love

No Neat Title

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“I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees, but to be quite upfront and completely truthful, you make my body forget it has knees at all.” Tyler Knott Gregson.

How can someone who loves like that, feel so sad.

I come here and I see a pack of lies. Yet somewhere in this web string is the truth too, not caught in a neat title with a border and margin, but in the archive spread, the page breaks, the errors and corrections. It is, perhaps, in my agitation, fixation on a misplaced comma in a previous sentence that I refuse to correct. I refuse to set it right, teaching myself that EVERYTHING is subject to perspective, including right, fair, correct and straight lines.

Perhaps it is befitting that I talk of this place before I talk of others. How strange must it to be, for someone otherwise a wall of grey bricks with streamers thrown across it to be raw, breaking stone, hollow in the middle at a completely public, vulgar place, in sluttish manner. In fact, I should think it’s so strange, it’s stereotypical. And I couldn’t care less. I already see idiots assuming they know how to put these words together and form a coherent sentence. I see them now grimacing, some hating, that I should be so full of myself to call some people idiots. And I still don’t care.

Can, sometime, everything around you be so convincingly the same that you’re done and tired of it. Not tired, because you’re tired of tiredness too, aren’t you. I fail at words so hard, sometimes. I mean…. Can everything around you be so itself, happiness so happiness and trials so trials, that you just transcend beyond, shot up on a catapult, while you wish you could grope a stray memory and hold on, despite the knowledge you’d be fooling yourself in the process. Dimwittedness is a strangely lovable word.

But that wasn’t the point. The point is, funny thing is so blunt, that every time I try to touch it, my fingers just rub off dust and fall to another paragraph to edit. Sneaky little thing, the roots of the plants as they say, maybe the root is there is no root. Wait, wait. Maybe that’s it, that the problem isn’t fixed to an event, or cause, and it’s wayward, powerful nature is its scare. Shelter is so absolute and warm with him, but when something becomes too precious, you lose your mind protecting it. The problem is, I’m protecting it so viciously, anything that shifts it a millimeter swirls me off my axis. And that’s when this agonized madman writes blogposts.

Things…. are Still touching me!!!!

Now, pause.

Always, always, always taking care of yourself. And how can anyone else ever help when every word that comes out of your mouth is a riddle in another language to them. Only he could know.

There are a few ways things could go on in a matter of time. The best part is I don’t want any single one of them. What I want is such a mighty bang that it even knocks me off my feet. And I know just what to do to get that.

Yes, now would be the time that you puff, huff and go away. Do you not see my hatred, do you not feel my resentment, I’m breathing down your neck, teeth gritted, tears pasted to my eyes. I hate.

I hate. Tonight, for five minutes, I burn hate.

Comments have been disable for this post. Whatever you think you want to say, you’re wrong. You are all wrong. Except him. But how can he be right from so far.

You’re wrong.

The worst thing in the world is ALMOST, for its insatiable need to become an Always. It’s the almost that makes mud out of minds, nerves half electric, thoughts half formed, feelings have felt, because everything is frozen in almost.

Wandinoda… {} Tight. Always. Always.

I love you, always.

I discover Smoothies!

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To anyone who wants to pamper me, truly indulge me, and see my best excited face, gift me a Danone Choco-Smoothie this January, on my birthday.

(Life Potion)
(Life Potion)

I discovered smoothies this December, and I sincerely believe that I have wasted eighteen years of my life. But thank the universe for Reliance stores that introduced me to what I am certain will become my weakness forever. So anyone who ever wants to blackmail me, spend 20 bucks on a smoothie.

This stuff is honestly worth every cent, calorie and effort that even someone as lazy as myself will make to go get it. In fact, all of that doesn’t even matter because the moment you take ONE sip, your world will completely collapse into that singular mouthful of sheer magic in liquid form. If these were available in perfume, I would wear it.

This blog post is issued in public interest. To make your life complete.

Excuse me now, I have to go and edit my About section and the list of things that completely define me.

Little Tea Party

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Dylan Thomas once said, “I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me.” Perhaps that was one bright epiphany for him, perhaps the observation of general human tendencies, but it couldn’t have been more true for Anouk even if it had been tailored for her, with a dozen words to spare.

