Troddenly yours!
You know at times people say that they completely flipped for something about a person. It could be his/her smile. It could be his/her eyes. I did too. Flip. FLIP, rather. Every single day I saw her, I flipped. Those dainty, little pedicured...er, manicured.... umm...whatever... 'taken care of' feet. I never could muster enough courage to start a conversation. It's not like she completely ignored me...it's just that I felt she looked at me or rather acknowledged my presence more out of compulsion than by choice.
Compulsion? You mean you put a gun to her head?
No, no, please don't get me wrong. I just happened to be there...let's call it fate.
As ever, she walked towards me, gave me a long thought upon look, took a deep breath, walked her fingers through the short cropped hair,looked at the skirt she was wearing, then looked at me…almost as if waiting for an approval from me. Sigh! Coming back to our lady in the skirt, she looked intently at me, looked away at my counterpart, I missed a couple of million heartbeats, look at me, please look at me, I’ve been lying here since the last time you wore the skirt…I’m the right shade of beige that goes with your white skirt, aahhhh…finally. I wish she wore the same white skirt everyday, at least I wouldn’t have to lie, desperately waiting for her to pick me from the shoe rack.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Co-authoring a book on south Indian mothers
...seems like a good idea. For all you know, it might end up as a best seller, in the leagues of Bridget Jones’, the only difference means, the Bridget Jones's of the world admit to be cranky old sorry singletons, but our dear old south Indian mother’s refuse to admit that they can ever be wrong, melodramatic, narrow-minded, lovable, freaks. A love-hate relationship where you are not allowed to admit that you hate them for the many things they love doing.
To themselves and to us.
...seems like a good idea. For all you know, it might end up as a best seller, in the leagues of Bridget Jones’, the only difference means, the Bridget Jones's of the world admit to be cranky old sorry singletons, but our dear old south Indian mother’s refuse to admit that they can ever be wrong, melodramatic, narrow-minded, lovable, freaks. A love-hate relationship where you are not allowed to admit that you hate them for the many things they love doing.
To themselves and to us.
What do we make of people who claim to be so complex and intriguing and, and ...umm...what’s that word...enigmatic... yes...enigmatic, that they are beyond all comprehension? Why are people so obsessed with being mysterious? What are the great shakes about being incomprehensible? Makes you look important? So what’s the big goddamned deal in being important? Eventually, everything boils down to three meals per day, one and a half, if you are working for a newspaper. People taking themselves seriously pains me.
I’m one of them, but I’m sure Osama can rationalise his deeds. I rest my case.
I’m one of them, but I’m sure Osama can rationalise his deeds. I rest my case.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
My account of ‘the lesser evil’
An egotist. A misnomer to humility. Double-entendre personified with a perverted sense of humour, humour neverthesless. That’s what he is made of. That’s not all, but thats the chunk of the substance he is made of.
One ought to be a masochist to like his company. A good friend nevertheless.
The first time i bumped into him, was in the cyber world, with quite a few hundred kilometres cushioning the verbal lashings exchanged. If the first impression was to be the best impression, I wouldn’t have known enough about him to write what i am writing right now. Alliteration is my favourite figure of speech and I am known for going on tangents.
After the initial rigourously annoying period of “ASL please” and “how the @#$% does ASL matter?” we got onto talking.
A Talk: chit-chat, discussion, conversation, dialogue, dsicourse, says Oxford Thesaurus.
So we chatted about my love for books, his love for flying, my strong dislike for giggly girls, his dislike for the girls who have a strong dislike for giggly girls and much more. The difference was so obvious that we couldnt help agreeing on the fact that we differed so much.
Quite unfathomable, very judgemental, almost believes that it is his social, moral responsibility to pass a judgement on even a speck of dust. Again, it is better to be around severely prejudiced and opinionated ‘god’s gift to mankind’ than to be around mindless, opinionless imbeciles. I always believed in choosing from the lesser evil.
His focus in life seems to vex me unconditionally.
Got an eye for the pleasant things in life.
Easy to be around with.
Pain to have as an opponent.
A chivalrous gentleman on his way to uncouth behaviour.
I am a masochist.
About me, the lesser of the lesser evils...
