1 month already ;-)

It has been a month since I started this Blog, exactly one month. 11 more to go and I am already in love with the process of making a blog on a daily basis. Most days posting something has been effortless, though a scan of the blogs past makes me sound like a super deep pensive sort of a person with little or no light moments to the day. So unlike the real me.

The inception of this excercise for me has made me think a lot more. Some days I wake up wondering what it is that I want to write about and on other days it has flown. The conviction that 2010 remains a year of immense change is still strong, this space shall let me document for me how the journey unfolds.

Interestingly today is also the last day of the month. 2 months and 2010 is 16.67% over ( did the maths using thye rug as paper) and the going has been well slow. But hey there have been good steps made.

• for starteres started the yoga journey
• begun fitness on a serious note
• freelance windows are opening and closing likle a well rehearsed ochestra, the conversations shall sort themselves out into real concrete work
• i feel positive, every day my optimism levels are sky high
• Machku singh, has learnt to sit, manged to not get adopted and still jumps into my lap the minute she sees me.
• MM, GR, Mr. Post IT remain staunch supports, Ms Body Shop decided to get married. Brother dear got all excited about his coming marriage and so lives are chugging along just fine

There is still lots more to do. Have a good feeling about March. The borad things to cover are (i) applications ,... I know i know stop talking and do them already. (ii) make serious money (iii) 1 trek/day trip and (iv) mumbai .. this all has to be done.

On urelated trivia, I have always loved the month of February reminds me of Spring and Mughal gardens. The fact that it is burning in Bangalore has npot dampened this at all

Trivia 2-

The walls of someone houses speaks volumes about who they are. Often people spend on getting the right couches and then are too lazy to bnother with the walls and all they have are some hideous flowers in a gold frame., a pic of some god and if you really really push it, then ONE marriage photo.

All the nicer houses are a collection of knick knacks., that speak abgout hte person., photos, art, some random poster, a baileys bottle with something growing out of it, a pencil box made from a discarded blue tumbler, a ashtray that u picked up in hampi, little thiungs that are not costly but tell the vistitor who youy are beyond the obvious. Unless there is nothing beyond the obvious ;-)

To newness, travel, pottery and abundance. Welcome March

silence confuses

Yesterday, a close friend came over for a short while. We hung out over coffee and chatted. Or rather each ranted about their own life. Their was a pause and with some music on, we just lazed. It unnerved him, the silence that is. He wanted to hear chatter, updates, asked what else several times, reaffirmed friendship status, talk about Vidya Balan, travel, books, everything anything but silence.

Silence with a friend is a decently accurate measure of how good the friendship is.

If you can be in a room, with someone and not necessarily feel the need to converse, yet know that you are not failing in your duty as a host or he/she in the role as a guest that is friendship. To be able to come over, and depending on the mood, be giggly like school girls, sympathetic listeners, the controlling monitors or just the silent watchers. It the balancing act that gives the friendship some depth.

Mr. Dependable is my silent coffee buddy. We can sit at the same coffee table, each doing their thing, pick up a conversation, laugh let it lead to others and then drop back into an amiable silence. Knowing that it is perfect to break whenever need be.

GR was a good silent guest last week. Mr. Postit is showing value of being that too. Never thought, the chatter box me would ever even ponder about this, but like my brother says living alone makes you value silence a lot more.

When brother dear would come home, he would walk around with a baffled look on his face, questioning why the house was so noisy.  Only now do I get, staying alone teaches you to make friends with silence, where it no longer seems the enemy that needs to be drowned with music or tv or ceaseless conversations. But can actually be enjoyed.

Am definitely growing old. Pass the wrinkle cream, please

quitting

QUITTER

There are somethings in life that are worth quitting but takes immense will power and tremendous hard work. The top things to quit on my list have been sadly very constant. To making a commitment to changing that. Not trying, not in the process, not sort of lowered it down but cut it out. Simple as that. Some are easier than the others, but all are pathetic traits to carry around. 

So my list be becoming Miss Virginal Mary is 

v  Topping the list – Cigarettes

We all know the health impact that these create.  Hell it is on the pack now, as a reminder. So took to buying singles to escape the picture.. OSTRICH BEHAVIOUR ;-( But more than the generic stuff here is why I should quit. Going to be sappy (advance warning).

