Who stole that smile?

She emptied out her bag. A jumble of objects toppled out noisily. Nope, not here. Looked into her cupboard, turned it inside out. Sat in the heap on the floor and sighed wearily.

"Where could it have gone?" Flipped through books, waded through the throng, searched the faces - familiar and strange. Nothing. Checked her pockets, shook her hair. No luck. Even the notes of her favourite song didn't bring it out of hiding.

She just couldn't find her smile. It had gone missing for a while. She couldn't even remember the last time she had held it. Distraught, she stepped out into the winter, hoping to bump into it again. That friend so old and deep.

The plight of the modern Indian woman in a relationship

(God help us)

We have seen our mothers and grandmothers (some even our great grandmothers) live through their relationships with their menfolk without burning the house down or severe bloodshed. Sure they had their share of trouble, but back then, there was no option but to 'woman up' and deal with it. Words like compromise and commitment held enormous weight and whether they liked each other or not, they made it work somehow.

Today's 'modern' Indian woman is in a soup. She has been in it for sometime, slowly brewing and shifting uncomfortably in what I can easily say is the biggest dilemma of this age. The clash of the traditional values of sacrifice, selflessness and unconditional love against the new-age independence, gender equality, sense of self and the need for ' personal space'.

"Okay so if I do the laundry, you cook," said many a new-age woman to her man. Life became easier since household chores were shared and she no longer was solely responsible for the chappatis or clean socks. She stopped changing her name and had a choice to never bear children. The in-laws took time to get used to the idea of their bahu acting a little 'alien', and actually preferring her powerpoint presentation over making laddus for their son (the shame!).

Travelling alone or with a friend (read - not lover) became a way of freeing oneself and proclaiming to the world an enjoyable non-adherence to stereotypes (main tumhare bina kahan jaaungi?). We take ourselves shopping, drive ourselves home and put off marriage till we're absolutely ready (and had our fun!).

In short, we've taken over what was rightfully ours and are having a party.

But do we feel totally triumphant? Let's take a look at our relationships with men. Hmmmmm.........
Not so good, eh? The neighbours probably take out their log book to make another entry every time the angry yells rise to the ceiling. We walk out of relationships as if it were a restaurant serving bad food. We break up a million times without thinking what it actually means. We know that if we leave, we're not helpless damsels in distress. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you!" said many a new-age woman to her man.

I hate to say it but here it is - the threads in the fabric of a relationship have weakened. They are beginning to wear out faster, leaving behind shreds and rags. Our new-found freedom may have come at a price - The inability to stick to our relationships, to stay happy and content with what we get from our better halves. To expect less. Now that we're up there, we want the world. The list of things we want from our men and relationships will probably finish off every piece of paper on Earth. We want. Sigh. Lots of wanting, lots of demanding, lots of unfulfilled expectations. Happiness quotient?

No, I am not saying that women don't walk out of relationships only for the wrong reasons. A lot of them deserve better and should find it. And then stick to it. That's the problem. The sticking. Neither am I sure about how men have evolved and deal with their relationships. Hence I'll refrain from making a comment. This one is not about them. It's about us.

Hence the terrible dilemma.

"I'm so mad at him....... but I want to make up now. Hmmmm....but if I make up, he'll think I'm giving in and more shit will come in the future. I don't take shit!........ But I love him and I know he meant well.....what to do?........Grrrrr."

Fragrances

I was sitting at my desk today, designing a newsletter. The usual.

Suddenly I remembered the smell of new born puppies! You know when they've just come out from their mamas, groping their way around in this enormous world? Yeah, that smell. It stays with them for a few days making them more desirable to hold and hug. It might be the smell of milk or new motherhood, who knows. But I will never forget that smell, which was a small part of my vast childhood.

Interesting how these fragrances from the past suddenly dawn upon you bringing back a cart full of memories. You just cannot help but smile at them :)

Understanding Women

There is not a task more uphill than understanding women. I am a woman and I admit it.
Most times, I struggle to understand myself. And it is not surprising considering that spontaneous, reckless people seldom follow the same pattern. You never know what you're going to do next when you're in that zone.

The mind works in strange ways, the mysteries of which has and can never be solved. It's not that we are indecisive. That would be oversimplifying it. It goes deeper than that and just how deep, nobody knows. If you throw a stone into the pool of a woman's mind, you will not hear the splash, leaving you to wonder just how deep it goes.

We are never one person. Never. Some days we are honey and sugar and others, we can make you cry. There are hours of fear and then of courage and boldness. We fight, we make up. We fight, we make up. And we do both with an equal rigour. Complicated yes?

