Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him walk in her general direction. Amid the noise and the heavy metal music, and the general smoky darkness, she could think of nothing to do with herself. Her friend had taken off to the dance floor with her partner for the evening, leaving her to morosely look into her drink and smile(a grimace really), and pretend she was having a good time.
All around her, kids… er… well, youngsters in their late teens or early twenties, seemed to be having a very good time. This was their place, their area of joy, their way of celebrating. A celebrating that seemed youthful and exuberant. Well… she was young too, young at heart at least. With a brave ‘I AM having a good time’ smile, she tossed her drink back and looked around. The world seemed slightly better. She smiled slightly at the young man at the next table. He grinned back in general joviality. She saw a glint in his eyes, a suggestion. And then, there was the barman, smiling at her, see her for what she was. Attractive, svelte, and young yet at heart.
Young men like mature women, she told herself, as her friend and her partner returned to the table. Some animated conversation later, she whispered to her friend, “Come on yaar. What are kids these days coming too??!!! That young man at the next table actually propositioned me!”
Her friend opened her eyes wide and looked at the young man at the next table with a slightly shocked expression. He, in the way of the young in pack mode, grinned back at her, lifting his glass in some kind of a toast. Her friend shook her head slightly, and looked at her partner. It was true he was a few years younger to her, she had not cared to ask how many. Yet, to have a kid as young as this proposition to a forty-something…
The music got better and the couple at the table jigged to the dance floor, holding hands. Left alone again, an empty glass in hand, she stood up, and wriggled through the crowd, closer to the bar counter. If she could, she would snag a bar stool. And begin a love affair. With the smiling barman.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Tinker, tailor…
Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Poor Man,
Beggar Man, Thief.
Fixer, fawner,
Financier, cheater,
Scamster, manager,
Banker, Adman.
Wannabe, socialite,
Model, beauty-queen,
Bimbo, bimbette,
Gigolo, Rj.
Dj, Vj,
Smartass, PR,
Journo, Marketer,
Brand Manager, Travel Agent.
Politico, Judge
Sweeper, Socialite,
Policeman, fruit-seller,
Murderer, mafia…
Feel free to add on guys!
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Poor Man,
Beggar Man, Thief.
Fixer, fawner,
Financier, cheater,
Scamster, manager,
Banker, Adman.
Wannabe, socialite,
Model, beauty-queen,
Bimbo, bimbette,
Gigolo, Rj.
Dj, Vj,
Smartass, PR,
Journo, Marketer,
Brand Manager, Travel Agent.
Politico, Judge
Sweeper, Socialite,
Policeman, fruit-seller,
Murderer, mafia…
Feel free to add on guys!
Lift
7am. She stood at the bus stop. She was on time as always. She tried to be composed and blasé, but could not resist peering down the road. The office-going crowd was yet to come. This was the best time to get a bus, and get a seat as well. It was a small matter that she would reach half an hour earlier than she needed to get there.
A man standing next to her asked for the time. 7:05 she replied crisply, not wanting to make conversation. Her heart began to start a steady drum… almost time. He would be punctual as well, as always. Anticipation made her palms clammy. She adjusted her dupatta and stood under the shade of the shelter, to avoid the rays of the morning sun that suddenly shot up to illuminate her face.
Smiling to herself she thought, he cannot miss me today. The orange and yellow salwar that she wore, seemed to catch the rays of the sun. Yesterday, he had been half a minute early. But then, he had been on the phone and had stopped for about a minute a little before the bus stop, so that she could see him; and she had waited patiently for the car to crawl up to stop right before where she had been standing. The half a smile, the quirked brow and the cheery good morning never failed to raise her spirits. “Want a lift?” he would ask, laughter in his voice. “Oh,” she would reply, “Which way are you going?”
“The way you are,” he would reply, now laughing openly. She would take a quick look around and hop into the passenger seat of his maroon Santro, and the long road to her office never seemed long enough.
Their conversation during the drive would be about this and that, a bit of flirting, some confessions, and then, office. She would get off with a casual wave, a wave so casual that the onlooker would not know how important this lift was to her, how it made her day, how it made her look forward to another day…
Today, she stood, her orange-yellow salwar making her a bright spot in the bus stop, as several of her route buses stopped, took on passengers and moved on. She was almost rooted to the spot, her now anxious face turned in the direction his car would come. 7.45 passed, then 8… Her lower lip trembled, but she controlled the thought that engendered the tremble as well as the tremble itself, covering up by mopping her face with the end of her dupatta.
