I had never stepped out of my house alone, and was raised in a constraining and non compromising big Indian family. I was 24 years old and devoid of any story I could call my own. I was tired of being sheltered. Of being told what to do, where to go, and especially so, where not to go. In India women don’t tread in their lives alone. They need to be taken care of and the time had come where my care-takers needed to change hands. So my overtly ‘caring’ family had decided that I needed to be married off.
More often than not, you travel to escape and that’s what I did. I escaped. I pooled together some savings and got a plane ticket to Bombay. And with a backpack of two books, tooth brush, a change of clothes and a notepad, left the only city I knew all my life. I shut my cell phone down and the aircraft window. I had never felt so immensely alone and so alive at the same time. It’s like a world full of endless possibilities and the excitement of carving a whole new identity on a blank slate. I was 24 and this day forth, I could be whoever I choose to be. That plane ride changed my life. What it means to travel, to leave something behind you and move away. You don’t touch the brim and leave.
Two hours later, I emerged in this city. No lover, no family, just self and a lot of dreams, I set out to find my destination. I like to believe I’m still traveling and all that I see, I must see before I get to where I need to be. Bombay opened its arms to me immediately. I travel from the most insane clubs in Bombay to the most dreadful slums of the world, with the same fervour, the same excitement in my eyes and no vision. After all, if we always know what our destination will look like, I reckon, we stop living each passing moment and sleep through it looking for that one perfect tick of the clock. So I look, with the same raw appeal to each block of the road, to each sign on a rickshaw, to every bite I take of the road-side food in Bombay and I smile at every new face. Bombay is the place to be if you’re not pacing to and fro and can come to terms with the reality that life, just like this breathtaking city, is messy and is chaotic, and that’s just where it finds its beauty.
On a map, I’ve traveled less than 500 kilometers, but its one full life away, and it made me the finest and the most spirited version of me, and I will forever look back to the courage it took for that 2-hour journey and overcoming the fear of stepping out alone and just be.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Unlearn
When I was little, my mother once told me that crows grab your eye balls and eat, just to make me duck when near them and not go feeding them on our terrace. Till date, when I see a crow flying towards my direction (and by god bombay has its more than fair share of crows) I think its coming after my eyeballs. I dont think that's true anymore. And it irritates me that I believed it and was scared of it happening all my life. Maybe there are more things that I'm scared of, who arent meant to being scared of. Like being alone. My family made me believe that if you dont get married you have a loserly life. You're incomplete and mostly that is the worst thing that can happen to anybody. That they dont get married.
But maybe not. Maybe its okay. And I dont have to feel terrible inside being scared of it coming true. Its probably not half as bad as they told me. The relationships and marriages I've seen, only add to my suspicion for this weird notion. Maybe its not so bad at all to be alone. Not so bad at all.
But maybe not. Maybe its okay. And I dont have to feel terrible inside being scared of it coming true. Its probably not half as bad as they told me. The relationships and marriages I've seen, only add to my suspicion for this weird notion. Maybe its not so bad at all to be alone. Not so bad at all.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Life Befuddles Me
Yes, it does. And in ways that I seldom understand. The past two weeks have probably been the toughest since I moved to Bombay. For some reason I find it difficult to be honest today and yet, I'd like to talk it out. I feel depressed. My health is all over the place, my family is not at its best and well, I just don't feel at rest now. You know, its not the best time in the world when every day, at least once, you ask out aloud, when will all this stop?
You know I'm going around minding my own business, why cant I just be left alone.
You know I'm going around minding my own business, why cant I just be left alone.
Friday, January 21, 2011
And to feel you're alive>Bombay my lover, my whore
I finally felt something today. As in, I feel love everyday and I feel pretty every other day, but something beyond just those scrawny everyday me and something originally and uniquely me. I couldn't stop smiling. And hear you me, it happened twice in this week. So amazing how it all just comes staring back at you one day, from nowhere.
It's all a big wad of mashed up paint inside my head still, but I want to write. I want to fucking write. And you know why? Cause I felt like it twice this week. Like this whole sea of stories inside me that I want to scream out to the world. That if I could just sit down with a quiet empty house and just write it all out today. Not get up, just bring it all out. Just keep feeding me the sun.