Reminds me of the essays we were made to write as kids- my family, my favourite game blah blah and some more of blah. Cannot do that...not to save my life. I hate and love the unpredictability of life to almost the same extent. I hate and love the baggage that friends come along with. I hate and love the way my heart beats and the way my BP fluctuates evrytime I think that 'this is the one'. It's all about the ambiguity of situations...situations that make up life.
Colours, books, Chris Isaak, December rains, snow, laughter, solitude ( a big word, eh!), friends, babies, kaajal, grilled cheese chutney sandwich makes me exist beyond the very essential roti, kapda and makaan.
An egotist. A misnomer to humility. Double-entendre personified with a perverted sense of humour, humour neverthesless. That’s what he is made of. That’s not all, but thats the chunk of the substance he is made of.
One ought to be a masochist to like his company. A good friend nevertheless.
The first time i bumped into him, was in the cyber world, with quite a few hundred kilometres cushioning the verbal lashings exchanged. If the first impression was to be the best impression, I wouldn’t have known enough about him to write what i am writing right now. Alliteration is my favourite figure of speech and I am known for going on tangents.
After the initial rigourously annoying period of “ASL please” and “how the @#$% does ASL matter?” we got onto talking.
A Talk: chit-chat, discussion, conversation, dialogue, dsicourse, says Oxford Thesaurus.
So we chatted about my love for books, his love for flying, my strong dislike for giggly girls, his dislike for the girls who have a strong dislike for giggly girls and much more. The difference was so obvious that we couldnt help agreeing on the fact that we differed so much.
Quite unfathomable, very judgemental, almost believes that it is his social, moral responsibility to pass a judgement on even a speck of dust. Again, it is better to be around severely prejudiced and opinionated ‘god’s gift to mankind’ than to be around mindless, opinionless imbeciles. I always believed in choosing from the lesser evil.
His focus in life seems to vex me unconditionally.
Got an eye for the pleasant things in life.
Easy to be around with.
Pain to have as an opponent.
A chivalrous gentleman on his way to uncouth behaviour.
I am a masochist.
About me, the lesser of the lesser evils...
Reminds me of the essays we were made to write as kids- my family, my favourite game blah blah and some more of blah. Cannot do that...not to save my life. I hate and love the unpredictability of life to almost the same extent. I hate and love the baggage that friends come along with. I hate and love the way my heart beats and the way my BP fluctuates evrytime I think that 'this is the one'. It's all about the ambiguity of situations...situations that make up life.
Colours, books, Chris Isaak, December rains, snow, laughter, solitude ( a big word, eh!), friends, babies, kaajal, grilled cheese chutney sandwich makes me exist beyond the very essential roti, kapda and makaan.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
...just before she sat down to write!
He asked her to write about him. She rolled her eyes, “there’s nothing exceptional about you that will make me waste Camel ink”. She liked arguing. She couldn’t take the lifelessness of a conversation where everyone agrees to everything.
Coming back to the point, he insisted that our female protagonist try penning down her thoughts. Random thoughts, being penned down gains some non-randomness. No, actually he asked her to write a book. In an unassuming manner she refused as if, he expected her to write one then and there and had she said yes, she would have had to start of right away. Anyways, she refused. He persisted. Now, modestly she said, "I cannot write well", knowing exactly what would follow. "No Nina, you have that spunk in you to write a brutally honest book...that spunk that many lack", he said. How she wished she had that spunk, that spunk that would make her tell her editor that he is the most imbecile, spineless man walking on Earth, or her very married cousin that throwing up after two months of marriage is not something that would make her ‘jealous of her lucky cousin’. Anyways, she was trying to avoid the topic of writing a book...or even just writing.
It’s not the first time that she found myself in such a gluey situation. She wanted to gloat in the feeling that people actually believe she could write and write well too. But as ever, she couldn’t kid herself. She knew it was just sheer chance that made me say things I did. There was nothing intellectual or even remotely rational about half the things I said. Mostly it’s the ego playing games, making her say things that she wouldn’t under normal circumstances. And then, of course she managed to stumble on people who found some wicked pleasure in ticking her off.