Her beast, her angel and her madman were having a tea party today, each flashing its grin in turn, peeping in and out on her face like children through a curtain. Angel, please let me have angel today, Anouk had listless hope. No longer bundling energy enough to beg, all she could do was hope, knowing only too well that on usual days, she would either hurt someone or get hurt herself. Seldom was she gifted a completely happy day with a bright blue ribbon, and all she could do was hope today was one.

The inner angel spread her wings and beamed, softly silver in Anouk’s eyes as she thrust herself out of bed. Plans for today were deliberately enthusiastic, to cut into a long week of sorrowful routine. She was going to meet a friend, in exactly twenty minutes. On any other day, twenty minutes would have been too less. To bathe, dress and accessorize, a girl needs time. Today this girl had much different circumstances and twenty was enough time to slip into the skirt and blouse, the only skirt and blouse she hadn’t packed.

Good point #1- Upcoming trip to Japan. Surely she could trap her beast in with that, pacifying it that all was well.

Sighing, she picked her threadbare bag, threw in her charger and almost dried phone, some money to get back and a sheet of paper to write the apology she owed her boyfriend.

Bad point #1- She had hurt him.

The beast stirred and the madman’s ears pricked, each possibly wondering whose release this really was. The beast sensed there was probably her own pain involved, and sulked back in his seat, while the madman’s eyes danced like a disco light in a New Year’s party. Without him, she was a lost child with fear brimming in the corners of her eyes. This was the madman’s playground.

The plan, concentrate on the happy plan, Anouk chastised herself and ran down the road, hailing a rickshaw to her friend’s place in less time than she had allowed herself. She had half the day to chill with her friend, and the only real planned thing: trying a variant of lentils for lunch. Then she had her beloved gran coming over to help her pack for Japan. And in between that, she had to finish the apology to win back normal conversation with the man she loved. That was a two to one ratio, in favour of the angel. Hope seemed to be working just fine, for now.

Good thing #2- It was windy and her cheeks flushed with the gale.

The angel spread her wings, the beast cringed.

Bad thing #2- An idiot drove through water spilled on the street, and splashed her legs with a dozen mucky droplets.

The angel folded the wings back in, the madman squealed.

“Anouk!” Mira hugged her at the door, and Anouk visibly freshened. Bonus points for angel, who stretched her arms and flew a few feet above the tea party table. “Mira…” Anouk hugged her back, tight and sincere. It took them two minutes to cover for a month of absence, as each had been busy with their own brand of torture. Together they were only youth and giggles, rolled into hours and hours of effortless company. Quickly, Anouk forgot the injustice of the past week, being framed for something she didn’t do, being humiliated for doing nothing wrong. She deleted the words that ached in her mind, said by her father, said by her teacher, words that were pure hatred and tyranny, words she didn’t deserve but then we are seldom treated how we deserve to be. She purposefully kicked out feeling like a limp puppet, when she realised her parents had gone to her school to defend her but had been far too polite, as decent folk tend to be, far too polite to have gotten due attention. All this was another story, puzzling to an onlooker, possibly puzzling to Mira too. But it was Anouk’s troubled truth. And slowly, it was fading, Bad Points of the past being shot out with a bow the angel had gotten hold of. Oh she was magnificent, gliding over the beast’s scrowls.

“Anouk?” Mira asked, concern visible in her eyes.

“It’s fine. It’s ok now.”

Mira nodded with silent understanding, years of practice coming in play. And in that brief loving gesture, Anouk was suddenly empowered. She straightened her back, two inches taller, and called order to the gathering. The tea party came to an abrupt halt as those present nodded in resignation to the boss, Her. Yes, you listen to me now, she put her hand down on the table, as tea cups and sugar cubes vanished and the party was over. Listen.

The seething pain of her school incident still kindled a fire in her heart, but she had largely accepted that she needed to give it time. Next on the list was her father, a man whose day seemed to start and end with how much trouble he could brew for his unsuspecting family, and her in particular for she was the fiesty one of the lot. Standing next to Mira, for a moment she thought how worthless his attempts would be if she could only just fly away into her future, far far away from him. The angel sat up at the possibility of escape and safety, until the madman winked: What about her sister. Or her mother. So she needed to root it our, not cut the trunk. Very well, and Anouk wondered idly if the beast could help with that. Quickly she reprimanded herself, she was much better than to answer bitterness with more bitterness. She was Anouk, powerful and strong. Anouk, who had willed her life and earned a trip to Japan. A free trip, she thanked her stars. She was Anouk, loved by a man whose mere existence in her life was enough for her to take on her father and all his brutality.