Just saw Dhobhi Ghat, I was so moved. Such that I could still cry for her. It was so beautifully sad. So magnificently sad. I couldn't believe it. I was clenching my teeth and my nails kept digging into my partner's arms, I couldn't take the sadness. And it doesn't have an end, such is life. It was all these people coming together and then get separated. Just like that. We think too much. We like results. We definitely likes our "Whys?" As in, to that, why? Some things just are. Not good, not bad, they are what they are. And then its gone. Just like that, such is life. Chaotic, meaningless, beyond reason and logic. I loved the feature film. I could just cry now. Like I said Beauty. And I thought I'd just lost it. I thought ever since I moved this city I had stopped finding beauty in things and today I did. And it inspired me. One.
I also just finished "A Million Little Pieces". After very long, a tad too long, I read a book the way I read books. I couldn't keep it down. I couldn't stop stop thinking about the story. It was about a man who was alcoholic and is in a treatment center trying to quit. It was about addiction. It was about weakness. About being human. But also it was about taking responsibility. It was about putting yourself to test. It was everyone's story. I've seen "The Elegent Universe" but really this is the theory of everything. Tao te Ching. You should read, or this post will forever be a puzzle to you. Or life. I dont know. I really dont. But I need to write. Two.
It's all a big wad of mashed up paint inside my head still, but I want to write. I want to fucking write. And you know why? Cause I felt like it twice this week. Like this whole sea of stories inside me that I want to scream out to the world. That if I could just sit down with a quiet empty house and just write it all out today. Not get up, just bring it all out. Just keep feeding me the sun.
Just saw Dhobhi Ghat, I was so moved. Such that I could still cry for her. It was so beautifully sad. So magnificently sad. I couldn't believe it. I was clenching my teeth and my nails kept digging into my partner's arms, I couldn't take the sadness. And it doesn't have an end, such is life. It was all these people coming together and then get separated. Just like that. We think too much. We like results. We definitely likes our "Whys?" As in, to that, why? Some things just are. Not good, not bad, they are what they are. And then its gone. Just like that, such is life. Chaotic, meaningless, beyond reason and logic. I loved the feature film. I could just cry now. Like I said Beauty. And I thought I'd just lost it. I thought ever since I moved this city I had stopped finding beauty in things and today I did. And it inspired me. One.
I also just finished "A Million Little Pieces". After very long, a tad too long, I read a book the way I read books. I couldn't keep it down. I couldn't stop stop thinking about the story. It was about a man who was alcoholic and is in a treatment center trying to quit. It was about addiction. It was about weakness. About being human. But also it was about taking responsibility. It was about putting yourself to test. It was everyone's story. I've seen "The Elegent Universe" but really this is the theory of everything. Tao te Ching. You should read, or this post will forever be a puzzle to you. Or life. I dont know. I really dont. But I need to write. Two.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Experiment 1: On Changing Your Story
This is not an experiment, well sorta. This is optimism put to test. This is every part of me swearing that I'll try and every part of me wishing it works.
Sometimes love rips you apart. Sometimes love is the only thing hurting. Sometimes you want love so bad, you scare away love. Sometimes love changes you. Sometimes love makes you want more. It makes you cruel. It makes you nauseatingly faithful. Sometimes its more bitter than sweet, but always what you really want.
Sometimes your whole being becomes a paradox. Sometimes you want things, you don't realize you already have. You have the smartest lines and you know you're being foolish. You can own him and then end up doing miserably pathetic things to have him touch your hand when you reach out.
Real love never feels it's going to break, and for that reason, real love will go to any means to make each other suffer. Real love is bad for you. Its so sinful and so self absorbing, you become a void in yourself. Real love defines who you are then, and then on the afternoons your real love hurts, you don't know who you are and what you are around people without it.
Real passionate love is very overconfident. It will play your mind and your heart. Love is like the ghastly drill machine which goes straight to your core and messes you up. Its like a slap across your face and shows you what an extreme person you can become, you self praising kind soul you. Real love terrorizes your mind. When you love so bad, your mind refuses to believe it can end and thats why you're never really scared. You'd be frustrated, you'd be so mad you'll start attacking walls with your fists, but you'll never be scared.
