It was not easy!

It was not easy and it never is

Care for the hit and not the miss

Success comes to the one, who yearns for it,

Toils and works hard and smiles bright

Success walks in tip toed and pats on the back

Thence, of excitement and jubilation there is no lack.

Of long days and nights, and journeys and flights, and struggles and ploys

And the sex toys

It was then that brings in the now

The moment of glory and the pinnacle of joy

Treat Thy Self well today

For….It was not easy and it never is!!!

Loosening Up

My Diesel jeans loosened up after a wash! They are loose where I need them to be and well fitted at places that flatter me.

We have come a long way from the time we started together. On Day one, my jeans were restrictive; they deterred me from bending, folding, and moving lithely because it didn’t know my contours neither was I familiar with the rigidity of the fibers. They said “you must buy one that holds you tight and close within it” and I subscribed for it. But then it became clammy, tight and wouldn’t let me breathe. After gasping, fraught as I was, I decided to let it go with utmost disappointment and abhorrence.

And then some Spinning and Tumbling in the tub changed everything for us. It came back in its full glory and hugged me like I had never dreamt. The comfort was such that I could now Sleep in them.

I play, cook, travel, draw, eat, read, write, think, dance, run, lounge, party, shop, drop and a do lot more in them. It earned me a compliment to envy for- “It’s the woman in it who makes the jeans!”

My jeans are distressed and ripped. That’s how I like them. I never liked the slick, impeccable, monochrome, blue finish. I like it acid washed and I like it stone washed. It must have gone through some treatment before I endorse it. The distressed ones make me look different. The ripped ones give me character. The ones that are both distressed and ripped get most of my love. That’s how I like it!

I approve of them till I get jaded and then I shop for a new pair. The start is always so exciting, the tension to fit, the loosening up followed by the flawless fitting, the charm of newness, the commendations, the standing out, the perfect match with everything else, the need to sport. But here’s always more to vie for on the shop floor may be because I get them on a discount.

All of them get stacked up in my Closet. Some come out once in a while when I wish to look like days gone by, some stay there untouched for days and weeks and months and some are just buried under the heap never to be fished out. But I never get rid of them. All of them are always there….

It’s astounding how my jeans are my life's raconteur...they are a metaphor! :)

Now I am initiated.

Mumbai locals, they inspire a new something in you.

Unlike most people I like the morning ride to office, I like the breeze brushing past my hair; sometimes it carries the stench of a rotting carcass, sometimes the obnoxious smell from the nearby heap of garbage (of which there is no dearth in this city). I like staring at the tracks with an occasional tryst with scenes from the movie called Life playing at Gaitee Galaxy; people living in abject penury, surviving the most hostile unlivable conditions, attempting to make their existence meaningful with each passing minute, squeezing every drop of time that one possibly can into the batter of life’s pie, running, not giving up.

My First Class ladies coupe (first class is important) is a constant source of amusement- I was tickled on Day 1 and I still give out a smirk on my N-th day here. Someone pragmatic would say there is practically no need for barging into or out of the train, at a station, with all of one’s might, equipped with the lethal nudge-tool because there is always enough time to board or alight but it is as vital as asking at least 4 seated women on board to keep their places for one standing, as essential as shopping from the in-train vendors (veggies to braid of firangipani to jewelry to clothes to processed food to anything where your imagination takes you), most required being high decibel conversations and giggles accompanied with jibes on a subject who could be anyone wearing Black clothes on Monday instead of Saturday to someone wearing a red lip color or a tad over dressed for the locals to someone innocently engrossed in a book (that happens with me the most). I love my 25 minutes in the fast. Interestingly the behavior in a fast local is very different from the tendencies of a slow local. The ones in slow doze off at the onset of the journey and wake up on arrival at the destination. It is certainly less competitive and more peaceful in a slow. The ones in there are in no hurry certainly. They seldom laugh (the loud amplified laughter, and the high pitch chortles implied) or vehemently exchange notes. They are ones who wake up at 5 am, cook, clean, wash and step out to earn. Perhaps return to their abode to follow the same cycle of the grind.