 

Her boyfriend… those present perked to attention as the next agenda flitted into discussion. It was hard for either of them to understand whose arena this really was. Being a matter of love, the angel felt a certain possessiveness. Being interspersed with pain, the madman wanted in. The beast, frankly, was willing to attack just about anything that involved negativity, and there’s plenty negativity in wounded hearts.

It had all been a misunderstanding. She had been talking normally, conversing about his day, and hers. Then he had started getting cryptic again, laconic with his answers and shutting her out, and she became a helpless child again. She tried to pull him back in, saying he really couldn’t do this, he needed to tell her! But the words she chose were wrong, and he felt like she disrespected him. How much further from the truth could that be. Disrespect him?! Her love, her strength, her faith! But her words were wrong, and she had to pay.

And that she was willing to do. You see, perceptions of right and wrong fail when it comes to love. That’s what drives poets mad. That’s what makes men promise the moon and beyond. That’s what puzzles the angel, the beast and the madman and frankly, that’s the only thing worth hurting for.

Anouk smiled a dazzled smile.

Bad point #numberunknown- She had come to no conclusion.

Good point #numberunimportant- She was master of the three voices of her soul.

Bad point stressed- She really had no plan of action, nothing to DO, nothing decided, definite.

Good point stressed doubly- Yes, she had no solution. But she had clarity, and strength. A friend and her time, and new food to try. She had a paper to write an apology on, with a light heart and unbridled love. She had a trip to pack for, and her gran to help. She had him, her boyfriend, always and always by her side, being the very word of ecstasy and the embodiment of something deeper than love. She had no solutions!  And right now, she really didn’t care for one.

A new woman with glittering eyes walked into the house, a deserted tea party fading in the back of her mind, cold.

 

 

A Fleeting Soliloqouy

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Where am I.
It’s a lonely universe, just a pitiful one planet that boasts of life. That in itself is too much of a paradox, for who is there to boast to, if it is the only one. But Earth is proud, nevertheless, reveling in stupidity like a king without a kingdom. Perhaps fortunately, there is company to be found, when I adjust my lens to see the chaos in this depressing solitary existence. I see lines etched onto land and sea alike, that separate men with a tag of nationality, and clusters of government. What a becoming! That Earth should seem Earths.

Further, the globe shows me too much space. Not enough for everybody, but wide enough to hold the scattered strings of thought and feeling that process inside my frame and travel the world, to embed themselves in distant lands.
For my thoughts are not my own. My heart rebels! Sewn onto me, it lashes towards another that it does not find.
Separated by the one I love by a thousand miles and a million laws, knowing that for one I will sacrifice the other all my life, caught between choices that will punch and shape the lives of me and my child, forever living in the dream of breathing the air of that day when we are one at last… not knowing the width or length of such a utopia, or if I will still have a heart then…

I am lost. Moreover, I am torn.
I wonder if my question is where, or should it be when. When am I.
Am I in the result of yesterday? In the desire of tomorrow? Surely not the pain of today… When sadness is my heart, when longing in my sinews, and a withering rose of my hope dies and desperately blooms with tiny joys, I ask.. Am I alive now?
How can I BE, when pieces of me lie over the world. There is no where, no when, there is no how either.

I just hope I AM. I just hope that I still AM.

And then he smiles.
Everything is going to be just all right. A glimpse, a note, a word is all it takes to make me strong again and wait. I live from mirage to mirage, see through active imagination that fogs out what truly is and shows me what I want to see, and all I want to see is him near me.
Can you love somebody so much that you’re begging to show them just how much. Evidently, it is what Zeus wanted when he split human souls in two and left them free in the world, condemning them forever to search for their other halves. Zeus must hate me, for I find murderous love being tested by time and space. Yet, I wait. In seconds, he will voyage me from failure to flight and my eyes shall dance again. Until then, I shall work the work of brainless brutes and mundane dos, until he unleashes me again.

Not knowing what to ask, what to wonder or what to say, I turn to oblivion. Ignorance is bliss but it’s better served with a pinch of words. I write…No, I try to write. And I walk on.