And thats why real love never compromises. Two people in mad passionate love never really make up. You be an ass to him and he'd be just as big an ass to you. That's what happens when you've made up your mind on 'this is the guy I want to annoy the fuck out for the rest of my life'. It's ongoing and its tiring but its never done.
Real love is an entity in itself. Two people in love are like mutually dependent parasites who feed off of each others happiness, energy, aura and sadly, sadness. Real love is a helpless spiral. Upwards and downwards.
Love is funny and love is unreasonable. You have lived twenty five years of your life, not knowing that this one person exists. And then one fine day, from nowhere, one crazy dreamer walks into your life, no different than any other crazy dreamer you've met before. And something about them messes you up. You enter a no exit trance of a one point agenda - of having this person. This one person, who you know in your heart had a one in billion chance of ever meeting you in this life, that one person will start owning you. And you're helpless. You can think you're in control, but you're not, at least not in your own. Not his either, just some strange vision you weave together.
Love hurts. Oh my god, love hurts. Its not a hurt of toppling from the stairs which hurts only physically, scabs and vanishes, leaving behind a funny bar story. Love hurts from inside, its a soul hurt. It aches and its the suffering of not having your senses to work. It makes you mad.
Love also distorts your understanding of language and generally accepted semantics. Few words which are just like any other million words in the world that you've read and spoken and even joked about in the past, those same words turn into monstrous glass splinters who crawl up your eyes and refuse to be ignored. They're the sly vision itching insects which remind you of their presence at all hours. Words hurt. I wish words were more tangible and physical in their appearance. Like a glass vase, on which if I was mad and couldn't stop thinking about, I could break it, throw it out of my house and have my satisfaction of destroying the evidence of its existence. But not words, nope.
Love is not a choice. Love is over powering, over whelming and once you've loved, you wont rest until it feels the exact way it felt that one beautiful taxi ride.
So here I am. Having my love own me and trying to own my love. It needs work and it needs nourishment and its needs a lot of love. And if anything I know about myself, I know I'm full of love. I love love.
I have always believed that only a truly happy person can make another person happy. And "I'm not happy" uh, that's my story. And that is right. It's a story. It's just a story. I've made myself believe it and act it and live it. I reckon, I can make another story preferably more fun, more happy, more beautiful and make myself believe that, live that and act that.
It's really simple actually and I can explain how I got to this. A while back when I used to meditate regularly I used to read a lot (double past tense). Meditation is a lot about breathing and how it dominates your being, right in the centre of your body with just a coming and going of a whiff of a air. Breath overpowers how you feel. And whenever you feel something emotionally or physically, your breath is the first thing to get affected. For example when you're cold, you breath becomes short and narrow and you take lesser air in, and your body wants to occupy as less a space as possible. The theory goes, it can be reversed. When you're in a really cold environment, you must stop yourself, and breathe as calmly as possible, long breaths with enough pauses and your body starts relaxing by yourself. That is how the old Sadhus in the Himalayas can be covered in snow and be as calm as the southern lakes.
And so that is my plan. I'm going to make Happiness come to me. When I'm happy, I eat a lot, I smile a lot, I love interesting facts on TV, I make fun of things and not judge them, I keep in touch with my family, I talk to my friends a lot, I meet my girls, I gossip, I write, I read, I crave tandoori chicken, I dance and sing at the top of my voice, regardless of which house it is and whose party it is, I listen to my music, I watch my movies and I love my theater, I laugh louder and with shameless lustful spite at times, I think less, I'm more easy going, I dress better, I complain lesser, I feel warmer, I'm bitchier (yes, I like it that way) and again, I eat all three meals, sometimes even four.
So now we're working backwards people. I will do everything I do when I am happy and it will come to me. Of course. Cause you know what? There is nothing to be so sad about. Shed. Shed. Shed. Shed. Surrender.
And since none of my best friends live in this city.. are you listening chinky, priya, nidhi, ishaan, shivangi? Damn you all! I'm going to be my own best friend and give one tight slap to myself, and be the sexy bitch that I am and shed this righteous, sacrificing, cutesy girl get up, who likes things clean. I don't give a shit about cleanliness dude.
