Dear equanimity,

Regards,

BPD

Lepidoptera

Far and wide have I flown,

But ne’er a light as bright and pure has shone,

Said she as she flew closer,

Only for the flame her wings to smolder.

“Ouch!” she cried in pain as she flew away, wings smoldering,

Yet the flame’s hold on her was overpowering.

She stayed close, her natural needs and instincts a thing of the past,

While the flame burned on, undiminished and content, his net cast.

"I'll ne'er be free," she realized, aghast. 

Thaai...en thaai...

Every day I see her look up at me with a child-like smile…

She sits quietly as I comb her beautiful grey–black hair, wincing every time I hit a knot…sensitive as always and refusing to comb out the knots in her hair as always…

Every day I watch her and miss her…the laughter, the inside jokes, the arguments, the knowing glances, the crazy conversations…my confidant...

I regret every moment in my life when I snapped at your constant questions…questions that I wish you’d ask now…when I didn't respond to your messages...messages I wish you'd send now...when I hung up on you because I was busy or irritated...call me now...I have all the time in the world for you...

I regret not engaging with you more…not learning from your vast wisdom and knowledge...I yearn for your opinion now…please tell me off for coming home late, please call me and ask if I ate, please just tell me anything…mom

Each day as she becomes a shadow of her former self…my heart breaks a little bit more… the beautiful smile, the hands that look so much like mine…the posture, confidence, commanding presence, and beautiful mind I wish I had inherited…all fading away…

Each day, as I watch her become more of a child, I break a little inside…to watch her pride melt into child-like submissiveness...

Is it wrong to grieve for a loss that hasn’t happened yet? 

Sentience

I’ve gone back and forth constantly,

I’ve given you everything, only to take them away on a whim,

I’ve manhandled and abused you,

You’ve witnessed my determination and its waning,

A silent, resilient spectator to my changing temperaments, you stood by me...

More Real to Me than any other man or droid.

Shades of you...

On a balmy Thursday afternoon, I decided to step out for some sunlight and groceries. Blue eyeliner, lip gloss, and some jewelry…the first time in a long time I dressed up a bit…to buy groceries! Who cares! Also, never know who you’d meet (I told myself).

As I walked toward the main gate, for some unfathomable reason, I paused and… there you were…with your beautiful black hair and deep black eyes. 

It was love at first sight…one glance from you and my heart was taken. My feet were made of lead and I was frozen to the spot. In that instant, I knew I had to have you…all logic and sense melted away in the afternoon heat.

You moved in with me. The first few days were rough…we had teething problems and I was ready to give up. Well-meaning friends shook their heads “tsk, tsk, Divya. I told you so!” But every time I looked into those deep black eyes of yours, heart beating out of my chest…I fell in love all over again.

Together 24/7, we grew to understand each other. I was a loner, tightly wound, and rather pedantic. You changed me, darling. I learned to loosen up with you…you brought out the little girl in me. You were unequivocal in your devotion…never wavering and never judgmental. Even when we had disagreements and I told you off, you listened patiently.

You gave me purpose. I had a skip in my step for the first time in a long time. I looked forward to coming home because I knew you’d be eagerly waiting for me. I’d find myself watching you sleep and smiling to myself…a lightness in my heart.  

My family loved you…even my rather stern and difficult-to-please mother.

However…

It was bittersweet… I knew that our happiness was short-lived…I had to let you go. As the days passed by, I realized you needed more…and that I couldn’t give you everything. You never complained…never cut back on your love and devotion, but I could see it in your eyes. I realized…to love is to let go.

And, then, just like that, on a Sunday afternoon, you moved out. My heart ached. I felt a sense of impending doom. I felt my world was ending. I was torn. I wanted to run after you and say, “Stop, things will be better. I’ll be better. We’ll figure it out together.” But my feet were made of lead. I couldn’t move. I knew deep down it was better this way…for you.

I tried everything in the next few days to not think of you…but I remembered you everywhere I went. Even with the speakers blaring in a cold, half-empty theatre as I watched Indiana Jones jumping from one train carriage to the next, all I could think of was you…wondering what it would be like to have you next to me, feeling your heartbeat and your little sighs.