The Internet Spreads The Love

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My immediate surroundings, especially my school, are an eternally magnanimous critic of everything Internet. Facebook takes half the blow and none of my teachers (though 90% of them are using it, I checked) say one nice word about Mark Zuckerberg’s life’s work. But hearing and hearing and hearing (never listening) to all that monotonic bad-mouthing of the Net and all that I love about this tech-age, it gets frustrating sometimes to even hear more! I wrote articles and articles and gave speeches and more speeches about how Net really isn’t the new Satan my school makes it to be, and some of it, thankfully, worked for a little while.

But here I am today, grinning to myself because my whole entire debate just got made by this jig that happened at Rediff sometime. (Someone said something about someone and someone responded and someone apologised and we’re all in awe.)Thanks Ankur, for showing me this!

Okay people, when you go follow that link, just keep this in mind:

1) Humans love making things black and white. It’s not always like that.

2) Though the article shows in the beginning how the Internet really is malicious, read on. That’s when you transcend from solid colours and mix your own palette. Also, note this: Internet practically gave the entire world their right to freedom of expression. Did we really think expression meant sweet talk? So why do we blame the Net when hate speech, and such negative talk cross the Net.

Anyway, you decide. I think the Net rocks, and the people who love to hate it need to get a life.

So, the link: Click here

And as always, if you got an opinion, hit me with it.

To Kill or Not To Kill

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Yesterday I saw the white knight of Gotham city, Harvey Dent, go mad, go criminal and go absolutely delusional in revenge for the death of the one he loved. She was all he had, she was all he wanted. And she died, as he heard the explosion. He had been talking to the woman he loved in the last 30 seconds of her life, and she accepted his proposal three seconds before Batman arrived to save the wrong person. Batman saved Harvey. And everyone died a little inside as Harvey’s girl, Rachel, burnt to death.

Of course Harvey got mad. Of course he wanted revenge. Of course he wanted to blame, and hurt the people who put Rachel in danger, and eventually killed her.
But they make it a little dramatic in the films. Amazingly brilliant as The Dark Knight was, it left me with a question. Would I kill? Would I kill for revenge, for my love? Do real people really do that.

Funnily enough my best friend, Peter Zoe asked a very similar question recently. He asks here what he would do for the one he loved, and he too drew the question from the movies.
Well, due to technical difficulties I cannot tell you his answer 🙂 , but I can tell you mine.

Yes.
I would kill.

Are you paying attention? Let me clarify. My boyfriend gets murdered, I would probably be the damn craziest person on Earth. I don’t stand violence anyway, but there are some things that just tip you off. So yes, should my boyfriend, or just about anyone who I love be taken away from me, it IS possible that I may lose all sense of righteousness and such things that only sane people believe in, and become one of the insane who are bound by no such rules.

Poor Batman, he couldn’t kill the Joker either, because he had the one rule I say I would break. Now admit it people, would as many people have died, would Rachel have died (and hence would Harvey have lost it) if the Bat had just put a bullet through The Joker way early in the film? No offense to the Joker, I am  BIG fan, but to put the whole situation in a practical world, a real world; I don’t want to see the hero abstain from killing a psychopath.

Now, since I left the matter midway, and to the aid of all the schoolmates who are just about to freak out that I admit i may kill, here’s a justification:

I am not mad. I won’t just hack off someone’s head or do a Colorado spree remake. I am just saying that I do not believe the world’s laws in black and white. Why is it that when a common man shoots his wife, he is in jail within the day, and when a superstar shoots his wife it takes days even moths for him to be in the jail, and in some luxury jail? Shouldn’t law be clear on what it sees. Man. Gun. Fire. Wife. Dead. It’s that simple. Where did the superstar’s Oscars and money power come in the equation of law?

So, basically I do not go sugary on what’s “right” and what’s not. There is too much subjectivity. In essence, I do not support killing. I do not support any form of killing; by criminals, in war, by police, none. My first choice would be to find the dysfunctional lout who touched my boyfriend, and make him pay Bad, but if the system fails in justice (yet again) I know how to pull a trigger (Courtesy: American Tv). I guess, Killing happens beyond the realms of set society, beyond what we want from ourselves.

I’m afraid I’m going to have to abstain from commenting on murder through war and military action. Just grossly inadequate information in that respect.