Someone asked her the time, again that morning. She looked at the display on her mobile. 8.15! And suddenly, there his car was, rounding the curve in the road at the distance, briskly driving towards the bus stop, towards her. He must have a reason for being late she thought. The maroon Santro did not stop. Instead it drove past at a good speed. He was at the wheel, an animated very pretty woman beside him, making conversation, laughing… He did not turn to look in the direction of the bus stop at all.
How long she stood rooted at the spot, she did not know. Then suddenly, a familiar car came to a smooth halt in front of her. “What are you doing here still?” he asked, getting out of the grey Ford Ikon, his brow creased in concern, “Hasn’t your bus come as yet? Aren’t you very late?”
Seeing her unresponsive face, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. Her face turned red and she mumbled something. Turning her around gently he said, “Come, let’s go home. You seem unwell. Rest at home. Perhaps, I will take it off as well. Isn’t it quite some time since we spent time together at home without the kids?”
Nodding, and fixing a slight smile to her face, she got into their car.
A man standing next to her asked for the time. 7:05 she replied crisply, not wanting to make conversation. Her heart began to start a steady drum… almost time. He would be punctual as well, as always. Anticipation made her palms clammy. She adjusted her dupatta and stood under the shade of the shelter, to avoid the rays of the morning sun that suddenly shot up to illuminate her face.
Smiling to herself she thought, he cannot miss me today. The orange and yellow salwar that she wore, seemed to catch the rays of the sun. Yesterday, he had been half a minute early. But then, he had been on the phone and had stopped for about a minute a little before the bus stop, so that she could see him; and she had waited patiently for the car to crawl up to stop right before where she had been standing. The half a smile, the quirked brow and the cheery good morning never failed to raise her spirits. “Want a lift?” he would ask, laughter in his voice. “Oh,” she would reply, “Which way are you going?”
“The way you are,” he would reply, now laughing openly. She would take a quick look around and hop into the passenger seat of his maroon Santro, and the long road to her office never seemed long enough.
Their conversation during the drive would be about this and that, a bit of flirting, some confessions, and then, office. She would get off with a casual wave, a wave so casual that the onlooker would not know how important this lift was to her, how it made her day, how it made her look forward to another day…
Today, she stood, her orange-yellow salwar making her a bright spot in the bus stop, as several of her route buses stopped, took on passengers and moved on. She was almost rooted to the spot, her now anxious face turned in the direction his car would come. 7.45 passed, then 8… Her lower lip trembled, but she controlled the thought that engendered the tremble as well as the tremble itself, covering up by mopping her face with the end of her dupatta.
Someone asked her the time, again that morning. She looked at the display on her mobile. 8.15! And suddenly, there his car was, rounding the curve in the road at the distance, briskly driving towards the bus stop, towards her. He must have a reason for being late she thought. The maroon Santro did not stop. Instead it drove past at a good speed. He was at the wheel, an animated very pretty woman beside him, making conversation, laughing… He did not turn to look in the direction of the bus stop at all.
How long she stood rooted at the spot, she did not know. Then suddenly, a familiar car came to a smooth halt in front of her. “What are you doing here still?” he asked, getting out of the grey Ford Ikon, his brow creased in concern, “Hasn’t your bus come as yet? Aren’t you very late?”
Seeing her unresponsive face, he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. Her face turned red and she mumbled something. Turning her around gently he said, “Come, let’s go home. You seem unwell. Rest at home. Perhaps, I will take it off as well. Isn’t it quite some time since we spent time together at home without the kids?”
Nodding, and fixing a slight smile to her face, she got into their car.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Death
Once upon a time, Death was an expected and planned for event. Our ancients said, that preparing for death is a part and parcel of life’s duties and prepare they did, by retiring into lives of meditation. Did she even think she would die that fateful day? She did not. But looking down from above, seeing the life go by, her empty slot gaping raw, she could not think. What would happen to her children? Her pet parrot and the cat? One moment, there she was leaning over the parapet wall of the apartment building where they lived, to try grab a shirt that had escaped the confining clip to the washing line… and the next, here she was.