This morning while in the train my fleeting glance touched the creased temples of a street ranger lost in a book, and I mention this because I was pleasantly surprised! (The book was fleshier and thicker than the reader himself) He was happily sprawled under the open sky, on the rugged earth, lying on his back with his woman next to him, unmoved by the rattling of the train tracks, lost in her reverie was the woman fast asleep. The man didn’t flinch at anything: The trains, the crowd, the drizzle, the reek, people finishing their ablutions in the bushes next to them, urchins running past, nothing whatsoever disturbed the peace of their moment. Is that how much they tired themselves out the previous night? Is that how overpowering their motivation was? Is this how human body makes itself used to the vagaries of life? Is this how bodies learn to survive? A zillion questions pop and wane.

Someone once shared an interesting observation about Mumbai. It is the first 6 months in the city that serves as The Wall. Once you hit it you know you will anyhow navigate your way through the rest.

The relationship with the city is either Black or White, either you love it and want to embrace it or you hate it and want to quit, there never is any grey here. There is always a Quid Pro Quo though. It takes away a lot from you before it commits some fornication. Perhaps the finishing school of life, perhaps the practical laboratory for experiments on living, a cliffhanger, a masquerade (maybe not), the funny Mirror that brings about expressions in you by changing how you look, Mecca for some and Tihar for some, bier or a bed of roses it is awesome every day.

Now I am initiated.

As I peer out at the night sky I feel a shudder down my spine
I am high, so high, beyond all reach, the worlds and thine
“Petrified, aren’t you?” questions some speck of mine
Unarmed, I say, “NO, I will be fine”.

The wanton wind drifts me away; time seems prolonged, end distant
Bemused I see faces all around, expressions mottled, the range is infinite
But I sit there stock-still, with thrift of feelings and bare intent
As I persuade the speck in me, I say, “I’ll be fine” with all my might

Certain numbness smacks me in the head, vision mislaid when the eyes drowsed
I know it was a conscious selection to come to blows with all that the mind had housed
Dreams are at an arm’s length, I see clearly and how; although I know I am fine, but what now?

In the dark, behind the shut eye, the shadows dance; the voices are now roaring
“Levitate, keep rising, and keep furthering, don’t stroke the earth, keep soaring
This is your journey, this is your departure, purpose indefinite but you will be fine”.

To My Phantasma

My letter to Tammy

Treat this as an acknowledgement buddy. I am virtuous and couldn’t palpably embezzle your initiative hence the effort. This in effect will result in a “letter to your Future Girlfriend” and not my future boyfriend as an outcome of some epiphanies. Thoughts can be corrected at a later stage but I’m sure you won’t have too many contentions from what I know of you. So here we go!

Dear FG Phantasma

It’s about time I write to you because I am sure you are well existent in all your capacity in some part of the world. But sometimes I wonder how to get to you, you act so elusive! Nevertheless the onus for an introduction will always be on me and therefore laying down the dos and the don’ts to follow when we make our association. Of course you can have your say when you arrive; I’ll do my bit in your absence however.

Gal be my FG in the real sense, earnestly don’t end up being the Fuck Girl only; I abhor all such relationships of convenience. There are fancy names for this kind of an arrangement, no-name zone, friends with benefits, flings but let me drive home the point that I advocate none. Don’t misjudge my coolness but I simply can’t, not that I haven’t tried, but my attempts fell flat in the face. I probably don’t belong to that race. I might appear to be heady, in control, self reliant, decadent, etcetera but that’s just an ostentatious façade that I carry with me, it’s more like a shield you know. Somewhere in my heart of hearts I am still too clung on to morals and values which I compromise when I desire, mind you only when I wish.

