My Mirror Talks?

Women love reflections… perhaps that is why we share a bittersweet relation with mirrors. We have been criticised by men as ‘Narcissists'(please note the irony!). Men say we are obsessed with our looks. Are we?  Today something strange happened. I was on my treadmill, trying desperately to shed the few pounds I have gained as a result of my new found passion for cooking. I faced the mirror that ran across the entire gym wall. Phase 1; an uncomfortable feeling. How do I keeping looking at myself? Phase 2; I started ‘stealing’glances. Phase 3; big deal! just face! and then it happened … I looked and I looked. Amidst my ‘huffs’ and ‘puffs’, I continued looking… my sweat clad face… perspiration meandering into small rivulets… 20 odd minutes ticked past, the longest time I had looked at me in a mirror. I saw a me I had not noticed before. I saw no beauty, no narcissistic charm , but a woman looking back at me. I could see shades of an eager ‘to please parents’ daughter, ‘I will break every rule society demands for you’ lover, ‘nothing without you’ wife, ‘I will give my best’ employee, ‘I have no clue how to do this right’ mother, ‘ where am I?’ me… determined,passionate,inquirer …perhaps some one with some substance? Strangely, I thought I was anything but these, always secretly wished to possess these qualities, always admired these in others. Perhaps in my race to become such a one,  seldom did I stop to see how years have changed me. I think life should be more about reflection. We live for 5 mins and we reflect for 7 mins on how we lived those 5 mins? what went right? what went wrong? what made it meaningful? what we savoured in those moments? what we would have loved to let go? then take a deep breath, thank those who made those moments worthwhile and gear up for the next 5 mins of life.

We are all in a rush, our time constraints choke our moments of reflection to non existence. It slowly wanes out of our lives. We are then scared to face this stranger because meeting him means examining a long stretch of our lives that has been chucked under our carpets for long. We don’t know where to start or at times even how to start. We make the same mistakes, we suffer the same pains, we long for the same loves, we anguish over the long tried yet to achieve goals, all because we have not stopped to reflect and examine if we have walked that ‘path’ yet. At some point my life has become the treadmill I am on now. Running at the same point for 30+years, sweating, experiencing the ‘huffs’ and ‘puffs’ but not moving an inch from where I had started! I do not know why happiness is so elusive? why reflecting feels insurmountable? perhaps we have complicated our lives too much? perhaps they are right, life’s beauty lies in its simplicity, but this simplicity is the most complicated thing. ‘Who am I?’, ‘why am I here? in their lives?’ simple words, but could take a lifetime to answer.

Society needs to change it’s take on Narcissism. We should all have a bit of him in us. We should look at our reflections, brood a bit over the wrinkles gained over our losses, fret over the sweat shed over our aspirations, yearn for the smiles that will come while savouring our milestones. For that is what life is all about, milestones… not destinations. Life is all about cumulative changes. You can experience them only when you allow yourself to be a Narcissus. Have the commitment to look into that mirror. Not just that, but have the courage to love your reflection.  That adds magic to all that you see around. For the reflection doesn’t show you… they show your journey…beautiful and magical…

The curve in the track

Words and thoughts can never do justice to the phrase, ‘Life is strange”, because those moments that the feeling hits you, and trust me there would be many, it feels nothing like the words or thoughts. The feeling mutates, like a flu virus, sometimes a searing pain, at others numbness or an incessant pour of tears or a smile from walking down the memory lane.  I feel as though I have hit the ‘Pause’ button in my life. And a pause it has been lasting for over 4 years. I fear, Is it all over? Is that the end of my being? It was such a “phussss” then, over even before I realized it is happening, I felt like a man with ED, waiting for the glory to come and then realizing perhaps I missed the end.  I thought I had just started discovering myself, how do I love? What do I love? What does love mean to me? What does being loved mean? How to feel it? Why feel it? To whom?  To what? But I hit ‘the pause’… I do not know for how long, but what worries me is that I miss Me… I feel as though I have lost my Self, my Being somewhere… Perhaps or when I hit the Play button I will find me again …

