Relationship Hindsight

 

Sometimes walking out of a relationship leaves you like you were walking on a busy road with a slow slug crawling in front of you with excess baggage, curved under his own weight not willing to budge, not willing to let you ahead, not willing to make way, not close to tiring out. You just have to tread heavily behind him with all his baggage and yours for as long as you find a clearing. Finding a way out is a struggle.....

 

Some relationships feel like borrowing a runway designer gown from a dry cleaner for a red carpet event. Somewhere within, the voice in you, intimidated and shy, tells you that it is a different and difficult league but you can’t resist the temptation of seeing yourself enshrouded by the shallow and banal, the sham of pleasantries, the gown with a train and the charm of stepping on red carpet in Cinderella heels till you trip. Once you have been there done that you know you have to return home from this farce; that neither the gown was yours nor did you belong to the red carpet vanity in entirety….ever.

 

What happens when your eyes grow bigger than your stomach? You become greedy, you want more, you want to capacitate but you can’t and eventually you consume and then regurgitate. The system refuses to accept it for it defies nature....then comes the punishment for the avarice...starvation!

When you get into it telling IT “This is it and I am planning a fairy tale ending here”, the dude (soul) gets so ecstatic and hysterical that it almost dies when you end it abruptly. IT sulks and sulks and mops and bawls ITS eyes out that IT becomes too hard to rehabilitate IT back. You almost become schizophrenic living in parallel worlds feeling one and living one…neither of the two gets you anywhere….The soul wrenching ones are these…

It’s like when you have had white smoke with your soul on getting in and getting out, IT knows that there’s no staying back…You have given IT a heads up and the suicidal soul won’t kill itself when you actually walk out, may be IT will just punch ITS face hard. You recoil and recover….

Some feel like being at the crossroad signal where one encounters an urchin selling flowers, pushing them hard onto the car window. Give him a nod and a smile and he is encouraged beyond comprehension. You can’t bring him back to reality, you can’t convince him that you don’t need the flowers; you can’t decline the offer. He is tenacious. The signal changes and you move on and the little urchin with flowers withers away in gloom.

Some are like knowing if there is life on Mars. “What if it was for real?”, “what if we could share?”, “What if we could live in communion?”..the “what ifs..?” they hound like the dark shadows which appear every time there is light around…and from there on the shadows become you so much so that you become oblivious to their presence when things lighten up around you, you know it rises with you, it follows and stays never leaving you alone…you know it’s you!!!!

For the lack or for the want?

I feel like the hunchback Spartan trader Ephialtes, disloyal to my generation, when I hear people with similar FB timelines as mine, making it big in life by working towards achievement of that one dream which they have harbored and nurtured in their teens.

What was I doing when I was a teenybopper? Preparing for Organic chemistry exams, reading Sidney Sheldon in my leisure hours, spending wee hours fiddling with my first mobile handset (mind you back then it was novelty, especially when your boyfriend bought you one for the marathon night chats under the duvet), watching Blue Lagoon, Shakespeare in Love and the likes on TV when mom and dad were away, thinking of ways of arranging funds for the boyfriend’s birthday, finding a solution to the aforesaid by teaching kids all the way from the 1^st standard to the 10^th standard, chatting with random strangers sharing ‘asl’ in A Small Smoke Filled Café on Rediff. That’s what growing up was like.

My jaws dropped the other day when I discovered that the kids at the gym who work out with me are merely 18-19 and my jaws nearly swept the floor when they added that they were studying medicine or pharma or BDS or one of those intellectually stimulating courses. The stereotype of a geeky, nerdy, sloppy slob of a doctor was smashed for me. They know exactly where they are headed from here- cosmetic surgeon, big bucks, glamour, industrialists, Bollywood, face correction, more money, ageing actresses, sagging skin, lots of money!!!!! And therefore it is so important to look good themselves and hence turbo workouts at the age of 19 along with studies..WOW!!

I pondered over the sagacity of these driven people to be convinced that the most important thing today is to have clarity of thought, vision, knowing what leads you and what pulls you down and a Business Plan. No one likes being in jobs anymore, at least a score from my class (MBA) is making a desperate attempt at initiating their “start-up”; Decades ago MBA used to be esteemed but alas it has been replaced by Entrepreneur today! So I am a B.Tech, MBA, CFA and an Entrepreneur, as good as a degree, diploma or a charter.

And it seems I like a moron am required to think that if this rung breaks apart and re-starts a parallel universe of entrepreneurs, who will serve the old men already in the game. May be we will backtrack to the era of barter and scratch each other’s back for survival…Maybe KFC will provide Zingers for Facebook’s wedding (if Zuckerberg likes Fresh-ly fried Chicken) and Facebook will manufacture fans for KFC.

What kept my dad in his job for 30 years? Why didn’t he ever get frustrated with his boss(es) and broke off like a Leftist to start his mutiny? Had he done that, I would be chilling in a pool, sipping at a cocktail with a manicured, spa-treated expensive dog, beating the Mumbai heat. Maybe he is not a patron and believer of democracy and could clearly survive the politics of work- in its inherent anarchical or monarchial form. What sets us apart? Why is there so much unrest in us? Are the patience levels depleting like Ozone? Are today’s employers the reincarnates of Hitler, Stalin and other tyrants? Are there more opportunities today than ever existed? Or do we have a sharper intuition and sense to judge the opportunities or are we really really smart to make something out of nothing? Is change and mobility of prime importance to us today? Was money and career never this important to our predecessors? Is Loyalty a vice now? Do we have an inflated sense of who we are and what we are capable of? OR is this another attempt at accomplishing oneself as “have arrived”.

Suddenly self-expression has become so vital that everyone seems to have an extended personality. Irrespective of whatever one is at work, he or she must be a socialite, must play golf, attend all the important events in the city, blog (for money), must know photography (for sharing), must be training physically, running marathons, must know all forms of “alternate”- music, cultures, sports; undertaking deep sea diving, trekking courses and certifications etc. While I simply am into reading, watching films and occasionally cooking, I find these interests and extensions extremely stylish and smart. I have immense respect for all those who manage their “lifestyle” so beautifully well. But I wonder if all these manifestations of a certain personality are a function of growing and moving up in life or a certain education type or a metro phenomenon or a residue of exposure to the world or mere perceptiveness or overwhelming love for self or cognition and need to earn more money or need to belong like the rich and the famous or….

Somewhere the entrepreneurial streak and the general interests are intertwined. From knowing what an individual does when free of the golden handcuffs (read job) I can now figure whether he or she stands a chance as an entrepreneur or not.

For me, I am still waiting to know myself beyond work and mundane and of course the wait for the ultimate discovery of my Business Plan continues.

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!