Oh boy, did I just set a lot of people from talking to me? I hope not. This is just very deep very dark thinking 🙂

Uhh, now I can almost feel Peter raise his eyebrows… (C’mon, don’t judge Pete!)

Anyway, all you guys, hope you and your besties and family and love are all safe always!

Peace out.

The Women

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In a room filled with people, my attention was focused on the one woman I’ve known all my life, the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and the person I wanted to keep happy for the rest of her life… Mom…

I have written, and read, a lot about women, in almost everything I come across… Women’s struggles in History, Women’s Rights In political Science, Society’s outlook towards women in Psychology, Cabin reserved for women in the metro trains, Women Reservations, Women empowerment groups, Women suppression and social cruelty documentaries… expectations from women…

These expectations I have found recurring almost everywhere in the world. Some societies may have a different outlook, so I will be speaking in the most general terms today, of things I have found routine.

The Indian society has been the epitome of all women revolutions. In ancient enough history, women used to be barred from education, forcefully married to whoever had the money to buy them, had no voice in government or public role, were silent victims of polygamy and domestic violence, were burnt on the pyre if their husbands died, had to conduct themselves in stringent rules of their religion and region, and well, all this happened if they weren’t just killed in the fetus.

Gladly, very very gladly, I can say most of that has changed. Education is still tricky, and women are still sold in some parts of India, but a huge chunk of these evils are now over.

But the expectations never cease. Equality is still a question. I won’t talk of the system, or how other people and other women deal with these, but my own life. It’s painstakingly clear how women are a different species, a different brain wiring.

Nobody asked my mom to marry where she did, or to live the life she does. Let’s make it really clear, that it all came as a choice, and she is happy in it.

And though she does her jobs smiling, isn’t the message really clear… It’s the job of the women to take care of the family, to cook and run the house?

Like many of my friends, I believe that I wouldn’t enter a household I didn’t like. Where I would work by my will, not because I was forced to. All us friends agreed to that, and we think its easily possible, because if we did marry, we won’t marry some male chauvinist, we would marry a person we loved, and those people would obviously have brains. To credit to my male friends, they don’t intend to have their wives held prisoner either.

But looking at my mom, working all day on the unspoken word that this was her job, it made me wonder… When I love someone, and I live with him, won’t I feel guilty if I wasn’t doing all the chores and keeping everything clear in the house as other women did, as his aunts and sisters did?

I know I am not the kind of people who’ll bow to general societal expectations, but my boyfriend’s expectations?

Say I have a boyfriend, and say he reads this post… what then? He won’t want me unhappy, he won’t force me, but wouldn’t he be crushed if his aunts told him I’m not a good partner? Anyway I’m a very average cook, and at least in India, the in-laws want to be impressed…

These are dense things on my mind today… They keep flitting with my imagination, and even my work of fiction these days are about housewives and their loving husbands 🙂 These won’t stop imploring my mind, they come at the smallest memory of my mom, at her sight…

This called for decision.

I decided, I would be so good at chores, house work and cooking that my boyfriend won’t have to think about this stuff… and hence neither would I. I could then finish however much I could, and wanted to, and have time for everything else, plus not have any aunts complaining.

I decided women empowerment means nothing if I let anyone around me carry on anything stereotypical about women, and that begins with my mom. Its gonna be the SPOKEN word around here now, that she will not do everything. We put in help already, we will now take charge of more stuff.

I decided to let these thoughts out of my mind, seriously, there is a limit to brain capacity even! 🙂 I can blog about this, I realised, and maybe people who relate or those who have suggestions or comments can help me root this idea 🙂

My dad used to cook on Sundays a year ago… We loved those evenings, all of us.. because we weren’t sure what new look and taste the same old recipes would get, and both my sister and I would pitch in for the laugh!

It’s really small things like that that I intend to start with for now.. but it’s about time that women, became equal outside the reaches of my textbooks too.

I love you mom. Can’t believe I let the general Indian housewife custom impeach our home. But with you taking up everything without a word, and everyone keeping busy, how could I.

The pretty thing about being a woman is, all around the world, you’ll always find a friend. I can’t say for the men, I’m sorry. But women, there’s always someone out there who’ll relate, even a man, and women usually have the patience to meet that lovely person.

(I met mine, I love you too best friend 🙂 )