I have learnt things the hard way in life but candidly I am a dimwit because I end up committing the same mistakes repeatedly. So in order to evade any further hurt to self I have decided to keep the emotional beast in me in shackles and to not permit him to surface ever. A word of caution for you would be to never whisper those three hideous words in my ears not even when you mean them. I hate the hollowness with which it’s splattered in the face. They mean nothing to me, not anymore. Earlier I used to take them too seriously and would normally start weaving dreams around them, but not anymore. I have outgrown the charm of “being in love”. I don’t think I can love anyone, not even you, no offence but it’s just the way I have become, invulnerable. I can merely keep you company, take you to the seventh heaven and back again and make my presence felt in more ways than one, but I don’t feel butterflies in the stomach anymore, I don’t feel misty eyed when struck with and emotional panorama, I don’t believe anyone can ever be indispensible because I have mastered the art of moving on and I expect you to come equipped with the same because nothing is non-transient.

I am an attention slut. So if you are my girl, for whatever time, don’t forget to make me feel wanted. That’s how I function. I need to know my importance in your life. So if you ever make me feel like shit, you’ll get it back from me, I am very ruthless that ways. This doesn’t mean that I am an avid promoter of PDA but a subtle hint of what I mean to you once in a while would be appreciated, after all, all of us are lovelorn in life, aren’t we?

It might take you anything from a day to a million light years to know me but don’t give up without trying, I am not complex really. So abstain from hurting me, not that I get hurt easily (don’t believe me when I say that) because my past life has rendered me rock solid. I have been on both sides of the tunnel, have had the giving hand and the receiving one too so I will go easy on you, I promise.

P.S. : Apply/approach after you have thoroughly read the aforesaid Phantasma!

Time traveller

Kafele means "would die for"

Layla means "born at night"

Kafele: Why do you think it is not possible to travel back in time?

Layla: There's no need to elude the existent for something you've already lived through.

Kafele: But the intent could be one of making an impeccable past.

Layla: And then? Travel in time again through the flawless past to reach the present?

Kafele: That would actually facilitate populating the old life and re-living it.

Layla: What ground would one gain by perfecting the past? E.g. if you travelled to the past you would only peril our togetherness for all you know.

Kafele: So you think you won't be there in my sprawling new present, if I returned from a journey in time?

Layla: If you correct and check and watch your moves in your last past you won't set out looking for me, my need would be eradicated completely.

Kafele: Arguably it is also possible to travel forth in time, so perhaps I should do that.

Layla: Why would you wish to send yourself forward in time without experiencing the intervening?

Kafele: I want to familiarize myself with my future; just a glimpse and I'll be back.

Layla: What bearing will it have on the current scheme of things once you're back?

Kafele: Why should anything change?

Layla: May be you'll see your prospective form to be an accomplished and affluent merchandiser and when you return you'd think of ways of becoming potentially rich. You might sell off all your cattle. You wouldn't need a shepherdess like me then.

Kafele: So you think you won't be there in this same treacherous present, if I returned from a journey in time?

Layla: Work brought us together and need knits us close, when you're wealthy and refined, my presence would reduce to mere indignity.

Kafele: I'm stuck in time! Where's the exit?

Layla: Twenty aeons passed on Earth when you last travelled to space for 2 years and still all you wish to do is forsake me and go?

Kafele: No wonder nothing quite makes sense to me anymore. That would also include you!

Layla: You are like an astronomer who feels complete and accomplished when he looks at the sky to find some points and decides that put together they look like a deer.

Kafele: Those points make great constellations and the brightness of the stars makes great stories.

Layla: Look between the constellations into the black of the night.

Kafele: You are looking in the wrong place.

Layla: "There are just as many stories to be narrated in the dark spots as there are in the bright stars." [Jodie Picoult]

N-aimless

Just when my blog was entering remission I revived it with a jolt. The story "a Janus me a Janus you" was to have 3 chapters, 2 of which never saw the light of the day. That speaks of my love for my blog.