Her friends said they wanted to be apart of the foreword, her brother wanted half of the royalty she would get and he...he wanted to write the foreword...and also publish the book ( Guess, he knew there would be no takers anyways). She was waiting for someone who would take up the responsibility of writing the book as well. She wouldn’t really mind lending her name to it the way she’d, to the plentiful quotes written by a journo–friend who didn’t want to make-up fictitious people for the fictitious quotes she made-up. Finally, he managed to convince her to write a short story, if not an epic, a novella, if not a novel.
She sat down to write...
As for the people who actually expected to read some intellectually stimulating piece of dramatic prose, didn’t she always say that she was not a good writer?!
He asked her to write about him. She rolled her eyes, “there’s nothing exceptional about you that will make me waste Camel ink”. She liked arguing. She couldn’t take the lifelessness of a conversation where everyone agrees to everything.
Coming back to the point, he insisted that our female protagonist try penning down her thoughts. Random thoughts, being penned down gains some non-randomness. No, actually he asked her to write a book. In an unassuming manner she refused as if, he expected her to write one then and there and had she said yes, she would have had to start of right away. Anyways, she refused. He persisted. Now, modestly she said, "I cannot write well", knowing exactly what would follow. "No Nina, you have that spunk in you to write a brutally honest book...that spunk that many lack", he said. How she wished she had that spunk, that spunk that would make her tell her editor that he is the most imbecile, spineless man walking on Earth, or her very married cousin that throwing up after two months of marriage is not something that would make her ‘jealous of her lucky cousin’. Anyways, she was trying to avoid the topic of writing a book...or even just writing.
It’s not the first time that she found myself in such a gluey situation. She wanted to gloat in the feeling that people actually believe she could write and write well too. But as ever, she couldn’t kid herself. She knew it was just sheer chance that made me say things I did. There was nothing intellectual or even remotely rational about half the things I said. Mostly it’s the ego playing games, making her say things that she wouldn’t under normal circumstances. And then, of course she managed to stumble on people who found some wicked pleasure in ticking her off.
Her friends said they wanted to be apart of the foreword, her brother wanted half of the royalty she would get and he...he wanted to write the foreword...and also publish the book ( Guess, he knew there would be no takers anyways). She was waiting for someone who would take up the responsibility of writing the book as well. She wouldn’t really mind lending her name to it the way she’d, to the plentiful quotes written by a journo–friend who didn’t want to make-up fictitious people for the fictitious quotes she made-up. Finally, he managed to convince her to write a short story, if not an epic, a novella, if not a novel.
She sat down to write...
As for the people who actually expected to read some intellectually stimulating piece of dramatic prose, didn’t she always say that she was not a good writer?!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
The unsaid…
There are people who take down a rejection well and then there are people who pretend that they've taken it well. Here is a excerpt taken from the diary of a girl who is still peretending...
-What role do u play? Rather…what role do I want u to play? As in, don't get me wrong. I don't want u to play any role…nope…but what exactly are you to me? As in…umm…I can't even frame it right…where do you stand. What are you to me…(yikes…it sounds too filmy and melodramatic, but that's precisely how I feel. That's precisely what I am thinking this second and since quite sometime).
Ok…now let me break this down and expose my thinking to you…hoping that you would understand my "could-be" madness.
Would you be the "forever friend" or the "father figure" or the "concerned other" or "the tricky player"? Which direction is this going? The odds in your favour are low when my mind is set in reality. It is when I'm riding on a high, feeling altogether silly because of you, that I have to beware of my own thinking abilities; never do they seem sensible in that state. That doesn't mean that you are to be blamed…its me who needs to have that thing called "mind control" or some such important sounding , deep word with profound meaning.
There have been times when I've felt as though I was swaying towards your direction, but for reasons unknown to me…or so I thought.
It was my misunderstanding to think that you would not be any different, so I let our association flourish at its leisure. If I had known that your intentions were not to leave me by the wayside, I probably would've ran away from you for fear of potential relationship entanglements. And then it happened. It actually happened….and I didn't know who was to be blamed. Actually I do know who is to be blamed…its solely you….you , you and only yuu. If it wasn't for the way you spoke that made me feel this different and for all the times you made me laugh wen I was on the verge of coming on the front page of the local daily the next day, and also for all the times that you made me feel normal and not some woman going on and on with her insane, inane mumblings…not that many made me feel so..but then I never spoke so much…I managed to cut them all off right in the beginning…so there was never even a reason for me to start off…you know.