So back to be the default me, this typified custom model is just not working dude. Not working. Love can be maddening, crazy, tiring, come one, come all, I can take this. Cool as cucumber. Calm. And patient. And happy.
Donning my hippy socks and tune out the world earphones now. Hare Krishna everyone.
Sometimes love rips you apart. Sometimes love is the only thing hurting. Sometimes you want love so bad, you scare away love. Sometimes love changes you. Sometimes love makes you want more. It makes you cruel. It makes you nauseatingly faithful. Sometimes its more bitter than sweet, but always what you really want.
Sometimes your whole being becomes a paradox. Sometimes you want things, you don't realize you already have. You have the smartest lines and you know you're being foolish. You can own him and then end up doing miserably pathetic things to have him touch your hand when you reach out.
Real love never feels it's going to break, and for that reason, real love will go to any means to make each other suffer. Real love is bad for you. Its so sinful and so self absorbing, you become a void in yourself. Real love defines who you are then, and then on the afternoons your real love hurts, you don't know who you are and what you are around people without it.
Real passionate love is very overconfident. It will play your mind and your heart. Love is like the ghastly drill machine which goes straight to your core and messes you up. Its like a slap across your face and shows you what an extreme person you can become, you self praising kind soul you. Real love terrorizes your mind. When you love so bad, your mind refuses to believe it can end and thats why you're never really scared. You'd be frustrated, you'd be so mad you'll start attacking walls with your fists, but you'll never be scared.
And thats why real love never compromises. Two people in mad passionate love never really make up. You be an ass to him and he'd be just as big an ass to you. That's what happens when you've made up your mind on 'this is the guy I want to annoy the fuck out for the rest of my life'. It's ongoing and its tiring but its never done.
Real love is an entity in itself. Two people in love are like mutually dependent parasites who feed off of each others happiness, energy, aura and sadly, sadness. Real love is a helpless spiral. Upwards and downwards.
Love is funny and love is unreasonable. You have lived twenty five years of your life, not knowing that this one person exists. And then one fine day, from nowhere, one crazy dreamer walks into your life, no different than any other crazy dreamer you've met before. And something about them messes you up. You enter a no exit trance of a one point agenda - of having this person. This one person, who you know in your heart had a one in billion chance of ever meeting you in this life, that one person will start owning you. And you're helpless. You can think you're in control, but you're not, at least not in your own. Not his either, just some strange vision you weave together.
Love hurts. Oh my god, love hurts. Its not a hurt of toppling from the stairs which hurts only physically, scabs and vanishes, leaving behind a funny bar story. Love hurts from inside, its a soul hurt. It aches and its the suffering of not having your senses to work. It makes you mad.
Love also distorts your understanding of language and generally accepted semantics. Few words which are just like any other million words in the world that you've read and spoken and even joked about in the past, those same words turn into monstrous glass splinters who crawl up your eyes and refuse to be ignored. They're the sly vision itching insects which remind you of their presence at all hours. Words hurt. I wish words were more tangible and physical in their appearance. Like a glass vase, on which if I was mad and couldn't stop thinking about, I could break it, throw it out of my house and have my satisfaction of destroying the evidence of its existence. But not words, nope.
Love is not a choice. Love is over powering, over whelming and once you've loved, you wont rest until it feels the exact way it felt that one beautiful taxi ride.
So here I am. Having my love own me and trying to own my love. It needs work and it needs nourishment and its needs a lot of love. And if anything I know about myself, I know I'm full of love. I love love.
I have always believed that only a truly happy person can make another person happy. And "I'm not happy" uh, that's my story. And that is right. It's a story. It's just a story. I've made myself believe it and act it and live it. I reckon, I can make another story preferably more fun, more happy, more beautiful and make myself believe that, live that and act that.
It's really simple actually and I can explain how I got to this. A while back when I used to meditate regularly I used to read a lot (double past tense). Meditation is a lot about breathing and how it dominates your being, right in the centre of your body with just a coming and going of a whiff of a air. Breath overpowers how you feel. And whenever you feel something emotionally or physically, your breath is the first thing to get affected. For example when you're cold, you breath becomes short and narrow and you take lesser air in, and your body wants to occupy as less a space as possible. The theory goes, it can be reversed. When you're in a really cold environment, you must stop yourself, and breathe as calmly as possible, long breaths with enough pauses and your body starts relaxing by yourself. That is how the old Sadhus in the Himalayas can be covered in snow and be as calm as the southern lakes.