Most people who blog, write addressing an audience, assuming people would read and appreciate their writing. But mine are always monologues with me being the script writer, the Deliverer and the audience. It's not that bad actually coz that ways I find out how badly I suck plus I also know that I'm not naturally humorous! I pretty well can do the same with a Diary but I'm too lazy to buy one and scribble on it. Actually I'm not even sure if I can write, as in write write, on a piece of paper anymore. I can at best doodle random line art or draw crazy circles on paper while painfully enduring and traversing the entire length of breathtakingly long meetings and sessions where gothic people keep haranguing for hours throwing words and phrases like long-term strategy, vision, capitalize, monetize, customer delight, net-net, diiferentiator, we are here, we need to get there, bottleneck and profitomania and lossophobia.

Umm...I can't retrieve when exactly I started preferring the tak-tak of typing over the joy of holding a pencil [{(I enjoyed sharpeneing the pencil more than writing with it. With due excitement I would take on a new pencil but half way through it's length I would get bored of it and start thinking of ways of diminishing it's length. Then with growing age I upgraded my pencil interests and got to using mechanical ones, in myriad of colors and designs, how I adored them!! But they couldn't hold my ineterst for too long either. Then came the era of fountain pens in Vth standard I guess. To start with I got the really cheap as in inexpensive ones coz I would break the nib every second day. And then the next upgrade in Level II i.e. in the domain of pens happened and I got a Parker. Boy! some joy it was to write or glide with it. Then needs became more functional and time as ever shrinking as it was, got me using ball pens. Ball pens aren't great fun though but they make you feel good when you exhaust the refills and write really fast during exams. Actually in my engineering days it became more of a contention to exhaust refill after refill filling up the scripts with illegible and unintelligible formulas or "rough work" for your mathematical problems. I used to take pride in the fact that I could, on a conservative estimate, finish 2 refills during each semester exam; inadvertently I was the university topper.)

This non chalance is deliberate btw. I am determined to not think while writing this one time. Actually I want to see what I land up with hence I'll be all over the place, totally unstructured and uncontrolled in this post. The exercise to follow this bold act of flippant writing revelation is to self read what I have churned out and analyze my thoughts and the speed at which they transform and calculate the frequency at which they ditch me. May be I'll be able to draw out a pattern, graph is more like it and give it some name like the thoughtospeed curve or a non linear notioncaustic ellipsoid.}

{This fact, that I change my thoughts more frequently than required, dawned upon me when I got verbally sledehammered by my Arch-nemesis for sidetracking from a conversation and hopping onto the next one when my Arch-nemesis was least prepared for it, rather hadn't got done with his lengthy and profane last speech. (all his speeches have the aforesaid attributes, obviously by virtue of being the Arch-nemesis I can't give in to liking any even if I want to, this he would say is self control btw)}]

So I can't figure out when exactly my fondness for the keyboard outgrew my love for pencils and sharpeners and erasers. I'm also and avid stationery collector FYI. I still buy pencils and erasers and post-its and pens and more. The deal is I buy a lot and I spend a lot which some people say is unhealthy and detrimental to your finances in the long run. But I make my investments in time and save (only a meagre amount) every month. I put my money in ELSSes, MFs, NSC, PPF, LIC, recurring deposits and fixed deposits, what more? I'm doing good on that front plus right now I'm thinking that while I say this I sound like Rebecca Bloomwood of the "Confessions of a shopaholic" fame.

(I also have to throw in intelligent stuff into this writing so that later when I read it myself I know that I am witty, it's just a feel good factor and an early morning boost.)

I think I lost my interest in pen and paper when I got my first laptop, actually not completely though coz I still used to write mock CATs which gave me enough proximate opportunities with paper and pencil. It's PGDBM that did this to me, yes it's PGDBM!!!! The feeling of holding a pencil is so alien now :(

It's been years since we parted ways. A strife with pens aren't over completely coz there are those Sudoku and Crosswords days but pencils...sigh! not anymore....

{(I don't even know how to name this post now. I really can talk a lot...of sense!! and this can't be lengthened anymore coz I don't wish to get a graph with a high error factor.) Office work (meaningful tak-tak-ing) beckons!!}