I then saw you one day, happy with your new person. Happier than you were with me. And, finally, on a rainy Thursday afternoon, as I sat in a half-empty bar, rain pouring outside almost as if the weather decided to match my emotions…with a glass of untouched beer staring back at me…I realized I had to let go, move on, this was for the best (I told myself).

 

Thank you, my darling, for letting me experience a love I never knew I’d be capable of or deserving of. Thank you, my darling Shadow, for those beautiful 10 days. You are absolutely worthy of the title “man’s best friend.” You were mine…Thank you for showing me I have place in my heart for you. Be well, my darling. Goodbye!     

If you know, you know...

From:
"Here's looking at you, kid!"

To:
"Here's me looking at you but I'm checking out another..."

Mirage

A skip in my step, a smile on my face,
Happiness multiplied, sorrows halved.

Mementos of bygone days,
The absence unresolved. 

Despair

In all those lonely nights as she lay awake thinking of what could have been...
There are still tears to be shed...the pillow a mute confidant
And somewhere amidst the silent sobs, she got her heart back...although but a shadow...
Hope, a relentless foe.

Ode to a memory

दिल सा साथी जब पाया
बेचैनी भी साथ मिली




Wrote a lovelorn Meena Kumari

To kill a cockroach...

Calming baby pink tiles, air pregnant with the mild fragrance of citrus, soothing warm water, aromatic and exotic body wash...she was ready to let the fatigue wash away...

She pulls the bath curtain close and in a flash, the serenity disappears...out jumps the dreadful creature...

Given her delicate circumstances and for want of suitable weapons, she improvises...her eyes alight on a bottle of L'Oreal Fall Repair 3X Anti-hair fall shampoo (no less) and a bottle of citrus room freshener.

Heart thumping, adrenaline rushing, she cautiously inches toward him and deftly sprays the room freshener on him to immobilize him and then a dollop of the shampoo to finish the job...he fights for a while holding on for dear life...then with a final spasm he breathes his last...laying still...

The roach is dead!


They say cockroaches can survive extreme weather conditions and are the most resilient. They even have a much higher radiation resistance than humans and it is said if humanity destroys itself in a nuclear war, cockroaches would "inherit the earth". 
Their Achilles' heel - L'Oreal Anti-hair fall shampoo... 

What is text?

Text is letters grouped together to form words in a particular order making a sentence, which when splattered with the appropriate punctuation forms an idea, conveys a thought, describes objects, places, people. 

Today's evolved definition of text could be the staccato of words impatiently shortened and disfigured miraculously decipherable by even the most lexis-challenged. 

Grasping for the elusive

Ceiling to floor French windows. Just past tea time, twilight. Facing me, the dockyard, a couple of schooners anchored in with their morning’s catch of fish, fisherman winding up for the day. Sea gulls hovering. To my right, the monastery, monks returning to their rooms after the evening prayer, the wide open gray courtyard, spotted with the orange robes. A beautiful sunset on the horizon. The silhouette of the monastery’s turrets against the orange-red sky. To my left, the slave market, after the day’s business, slaves being returned to their cells while on one side there’s a commotion caused by the disagreement over a sale. Passersby not giving it a second look, used to such occurrences every day. The prison walls behind me, guards on their watchtowers with their rifles, monitoring the prisoners as they languidly walk back into the building for lockdown after their evening on the yard. 

Oh for those good old days

Crazy bumper to bumper traffic, impatient honking, scrambling for parking, pushing into the elevator, waiting impatiently in front of a store door, the clock strikes the hour, through the plexiglass a store assistant is seen lazily dawdling toward the door, boredom written all over her face, she fumbles for the key, and unlocks the door. The door bursts open and the eager, impatient crowd push through no different from the angry, irate boarding of an electric train in Mumbai. There’s a stampede. People are knocked over and hurt – situation reeking of callousness.

There’s a mad scramble to catch the clearance sale, with limited sizes and designs. You rush to your section, only to find the single piece in your size seized by this grouch of a person. Shoulders slumped, you leave. After all that trouble!!!