And so that is my plan. I'm going to make Happiness come to me. When I'm happy, I eat a lot, I smile a lot, I love interesting facts on TV, I make fun of things and not judge them, I keep in touch with my family, I talk to my friends a lot, I meet my girls, I gossip, I write, I read, I crave tandoori chicken, I dance and sing at the top of my voice, regardless of which house it is and whose party it is, I listen to my music, I watch my movies and I love my theater, I laugh louder and with shameless lustful spite at times, I think less, I'm more easy going, I dress better, I complain lesser, I feel warmer, I'm bitchier (yes, I like it that way) and again, I eat all three meals, sometimes even four.
So now we're working backwards people. I will do everything I do when I am happy and it will come to me. Of course. Cause you know what? There is nothing to be so sad about. Shed. Shed. Shed. Shed. Surrender.
And since none of my best friends live in this city.. are you listening chinky, priya, nidhi, ishaan, shivangi? Damn you all! I'm going to be my own best friend and give one tight slap to myself, and be the sexy bitch that I am and shed this righteous, sacrificing, cutesy girl get up, who likes things clean. I don't give a shit about cleanliness dude.
So back to be the default me, this typified custom model is just not working dude. Not working. Love can be maddening, crazy, tiring, come one, come all, I can take this. Cool as cucumber. Calm. And patient. And happy.
Donning my hippy socks and tune out the world earphones now. Hare Krishna everyone.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Re-examine
I want to change things around. I feel stagnant. Not like I always feel nauseated when I am stagnant, just this is not the time to be stagnant. I feel like a bystander in my own life. Maybe I'm a bit of a control freak. Once again, maybe I watch too many movies. I feel like time is going by. I want to travel. I hate living like I'm supposed to be living. I hate conforming to so many rules, be kind, be honest, be as great a person I can be, and still not feel happy. I don't know what I want. And maybe thats what troubles me.
I used to think I'm passionate about writing. But the more writers I meet, the more unsure of myself I feel. If writing really was my passion, how is it that I've written 11 pages of my so-called book some 2 months back and never touched it again? The summary of which I did another 6 months ago? Then maybe my book isn't it. Or maybe I don't have my story yet.
I feel confused. I feel I'm in a perpetual trance of everyday things. I truly love the people in my life. But maybe thats not all that I want. I love bombay. But I dont love any place for too long which makes me feel tied. I want to go to fucking italy. Please someone take me to italy with them.
Ok, stop, pause, everyone. Breathe. I'm making a new plan. It just came to me, while writing this. Fuck everything. I deserve every bit of happiness in this world. Now this is what I'm going to do. I just got a raise. So.. I'm going to save every month and by my next birthday, September, I'm going to leave this country. I've always, always wanted to live in different countries. If I don't do this now, I cant do this ever. I have to, I need to do this for myself.
I have to do this.
And now, I have to save - no more splurges. I have to think of a country which talks to me the most. I have to prepare.
I think I've finally nailed what I've been irritated about. I have a vision of myself living like something, somewhere and I cant wait to start it. But I'm waiting, without a date, I feel like I'm working towards a non-existent goal. My life and my purpose is blurry around all this waiting.
I don't anymore want to wait around for anything, anyone. I cant wait to start this life and I figure at 25, half of my life has already gone. More sad than happy. And who said, the balance has to be this off? The clock is ticking and I need to get going. Thats the only thing good for me. An unhappy me is an annoying me. An unhappy me is everything I don't want to be.
One wait leads to another wait, and before you know it, there is a whole checklist of your ducks that need to be in a row. If I can wait for someone and their plans, wait, what about my plans? I at least deserve a date. And I hate pushing for a date, people need to respect other people's dreams and dates..umm.. time I meant. Yes, people need to respect people's time.
I'm also really hoping rupee value goes up, oh and also, I'm hoping I get a fucking job in another country. WOW. That's a lot for me and my poor little bachelors of a degree.
I need to stop talking now. Wokay then.
I used to think I'm passionate about writing. But the more writers I meet, the more unsure of myself I feel. If writing really was my passion, how is it that I've written 11 pages of my so-called book some 2 months back and never touched it again? The summary of which I did another 6 months ago? Then maybe my book isn't it. Or maybe I don't have my story yet.
I feel confused. I feel I'm in a perpetual trance of everyday things. I truly love the people in my life. But maybe thats not all that I want. I love bombay. But I dont love any place for too long which makes me feel tied. I want to go to fucking italy. Please someone take me to italy with them.
Ok, stop, pause, everyone. Breathe. I'm making a new plan. It just came to me, while writing this. Fuck everything. I deserve every bit of happiness in this world. Now this is what I'm going to do. I just got a raise. So.. I'm going to save every month and by my next birthday, September, I'm going to leave this country. I've always, always wanted to live in different countries. If I don't do this now, I cant do this ever. I have to, I need to do this for myself.
I have to do this.
And now, I have to save - no more splurges. I have to think of a country which talks to me the most. I have to prepare.
I think I've finally nailed what I've been irritated about. I have a vision of myself living like something, somewhere and I cant wait to start it. But I'm waiting, without a date, I feel like I'm working towards a non-existent goal. My life and my purpose is blurry around all this waiting.
I don't anymore want to wait around for anything, anyone. I cant wait to start this life and I figure at 25, half of my life has already gone. More sad than happy. And who said, the balance has to be this off? The clock is ticking and I need to get going. Thats the only thing good for me. An unhappy me is an annoying me. An unhappy me is everything I don't want to be.
One wait leads to another wait, and before you know it, there is a whole checklist of your ducks that need to be in a row. If I can wait for someone and their plans, wait, what about my plans? I at least deserve a date. And I hate pushing for a date, people need to respect other people's dreams and dates..umm.. time I meant. Yes, people need to respect people's time.
I'm also really hoping rupee value goes up, oh and also, I'm hoping I get a fucking job in another country. WOW. That's a lot for me and my poor little bachelors of a degree.
I need to stop talking now. Wokay then.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini
Naah, this post does not have pictures. In fact, I don't HAVE a picture in Yellow Polka Dots Bikini. This is just song I sing to myself when I feel like calling out FTS (Fuck that shit for the uninitiated) to every other thing and set off for a island retreat. Alas, not happening anytime soon.
Since I have nothing significantly life changing to do at work, I'm on to Second Life. Finally. I’m so excited. It’s been couple of hours and I’m, well, still stuck on the login page. I can’t decide on my second life name. I’m sure this is important stuff. I mean – I would be this person for all my second life. This is gravely serious. You know I’ve read that a person’s name hugely shapes their personality. Huh. This is stressful.
I had couple of options, I love that actress Kiara, so I wanted to take that as my First Name, but I don’t know it’s not personal. Anywho, my colleague suggested Sara, but Sara doesn’t go with the personality I want to have on my Second Life. So yeah, we’re still stuck there. Suggestions are welcome.
I want to be just travelling in my Second Life. Go to all the exotic places in the world Cancun, Athens, Fiji, Rome, Cape Town..aaah. And I want to wear High Heels, even to the beaches. Because god knows that I cannot survive those even for an evening. It’s not just the physical discomfort, but I have more personal reservations against it. High Heels, if you walk on the floor like the one we have in my office, are like your own arrival announcement tool. It’s crazy, the constant tick-tock attention grabbing, power breathing vindication - that I’m here – and now I’m going to the bathroom. Or that now I’m heading to the lunch room, which are basically plastic takeaway boxes, which is from a place called Maji Sagar. Umm.. I’d pass, no thanks. So after trying those for two days in my new office, I’m back to my flat greek chappals. Eh, us mortals (or non-modely). Which is good, because my darlings the rains are here.. take that high heel suckers.
So continuing this post after a couple of days now, today especially is driving me crazy. I've downloaded endlessly, I've seen everything since the morning from economics professors to Climate Control Talks, to effective Supply Chains, to how Schools kill Creativity to Mathemagics. Nothing, nothing is inspiring me. Nada. Zilch. I feel pathetic. I'm in such a crappy mood I feel like House. Really. I wish I could just snap nasty comments at everyone around me. And feel like a stud. I just want to feel like a guy. I want to be a guy. But I have work to do. So yeah, whenever I do find the time later today, I will be depressed. Stay clear.
Since I have nothing significantly life changing to do at work, I'm on to Second Life. Finally. I’m so excited. It’s been couple of hours and I’m, well, still stuck on the login page. I can’t decide on my second life name. I’m sure this is important stuff. I mean – I would be this person for all my second life. This is gravely serious. You know I’ve read that a person’s name hugely shapes their personality. Huh. This is stressful.
I had couple of options, I love that actress Kiara, so I wanted to take that as my First Name, but I don’t know it’s not personal. Anywho, my colleague suggested Sara, but Sara doesn’t go with the personality I want to have on my Second Life. So yeah, we’re still stuck there. Suggestions are welcome.
I want to be just travelling in my Second Life. Go to all the exotic places in the world Cancun, Athens, Fiji, Rome, Cape Town..aaah. And I want to wear High Heels, even to the beaches. Because god knows that I cannot survive those even for an evening. It’s not just the physical discomfort, but I have more personal reservations against it. High Heels, if you walk on the floor like the one we have in my office, are like your own arrival announcement tool. It’s crazy, the constant tick-tock attention grabbing, power breathing vindication - that I’m here – and now I’m going to the bathroom. Or that now I’m heading to the lunch room, which are basically plastic takeaway boxes, which is from a place called Maji Sagar. Umm.. I’d pass, no thanks. So after trying those for two days in my new office, I’m back to my flat greek chappals. Eh, us mortals (or non-modely). Which is good, because my darlings the rains are here.. take that high heel suckers.
So continuing this post after a couple of days now, today especially is driving me crazy. I've downloaded endlessly, I've seen everything since the morning from economics professors to Climate Control Talks, to effective Supply Chains, to how Schools kill Creativity to Mathemagics. Nothing, nothing is inspiring me. Nada. Zilch. I feel pathetic. I'm in such a crappy mood I feel like House. Really. I wish I could just snap nasty comments at everyone around me. And feel like a stud. I just want to feel like a guy. I want to be a guy. But I have work to do. So yeah, whenever I do find the time later today, I will be depressed. Stay clear.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Blank Noise and Bombay Addiction and World Dont Stand No Chance
For the first part of the title, here. I contributed my story for a section called Action Heroes. Support.
I spent Diwali with Hussain at Prithvi and Juhu Beach. Been insanely busy writing for topics I dont really understand, Insurance, Management, Indemnity, Winter Gardening, Addiction, you get the drift. Well, Addiction, I do understand :P And why am I writing trash? Well chicas, we got Rent issues.
I have also been going nuts fixing Internet connections, moving, traveling in Autos, cooking, stuck in messy transactions with Bai, quality checking LIITs around umm everywhere, contemplating saving, hogging shawarmas et cetera.
I'm indebted, with sparse money in a city with much too many avenues to spend on, not to mention Landmark and Mango stores. I hope my Karma rewards me for my super-satiated behavior lately (in terms of shopping strictly). Strict leading to discipline leading to job thoughts, reminds me, I have a deadline. So more life updates later.
All in all, times, they are a changin'
I spent Diwali with Hussain at Prithvi and Juhu Beach. Been insanely busy writing for topics I dont really understand, Insurance, Management, Indemnity, Winter Gardening, Addiction, you get the drift. Well, Addiction, I do understand :P And why am I writing trash? Well chicas, we got Rent issues.
I have also been going nuts fixing Internet connections, moving, traveling in Autos, cooking, stuck in messy transactions with Bai, quality checking LIITs around umm everywhere, contemplating saving, hogging shawarmas et cetera.
I'm indebted, with sparse money in a city with much too many avenues to spend on, not to mention Landmark and Mango stores. I hope my Karma rewards me for my super-satiated behavior lately (in terms of shopping strictly). Strict leading to discipline leading to job thoughts, reminds me, I have a deadline. So more life updates later.
All in all, times, they are a changin'
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Daddy's Little Girl
Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.
I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.
I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.
It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.
We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.
My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.
Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.
I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.
I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.
It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.
We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.
My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.
Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.
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