My dad smoked, still does, a lot. In fact I bum his smokes when I go home. As a kid, there were only 2 things that I was adamant that the man I finally land up be with, a non smoker and a traveler. Used to hate the smoke, the addiction and was the only one at home that could get away with trashing my dads ciggies, hiding the packs, breaking them as they were to be lit. To that innocent child that was me, I owe the onus of not smoking. Each time I light up. I can see the little me nod her head in immense disapproval.

Besides I need to get hot and toned, by May. That is right here. Current stamina on the tread mill is not going to get me there till May 2011. So I better stop !!!!

New Rules then

o    The house and car are smoke free

o    Friends DO NOT light up near me or offer me a smoke.

o    Don’t invite me for drinks, as that is the weakest moment

o    21 days and think the addiction shall be over!!!!!!!

v  Blindly Trusting the World

This is tougher than cigarettes. I am blonde. Trust and confess my life to people, that I may on the bus stop. But then again some of the better memories have been from these moments

As a result have done these

o    Driven 10km in peak traffic in the wrong direction, to a random man on the road, because it was raining in Delhi, was 8pm and he would not get transport

o    Told the LSR interview lady, that I was really not into journalism, but can I please get the course?

o    You are nice. Come over for dinner. – Lines meaningfully uttered 5 min after meeting someone new

o    Went for a movie, with someone met on the Mumbai local

o    Shared a room, on a 3 day trip with Jungle 82, after one short coffee

o    Share my house, with someone I met online, after meeting her for 10 minutes

So have been in trouble and have been blessed but usually get more good than not by trusting. What to do?

v  Being a blabber mouth

Tell me a secret you want to share. Otherwise do not tell me. I accept I have a big mouth and foot in mouth disease. So don’t share things with me that you are very very very guarded about. Am working on it. Have become better but nowhere close to some ppl I know.

Other as critical ones are:

v  Body Fat and Dancing Queasiness

v  Believing everyone else is having more fun. Even if they are only watching TV

v  Self Pity

v  Procrastination

v  Not using Spell Check

v  Having a limited attention Span- its border line retarded

v  Listening without having 4 parallel conversations in my head.

All right, am sure that there are a lot more that you can add on. So go ahead mail me, comment or call to let me know what else I need to drop. 

Bindi

The sheets rustled as she stirred. 

She turned to one sided, and with sleepy eyes looked around her. The room was dark and cold. The AC was blasting in one corner, oblivious to her presence. The drapes covered the windows and cutting out the world. The room was shrouded in darkness. The night hung heavy and pregnant. Still half asleep she drowsily scanned the room wondering where she was...

Feeling cold, she tried to snuggle back into bed, pulling the covers around her, turning around and borrowing her head against the pillow.

That’s when her hands brushed against his warm back. She smiled.  A slow sleepy sheepish smile, that reached the very tips of her eyes.

Of course the room seemed new, it was new, this was new. Having him here was new. It was real, this He was hers tonight; only and only hers. Finally the night was here. She was here, he was here and the luxury of spending the whole night with him as here.

She was in a resort that they had checked into late last evening. How silly of her, how could she possibly forget the drive in, the convoluted lies to be here, the heady mix of anxiety at being alone in room with him that filled her with drunk butterflies.. she chuckled to herself as she remembered how much she had giggled, her only defense to his direct gaze.

Her laughter that got stuck in her throat, when she saw him, so not amused. Her silence, as he held her gaze. Her eyes searching his face, as he moved towards her.

His feather light touches, as he traced her eye brows, her ears, her forehead. Never had they felt so alive. His mocking look, as he held back the kiss she was anticipating. Making her whimper for him. Making her forget her shyness, tracing her nose, kissing its tip, leaving her hungry for ever so long……….

Hazy memories of bodies touching, the slow intimacy giving way to a devilish rush, the breathless anticipation, pain and pleasure all conniving to transform him into another person, transforming her into someone she has never met…

Fragments from yesterday tumbled around in her mind. Leaping over each other, each clamoring to be relived, re-savored.