Disoriented, confused, she floated above for a few moments, to see her body where it lay. She looked peaceful, asleep but in an odd position, the arms twisted beneath the body. Peaceful! – a smile crossed briefly as she wondered what ‘peace’ meant. Then, the crowd came down, then the family, her husband… It was a heart-wrenching scene, and as she wept herself, she wondered how she could break free.
Breaking free had not been an option in life. How could it be in death? Her sobs subsiding, she weighed her options. Should she go down below and check out what was happening? Narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun, she focussed – ah! Her parents!
She swallowed as she imagined their grief. She lowered herself to get closer to the scene and saw husband and daughter, grief-stricken. This was not how she had wanted to go. So much of unfinished business. She mulled over her situation sitting on the parapet.
Fifteen days later, the daughter in the apartment below sat writing out her homework. She had resumed school and had a lot to catch up with. The daughter was hungry, and automatically called out for, out of sheer force of habit, “Amma! I am…” Her voice trailed away.
But suddenly, she sat up, her eyes glancing about as if to seek someone. A soft breath on her cheek. A sudden touch on her hair. And the smell of mother.
Disoriented, confused, she floated above for a few moments, to see her body where it lay. She looked peaceful, asleep but in an odd position, the arms twisted beneath the body. Peaceful! – a smile crossed briefly as she wondered what ‘peace’ meant. Then, the crowd came down, then the family, her husband… It was a heart-wrenching scene, and as she wept herself, she wondered how she could break free.
Breaking free had not been an option in life. How could it be in death? Her sobs subsiding, she weighed her options. Should she go down below and check out what was happening? Narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun, she focussed – ah! Her parents!
She swallowed as she imagined their grief. She lowered herself to get closer to the scene and saw husband and daughter, grief-stricken. This was not how she had wanted to go. So much of unfinished business. She mulled over her situation sitting on the parapet.
Fifteen days later, the daughter in the apartment below sat writing out her homework. She had resumed school and had a lot to catch up with. The daughter was hungry, and automatically called out for, out of sheer force of habit, “Amma! I am…” Her voice trailed away.
But suddenly, she sat up, her eyes glancing about as if to seek someone. A soft breath on her cheek. A sudden touch on her hair. And the smell of mother.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The seed
Sowing the thought is the first thing. He pondered and decided that was a good way to begin. The seed would sprout and some day, the fruit would be his. Smiling to himself, he drove to work.
He whispered sweet nothings into her ear. How beautiful she always looked, how wonderfully intelligent she was and how she was indeed one in a million.
The first time he said it to her, she looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes… and laughed out aloud. All she would say was how corny he sounded, like the hero out of a teenage romance.
He laughed as well, and the twinkle in his eyes was a bit wicked. That, was the first seeding. He was not in any hurry for he like her company, her mood swings and her sense of humour. Besides, the best thing was that she was married and hence, out of bounds technically, for a single swinger like him.
Of course, she did not notice, absorbed as she was in the party and the rest of the people around them. Soon, the people swallowed her and she was gone. But he did not worry too much, she would be back, at another party, another place and he would then, sow a few more thoughts.
It did happen like he had calculated, only she got a bit wary. She asked him questions, told him not to speak that way, but of course, he sounded besotted and completely sincere. That worried her a bit at first but then she got used to his proliferating sweet nothings that came at her like they were flies. She batted them away sometimes, but soon, she was looking at him with new eyes. Possibilities, albeit new to her mind, began to sprout. She looked at him like she had not seen him before and he noticed, smiling behind his hand. A little strategic withdrawal was in order.
Thus, he played her, his own little game until he figured he could sow a lot more thought. He would send her little suggestive email forwards, that were fun. She could not object to them and if she did, he would of course, be indignant and say that she was a prudish, outdated thing. She did not react. So he were gently enquired is his mails were intrusive. No, no, not at all she replied politely.
The mails got more suggestive. Persuasive. Then he asked, do you see my emails at all? Of course I do was her reply. He smiled when he heard her speak. There was plenty of time provided one of them did not die along the way. It was a good thought.
Hmmm… he said, one day to her, don’t you think you should spice up your life a bit? Surprise was in her voice when she answered, why, why do you think so? He played her fast and lose and suggested a little fling. She laughed and replied can’t you show a little more imagination? He drooped a bit and talked about how repressive society was. She changed the subject.
But the seed was sown and he knew there would be more to come. Then there would be the day, when he would get to sample the ripened fruit. He wondered if his fascination would last long. But that did not worry him. The process of getting there was sweet.