I remember the long train journeys, I loved the window seat. Mom liked it too, she would take those but dad didn’t care, he would let me sit. I remember mom, her beautifully painted long nails, that made her long fingers look even more slender, a big deal for me, mine never used to grow as I chewed on them all the time. I used to put the handkerchief out through the window, hold a wee bit of its edge and savour the ‘high’ that the  fluttering of the cloth against the speed of the train used to give me. It was soothing, therapeutic, almost like meditation. It could go on for hours and hours, unless mom gets too bored with what she was reading or annoyed with dad sitting beside her with the whiff of Wills cigarette smelling all over. He used to take a puff at every station the train would stop. I never bothered, perhaps it annoyed her. She would pinch, I would wince, perhaps cry, but it had become so much a part of my childhood that the pain wouldn’t bother me for long. I would go back to the sound of the fluttering handkerchief. I loved it even more when it’s all messy with rain splattering on the rusted window rails. When you are torn between not wanting to get wet and wanting to see the world passing by at 35mph. All the diverse smells that rise from the coach from the food packed in in baked plantain leaves. Hot boiled red rice, with a curry and chutney now  cold yet tasty as they bear the last remnant memory of a summer holiday. I liked the “big people talk” about where they were from, trying to know through ‘do you know this person, who lives beside this person’s house?’ questions, making me wonder why is it so important for Indians to ensure that we are all somehow connected to one another no matter if one is a ‘Madrasi’ and the other a ‘Punjabi’? I think it is that idea of “vasudaiva kutumbakam’ which is so deeply ingrained in our subconscious. Those travels were so different from the impregnable silence I always encounter in my travel these days in Eurorails. Perhaps I am over analyzing; perhaps it is just the tropical heat that gives the warmth to those travels. It was train journeys that introduced me to my first love, Bangalore. Reaching Bangalore in the wee hours of morning, the mesmerizing city, glowing with million lights, through the train windows then made me wish for a future, a home with the pavement carpeted by fallen petals from the magnolia tree, a thought that perhaps my future husband would be in one of the glass office spaces, working on some important project, my future office… I could see all that there…

Life is strange… I spent 16 years of my life in Bangalore, worked there,  met the love of my life there, and no he didn’t work in those fancy glass office spaces, But in our house we did have a view of fallen petals from the Magnolia tree… my husband  hates the ‘stink’ of railways. His strong dislike for train journeys gifted me with a new love for long travels by the road… but like that young girl wishing the view of the end of the train at every curve the train takes, pressing against the window rods wet with splattering rain, while my mom pinches me with her beautifully painted nails…ignoring her demand to close the blinds, I have made peace with my past and present… perhaps saying goodbye to those frequent train travels is the best way to symbolize the compartmentalization of my life, my childhood and the me now, the one with my parents and the one as a parent… I close my eyes…the curve is not over yet… holding the edge of the handkerchief, I can still see the last bogie of the train…the pulsating pressure of the fluttering white cloth, I wish it fills me with the same feel always…a feel of just being me…

 

A Reason For Every Season…

It’s damn hard when we are faced with uncertainties,but it is the truth,an eternal certainty of life.It is oft easy to accept this fact if we were ‘looking back’, easy to advice if we were ‘looking ahead’, but hardest if we were trying to do it in the ‘now’ and ‘here’.Is it cowardly to give up? Is it foolish to fight on? should I have done something than just standing still? are questions for which answers are only arrived in hindsight…but after a good amount of ‘cellaring’this moment too starts maturing and making sense.

The truth is there is no moment in any life which is ‘meaningless’ or ‘purposeless’. .And whatever that moment makes you do, it’s a choice life makes for you and you change. Life is an amalgamation of these ‘changes’…   At times, not taking onus and saying, “what did that moment change in me?” is a better way of reflecting than taking onus and saying, “why did I do that?”. In the former the reflection is more inward.It doesn’t raise complaints on the action but ponders on how the action made one feel and evolve. Perhaps the greatest challenge is not the process of healing but identifying “that” which would start the healing process.

Why ‘change for good’ is applauded and ‘a change for bad’ is criticized? Who decides what’s good and what’s bad? Why should we always be at the centre stage as actors and “life” the spotlight which just makes our presence felt? let’s swap places! let’s have the courage to place “life”as the actor at the center stage and we turn into spectators viewing and reflecting, assimilating and changing… then there are no actions, just moments…there are no ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’,  just experiences…there are no ‘success’ and ‘failure’,  just depth of character… no anxiety, no guilt, no triumph… just a sense of ‘being’…

Like the bird in the image, none will ever know if the bowed head they see is a ‘fight’,a ‘submission’, a ‘helplessness’ or a ‘prayer’… let’s not focus on the action but be mindful of the change,the clicking and unlocking…

Every moment has a purpose: lusciously savor it; because ugly or good, this moment too shall pass…

A woman, A memory & A regret…

I remember her as though we met just yesterday… I used to steal glances at her… wait to get a glimpse of her… often felt doubtful about my own ‘sexuality’. She had crew cut hair, wrapped herself in a saree. In her 5 feet 8 inches tall body it was as out of place as the effortless confidence that shimmered through her. She had a tatoo at the back of her neck which she never bothered to hide. But the ‘pallu’ of her saree somehow seemed to consider it a disgrace and tried to cover it, in futile, often. I don’t know her name, who she was or her story. I was drawn to her by some raw attraction… like the fragrance of “old spice” on a man…I can remember her gait, her carefree smile, her sloppily worn saree, carelessly wrapped around ‘pallu’, with ease every time I close my eyes. She was then a subject of many hushed whispers. People felt it was taboo to mention her even in conversations. All I could gather was that she was a student who strayed away from the spiritual path during her time abroad, spent a life carefree on hashish, nightlife, marijuana and alcohol… called back by her Guru when she had almost lost herself… Strangely I never could spot guilt or fear or self-loathing in her…I found her often happy, content, to herself and humming a tune, an attitude that said aloud, “been there, done that ,you can’t entice me with it any more…”

I don’t know why I remember her too often these days. All my life I have been trying to be somebody else. All I ever wanted was approval of my mom, then it widened to include my relatives, then my teachers, then my colleagues and bosses. I have been what they would have wanted me to make them feel. I did what my mom wanted, studied what she wanted me to, pursued what she suggested, and even chose someone whom I thought she would want me to… In this whole process… the acting has worn me out… now I am tired, dead tired and what is worse is I do not recognize the me now. I do not know what I want, I do not know who I have become and I do not know who I really am. I feel caged, but I do not know who is caged! Its all mixed up!! I hate my Dad for f***ing up my life! More so because I loved the life he made me aware of and it is because of him that I could never have that world! Every waking hour of mine has been a desparate attempt to prove to my mom how unlike him I was.I hate myself for trying so hard to make people accept me and how hard I try to love them, doing it often at the cost of loving myself or not bothering about myself. I wish I could have lived my life bloody differently… A fighter plane pilot, a writer, a photographer, a war Journalist or just a carefree wanderer…no binds…no fetters…free…free..free…I just wish I could stop hating myself… care a damn about others’opinions of me…I could be free to write…to imagine….

Today I can’t do anything… I sleep, I sleep like a log,drained and exhausted… I don’t even have the luxury of a dream!

I envy people who have a legacy to look upto, I envy people who were not handed down a legacy but they had the freedom to create one… The best gifts parents can give their children is to “just let them Be” … They will grow up to be better than you or perhaps not as good as you…but atleast they will not be a mere shadow of you!

I wish I had learnt this a little earlier in my life and had the courage to fly away from my nest. Now in my attempt to be a “good birdie” I have turned “flightless” and left only with yearnings to discover the vast horizons…

I Feel like God…

I felt like God…

unappreciated,used and exhausted…I know that in today’s world I am not the only one who feels this way.One might even think, ‘so big deal, what’s so different happening with her?’ the only difference is I chose to pen it down… 🙂 Yes this is not the first time it is happening with me.Unfortunately I feel this may not be even the last time…I feel bad well I purposely didn’t use the term miserable…It’s a kind of ‘cooled off’ sense of feeling miserable.. The willingness to help the project work out, the commitment shown,the amount of effort put into raise the event to a set standard, the pain of parting with your own ideas and seeking help of others to execute it, extra time put in due to scarcity of resources, precious time taken up from other factors to invest xtra time into this…all seems so futile now… no positive no negative feedback…its as if people just looked through the whole thing!First i was desparate,then angry,then frustrated at last i cried as my husband held me…felt so lucky to have him…I felt like a teenage girl who felt adventourous at some pointin her life… forgot all about her family… sneaked out of home to roam around the world… mistreated and tired she comes back and finds solace in the arms of her unquestioning, unreproachful family of hers…Then i thought of the hundreds of talented,committed people, the 20%of  any organisation who are left unappreciated every day of their professional life.Finally my thoughts paused at God! Yes… he might have gone through all the phases… He too would have cried in desperation…his tears that fell as rain drops the devotees ignored…He might have become angry…created storms,cyclones… but might have soon felt guilty of what He was doing…and finallyHe too might have reached my state and come up with His world famous quote, “Karm kar manav, phal ki iccha mat kar’ After that He might have looked down at the 20% and had a hearty laugh!!!

No wonder often we feel like God!

Rains,Romance and Rogues…

She has always been called the greatest mysteries of Mankind.Men break their heads to find out what excites her, what is the one thing which is absolutely irresistable for her? But men being men they only break their heads,they might revere her, marvel her her,some might even snub her or analyse her.But how many do what she wants them to- SEE her?

The things she says she loves, are not as important as what those things symbolise for her.when a woman says,’I love him, he gifted me diamonds!’ you could almost hear the men sneering,’ ah! vain women! how they value diamonds over a man’s heart… ‘. No wonder men could never unravel her mystery! she loves diamonds; but what she absolutely treasures is the man who, by giving it to her, made her realise that she is more valuable to him than the stones and he is ready to spent his hard earned pennies  on bringing a smile to her face. Trust her to have the same glow if you were to give her a tiny red rose from your neighbours garden!

So what does a woman find irresistable?I have a list of 3:

#Rains: How many of us could stop ourselves by getting drenched in the rain as children?Paper boats, puddles, moms screaming to get back to house… Might be a part of every woman doesnot outgrow that phase.Her heart still nurses that child, no matter how old she grows. Rains are her constant companion. It’s her friend with whom she shares her first love, feels his love drenching her…eager to meet her skin and engulf in sweet promises…It’s with the rain that she shares her sorrows, her heart breaks, for it cries along with her… She shares her moments of loneliness… with a cup of hot tea and a soothing melody, she watches the rain beat against her window panes…she shares her moments of nostalgia, of new found love, the tension of romance passing through soaked bodies huddled together in a train… A woman loves rains and what it stands for, a beautiful inconvenience, like everything in life… Think about it… can you tell me one thing you posses in life which you can vouch for an say will not cause you pain sometime in your life? A man might discard it or ignore it. But the problem with a woman is she seeks them out, she awaits them and she embraces it … for she loves beutiful inconveniences…

#Romance: Ah!I am just the right person to talk about romance.Even at the age of 90 you may catch me hiding a Mills and Boons under my pillow (i believe half the excitement is in the secrecy! ). But that’s not what I mean by romance here. Every woman,every moment of her life locks within her limitless love and unsatiable passion.At her younger years if it’s for a man…latter it might be for a family…or a community or  a cause or even a Nation. But she is extremely passionate about what she loves… she sees her love in everything she does, where ever she goes, what she chooses, how she prepares herself, and she does it with all her heart. That’s why its difficult for a woman to break hearts and betray/mess up things. She is so much a part of her romance that she would break herself in the process of breaking her love’s trust.Com’mon, how many great classics in the genre of love/romance has been written by men?

#Rogues: If you were to take a poll and assure that the voters identity would remain utmost secret,I can bet that 99% of women at one point or the other (don’t forget that there might be some who do it all the time) have fallen for a rogue. How can a woman not fall for dangerous, mysterious, unattainable,carefree,unbridled,scandalous, touch- me -get- burnt- in- the- most- pleasant- way kind of men? A woman might LIKE quiet,  intelligent men.She would LOVE  a mature, sensible intelligent man who speak less to others. BUT, she would find irresistable, an intelligent man, who seldom entertains others and has a smile with,’GO to hell for all that I care’ look in their eyes.They like men who are well mannered to the attention of  beatiful ladies around them but have that way of looking at you, across crowded halls,with eyes that says, ‘ if you think this is how I love, wait till I take you in my arms’… for some reason the look reminds her of wilderness, untamed landscapes,dusty unknown paths in sultry afternoons and hot springs… nothing convenient or ordinary but exotic, adventurous, unique and something the soceity would not expect her to do.something she would have to DARE!

A ‘sight’ that sighs not…

 It’s strange how, at times when you talk to others, thoughts, ideas that you never guessed were rooted within you flows out. I surprised myself,  after an ‘unburdening’ session, that friends exercise their explicit rights on.

Why do relations not satisfy us? why do people near and dear to us often let us down? why do people you trust most leave you when you need them the most ? If these questions have ever come to your mind then I am sure people involved in arousing these questions in your mind have been many a times the center point of what you consider as your life’s biggest ‘crisis/self doubt’ moments. Before you read on, decide whether you want a simple easy to fix solution or adopt a more ‘revolutionising the thinking of common man around you’ approach. if your choice is the latter, stop reading any further.I have never been quite good at bringing about revolutions, so i am no authority to give you clues there. But if your choice is the former, I shall share with you what, my heart shared with a very dear friend of mine.

when you choose to trust someone,go ahead and implicitly place your trust, but WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED!  what you see around you is often what YOU want to see.that’s why an old melody can bring a smile to you and the same melody can, at another time,  make you weep at all that you have missed in life . The melody or the setting has not changed but your perception of the melody has changed.Let me clarify further with a more relevant example: It is the same reason  why you would be ready to kill yourself to get the guy you love one moment and you would be ready to kill yourself for thinking so when he hurts you. The guy has not changed but YOUR perception of him has…

When you say,’my friend will stand by me, come what may’, you are not voicing your friend’s nature but YOUR trust in her. Again, YOUR perception. If she doesn’t, why is she to be blamed? YOU chose to place your trust in her,YOU always had the freedom of choice.

Remember,except the relation you have with your parents every other relation you make, is a choice you make and hence its success or failure is , whether you like it or not, YOUR CHOICE!

So next time you fall in love,next time you make a friend, next time you steal glances at your crush, next time you hug your mom, do it with closed eyes. Accept what people are and ask only what they give… don’t let your perceptions make images of a person you want them to be.Then it will not break your heart, if they don’t succed in meeting it.

Think of it; the most sacred,pure actions are often done with eyes closed,implicit trust placed,no conditions attached,  or assurances of never dying supply and certainly not a promise of forever after: an infant suckling at its mother’s breast, a sincere prayer, your first kiss,your most cherished dreams, your moments of sincere repentence, a drop of water as it courses its way through your parched throat on sultry afternoon…

you might feel its easy said than done,how can a mere mortal love and not expect to be loved…

Well… darlings  my ‘love affair’ is still on , between an innocent me and my spirited thoughts… I am trying and have been able to stay afloat, sometimes… with some people… but that’s the whole point… IT IS DAMN DIFFICULT!

But, whosoever told you that life is a smooth sail is, trust me, a complete ‘jackass’…

Do tears have a soul?

I don’t know why in life everything has to be a beautiful inconvenience? I had always wanted an arranged marriage, safe,settled family,a strong husband…when destiny made me fall in love,I quickly re-routed my plans… thought, what greater joy than building a life together? sweat and love,brick by brick…

now years later, life is at yet another crossroads…nothing that I ever do is right…I have no time for husband,son or anyone else in the family…they accuse me for being obssesed with my carreer… at office i am only making excuses to squeez time for my family…I don’t enjoy my work… i am never happy because what i have in my hands now are not the same that i wanted when i started my life…

every day, it is a struggle to balance a work that demands taking care of hundreds of kids in my care and a family which has only me to take care.God!!! love hurts!!! A man can NEVER understand a woman leave alone LOVE like her.

These days I just hug my son tight and cry myself to sleep… what a lousy hopeless mom…god people should never make kids unless they are stinking rich and are settled… There are even times when I have thought I will take him and run away and show people you can bring up kids with the bare minimum finances and heaps and heaps of love and togetherness…but why don’t I just say all this to him? you will not understand… its a matter of soul… my right might hurt his soul his right might cause my soul to bleed our wrongs ,i am afraid might ruin the soul of a beautiful relation that we cherish… life gal!who said was simple…its the same strange love story this ‘dangerously handsome man(my thoughts) if expressed might hurt or even destroy the innocent girl(me and my loved ones)’ so let it be the way it is…

to dad… with love?

Dad… a son’s first hero… a daughter’s first love…

Mine was also my first heart break… he taught me it’s safer to be in love with love itself than to be in love with a person…

I remember the days I used to walk standing on his feet, my carefree laughs as he held,strong, my streched hands… I remember looking into his laughing eyes,feeling safe,secure and most of all like a princess…his princess.Sadly it also reminds me of the day I held to those very legs and begged him not to leave us and go…

Through hunger,humiliation,desparation i waited…for I loved him,trusted him…beleived every dream he made me dream… blind to all his flaws…

He came back years later and turned my world upside down again… then began the next phase of a relation.I started seeing him,not with the eyes of an innocent girl but with the analytical vision of a teenager. I saw his shortcomings, his failings,his false ideologies,his pretenses,his follies…

and then I married…a man whom I made sure was nothing like my dad. who was earth where my dad was fire,who was stability where my dad was volatile,who promised settlement where my dad promised nomadic wanderings, who lived by fulfilling promises where my dad by breaking them… I was happy for i dissappointed my dad …i was happy that I didn’t soar great heights like what he wanted me to but settled ,with both feet on ground, just to dissappoint him… I wanted to prove that I CARE NOT and I AM NOT…

Now every day is a fight,sad that after years of struggle,I still have to fight. The fight is not to suppress all the ways in which i am similar to him but to see what I have missed in my life by striving not to be like him…

why couln’t you be there for me, in all those moments that i wanted you to hold my hand? why were you not there for me when I wanted someone to unconditionally tell i had the capacity to soar great heights?

Dad… you have no idea what you are missing… what you threw away when you left us… I wish another time another world i want a father who is and would always remain my ‘first love’… who would give any man who were to come to my life a tough competition… a man i would always look upto… a man i would always find by me… a man who doesn’t break his daughter’s heart…

In life it is not easy to love or hate a person,there is always a grey area… sometimes to hate someone is the only way to tell others how much they mean to you…  every day is an effort ‘not to fall in love with the adventurous man (my thoughts)who says in life there are no rights and wrongs…’  for all the daughters who try hard not to love their dads,check this link:   http://www.fromdatestodiapers.com/50-rules-for-dads-of-daughters

Y change me…?

Life is all about moments.Moments when i doubted myself… when nothing’s the way it should be. You feel life, like a fist full of sand, sifts through your clenched fists.More and more you lose the tighter you try to hold…Then I tell myself ‘why not change me’…why be different? why fight?why strive to carve a niche? why not let go…let it be…

Moments when the free spirit in me awakens…when nothing’s going the way I want it to but still I feel one with the universe… when the spirit in me is so light it almost lets me soar great heights…I feel nothing and everything….I tell myself ‘why the hell change me?’…why not be different?why not be weird?why not be passionate?why not break…dare…set free…? one life… one moment… one me then Y change me…?

I am in love… in love with a quaint me… and this blog is a love story between an innocent girl(me) and a free spirited courageous man(my thoughts)… read and experience the desperation,the passion,the triumphs,the tribulations and the uniqueness… might be you will find one of yours too…