Her idle fingers, traced her lips wanting to rekindle the magic. They trailed down her neck, her breasts, stroked the fine soft hair on her chest before resting on her belly button.  She blushed red. A deep intense embarrassed red as she remembered how much attention that silly thing had got.

 Yesterday was nothing like what she had imagined and everything she could have wished for. Wide awake now, she grinned to herself and hugged the pillow.

It was a secret, their secret. Her whole world had changed yet not one other soul in the world would know about it.

Everyone thought she was off managing a friend’s urgent crisis. Well technically speaking, this was a crisis, and definitely extremely urgent, and it did involve a friend… but just not quite what she had painted to Mom. Evil pure evil.. this night was. Yet it was hers, to own and revel in.

Stretching into the bed, she watched him sleep.  Resisting the urge to touch his ears, those mocking lips that were smiling even as he slept or his tousled hair. Her eyes lingered over his back, biting her lip where welts from last night still shone an angry red. A reminder that yesterday was not a hallucination. 

Shaking her head, embarrassed to the core, she plopped back onto the pillows.

Trailing her fingers through her hair, she stared at the ceiling. Wide awake now, but not wanting to disturb him she debated what to do.

Reluctantly she peeled herself of the bed. The Ac’s blast hit her full force as she groped for something to drape herself with.  Covered with goose bumps she nearly tripped on his shirt discarded on the floor. Curling her toes over it, she pulled the shirt on and flapped the never ending sleeves.

There was something about wearing an oversized mans shirt that made her feel delicate. Made her feel protected and petite, strange it may be but she loved it. She gingerly made her way to the mirror, picking her way between the debris of yesterday that lined the floor.

Standing near the mirror she admired herself. Hmm you little yummy thing! Look at you. You look like a newly married penguin. Laughing at her own joke, she did her favorite penguin dance, flapping the sleeves and hopping around. Quickly stealing a look behind to make sure he had not woken up to notice her idiosyncrasies.  

Carelessly piling her hair into a ponytail, she marched purposefully to the bathroom.  Shut the door and stood flapping her arms, gently swaying in front of the basin.

His solid and stern black toilet kit sat next to her hideously bright yellow one.  

Lord, what was she thinking, or was she thinking when she had packed that in. What would he think?? In any case she was convinced he perceived her to be a kid, and the YELLOW kit, just yelled that fact loud and clear.

Ah well. Too bad, she did secretly like it a lot. It was happy. Bright sunshine happy, exactly how a day should start.

She scowled back at the black kit, returning the reproachful look it seemed to be giving her. Pepsodent pearly white, measured on the brush, she sluggishly began brushing. And Paused. There was something on the mirror. Brush stuck in mid air, she directed her gaze at the dot she had noticed from the corner of her eye.

On the right hand top most edge of the mirror, placed at an exact angle to the frame, the dot became clearer.  It was a carefully stuck medium sized black bindi.

Hypnotized; her thoughts temporarily suspended, she gingerly reached out to touch it. Her fingers grazed its surface, almost stroking it. It was soft and damp. A recent offering then, to the mirror.

 It rested like a Zen Buddha, peaceful, quiet and neutral. 

She was transfixed with it, staring at it, willing it to speak.

Who wore it? Was she someone’s lover or a wife? A secret rendezvous with an admirer? Did she get into trouble for forgetting the bindi on the mirror, touching her forehead as she entered her house, hoping no one would notice? Or did she place it there on purpose, as a reminder, for the next time she came? Yuck, the idea that this room was repeatedly used repulsed her very soul.

Using the toothbrush as a prodding tool, she analyzed the bindi again.  Top corner edge, precision in the angle. This was no hurried cast away there was thought and precision lacing the act.

Who the hell wore a bindi anymore in any case? Images of her women friends loomed in her mind. No, not one of them ever wore a bindi. Come to think of it, the bindi was something her entire generation had discarded. Almost, no one she could recall used it every day.

Who was this woman then? Someone middle aged? Married? Removing the one bodily trace of being married before making love? She imagined making love with the bindi on.. it simultaneously seemed erotic and disgusting, like a Nazi stamp implanted on her.