And then you happened…and I didn't want it to happen…this was precisley the sort of thing that scared me to my bones…more than the creepy–crawlies and more than heights ...this is what scared me…!
That day, that ill-fated Sunday (come to think of it, the Sunday wasn't ill fated) when i said those dreaded words, you replied, "You know right it would never happen!?" followed by a- "will you be alright?" The first thing that came to my mind was "Why wouldn't it happen?" … but the first thing I uttered was , "Right...I know it won't! And I am absolutely alright…". That was one time I lied through my teeth (apart from the many other times…you thought only you lie according to your convenience?). It affected me so much that it wasn't funny. I tried saying it to myself that it's alright…but it wasn't. I told you, I wasn't…told you...let's not speak now...it's not helping me. No contact of any way at all. You said, "ok!"… there was no dispute from your end…that again disturbed and also made me stand up on what I said …it just made me more sure of my decision. Alas, I prefered being unsure …atleast that way I had a reason to talk to you...
I was just too happy that I was talking to you again…that I pretended to not think about 'it' at all. I thought it never happened. I ran away from it, or so I thought. It just got in deeper and deeper…just deep enough to resurface with a crash, a boom and a bang! And this time when it did, I played my cards safe…or so I thought. I didn't tell you at all. …nothing at all… till I could come up with a reason or solution or whatever…mother of all jokes, there is no solution. What bothered me more was, I didn't know the " why not?" yet. All I had to do was say, "Dude, too much this is! You said what you had to but I do not know the reason and I, the Queen of Nowhere land deserves to know it…"
But ..but ..but…then I thought….what if the reason is just too silly? What can be silly ….that ur name is A nd mine B? Or that I like pink and you don't? Or that I want to be a sparrow in my next life and you think that's a rot idea? Or that you play pool better than I do? Or that 'I think!' and you do more than just that? It goes on…the silly-list (You know better than I do that it is not a goddamn silly list). That would kill me. And ...and …and..what if the reason is ..something 'not-silly' …and what can that be…I can't think of any…probably because I am just at the 'I think !' level.
"So B , you utterly insane , blabbermouth , with a big foot in a bigger mouth could you just tell me what's the point of this perversely gargantuan piece of literary diarrhea?" I don't know, A. You know me better than I seem to know myself…so tell me what was the point of this whole exercise…you can skip the part of telling me about it…you can just …I don't know…
These things make me wonder wat part of the universe decided to bring us together and for what purpose it would serve…!
And now I don't know if I should mail you this…should I ..? I feel like sending it…though would it spoil whatever we have right now? Or should I just avoid it, just to avoid the pain (big word, I know…) or should I just be 'me' and do everything impulsively and then regret and bang my head and tear my hair and then act cranky and not take calls or talk to people? Do I need all this? Did I ever need what I got myself into?
Nope. So …here it comes..!! ta da….!!! -
There are people who take down a rejection well and then there are people who pretend that they've taken it well. Here is a excerpt taken from the diary of a girl who is still peretending...
-What role do u play? Rather…what role do I want u to play? As in, don't get me wrong. I don't want u to play any role…nope…but what exactly are you to me? As in…umm…I can't even frame it right…where do you stand. What are you to me…(yikes…it sounds too filmy and melodramatic, but that's precisely how I feel. That's precisely what I am thinking this second and since quite sometime).
Ok…now let me break this down and expose my thinking to you…hoping that you would understand my "could-be" madness.
Would you be the "forever friend" or the "father figure" or the "concerned other" or "the tricky player"? Which direction is this going? The odds in your favour are low when my mind is set in reality. It is when I'm riding on a high, feeling altogether silly because of you, that I have to beware of my own thinking abilities; never do they seem sensible in that state. That doesn't mean that you are to be blamed…its me who needs to have that thing called "mind control" or some such important sounding , deep word with profound meaning.
There have been times when I've felt as though I was swaying towards your direction, but for reasons unknown to me…or so I thought.
It was my misunderstanding to think that you would not be any different, so I let our association flourish at its leisure. If I had known that your intentions were not to leave me by the wayside, I probably would've ran away from you for fear of potential relationship entanglements. And then it happened. It actually happened….and I didn't know who was to be blamed. Actually I do know who is to be blamed…its solely you….you , you and only yuu. If it wasn't for the way you spoke that made me feel this different and for all the times you made me laugh wen I was on the verge of coming on the front page of the local daily the next day, and also for all the times that you made me feel normal and not some woman going on and on with her insane, inane mumblings…not that many made me feel so..but then I never spoke so much…I managed to cut them all off right in the beginning…so there was never even a reason for me to start off…you know.
And then you happened…and I didn't want it to happen…this was precisley the sort of thing that scared me to my bones…more than the creepy–crawlies and more than heights ...this is what scared me…!
That day, that ill-fated Sunday (come to think of it, the Sunday wasn't ill fated) when i said those dreaded words, you replied, "You know right it would never happen!?" followed by a- "will you be alright?" The first thing that came to my mind was "Why wouldn't it happen?" … but the first thing I uttered was , "Right...I know it won't! And I am absolutely alright…". That was one time I lied through my teeth (apart from the many other times…you thought only you lie according to your convenience?). It affected me so much that it wasn't funny. I tried saying it to myself that it's alright…but it wasn't. I told you, I wasn't…told you...let's not speak now...it's not helping me. No contact of any way at all. You said, "ok!"… there was no dispute from your end…that again disturbed and also made me stand up on what I said …it just made me more sure of my decision. Alas, I prefered being unsure …atleast that way I had a reason to talk to you...
I was just too happy that I was talking to you again…that I pretended to not think about 'it' at all. I thought it never happened. I ran away from it, or so I thought. It just got in deeper and deeper…just deep enough to resurface with a crash, a boom and a bang! And this time when it did, I played my cards safe…or so I thought. I didn't tell you at all. …nothing at all… till I could come up with a reason or solution or whatever…mother of all jokes, there is no solution. What bothered me more was, I didn't know the " why not?" yet. All I had to do was say, "Dude, too much this is! You said what you had to but I do not know the reason and I, the Queen of Nowhere land deserves to know it…"
But ..but ..but…then I thought….what if the reason is just too silly? What can be silly ….that ur name is A nd mine B? Or that I like pink and you don't? Or that I want to be a sparrow in my next life and you think that's a rot idea? Or that you play pool better than I do? Or that 'I think!' and you do more than just that? It goes on…the silly-list (You know better than I do that it is not a goddamn silly list). That would kill me. And ...and …and..what if the reason is ..something 'not-silly' …and what can that be…I can't think of any…probably because I am just at the 'I think !' level.
"So B , you utterly insane , blabbermouth , with a big foot in a bigger mouth could you just tell me what's the point of this perversely gargantuan piece of literary diarrhea?" I don't know, A. You know me better than I seem to know myself…so tell me what was the point of this whole exercise…you can skip the part of telling me about it…you can just …I don't know…
These things make me wonder wat part of the universe decided to bring us together and for what purpose it would serve…!
And now I don't know if I should mail you this…should I ..? I feel like sending it…though would it spoil whatever we have right now? Or should I just avoid it, just to avoid the pain (big word, I know…) or should I just be 'me' and do everything impulsively and then regret and bang my head and tear my hair and then act cranky and not take calls or talk to people? Do I need all this? Did I ever need what I got myself into?
Nope. So …here it comes..!! ta da….!!! -
She sat down to write...
Looked around for a while wondering if she needs to find a muse, the way all-famous artists had. Did you notice, she wanted to be addressed as an artist, not a writer. She never wanted to limit herself in those six letters. She was ambitious.
She thought it over: having a muse would restrict her flow of thoughts. On second thoughts it would just give her a direction to move in. Anyway, she said to herself, it’s now or never. At least she had the guts to realise that she is a ‘nobody’ and would, for all she knows, remain so. Unless of course she gets married to a guy who sees through her plainness and sees the depth in her eyes and the potential of a path breaking /record breaking/ mind numbing awareness of the human psyche. Who will push her to get the best of her outside, for the world to realise what a gem it was that they were tossing around….
Aaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhh!!!
No complex, never ending sentences Nina! Did she forget why her ex-boss yelled at her for her roundabout way of saying things? Didn’t her best friend often cut her short into saying things blandly, “I don’t need to know the exact shade of green lady, just tell me its green and I’ll get it!” Didn’t she?
Before I take you into the labyrinth of her mind I must tell you how she would like to be perceived as. She wants to be looked upon, as someone who knows her mind, when all she knows is she is not sure about the minutest thing under the sun.
She had not a fair clue of where she as going. All she knew was, she wanted to go places. Guess that’s what intimidated the opposite sex off her…the fact that she KNEW…she KNEW that she didn’t know things. She didn’t fear her lack of intelligence. If nothing, she had guts…and she knew! Some thought she was plain arrogant, some thought she was too ambitious, some thought she lived in a state of perpetual utopia, and some thought she was being juvenile. And she, what did she do? She ignored it all.
An acquaintance, that’s what he was. And one fine morning he calls her up and amidst a casual conversation tells her to write a small, which our lady later realised was quite a relative term, piece of literary gibberish. And this is what she wrote.
Looked around for a while wondering if she needs to find a muse, the way all-famous artists had. Did you notice, she wanted to be addressed as an artist, not a writer. She never wanted to limit herself in those six letters. She was ambitious.
She thought it over: having a muse would restrict her flow of thoughts. On second thoughts it would just give her a direction to move in. Anyway, she said to herself, it’s now or never. At least she had the guts to realise that she is a ‘nobody’ and would, for all she knows, remain so. Unless of course she gets married to a guy who sees through her plainness and sees the depth in her eyes and the potential of a path breaking /record breaking/ mind numbing awareness of the human psyche. Who will push her to get the best of her outside, for the world to realise what a gem it was that they were tossing around….
Aaaaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhh!!!
No complex, never ending sentences Nina! Did she forget why her ex-boss yelled at her for her roundabout way of saying things? Didn’t her best friend often cut her short into saying things blandly, “I don’t need to know the exact shade of green lady, just tell me its green and I’ll get it!” Didn’t she?
Before I take you into the labyrinth of her mind I must tell you how she would like to be perceived as. She wants to be looked upon, as someone who knows her mind, when all she knows is she is not sure about the minutest thing under the sun.
She had not a fair clue of where she as going. All she knew was, she wanted to go places. Guess that’s what intimidated the opposite sex off her…the fact that she KNEW…she KNEW that she didn’t know things. She didn’t fear her lack of intelligence. If nothing, she had guts…and she knew! Some thought she was plain arrogant, some thought she was too ambitious, some thought she lived in a state of perpetual utopia, and some thought she was being juvenile. And she, what did she do? She ignored it all.
An acquaintance, that’s what he was. And one fine morning he calls her up and amidst a casual conversation tells her to write a small, which our lady later realised was quite a relative term, piece of literary gibberish. And this is what she wrote.
not exactly my first blog
This is not exactly my first blog, so wondering if I should actually come up with a la 'I-are-writing-and-I-are-excited-about-my-first-blog'.
Yes, I've made blogs before and quite conveniently have managed to forget the password. It's quite an easy task, come to think of it, forgetting, that is. And yes, I write in long winding, complex-sentence-meets-compound-sentence, style. Sue me!What makes me blog...I cannot put a finger to it. Maybe it's just his/her/its innate need to be known...or just follow the herd...or just ...umm...kill time. Not that my firm pays me fort that...but it's anytime better than playing 'swat the fly'. Also, I promise no to make a zillion people read my blog and comment. Nope (here the zillion people who were ‘made to’ read this are to pretend that they are here out of sheer confidence in my occasional bouts of verbal diarrhoea). La la la la la...
This is not exactly my first blog, so wondering if I should actually come up with a la 'I-are-writing-and-I-are-excited-about-my-first-blog'.
Yes, I've made blogs before and quite conveniently have managed to forget the password. It's quite an easy task, come to think of it, forgetting, that is. And yes, I write in long winding, complex-sentence-meets-compound-sentence, style. Sue me!What makes me blog...I cannot put a finger to it. Maybe it's just his/her/its innate need to be known...or just follow the herd...or just ...umm...kill time. Not that my firm pays me fort that...but it's anytime better than playing 'swat the fly'. Also, I promise no to make a zillion people read my blog and comment. Nope (here the zillion people who were ‘made to’ read this are to pretend that they are here out of sheer confidence in my occasional bouts of verbal diarrhoea). La la la la la...
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