Flashes of thoughts, picture memories, decisions, resolutions, quiet reflections - can all co-exist together at the same time. Yes, this is humanely possible. We do it every day.

I empathize with men. Most expectations of understanding their women are laid at their door. Men are built differently. Their thought processes, behavioural patterns and actions differ from women, and since they are well versed with their own ways alone, some times they find it excruciating to put themselves in a pair of peep toes heels and walk through a woman's mind with the bleak hope of getting it right.

Perhaps some things are better left unexplained and not understood. Maybe that makes a woman's journey more intriguing, the 'not knowing'. Our quick minds can process information and analyse thoughts at top speed and even the computers of today are no match. Our brains have superpowers and scarcely do we realise it.

And just like a free spirited superhero, our minds will never follow a straight drawn line. There will be swivels, swooshes, deep dives, high rises and a tangled path of smoke behind us.

And just like a superhero, a woman's mind will never be conquered.    

Relationships! Bah humbug!

They can drive anybody batty. Fighting in a war, walking on hot coal, jumping off the thirteenth floor, climbing two hundred stairs and battling jaundice - all come second and so on, on the list of most difficult things to survive.

You want it, yet you loathe it at times, which leaves you feeling increasingly confused with what you want in life. Since there are two sides to every story, and two strong arguments to present in the court it gets muddled up even further. One never knows who was right or who was wrong. It becomes a battle for correctness, for superior judgement and virtue - but it results in a drawing room through which a herd of elephants have just passed.

You want it, you don't want it. You want it, you don't want it. And it goes on. It is a terrible plight to be in, and takes up way too much time in the super busy lives that we lead. There is less time for relationships, and far less for arguments and unnecessary conflict. Well, all conflict is unnecessary. Perhaps we will understand this someday.

Even this post is so confused. Point proved.    

If they don't want to, they won't

It has taken me 30 years to understand people, and believe me, I'm still quite far behind. People are complex creatures - each with a different perspective, personality and psychology. For years I believed that if you are good to others, they will be the same; if you are friendly, it shall be reciprocated; if you stand up for somebody, they will stand up for you. How naive.

It took some rude shocks to send me hurtling into reality. And what a painful lesson! It seems that the way of the world is, if you lend a hand, two things can happen. First, they climb up your shoulders and sit there, waiting for another opportunity to ascend higher. Second, they take you for granted. Of course, this is not the rule, but oh so common.

People can lead to a sad disenchantment. Giving too much importance to them is disastrous. Keeping away, too lonely.

The biggest lesson is - if they don't care a damn about you, they won't.

I'm back

After a long sabbatical from writing (quite unintentional though!), I am making a comeback. My crazy mind needed to write back then, and it still does. A bit rusty and jumbled up, words flow out with less ease these days. The vocabulary has taken a hit too. All those wonderful words my brain carefully saved in its memory disk, now fading. Poor thing. To remedy this, regular reading also makes way into the agenda.

Perhaps all this has something to do with the new year 2015. I won't call it a resolution because I have been a victim of shaky resolves in the past (guilty!). I would just call it an endeavour to get back to doing what made me happy and kept me sane. Writing.

And thanks for the additional push, SK!

No means no

When does a 'no' really mean a 'no'?
Is it the tone of voice that betrays or the glint in the eye? Or perhaps the softness in the face?
Can one be soft and still say 'no'?

Saying 'No!' has been a problem for sometime. That tendency to drift between 'no' and 'yes' sounds so familiar. Indecision. A conflict between good sense and frivolousness. You want it but you don't want it, yet you want it. Caught up in this garbled fog the word tumbles out clumsily - "no". Left to wonder what it really means.

Sometimes the intention is clear. 'No' means 'no', and that's it. It comes out with a hiss, and they slither away. No jokes, no play. Take the hint and go away.

Other times, you get carried away and never know when to say 'no' till it's too late. Left to pick up the shreds of your self respect. Cursing.

It takes courage. And knowing one's mind. They work together. What also helps is a carefree disregard of the intruder. If it is a persistent one, throw a big fat dictionary with the word 'no' marked in red. That ought to settle it. Sorry to disappoint you, but 'no' really does means 'no. 

Losing my religion

That's me in the corner,
That's me in the spotlight,
Losing my religion,
Trying to keep up with you,
But I don't know if I can do it,
Oh no I've said too much,
I set it up....

I didn't even realise when it happened. Boom! One day it hit me. And then the questions began.
Who am I? What have I become? Is this for me or all for somebody else? Does he even see all this? Does he know? Does he appreciate? 

It's not nice. This place I'm at. A whirlwind in my head. Discomfort in my chest. Legs of lead. Nights devoid of blissful rest. 

It's a sinking boat I tell you. And I sit in it and watch the water gush in, little by little, taking me down bit by bit. I'm uncertain whether I want out. Should I jump into the wild sea and swim to an island? Or should I sit here and wait. To sink. Or will some "magic" save the boat, with one wonderful wave?

I close my eyes and the song plays in my head. Nobody is worth it. Nobody.    

Staying away

Sometimes you got to stay away. Up close, the problem seem so massive and indomitable. Shakes you up. Unhinges your faith. And you are consumed, wholly and savagely.

That distance makes a difference. A few paces back and it all seems changed. That's because you finally let some air in between. Sweet air in empty space which might hold the key to your problem. Then the colours suddenly change before your eyes, thoughts take up a new drift and the mind gets busy to tackle.

This is the trust that we can put into that distance. And I hope, this time too it works like a charm.  

Wrong or right, Let's have a fight!

Points can be pointless,
Just like arguments can be argumentative.
In the disturbing din, so much is missed, unseen, unnoticed.
Significant as it may be.
The mind shuts down.
The single purpose of life boils down to proving that you're right, as always.
Unseen, like crumpled sheets of rough paper love is swept away.
But then you're right and I'm wrong.
Or is it the other way around? 

Khoon Chala

"Kuch kar guzarne ko, khoon chala, khoon chala.........
Sawaalon ki ungli, jawaabo ki mutthi, sang leke khoon chala....."


There are days when you want to climb up graciously on your desk, clench your fists, embrace a meanness new to you and yell at the ugly creatures around you, telling them to "***k off!" For all the trauma, for all the distress, for all the injustices done to you, you want to avenge yourself, or whatever is left of it. You want to be angry because it emboldens you; you want to let it control you for once, in contrast to all the times you had to swallow that hot liquid down your throat and sit silent and sullen. 

There so much you want to do on a day like this. Throw things at them, shoot them in the head, slap them, abuse them. And finally feel lighter after having indulged in some childish vengeance. 

Still waiting to see what freedom feels like. Freedom from those ugly faces, rotten inside. Freedom from all that is unpleasant, decaying, nasty, malicious and dishonest. To walk away proudly knowing that you never became one of them. And never would.

Patience is running dry. And auto pilot seems to be having some technical issues from overloading. A straight, stony face is painful after a while, not to mention disturbing especially when you look into the mirror and find someone so metamorphosed. What have they done to you?? Why??

But not for long. Relief shall arrive soon. And then you will fly, mocking those who hurt you and tried hard to convince themselves that you're no good. Then you shall walk out never to look back at that ugliness again.

Sometimes, there is no turning the other cheek.     

The insidious enemy

She struck again last night. 
Her horrible face flashed in the lightning and disappeared in spurts.
What did she want? What was she after this time?
The same, the same.
Her motives never change, she never evolves.
Pain, misery, loss, dejection - all for her sister,
Her bright, happy sister whose laughter can lighten up a cloudy day.
We thought she was dead, never to destroy again.
But she crept up and uncorked a bottle of sweet smelling poison.
He lay unsuspecting, smiling with loving thoughts and words,
Eyes filled with her pretty face, head resounding with her songs.
Until she stuck the dagger into his side, slowly.
An evil relish, some dark laughter.
While the good sister screamed to be let out to rescue him.
But once again, she stepped out too late,
To catch the pieces in her hand. 

But you know what, bitch??!
She's gonna be ready for you next time. 
No more goody girl, no more helpless pleading.
Next time, you're dead.
Because for him, she will pick up the sword.

The writer I was

Reviewing and updating web content that I'd written two years ago, I am surprised. It reads nothing like what I'd write today and I ask myself, "Did I really write this?? Gosh! What was I thinking?"And then it begins to dawn on me, how writers change, as people, how their circumstances change, their muses, their beliefs, their streams of thought - it all changes. And with that changes what we write. It reflects it perfectly. That latest preference for short sentences, the extra heed to tenses, sometimes the unfortunate lack of vocabulary.The signs are all in there. Just as the wrinkles on our faces depict age, maturity and wisdom (hopefully), our writing speaks volumes. We can either evolve as writers or stay where we always were. I'd like to take my chances and discover new quirks in myself. And in what I write...

This thing called inertia

It's here. Been sitting heavy, chewing steady, all this while.
Bored, beady eyes and a slouch that the best doctor can't fix.
A deep yawn, slow thoughtless words.
The head throbs while introspection lies in the coffin.

Finally it gets to its feet. Aaah! Refreshing action!
Only to slump back into the creaking chair.
Breathes like lead, snores like a traffic jam.
This thing called inertia will be the end of me.

The Clutter-rers

Every morning I walk into office with focus. Focus on what needs to be done, what's on priority, what's not. My mind draws out a neat task list even before I pour it out in my notebook so I don't forget anything.

And then it happens!

He calls me to his desk, engages me into an unnecessarily long conversation, punctuated with multiple digressions from the actual topic, laughs, cracks jokes. All this while I restlessly (and quite visibly!) writhe and throw frantic glances at my desk and the humoungous job list sitting fat and heavy on it. Often, I have to escape, making hurried reassurances that what he asks for will surely be done. And then I sink into the security of my chair, close my eyes to erase 80% of what we'd discussed and meditate on what 'really' needs to be done.

My phone rings a thousand times, mostly calls for my colleague (thankfully!), but it does break into my concentration. Many a random, idle person ambles in for a small kitty party with the boss, which (I am very grateful to them), they soon take outside. Those few precious moments of his absence....aaaaah! The amount of work I cram into them is incredible. They also amble in for a word with me, to take their minds off work, and since I'm the universal entertainer, I have no choice but to indulge in some informal banter, while my eyes stay on the screen. Rude yes, but I'm sorry; when there's work to be done, there's work to be done. It's true that I do the same sometimes, in order to rest my sore eyes and finger tips, and to occupy my mind elsewhere to make room for fresh ideas. But when a person fidgets in his/her seat at my sight and talks to me with all eyes on the screen, I get the message and walk away.

 

God please tell these people that the amount of time we spend in meetings, we could be at our desks or out in the field actually making something big happen! Meetings bore me. Particularly, when they're needlessly lengthy, most people are talking crap and inside we all know that nothing's going to change; we're just going to end up doing exactly what we have been doing. So I boycott meetings, whenever I feel like. I'd rather be conquering my target deadlines and have concrete evidence of what I do in the organisation than sitting around talking in the air.

Phone calls, random individuals, boss kitty parties, responses (through email) from 'over enthu' persons who develop cataract when they're supposed to be reading my emails carefully and replying with precision and in context. Did somebody tell you that you are an utter pest???

So before approaching me the next time, as I sit frowning at a design dilemma on the screen, my brain working quick and deft, blocking everything else out - go clutter somebody else's head. 

The Bad Girlfriend

You won't even know when she takes over,
Kicking the sweet, unassuming girl out of the room.
She'll march around, restless, unhappy, angry...always,
Pouncing on petty objects,
Bouncing off bitter words,
Frowning,
Angry....always.

And while the sweet girl knocks frantically on the door, begging to be let in,
To save love, to restore peace, to secure the last shreds of happiness,
The bad one laughs in petulance,
Eyes gleaming with childish arrogance,
Till she destroys it all.

Struts out with her crimson cape flying behind her,
The sweet girl rushes in alarm on the scene,
And as she kneels before the ashes,
Tears abundant and painful,
A deep remorse sets in, which she carries to her grave....  

Mending and pasting the shreds to make it stand again,
Tears gluing them together,
She makes it stand, searching hopefully for signs of life,
But it remains silent, gloomy and lifeless,
Never to breathe the same love that helped it stand before.

Pencils in my hair

"Somewhere over the rainbow,
Where bluebirds fly,
And the dreams that you dreamed of,
Dreams really do come true ooh ooooh......" gently pours into my ears, painting pictures in the mind, happy pictures for a heavy heart. It comes to an end, everything. Especially when you begin to savour it. Litchi vanilla ice cream sticks or kiwi ice candies. Crazy auto rides or whisky. Everything.

Pencils hold my hair together. For other people, they write.  

Haunted House - A Short Comedy Film

The Child

The child hopped, skipped and jumped over the broken glass.
She seemed to enjoy the game,
Her keen eyes glistening at the multi-coloured, shiny pieces,
Hair flying like wild horses, mouth still dirty from the last chocolate she licked.
She was unsupervised, no mom, no dad, no siblings,
No bad boys who often pulled her hair and pushed her around.
She hopped freely over the sharp edges,
Hopscotch with invisible chalk,
Her entire life focused on this game she played with herself.
Time forgotten, fear never known,
She played.
Her pearl feet landing like little fairies,
On the shattered glass.
And as her tresses jumped up and down with her,
She watched herself in litte bits on the floor,
Painted in green, pink, yellow and blue.
It was fun,
This game,
On broken, shattered glass.