Shilpa Bindis, from nowhere the word loomed in her head. Mom, mom was the only person she could remember who still wore a bindi.  Visions of home, the graying bathroom mirror, its sides home to the growing swamp of shipa bindis that arrived and disappeared in an unknown pattern. Maroon and Black, the only 2 colours that Mom ever used.  Always the same brand, the same round shape, the sameness of it somehow defining her. Why did she still wear it? Was it connected to being married? Was it her mother talking?

Her thoughts leaped in all direction. She could hear her mothers voice, almost predict the call that she would make in a few hours, to inform her mom that she had reached her destination.  Sense the reassurance, mom would feel, the unkown tension escaping her.. if only she knew.

Her eyes welled up………  Stop it! You wanted this as much. Stop lying and pretending to be a miss goddy two shoes now. Too late. You are exactly like the bindi women, she discarded the bindi, you honesty!

She shuddered, stepping back from the sink. The lightness she was feeling moments earlier replaced by a heavy forbidding. 

The other women’s presence seemed to fill the bathroom. She could visualize her standing in front of the mirror brushing her teeth, discarding her robe as she stepped in for a shower. Stood here, exactly where she was and hummed to herself.

Reality came and hit her hard. She slumped against the bathroom wall and slid down to the floor. Toothbrush still in hand she stared into space. Trying hard to make sense of the riot in her mind.

This room was not hers. It was borrowed. To be returned in a few hours.

This man was not hers. He was borrowed. To be returned in a few hours

This happiness was not hers. It too was fleeting, borrowed, hollow.  To be revisited in a few hours

Her shoulders hunched as quiet tears rolled down.

For the first time she saw herself, from the eyes of the hotel receptionist. Saw the pitiful look her friends would give her. Hated the fact that this night was to remain a secret, a dirty secret, grimy and unclean.

Using the flapping sleeves she wiped away the tears. Something cold and metallic grazed her cheek. Absent mindedly, she looked at the sleeve and saw his cufflink clinging on to a loose thread. 

Cufflinks, she made love to a man who wore CUFF LINKS! The towering fucking symbol of egoistic, inflated cocky as hell obnoxious men. 

She hated him, at that moment she wished the welts on his back were deeper. Were life long scars that he would carry. How did this happen? How did she allow herself to dream and fantasize about a cufflinker?

He who promised her nothing?  Zilch!!  Even this stupid night was planned on her persistence. She wanted this. Wanted memories, wanted pictures, wanted to be Alice in fucking wonderland pretending that they were a REAL couple, not a “oh we must not ever let anyone know about this” couple

She was angry, at herself. At being here, this room the Stupid BINDI that changed EVERYTHING. She stood up, glaring at puffy face in the mirror. Yanked the  bindi off the mirror and flung it. It refused to be flung and clung on to her fingers.

Seething now, she wringed her fingers, yanking it hard, violence in her every gesture. Took it and flung it into the commode. Flushing it.  Keeping the fingers pressed on the flush, once, twice, thrice, wanting to remove every trace of that ghostly woman. DAMM HER!

Sleeves rolled up. No more the penguin. She stormed back into the room

Cool Darkness engulfed her. He was still asleep. Deeply so. Had rolled onto his stomach and his sleeping face looked so innocent. Angelic almost, the anger she felt seemed false. Seemed real.

She wanted him. For herself. Wanted him to make promises that she could believe, she wanted to be his, to be owned, to be declared. She wanted these tears to stop.

Walking back to the bed, took forever. With each step, she picked up her clothes. Dressing as she walked. She folded his shirt patiently aligning the remains of the iron’s lines that lurked below the crumpled creases.  Fully dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her mobile.

5.30 am it said. She had been awake less than an hour and it seemed like a lifetime. Uncertain about her next move, she sat and breathed. Breathed calmness into her weary bones.

Fetching her bag, she made up her mind. She was leaving. Going home, would cook one more lie for mom and nip this in the bud. Nip it before she became a bindi woman herself. Sighing, she wiped the tears that would not stop.. and looked for her shoes.

She was done. There was nothing more to do, but leave.

She stood. Walked to his side of the bed, gently touched his hair almost maternally. Smothering her sobs, she stood by his side, loathing this moment.  

She wished he would wake up, stop her, hold her. Wished she could snuggle into him and forget the past hour. She waited, seemed to be getting a PHD in waiting. Nopes. Nothing. Mr Cufflink was out cold. 

Sighing, she moved ever so slowly to the door. Waiting for him to call her, to wake up and STOP her with his every breath.  

Each step taking forever.  She reached the door. Turned the door knob. There was nothing to stop her but her.

She hesitated.

Slowly closed the door.

Turned around.

Walked back towards the bed.

Discarding each piece of clothing, carefully.

She reached him. In the same exact manner as she had left the bed. Cold and Goose bumped.

Pulled his side of the covers.

Slid in. tugged at his arms. Snuggled beside him. Felt him. Felt his arms around her. 

And made peace with the momentary contentment she felt. This felt right, this felt home.

you are what u do

Cant stop giggling today and am not sure why. Maybe it is because I ran away from a cop, or the fact that someone near me seems to be seeing ghosts, for whatever reasons am finding the world a hilarious place today. 

Feel like reporting trivia today, so here goes.

For starters, am delighted to report that contrary to self and popular belief, am not a bunch of sour grapes. I can feel spontaneous delight at others delight. Though rare it may be as an emotion, at least it exists.

What exactly triggered off this new insight is a sweet love story. Shall not spare u the details, so here goes...

Main actress –PG

Who she? Someone I met in 2008 while doing a course.

We developed an instant connection that was nursed to life over many lemon teas, drunk at little dhabhas across Delhi, huddled against the rain. The conversations, like the cigarettes we smoked took a life of its own. All we did was sit back, and marvel at how similar our life stories were.

Anyway a thrilled PG, chuckled as she told me that she was off to Mumbai to meet the parents of this boy.  BOY?? WHO BOY?? Did you not just start dating? WTF?? This soon??

The boy in question is….. a photojournalist with a leading news and business information supplier. A MBA who choose different and is living a life of choice…  or as I termed it a fleeting gypsy who happened to be caught in the bylanes of Delhi.

I laughed when she shared this. For once someone’s new love did not make me scowl, instead grinned and the news. It gave me hope. In 4 months, she and he have managed to create a world, where the fleeting gypsies that they both are can be cocooned.

It let me believe that I too had a chance.

The weird thing was, that I have no clue who this guy is. ZILCH!! Yet the mere fact that he is a photo journalist and that too after discarding a MBA makes me like him already. Had she said the guy is an I banker, would have puked there n then.

This careerist(read as racist) bigot in me, was always lurking just never articulated it to myself in that many words.

My closest friends are all people who have chosen different lives, each have stories of not walking the straight and narrow.  I can yap for hours with someone who puts up Post its on walls of coffee shops as a art form, and can space out in front of a bunch of Sales executives. Its not them, its me. Have no idea what is it that they like conversing about.

Made me wonder, that little ad age, “you are what you do”…may have more depth to it than just a quote. It defines the world you live in, the kind of people you meet, the conversations that you have, what you would want to be prodded to read…The impact is so rampant and pervasive, if you don’t like what you do the jaws of frustration can be lethal.

Ouch, have gone on the verbal drone again!

Got to go for lunch with SB, who he? A super senior figure in Delhi circles, someone who started as a dog trainer and now trains corporate across the globe.. hehe got his foundations well set, he did.

boy man

She rolled down the window and gingerly stuck just the tips of her fingers out. They were drenched in seconds. She smiled. Enjoying the sensation of wetness on her fingertips, and getting ambitious she stuck her palm out, squeaking with pleasure as the rain nibbled on her palm, gleefully... 

Delighted at her little game, she rolled the window down further, and succumbed her wrist, her arm, her elbow to the merciless rain. Fingers dancing, she cupped her palms and let the rain collect there, before splashing it up and watching her own rain pattern being created. With wild dancing eyes, she stole a look at him. He was driving, staring at the road. Immune to her and her juvenile antics..

So typical of him, she thought, even on a gorgeous day like this with the rain finally breaking the spell of the long summer, all this man can think of is his office, deals and larger than life meals. Just look at him. Every single thing about him was “perfect, bloody perfect”

The casual Lactose T-shirt, was tucked into the Arrow shorts, carefully matched with the brown belt. The flawlessly white sneakers, pushed the accelerator down to a steady 100. Always a 100 never more, the blue tooth earring and the fingers tapping to his only car cd, while the eyes darted towards the Black berry, with rhythmic periodicy.

Grrrrrrrrr Grrrrrrrrrrr, yelled her insides. She wanted to dance, to get wet in the rain. Wished he would for once pull over, take the initiative in dragging her out and dancing to some super cheap Hindi music. Wished she could draw him in, and kiss him in the middle of the drenched road. Wished she could shake that silly man into living a little.

Never mind, for the now, she was making patterns in the rain ;0.. One, two, three, and throw… one, two, three and throw. She giggled at the game she and the rain were playing, and before she knew what she was doing, one, two and three.. And SPLASH!!

Shit she bit her tongue. What was wrong with her. She had splashed water all over the man, his hands free and the dreaded blackberry.

Eyes wide open with horror she watched the water drops trail down the shirt. The worse hit was the blue tooth. WET and how.

She could not meet his gaze. Instead, she withdrew her palms from the window and gently, like a lady placed them on her lap. The window rolled up, she sat and waited.

Phew………The polite patient condescending yelling was coming, right about now.

The car slowed down. Oh oh! Very bad sign

The indicator flicked on, the car ground to a halt. Fuck, she was so dead.

Silence, filled the car. Her hands still, her body still, she waited. The rain drummed on the windowsill, laughing merrily at her plight. She scowled at the rain, muttering how all this was his fault.

Oh come on, just say something and get it over with will you. She wanted to yell. Do Something. anything Say something. This disgusting game, of staring her down into submission was enough to make her see red……

She was getting angry. Angry at being made to feel sorry, Anger at having married this prick, anger at his silent scowl, anger at the rain, blinding mad anger. She wanted to slap him. HARD and feel the sting of it.

The silence dragged on, with each breath her nostrils flared even more. Past experiences had taught her, that he could sit like this still for minutes. The record was set at 21 minutes of silent treatment, before she had mumbled the appropriate words.

What was he a woman? Who has ever heard of the man giving the silent treatment? Fine then, two can play this game. Am so kicked, minus the silly hands free he shall finally have to enter into conversations. Yuck! Imagine talking to him.. oh no, his silence is better than his drab banter. Fuck, not another story about Mrs. Gupta, or his silly college drunken tale, where they stole the parking sign. If I hear that one more time, I shall take the closest parking board sign and slam it on his face……

Her mind chattered on. He sat and waited. Patient as always.

Hrrmmmmmmmppppppppph!!!! 

God someone do something. By now she was livid. She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

Without any warning, she slammed open the car door, leaped out into the pouring rain and stood there. Stood there in her white T shirt, and got wet. Stood there in front of the car and stared right back at him. Stood there, and collected raindrops in her palms. Stood there sang her favorite rain song.

Stood there and looked at him with defiance, with pride, with laughter.

She stood there and rejoiced with the rain. The rain delighted at getting the full attention of his playmate, jigged with even more enthusiasm. She danced and she stared at him. Daring him, changing the dynamics of the relationship with her every move………. Licking her wet lips, moving her wet hair, aware of what he was going through........

She stood there, and waited. Waited till the car door cracked open, watched the perfect white shoe get its first ever brown spot, as it landed bang in between a puddle. Her mouth swung open, and stayed there, as she saw Mr. Perfect, chuck the hands free into the fields. Her eyes followed his every action.

He slammed back the car door. Stood there, palms outstretched and felt the first rain drop on his face. Turned his face up to the sky, shook his head and smiled. Grinned from ear to ear, and he moved suddenly all manly towards her.

The shocked stunned mouth gaping her… who stood mute, as he approached her, softly, calmly and without saying a word, kissed her full on the mouth. Had she won or had she lost?

She did not know and for that moment, did not care. As she kissed back the boy, she had lost when he became a man.