren’t capable of loving anyone but themselves. It doesn’t help matters one bit. I really want to believe that men can feel true love and for longer than a few full moons. Sigh.
Then there’s the other ex, my first real relationship. He hasn’t gone out with anyone since we broke up. I would like to believe it’s ‘coz he still fancies me and not because I’ve cured him of love forever. Once bitten, twice shy and all that. And he doesn’t fail to remind me every chance he gets, that he’s the one who’s been single all these years while I went out with other men. Pile on the guilt, why don’t you? But I’m pretty sure it’s not endless love that has stopped him from moving on, it’s probably his single-minded determination to build his career. Ah well. Cookie crumbling again somewhere.

The Village People

2007-03-15T21:31:00.002+05:30

I have been on holiday for the past week or so and it’s in a sleepy little town in the North. This quaint place is just about hanging on to the bottom rung of the urban ladder by its teeth...meaning it’s a little bigger than a village and so much smaller than a town. The first few days here were very interesting. All I did was stand at the balcony and take in the sights, sounds and smells around me. The house I am living in is smack dab in the middle of the townsmarket. So my first day was filled with a myriad of images, tiny rustic shops laden with copper and steel vessels, a wonderful array of colourful saris spread eagle in the windows waiting to be rescued and lots of men sitting around like at a village “chaubaara.” There’s really loud music playing from morning to night with ghastly remixes remixed again in the local accent. Gasp.
One thing that always amazes me is that everyone seems to know everyone on a first name basis. The camaraderie, the relaxed atmosphere and the quaint greetings are just so delightful. I see people strolling on the street singing songs, not humming but yodeling and really loudly too. They’re so at peace with themselves and the world. There’s no mad rush in the morning or the evening, no such thing as the rush hour. It’s a slow moving relaxed world that spins at its own pace. I almost expect people to start hopping along like Red-Riding Hood in the fairytale.
People here are warm, friendly and they wave to people they don’t even know. It might be considered intrusive by some city folks, but people here strike up a conversation with just about anyone and they do ask a lot of questions. But it’s just part of their charm, I guess. The poor folks are just trying to make conversation, I realized in time. The language, the accent and the colloquialisms are very intriguing, I must say. At about eight in the night, the shops start shutting down for the day. Young boys walk back from the one and only movie theatre in town after the 6pm show and are almost always singing songs from that movie. It’s like a scene from Malgudi Days.
Today is a special day for people in this town. It’s Election Day for the Municipality, that is, the local body elections. Campaigning for these elections has been in top gear for the past month. Rickshaws crawl the streets blaring out songs and odes in praise of the candidate in question. It’s usually Hindi movie songs that have been skillfully remixed to praise the candidate and they’re very entertaining. I’m not sure if they’re supposed to be humourous, but I find them exceedingly funny.
Finally the big day arrives and everything has come to a standstill. The shops are shut, the schools are shut, the colleges are shut, the Post-Office is shut, the banks are shut, the one-and-only movie theatre is shut and there are absolutely no vehicles on the streets. It’s like a ghost-town with chirpy chattering ghosts walking the streets in clumps. I can hear the excited singsong voices drifting up to me from the street below. Everyone’s off to vote. It’s a big party and everyone’s invited.
There was one incident in particular that really got to me. Not really an incident, more like a conversation where I was an unwilling and disbelieving audience. My Granny and the maid were talking about the candidates standing for election and their respective political parties. The first interesting thing I heard was that all the candidates were women. Kudos. The symbols for these candidates were quite funny, I must say. Apparently they’d come up with symbols that the housewives could relate to and embrace with their votes. A cupboard, a bangle, a bicycle, a cup and saucer (reminds of Alice and Tea with the Mad Hatter, for some reason) were some of the symbols used.
The maid was talking about a conversation she’d overheard between two men on the street. They were discussing two of the candidates in particular at length. One of the men in his infinite wisdom and with all his worldly knowledge ended the conversation by giving his decision, “ I will vote for the cycle candidate, she’s prettier.” At this point, the maid nodded her head vigorously and agreed with that imbecile saying she would vote for the prettier one too because she was from the same caste. And so functions our great democracy. Is it any wonder that most of the politicians have criminal records or vacant looks on their faces resembling Jessica Simpson on one of the days she’s saner than Britney?
That reminds me, I was watching TV yesterday, and there was a totally inane show on Paris Hilton and her numerous goof-ups in the past year. So naturally I watched the show and kept snorting and sniffing disapprovingly at regular intervals. Apparently Paris gets freebies from every which direction and she loves ‘em. A motorbike company in the US got to know that she wanted a bike, so they approached her and offered to give her a custom-made bike altered to suit her every whim. So they made her a bike that was nauseatingly pink, with Swarovski crystals all over, the gas tank had a pink crystallized lid and it doubled as a (hold your breath) compact! Ah, vanity thy name is Petulant-Paris-Pirouetting-incessantly-on-the-Red-Carpet. Furthermore, the bike had Paris’ signature in the gas tank in white crystals and a video mp3 player. What they couldn't fit in the bike (unfortunately) was champagne bottle holder. What a pity! But the most gruesome feature was saved for the last.. whenever the handlebars were moved Paris’ school-girlish tones rang out saying “It’s HOT!” Yeah, I can just imagine Paris riding around town in her little pink skirt on the pink crystal laden bike with the pink video mp3 player, stopping at a traffic light and checking her makeup in the pink compact-cum-gas-tank-lid and zooming off to the next party, her pink bike leaving people speechless with Paris’ eloquent “It’s HOT!” comment. What fun! It’s a crazy world and the featherbrains seem to be at the helm of this ship. Can anyone spot an iceberg and be quick?
So anyway, later that day a man knocked on our door and when my mum opened the door, he talked as if he was a member of our family. He said,” I’ve heard N- is in town (that’s my mum) and that there are 4-5 votes in the house. Well, come on let’s go. Rakesh’s wife is standing (for election). So get N- and her mother and the rest of the folks and let’s go. Hurry up.” No idea who Rakesh is or his wife. My mum was so tickled pink by this, she told him that N- wasn’t at home and sent him packing. He turned tail and scuttled away like a crab, muttering to himself about 4-5 votes. Then she ran into the house and related the whole incident to us interspersed with hearty guffaws. Hilarious.
It almost made me want to go and vote for Rakesh’s standing wife.

Martian, Venutian - it's all Greek to me!

2007-01-26T20:19:00.002+05:30

It’s been a strange day so far. Mum wanted us to go out and buy me a sweater. I don’t fancy walking the narrow, dusty streets of this miniscule town with all eyes on the strange women from the city. Mum might not notice it, but I do and really dislike the stares levelled at moi. So I stamped my feet and held my breath till I was blue in the face. It resulted in Mum, Granny and believe-it-or-not the maid ganging up on me. All this resulted in them heartily cursing the younger generation. All the bad young ‘uns, the ungrateful young ‘uns and the irreverent young ‘uns. The young ‘un with the puffed up blue face in the corner.
Anyway, I succeeded in putting off the sweater-shopping excursion. But not before I got an earful from mum and Granny about me being spoilt, rotten to the core, bad blood from my father’s side of the family, possibly the aunt with a criminal inclination. So I stomped off to take a shower, but I could hear them grousing for a long time after that. The conversation finally veered off to where it always goes – men are dogs. Men and the roving eye. Men and their all-encompassing ambition. Men and their insensitivity. Men and Martians. Whatever.
It is not a pleasant experience sitting in the company of two older, embittered albeit wiser women. I’m sorry to say that my mother and granny can be put in that category..sometimes. It almost makes me lose faith in the goodness of MAN-kind and the dreamy things that girls think of, when gazing into the opaque eyes of their favourite stuffed toy. Love, romance, poetry, everything seems like a myth peddled by greeting card makers for a more tangible dream, money, money, money. They’ve found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and it has the words Valentine’s Day written on it. Oh joy, the sheer idiocy of countless romantic fools feeds an entire industry and how. Not that I don’t feature among the aforementioned fools, I’ll probably be up in the Romantic Fool Hall of Fame if ever there was one made. As if.
Valentine’s Day seems like an annoying red beacon in the vast empty ocean that is February. I get this irrepressible urge to take a pin with me when I walk down the road on V-Day, and prick every red heart-shaped balloon that I encounter in my trek through the Cupid-struck throngs of asinine romantics.
Ah the horror! Am I turning into one of those women? Bitter, resentful and grouchy? Non, mon cher. After venting all the frustration I feel on V-Day, I now feel rejuvenated, revitalized and de-cynicized. The phoenix has risen from the ashes..and is headed straight for the nearest heart-shaped balloon. Apologies. Old habits die hard-ly. I am ready to face the next romantic fool that heads my way juggling a stuffed toy in one hand, a box of chocolates and a bunch of roses in the other. And I solemnly swear not to bop him on the head with the aforementioned stuffed toy or usurp the box of chocolates before ousting him unceremoniously from my home. And I also vow not to laugh at his face till he turns red or I turn blue.
Men are dogs, I unwillingly agree. But it’s just so lonely in the madhouse without them. Heh. I’ve been here for over a month now. Land of the Amazon. And damned if I don’t miss a male voice. It’s madness, having only women all over the place.
Show me the way to the next Chippendale’s. Like I heard it said once, “ Life’s a bitch and then you marry a dog.” The truth sets you free.

Bye, Bye Birdie

2007-01-26T20:15:00.002+05:30

It’s an epidemic. All my friends are galloping off into the sunset in the West, white horse, saddle and all…leaving this damsel in distress, stranded by her knights. Boohoo. As self-absorbed as it may seem, it’s quite annoying…all my home-loving friends have suddenly caught the travelling bug and they just up and go at the drop of a baseball cap.
Some have gone to the land of the Union Jack. One of my closest girlfriends just got married and followed her NRI husband to the land of the free. And the latest one to join that bandwagon is the current object of my affection, snatched from me in the early infancy of a budding romance. Sigh. But hope springs eternal in the withered heart.
To top it all, I got a call from my evil twin, sloth-in-arms, bosom pal, pet peeve, you get the idea…she’s deserting me in these tough times too. Misery loves company, and the irony is that the misery is induced by the conspicuous absence of the aforementioned company. Complicated sentence that. I think I’ll go to Goa and bring in the New Year with a party on the beach..sand, surf and good music! Will stop crying on my own shoulder and howling at the moon and will bop the soon-to-be-AWOL knights on the head for good measure. Providence giveth and taketh away at will or on whim. But does God have to try me so often?!

Old flames die hard

2007-01-23T21:26:00.012+05:30

Letting go, it’s an interesting phenomenon. Old flames flickering in some dark corner of the mind. Each flame burns with an annoyingly stubborn will. Round and round and round we go, and come back to the point “Go.” They move on and that’s when I finally tell myself not only is that chapter closed, but also the book is due back in the library.