Tinted windows to the soul

In a bustling café amidst the murmur of conversation and the commotion and clanging from the kitchen with the chef impatiently belting out orders, Meera suddenly looks up and notices him sitting in the far corner, staring at her, light streaming onto his face through the French windows, glint of recognition in his eyes.

Arjun had come in for a quick bite and rendezvous to shake away the languidness of the summer afternoon. She stood out in the crowd, he couldn’t shake off this feeling of familiarity.

They stare at each other silently grasping for memories.

(Moodboard – scenes flash in quick succession each with different perspectives but incomplete and somehow abruptly cut off as if from a weakened memory, of romantic walks on the beach, yacht rides, hiking through forests, afternoon strolls in the park, crazy costume parties, group of friends – in all a couple hand in hand with comfort and familiarity only with those in love. But these scenes never show the couple’s faces.)

They each realize something and run out of the café. She goes to her apartment above the café, while he runs out to his car.

They both return, each holding something – their sunglasses. They don their sunglasses, look at each other and the floodgates of their memories open and recognition dawns.

(Moodboard – the scenes from before now flash clearer and complete showing their much younger faces, the couple wearing their sunglasses throughout, in all the scenes)

The chef walks in then and an elegant salt and pepper haired lady returns from the ladies’.  

The chef walks up to Meera and gives her a peck on the cheek “Sorry for keeping you waiting, honey.”

The salt and pepper haired lady intertwines her arm with Arjun “Sweetheart, have you ordered for me as well?”

Their eyes meet, introductions are made. They all sit at the corner table with the light streaming in and enjoy a meal, laughing away heartily. All wearing their sunglasses. Meera and Arjun look at each other undetected, eyes moist with bittersweet memories and lost hope.  

You've got to be happily single to be happily married, and yet some would say the latter is an oxymoron.
So the point is moot. 

Thoughts on the pot...

जहाँ  सौचालय  वहाँ  सोच 

Today's specials

I place an order for home delivery at the local grocer's. The staples arrive, eggs, tomatoes, onions, maggie noodles....
and a surprise - Valentine's day special edition Cadbury Dairy Milk Silk.
I paid. 

Them and us...

Muscat, winter 2007

We were on the way to pick up a friend from the airport. It had just rained heavily. Driving an old Ford, tried and tested through all weather conditions, battered and basically dragging out its lifespan. 

Around a bend in the road, in trying to avoid a large area of stagnated water, drive right into the middle of it, the car stalls and we are surrounded by water 2ft high.

Mom and sis get out and stand aside, while my bil and I get out to push the car with my dad behind the wheel. Some local men drive by in a 4WD, seeing a woman push the car, they get down and offer help regardless of the knee deep, stagnated, dirty water. 

Bangalore, winter 2015

Late evening, bumper to bumper traffic at the KR Puram bridge. A Maruti 800, carrying a family of three, stalls in the middle of the road, the husband steers while the wife gets down to push, their 8 year-old son helpless. The wife clearly struggling to push and the husband trying his best to use the momentum. 

Pedestrians, truck/car drivers, bikers, cyclists - all watch while they wait for the signal to change. The lady is clearly embarassed, the husband seems frustrated, son perplexed. 

Two women push a car, on a well-lit road, in the middle of rush hour traffic. No one stops to help. 

On the one hand, a culture constantly berated  for its portrayed treatment of women and the way they look down on them. But, where chivalry still exists.

On the other hand, a nation that venerates female deities yet displays the deepest disrespect for women in real life.   

Great Expectations

If I sleep, I either sleep like Rip Van Winkle
Or I don't

If I sing, I either sing like a nightingale
Or I don't

If I paint, I either paint like Picasso
Or I don't

If I write, I either write like ZB
Or I don't

If I love, it should be one that surpasses that of Romeo and Juliet
else it isn't love at all

I can't love
I can't write
I can't paint
I can't sing
I can sleep 

Falling Slowly

I don't know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react

And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly eyes that know me
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black

Well you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing it loud

- Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova