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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

My Neglected Truths...

Should I neglect

these truths?

For I feel

I am different

not special;

just unlike usual.

Unusual isn't really

a good thing.

I am part broken,

part whole.

Many ghosts haunt me.

All the time.

Not from the past,

or the future.

Just unacknowledged

ideas of me.



Thursday, December 12, 2013


I hate the word normal. I didn't realize how much I hated it until I heard it too many times. And, till it was pointed out to me of course. What is it that one means when they say "normal"? It is an "ordinary" word that really, truly means nothing. What is normal for me is hardly normal for others? Coincidentally, one might find people who's 'normal' radars fall on along similar lines. But that doesn't happen often, I assume.

Normal doesn't cut in. Normal doesn't fit in. It is a loose word thrown around that means nothing. From being indifferent about it, I have realized I need to be cautious about its random usage. Normalizing any behavior leaves space for negligence and callousness which I do not wish to entertain at this point. 

Somehow ordinary doesn't make me half as agitated, though it has a similar ring to it, for it can be used objectively as well. An undertone of acceptance and submission clouds both the words. But normal fares worse. Much worse.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

I Demand The Unthinkable!

Some needs are basic and simple. 
Others are convoluted and heavy. 
As I drift away from the simple, 
I find myself clutching the nuances and complexities. 
I urge myself to believe that the simple will not do. 
I demand the difficult, the hard-to-find, the unthinkable. 

Everyone hushs and shushs me. 
Tell me I am expecting too much. 
I am warned of loneliness and detachment. 
I hush and shush them in return. 
I will not let this go. 

I demand nothing short of exceptional. 
I am willing to give up a lot of mediocre for it. 
I am willing to fight battles for it. 
It would possibly lead to being labelled crazy. 

But I am sure it will be worth it. 

Monday, November 11, 2013

Sleeping Alone? Good For You!

I am genuinely frustrated by people's nature to fake their real being and mask themselves with a style that they desire to have possessed naturally. I am specially annoyed by those who make up their social status by the number of boogie nights they had, it could be with someone they know or some random act of foreplay. Married or Single, these sex thirsty maniacs are fixated on boasting their social status by fictionalizing some of their cheap fantasies. And a rather downgraded version of these few men are those who fake an arranged marriage to be a love marriage. Why does one have to do that? What difference is that ever going to make to their life or mine? Enough I said to be myself; I couldn't for one more minute stand there and listen to that bull-crap. 

I believe that a desert is sometimes necessary. Sometimes, it is what your soul and your body need. A rest. To dream instead of do. My time with my ex girlfriend gave me jitters even in dreams but for the most period I felt solace in her company, I felt complete sleeping beside her and that had become a habit, a comfort. But when we had to move to different cities for career interests, the dreams started giving way to glimpses of her parting with me, my nightmares had visions of her being dragged away from me; I literally used to wakeup in the middle of the night, frantically search my room and on not finding her, call her and confirm she was safe; maybe it wasn't love, it was obsession, I was truly n madly missing her by my bedside, and that habit had to die and eventually it did, for the good or bad. Since that time, I have hardly slept with anybody for length, and honestly, never felt the need to (sometimes my flatmate manages to creep in, but that doesn't count, does it?). So believe me, when the body really wants the skin of someone else, it knows perfectly how to behave. You will look into someone’s eyes, and nature will take over. No matter how old you are. No matter wrinkles, or norms. 

I think a lot about privacy. I realize privacy is not about what you are doing so much as about what you are not doing. Privacy is that which you can hide — which, in our modern society, is not much. Sexuality is completely on display. From where I come, children know about their parents’ sexuality; parents know about children’s sexuality. Where is the treasure of silence, of things not shown? Where is the mystery? Our openness is a good thing, for many reasons (of course!), but it has made indiscretion the norm. Everywhere, the question of “Who are you?” is answered with an explanation of sex. This is silly. We’re more than that. We are poetry, we are floating creatures, sometimes happy sexually, and sometimes in a desert, even as we share our lives with someone. 

Sometimes I took pleasure just by staring at women’s lips. Sometimes, their buttocks. And sometimes, just by listening to a voice. It is libido, trust me. It is desire. But society doesn’t recognize this kind of felicity. It’s too much! I’ve learned that most people mainly want to prove that they are sexually functioning, and that’s all. And strangely, what I have learnt from my experience, people are ashamed to admit that they are alone in their beds, which I discovered is a huge pleasure.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Unmasking Relationships...

I was trying to think of the 'perfect' relationship the other night and I just couldn't think of one. It's true, everyone seems to be fighting their own battles. But as much as we struggle to float and find a state of contentment, we forget one very simple thing.

Social psychology has a concept which is so simple that it roughly translates into an English phrase. We mirror our expectations. Unknowingly, we behave with people like we wish them to behave with us. If we want someone to go out of their way and plan surprises for us, we plan surprises for them. If we like to be cuddled, we cuddle. If we like our space, we give space.

And herein lies the fundamental problem of human relationships. We need to do to a person what that person likes instead of what we like. And in return, communicate clearly what we want them to do for us. Subtle suggestions through behavior don't work often. If you like to be told that you are loved often, merely saying I love you to the person won't help. Instead, just communicate that you would like to hear it once in a while. Likewise, if you think a candlelight dinner is romantic, do not plan that for their birthday or your anniversary. Think of what they like, whether it is clubbing or being with a larger group of family or friends, and plan something around that.

Relationships would be much simpler if we asked simply and gave selflessly. This only works in rational relationships where the partners care about each other and are compassionate. But if achieved, it can save many a hearts from ache.   

Monday, October 14, 2013

My Deepest Secret Made Public!

My tattoo is my deepest secret made public.

It is a confession I carry around on my body. It is a scar I have willingly gotten. It was a spontaneous decision that I over thought for ages. When I got it, I couldn't imagine anything else as my first commitment. The tattoo began as an attempt to embrace the circle of life. It ended up being a way to remember the lessons that a particular period of my life taught me. But honestly, it just was so I was no longer ashamed of my lows and what even I perceived as weakness. Many times I am reluctant to flaunt it. Simply because a tattoo is meant to have so many deep meanings that I am overwhelmed by the questions people ask. I haven't yet found a way to explain why a rose. But I assume I will get there eventually.

It is on my body for life right? So I have time to find the correct words.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Whose Power is Greater?

Some moments in life, I feel I am reliving a previous occurrence. Over and over again. Not in beautiful relish of the moment. But in sheer agony that the same moment has presented itself again. And nothing seems to have changed. 

My reaction, my thoughts around it, my emotions. All crumpled up in a similar fashion come pouring out. It isn't a joy to analyze it later to choose what to change, for clearly, I have learnt little from the previous moment. 

But the familiarity of those wounds, the recollection of those memories, the recognition of the repetition, make it frustrating and revealing. 

I wonder what attracts these moments to me. Or what compels me towards them. Whose power is greater?

Thursday, September 26, 2013

So. That's NOT Exactly Why It Ended.

We were in love. But we weren't the only ones. Everyone was in love with the idea of us too. We kept getting advice on 'How to make it work?' She loathed advice; such advice ticked her off further. So she resisted listening. She asked me to dismiss it too. But I told her that it wasn't so easy. We weren't the only ones in it. She glared at me and marched out of rooms. The audacity that I include others in our somewhat private, somewhat public love affair! But it was the filthy truth. They, were involved. Not just without our consent but without our knowledge. They judged when we fought; they argued on why we fought. They watched our love grow, too. They gossiped about the bedroom secrets. So when our love affair ended abruptly, like mine so often do, they continued to be a part of it. As unwelcome, unwanted guests.

It wasn't just our relationship. What happened in that relationship wasn't even the same for both of us. The others drew their conclusions, made their assumptions and retained their side of the story. A story that wasn't enriched with what happened behind closed doors and within our minds. It was a popular tale that they wished to spread from willing ear to unwilling ear.

So, I wasn't wrong when I had included them in it. For their version would be the one remembered despite her resistance and my submission.

Monday, July 15, 2013

The Eccentric Me!

Sometimes I wish I could put an instrument into anyone's mind and see exactly what they are thinking. The ability of the mind to dilute the politics in order to sound remotely diplomatic is exhausting. Obviously, I am guilty of this practice too, not all the time though!

Or to take this forward, another option would be that no one could ever say anything that they didn't truly mean. If they did, they would automatically grow mushrooms on themselves. (In my head this sounded funny.) So, if I accidentally met someone I couldn't stand, my facial expressions and words would show exactly this. Often, I cannot control the expressions my face makes in response to a person I don't like. The pointless point I am trying to make is that it is exhausting to decode the "political correctness" of everyone. If everyone said what they truly felt, the pain of figuring out their veiled contempt would vanish. I would be at ease. But I suppose earth would no longer be a happy place. Even though it isn't really one at this point.

I am perhaps no longer making sense. But the attempt is to envision a world where people would speak openly. Then murderers, closet dictators, ill-tempered souls, two-faced folks and bigots can be identified easily. And I can proceed to not be associated with them. For now, I have to engage in a strenuous decoding process which quite frankly I am no good at.

However, I guess I am asking for too much. Maybe I should attempt to practice this honesty for a while. I am bound to ostracize myself for not being socially acceptable anymore. Sometimes, that doesn't seem like a bad plan.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

"Memories" - A Free Verse

Revealing itself to me,
was it a dream? An illusion?
Or a suppressed memory?

Feels like the present.
The edge of pain.
I bury it,
preserve it
from perverse
penetrating vision.

Incapacity to deal,
pushing it aside,
I discard it.

Intense living
forced these
repressed memories
to life.

Not an illusion,
not delusion.

they haunt me all the time.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

My Way of Living Life, Only Sometimes!

Does anybody read these ramblings in abstract time and space? Does it change even an ounce of somebody's belief? Does any of it matter? Will it ever matter? 

To say, I write only for myself is an outright lie. But I admit I write to spend a little more time basking in the immense pleasure it provides me. I write to spend a while longer in a world I wish existed. Writing about realities is often stressful and pain inducing. But it reminds me of my deep connections to the larger than me, life. It deepens my understanding as my thoughts are never as clear as when I write. And that means something as my writing itself often lacks clarity. But I fail to understand the need to always make absolute sense. 

Sometimes, my writing wanders aimlessly from one strange thought to another. It drifts in the time and space of my creation. I love the feeling that I possess the ability to mold the stories anyway I want. It is something I have created from what I have read, what I have seen, the people I have met, the women I love, and the cities I have been to. And it might be powerless to everyone else who reads it, but it is intimate, powerful and passionate to me. So maybe, I don't write for external benefits, people or accolades. I write to feel that intimacy, every day, to feel a raw and unadulterated connection over and over again. But it isn't easy. Being intimate with something means having my guard down. It means I am vulnerable. I have set myself up for ridicule, mockery and harsh criticism. Honestly, I don't take these very well. I am a volatile and sensitive person. I care deeply about everything I write. I am attached in an intense way with the material I produce. But that doesn't change the fact that others' opinions can make you grow. So I put myself out there. I take that risk. Sometimes, I fail and I pull back into my shell. Sometimes, I can see for myself the potential that could exist. I build, I break and I build again.

Writing for me is my way of living life, sometimes. It is the way I deal with society and its crude ways. I write about my angst, my pain, my happiness. I write so I can empty my mind. I write so I can gain clarity in my thoughts. I write to be able to be. I can push myself a little further to reach my dream of being a good writer. But I struggle a little to acknowledge this. In fact, I struggle a lot.

Even as I scribble these incoherent thoughts, I am struggling between my understanding of political and personal; between the lines I have drawn of private and public. But writing helps bridge these conflicts of interest. For that side of me, I need to keep writing. If not in a blog, then just as drafts; At least for myself!

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Moments Worth Reliving!

I have always felt like I wanted to freeze some moments for eternity or whatever it is that lasts forever. Not just a mental picture of the moment but the emotions and people that comprised the moment. When I look at my childhood photographs, I find the emotions in the photographs always led to long re-telling. Most of the time, I don't remember the people in the frames.

People change as does everything, I just wanted to grow older.

If I happened to find a photograph at random, on the road or in a house I rented, it would be more of a mystery. The photograph is of no value to me Neither are the memories captured in it.

But, I avoid getting to the point and digress.

If only there was a way to make each memory from every photograph come alive and play a few seconds of those moments before you. Then, when I am 90-years-old and senile, I will still be able to remember the
moments that I wished to immortalize.

Slide on next to me, just another memory, to keep me company.

But doesn't that take away a little bit from the essence or magic of a photograph. The many layers to it apart from what the frame essentially reveals? I presume so. I cannot help but wish to be a speck on the wall of not just the memories that I have created but also the many others in the photographs that I passively encounter. It just seems like a memorable journey to take, through the frames of people's lives and their memories.

For, the saddest and happiest moments always seem worth reliving

Vulnerability is Overwhelming But Necessary

Sometimes, you don't know why you cry. Your life seems but perfect to everyone as well as you. Yet tears wet your pillow. You feel lonely, afraid. You feel pain you can't explain.

Sometimes you are ecstatic. You know all that you want. Life is a heavenly place. But that feeling doesn't last.

Sometimes you feel lost. You run around trying to find your way. Your eyes grow weak in the hunt for the right path. You stay awake in an attempt to map your life.

Sometimes none of this matters. Sometimes the chaos is calming.

Just sometimes you share your misery with somebody else. And it makes sense to them. They don't charge you with over reaction. They don't logic life with you. They are in sync with your emotions.

Sometimes you feel safe.

Sometimes there is an outburst that is nonsensical. Sometimes there is clarity in every sentence. Sometimes you feel miserable. Sometimes you laugh at the self-pity.

Sometimes I write you or he or she. But in reality it is all me. Sometimes I need help to accept this. Sometimes truth is right there but there is reluctance to acknowledge.

Sometimes vulnerability is overwhelming but necessary.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Me. Me. And Me!

For all those who look at me but don't see me, I feel sorry for you. For those who think my capability or the value of my opinions is linked to how much money I earn, I feel sorry for you. Because it is disproportionately high. For those who can't deal with the clarity of my thoughts or the infidelity of my interests, I feel sorry for you. Because, I have the guts to say, I don't know what I ultimately want. And I won't settle. 

For those who only hear my silences, I feel sorry you can't feel the beauty of my thoughts. For those who disregard all that I do, I feel sorry for your myopic vision.

Because yes, though I am luckier than most in countless ways, I am also stronger. I am infinitely more tolerant, forgiving, emotional and giving. I do things for people without bothering about who gets the credit. I am talented, intelligent, punctual and have a will power of steel. So if in my idiosyncrasies, you see none of these, I feel sorry for you.

Courtesy: A fellow blogger email!

Friday, March 1, 2013

Fragiility :: The One Constant Thing In Life

Of all the things that keep changing in our lives, I think the one constant that remains is fragility. Fragility of life, of lifestyle, of jobs, of relationships, of health and of wealth. One of my favorite uncles once said something. He said it as a passing thought, but coming from someone whom I always hung onto for every word of his wisdom, it made a lot of impact on me. This is someone who has seen a lot in life and at 40, he reinvented himself, much like what management books tell us to do but we often ignore in the garb of complacency. He said “There is only one surety in life. And that is that you have no idea what it’s going to throw up on you the next second. Just when you think you have it figured out, it shows you how naive you were to think so”.

Think about it. Simple words. Words, we've heard so many times that they almost seem philosophical now. But words that couldn't have been more true. As one grows up (what everyone always urges one to do, don’t know what the hurry is though), one realizes that life can change in the blink of an eye. So what do you do? Seize control of it…lunge at it, even if it is almost fanatically. Swerve it your way. Whichever way that may be. Want to get back into reading? Pick up that book that’s gathering dust since ages! Feel guilty for not seeing your parents? Plan an impromptu trip. Spending too much time at work? Pick up the phone and randomly call your wife/ husband/ boyfriend/ girlfriend for no specific agenda, but well – just. I’m not talking big life changing leaps here. Small steps, but steps that take you on the path you choose. So that at least for a few moments, you get what you want, do what you want, before life takes you by your ears and changes your lane again!!