It’s illogical, impractical, and absolutely idiotic. But that’s me, on the days that I’m not sleepwalking through life. For some strange reason, these old flames refuse to stop shining their light in my shadow-infested life. In other words, they just don’t go away. For me to move on, I have to cut all strings that attach us. No phone calls, messages, mails or visits ever. I think I get that from my Mum. She’s an extreme person too, atleast where relationships are concerned.
So anyway, back to the persistent men. It seems people can’t let go of old girlfriends that easily. It’s not easy for me to let go either, but it kind of feeds my masochistic side and makes me feel like I’m getting stronger by not succumbing to such weakness. But strong as I may feel, there is no way I can go into “friend” mode right after a break-up. How is that possible? I need to tear that page out of the book altogether. It’s torture talking to someone like it’s all good, when you can almost feel the blood-vessels in your brain exploding. So I think the “rip-the-band-aid-right-off” is a better approach. Ofcourse, I can be a “friend” with the guy in question after a few years have passed. Maybe when both of us have moved on and are happy with our lives. One thing I’ve noticed is that past resentment fades away only if people are happy in the present. Then they want everyone to be happy and it’s a wonderful world.
So as I said before, old flames revisited. Maybe it’s because I’m on the vacation from hell and in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by nosy relatives and inane gossip, I tend to block all of it out and get lost in thought. That’s a dangerous occupation, if done for too long. The past comes back, gets analyzed, dissected, and then the record gets stuck at the same old, cheesy, sappy love song.
One is on his way to making a career for himself, self-made man and all that. It’s quite admirable actually. The next guy is engaged and is going to get married next month. And what am I doing? Sitting in my chair in a dark room writing about my old boyfriends. I’m not ashamed to confess, I’m very jealous of these men and their lives and very dissatisfied with mine. Especially because I know I have a higher IQ than most of them. Miaow! It just goes to show intelligence isn’t enough. You need to find a road and start walking until you reach somewhere..anywhere. I think I was just looking so hard for the road less travelled, that I didn’t move too far.
If only I could become immune to this feeling. That old charm that refuses to fade away. That old comfortable feeling that wants so badly to stay. It takes all my will-power to let go and then they come right back in the friend avatar. The “boomerang-effect” is so damn nerve-wracking and totally shatters the peace of mind. So I hide away in my little burrow, licking my wounds from the cruel stabs of fate. Drama queen with no stage to perform on.
Maybe on my next birthday, I’ll blow out the candles on my cake and get rid of all those old flames from my cobwebby mind.

Shoot the early birds

2007-01-23T21:14:00.002+05:30

Early morning sleep-deprived angst leads to bursts of creativity. I woke up at 5 in the morning and reached this obvious conclusion just now. What a god-awful hour to be staring at the ceiling and grinding my unbrushed teeth in frustration. At Mum, at Granny, at my luck, at the milkman and at all the early birds that don’t tire of worms.
Granny is a powerhouse of latent energy. Up and at ‘em, I say! Mop in hand, she strides forth every morning to cleanse the hearth of all grime. I guess, what she pays the maid is her charity that began at home and ended there. So at 5am, Mum is trying to convince Granny to go back to sleep. But Granny will not heed any advice. Old people have it made. I’m so envious of them. They can be eccentric to their heart’s content; they’re expected to behave that way. But if I pick up a mop and start enacting Star Wars with it at 5am, my flatmates will call my mother and feed me sleeping pills on the sly to put the mad woman to sleep. Sob. And so young!
Swish-swish goes the mop. Swabbing away the remnants of a pleasant dream. Shattered pieces of a Utopian world that I brush under the mat, until I visit it again in blessed sleep. Back to the endless chaos and disorder of our regimented lives. The more we try to make sense of this chaotic universe, the more it mocks us by throwing us curve-balls at irregular intervals. Tangent to philosophical mush is over.
Now back to Mum and Granny wrestling over the seemingly innocent mop. I can almost hear the floor groaning at the cruel swishing of the mop over its sleepy tiles. Yawn. Cruel and innovative forms of torture are invented everyday. There should be a law against such intolerable albeit serendipitous cruelty. Finally, Mum gives up and starts folding the blankets. She tries to drag mine away from me. As if. I cling to my quilt like it’s my lifeline on the Titanic and Leonardo DiCaprio is attached to the other end.
ROSE: “Go away, Leo. I’m going to keep lying on this raft while you freeze your little tush off in the icy ocean. I love you so much that I want you to be a human icicle forever, preserved in time in your infinite beauty. All this, while I lean over the railing in a white diaphanous nightie and fling the "heart of the ocean” into the sea after you, to keep your blue heart company." Ah! What a rose that Rose was, thorns and all.
Utopian world revisited in blissful slumber. Screech! I’m woken up by a banshee-like wail. Overflowing water downstairs. A storm in a teacup. There’s a minor water crisis on the ground floor. Mum and Granny race to the door. Mum gets there first, owing to the younger bones or maybe just a strong urge to escape the insanity. Even the eye of the storm seems to be blinking in sleep.
Oh, look! Obnoxious milkman is here. The loud bass voice reverberates in the hall and makes me cringe under the pillow with which I’m trying to smother myself mercilessly. Where is that mop? Let me wipe the floor with this travesty of a civilized human being. Choke him till his loud voice becomes a more appealing squeak.
Here come Granny and Mum, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Watch the sunrise!” Umm..correct me if I’m wrong, but won’t the sun be around all day? Couldn’t I just catch a glimpse of it later in the day, maybe when my eyes can stay open without me prying the eyelids apart with frozen fingers? Or is it like cookies fresh from the oven? Catch ‘em when they’re just out and piping hot.
Let me sleep. Let me sleep. Let me sleep. And let the poor worms sleep too. They’re going to be in the Happy Meal for the early birds anyway. Let ‘em catch their forty winks.
So here I am, sleep-deprived, cranky, resentful and murderous. But what I will do is swallow my profane remarks lest I utter them, and lay me down to sleep. Atleast I have a remarkably clean floor to lie on. Dead to the world.
Three women talking. Three women – upset and talking. Gaggle of geese squawking. Is it a gaggle? Do geese squawk? An embarrassing insight into my endless ignorance. So anyway, three women emoting in their soprano voices that ricochet off the tired walls, clash in midair with the shards falling in a barrage of supersonic yelps. It’s a melody gone wrong. An orchestra when the conductor fell face forward into the audience. Rambling alert.
These voices grate on the nerves, make me lower my own voice and talk like a mugger on the street…”stick ‘em up!” This makes me think of sounds. Those that I like and those that I can’t stand. It’s funny how sounds that are pleasant get so annoying if heard too often. Especially when you start associating them with other things..like the door slamming shut. I like the rustle of a newspaper, the ka-ching sound that money makes, rippling water in fountains, Buddhist monks chanting, bhajans in temples, frying food in the pan, those strange cooing sounds that babies make, my phone ringing when I least expect it. Now to the sounds I hate, self-absorbed that I am. Babies howling, cats mewling, dogs whining or barking, sounds of a traffic-jam, honking horns, people and their road rage, crowds walking on streets yelling/protesting, riotous masses..unless it’s a rock concert. Paris Hilton talking on any topic on TV or anywhere else. Grrr…
Ah! AB’s* voice reverberating in my head. Great sound to go to sleep to at the end of the day.

*AB - Amitabh Bachchan.

The Bubble that wouldn't burst

2007-01-23T21:03:00.002+05:30

The Bell Jar is a book written by the amazing Sylvia Plath. I just finished reading it and it’s brilliant. It’s astounding how random pages seem to be stolen from my life and moments of insanity seem so familiar. I wonder if every person that read this book found her darker side in these pages, and was forced to face the manic-depressive in her…after the shiny veneer is scratched. The bell jar over the head. For me, I always thought it was a big bubble - transparent and flexible but impenetrable and inescapable. I can feel the bubble around me and it makes its presence felt more strongly when I’m with people.
There….I just lost my train of thought. So much to say, but it’s all a writhing mass of disjointed sentences hidden in the crevices of my mind. Maybe I should have a day for a spring-cleaning of sorts. Clear out all the cobwebs and thoughts stagnating in those crevices. Cleanse those shadowy corners.
But it’s a pointless exercise. How do I lasso these stray thoughts into some semblance of order? It feels like innumerable little marbles rolling about in my head. They clatter and clang and roll every which way I tilt my head. When I’m thoughtful or pensive, I sit with my head well poised on both my hands lest it should tilt. Or else there’d be such a god-awful noise that the illusion of a calm person deep in a reverie would be shattered. Random thoughts. Musings if you may. Why do I feel like a deep chasm divides me from all the people around me? Even my mother who professes to know me better than I know myself…she doesn’t know me. I don’t know me.
I feel like one of those unicellular organisms I learnt about in school. The Amoeba. It has no particular shape. I always thought it looked like someone dropped an egg on the textbook and made that particular shapeless blob that we were supposed to recreate in our journals. So anyway, the amoeba has no shape, no personality if I may be so honest and the mode of reproduction is asexual. Hah. It moves around just by sheer will it would seem, as there’s no unicellular equivalent of a backbone. It’s like the egg white drags the yolk around in the frying pan.
But yes, that makes me think I’m like those blobs. I change everyday. The shape of my mind. The depth of my inexperience. The sheer putty nature of my personality. Everything seems to change at daybreak. Like a vampire who has the flu, would feel lost in the daylight…what with most of the five senses not in working order and nothing much to do in the day. I confuse myself. I exasperate myself. I would lay down my arms, if I could identify them. I would help those who love me, understand why I block them out..if only I could figure out what they love in me.
I have a strong, nagging suspicion that I ‘m playing a part, reading a script. People believe that is me and love me or hate me depending on what the writer wrote today. Do I feel anything at all? I seem to imbibe emotions from around me. Are my ideas my own? Am I just existing…feeling what I think I should?
My father thinks it’s all a lack of confidence. I agree. I don’t have confidence in the people around me, and their ability to understand someone who’s different from them. They judge me for my whimsical ways and those eccentricities that a friend would embrace.People like my father try to embalm the spirit and bury it under six feet of mundane routine, predictability and cynicism.
I feel free when I’m sitting alone in my room. I feel free when I’m sitting in a train compartment and am surrounded by strangers. I sit there with headphones on my head and bury that head in a book. My little world and me, the bubble well in place. I don’t need to smile till my facial muscles freeze into a mask. Grimm Brothers revisited. I don’t have to make pointless small talk. Why do people in trains and buses have this irrepressible urge to communicate their views and opinions to random strangers? From politics to the state of food in trains, every topic is beaten to an unrecognizable pulp. Why the need for conversation whenever two people are within talking distance? Is it a primal urge to talk if close enough to some strange ear? If I sit across from someone, more often than not we play a game of dodge-the-eye, with the person trying to catch my eye to strike up a conversation and me trying to dodge that insistent, persistent eye. Hence, the headphones and the book, my modern day chain-mail armour.It’s so much easier sitting in a room full of strangers.
It’s a nightmare being stuck with a bunch of relatives or acquaintances I’d rather not be acquainted with, now or ever. Playing a part. Smiles. Hugs. A fat tear rolling down a fatter cheek. The family gossip catching up on all the news. The nodding of heads, the side-to-side exasperated shaking of heads. The endless whispering, nudging and pointing at the prodigal offspring.
The family – scores of men and women tied to each other by an invisible string that gets pulled around festive occasions and tightens around my neck like a noose. Puppet strings. Walk like a mannequin with batteries, and the user manual in my mother’s hand. Walk, talk, namaste. Nod, smile, namaste. Hug, kiss, namaste. Pow, bam, namaste. Excuse me while I go put my head in the oven.
Here come the aunts and uncles and three-and-a-half cousins.
Forward march! Attention! Stand in line, ready for the firing squad.
First question – fire! – So how old are you now, beta?
Second question – fire! – When do you plan to get married? The clock won’t stop, you know? Tick-tock, tick-tock!
And then the barrage of intrusive questions: job, salary, prospects, parents? Endless home remedies for my bad memory, and things to eat and do to get glowing skin, lustrous hair, blah blah….“to get a good boy, beta.” Patience is a virtue, and I’ve tried really hard to be virtuous in the vice-like grip of familial tentacles. Still trying.