He whispered sweet nothings into her ear. How beautiful she always looked, how wonderfully intelligent she was and how she was indeed one in a million.
The first time he said it to her, she looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes… and laughed out aloud. All she would say was how corny he sounded, like the hero out of a teenage romance.
He laughed as well, and the twinkle in his eyes was a bit wicked. That, was the first seeding. He was not in any hurry for he like her company, her mood swings and her sense of humour. Besides, the best thing was that she was married and hence, out of bounds technically, for a single swinger like him.
Of course, she did not notice, absorbed as she was in the party and the rest of the people around them. Soon, the people swallowed her and she was gone. But he did not worry too much, she would be back, at another party, another place and he would then, sow a few more thoughts.
It did happen like he had calculated, only she got a bit wary. She asked him questions, told him not to speak that way, but of course, he sounded besotted and completely sincere. That worried her a bit at first but then she got used to his proliferating sweet nothings that came at her like they were flies. She batted them away sometimes, but soon, she was looking at him with new eyes. Possibilities, albeit new to her mind, began to sprout. She looked at him like she had not seen him before and he noticed, smiling behind his hand. A little strategic withdrawal was in order.
Thus, he played her, his own little game until he figured he could sow a lot more thought. He would send her little suggestive email forwards, that were fun. She could not object to them and if she did, he would of course, be indignant and say that she was a prudish, outdated thing. She did not react. So he were gently enquired is his mails were intrusive. No, no, not at all she replied politely.
The mails got more suggestive. Persuasive. Then he asked, do you see my emails at all? Of course I do was her reply. He smiled when he heard her speak. There was plenty of time provided one of them did not die along the way. It was a good thought.
Hmmm… he said, one day to her, don’t you think you should spice up your life a bit? Surprise was in her voice when she answered, why, why do you think so? He played her fast and lose and suggested a little fling. She laughed and replied can’t you show a little more imagination? He drooped a bit and talked about how repressive society was. She changed the subject.
But the seed was sown and he knew there would be more to come. Then there would be the day, when he would get to sample the ripened fruit. He wondered if his fascination would last long. But that did not worry him. The process of getting there was sweet.
Idiots are God’s Own People
Idiots are God’s Own People,
He lovingly nurtures them and ensures they proliferate
Populating the Earth with more of their kind.
Ensuring that they get their way
They live their life with minimum fuss
Expectations, or disturbances.
And the few painful intelligent
Are batted aside if ever their paths cross.
Idiots find their way to heaven,
A heaven of their own making,
For wherever they go, it will be heaven.
But for the rest, with a spark of intelligence,
Heaven is certainly out of bounds,
Peopled by idiots.
So they are doomed to find Hell
Wherever they go.
He lovingly nurtures them and ensures they proliferate
Populating the Earth with more of their kind.
Ensuring that they get their way
They live their life with minimum fuss
Expectations, or disturbances.
And the few painful intelligent
Are batted aside if ever their paths cross.
Idiots find their way to heaven,
A heaven of their own making,
For wherever they go, it will be heaven.
But for the rest, with a spark of intelligence,
Heaven is certainly out of bounds,
Peopled by idiots.
So they are doomed to find Hell
Wherever they go.
Yearning
A longing for something strikes
Restless and wanting
One waits, for the something to arrive.
The wait has begun, and suddenly all is tense.
Will it appear, what is nebulous?
There is no word for it, just a feeling,
A wanting, a yearning.
Nothing then satisfies,
All else is black and white,
But that something
That tantalises from afar, being just out of reach,
Out of sight, but not out of mind.
The yearning then becomes a state of living.
Something that is there, yet without your touch.
That something not too far, yet near.
Your fingers itch to clutch, to grab.
Yet, you wait, patiently…
For life, has its ways of teaching you to wait.
To keep you constant, in wanting.
Restless and wanting
One waits, for the something to arrive.
The wait has begun, and suddenly all is tense.
Will it appear, what is nebulous?
There is no word for it, just a feeling,
A wanting, a yearning.
Nothing then satisfies,
All else is black and white,
But that something
That tantalises from afar, being just out of reach,
Out of sight, but not out of mind.
The yearning then becomes a state of living.
Something that is there, yet without your touch.
That something not too far, yet near.
Your fingers itch to clutch, to grab.
Yet, you wait, patiently…
For life, has its ways of teaching you to wait.
To keep you constant, in wanting.
Unconditional love
Simba loves me. Unconditionally. His lovely brown liquid eyes follow me wherever I go. I call him ‘boing boing’ dog because every time he looks at me, I see a burst of pink hearts floating up towards me. I am sure if he had a guitar and a floppy hat, he would do the serenading thingie as well.
Nose a few inches away, Simba is my shadow, my one other self. He is soft, has fluffy golden hair and is the complete stress-buster, rolled into a butterball of a golden retriever. And he wants nothing but my company. No demands, no heavy stuff. Just a state of being, being with you.
Simba has developed an infection in his ears. On to Ark(the vet clinic) we went. Simba fluttered around a bit(new place), looked at me with a question in his eyes, allowed the doctor to poke through different parts of him(including a thermometer in his rectum); all with a patience, not a bark to be heard.
After, he rode in the front seat of the car sitting on a towel, looking regal and glowing, leaving plenty of his long golden hair behind, on the dashboard and the floor. Back home, he revived sufficiently to take a long drink of tap water and flop down… looking as I moved about keeping things back in their place. His liquid brown eyes melting as they followed my movements, ready to move himself when I did.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Coming home
The day is late. The dark is silent. The smallest noises magnified. I read, the page turns, rustling.
The eyes are slits. The dark pupils glitter as they watch me read. More pages turn. More things happen. Within those pages of course. It’s still. Life seems not to move, except in the pages of the book. Is there no life outside it? Seems like not.
When the day is but a beginning, a middle and the end, what is real about it? It’s like a structured story, a plan with people in it. The people are random, but predictable, have nothing new to say.
Suddenly a surprise. One person talks about karma, the womb, rebirth and reaping the rewards. I think, I listen, then once again, the barometer dips. It’s nothing. It’s a read idea – translated, it means a surface scratching. Like a kitten sharpening her claws on a hall chair.
I return to pages, this time, to another book. The pages rustle, I turn, I move with it. There is Time there, moving within those pages, moving, happening, feeling, living. Then outside, the air seems stuffy and still, like a vaccum-packed, sealed pack of chips. The morning arrives, the packet opens, the chips come out, are eaten, the pack is thrown away. Another day ends.
I come home in the mind. The beginning, the middle and the end are over. Life begins again. The pages rustle. There is music, there is life, and Time moves.
The eyes are slits. The dark pupils glitter as they watch me read. More pages turn. More things happen. Within those pages of course. It’s still. Life seems not to move, except in the pages of the book. Is there no life outside it? Seems like not.
When the day is but a beginning, a middle and the end, what is real about it? It’s like a structured story, a plan with people in it. The people are random, but predictable, have nothing new to say.
Suddenly a surprise. One person talks about karma, the womb, rebirth and reaping the rewards. I think, I listen, then once again, the barometer dips. It’s nothing. It’s a read idea – translated, it means a surface scratching. Like a kitten sharpening her claws on a hall chair.
I return to pages, this time, to another book. The pages rustle, I turn, I move with it. There is Time there, moving within those pages, moving, happening, feeling, living. Then outside, the air seems stuffy and still, like a vaccum-packed, sealed pack of chips. The morning arrives, the packet opens, the chips come out, are eaten, the pack is thrown away. Another day ends.
I come home in the mind. The beginning, the middle and the end are over. Life begins again. The pages rustle. There is music, there is life, and Time moves.
My mother
I look at me in that mirror
That’s the person who was
At 20, I am the person
Who became me as I am today.
I suddenly see me in the mirror
40 does not seem an age.
Or is it? It has never felt that way
Age in the mind, age in the body,
When did that happen
Not to me, yet
But today I look close,
Is the skin looking different?
Is that age?
Or, is it a mindshift
Somewhere in my mind
Have I let my ‘youngness’ go,
Stopped being 20.
Have I become my mother?
That’s the person who was
At 20, I am the person
Who became me as I am today.
I suddenly see me in the mirror
40 does not seem an age.
Or is it? It has never felt that way
Age in the mind, age in the body,
When did that happen
Not to me, yet
But today I look close,
Is the skin looking different?
Is that age?
Or, is it a mindshift
Somewhere in my mind
Have I let my ‘youngness’ go,
Stopped being 20.
Have I become my mother?
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