Scribble

Okay, to hell with it.

I was going to write something sensible. Pour out sufi thoughts over here in line with a heartbreaking mail that I wrote today morning. But honestly I’m tired.

Why is love tiring?

Why can’t we just automatically find our ‘soul mate’ or whoever it is that we are supposed to live with for eternity?

Why do the people you love turn out to be wrong for you?

Born in a different century, Married, Commitment phobics, In a different state of mind or perfect?

More than half the people I know are heartbroken, the other half are love sick. We all have our own issues with love, at times we don’t find our match, sometimes we do but we are scared in our own weird way and drive people away, sometimes our not so better halves run away, infatuations are mistaken for love and at times we just don’t want to.

I’ve been holed up every weekend at home with myself, sure I day dream about falling head over heels in love most of the time but I’m scared. Petrified of putting in that effort, going out on dates, finding people to date, talking on the phone and getting involved in general, new dreams with them making a regular appearance.

Hence, I have decided to not look/search/seek love, if it wants to find me, it would have to pull me out of the pile of blankets that I’m under and convince me to fall back in the trap.

And to those who have given up, its okay to not want to look at the world around in love tinted glasses, its okay to not want to believe in the book romance and its okay to leave matters to fate.

But to all of those who still have their hopes up, may you find the strength to love and not stop seeking for it, may you cage your heart behind steel enclosures and not get hurt. May you find what you are look for.

Because what you seek, is seeking you..

Auld Lang Syne

‘Where are you?’

I read the text, rather stared at it till the words blended into each other and disappeared into the white background. To say the truth most of the messages on my phone read in a similar fashion, a few just have my name, others enquire if I’ve forgotten them, albeit a few angry texts and welcome to the corporate life smirk, unanswered calls, mails just left open, a couple of helium balloons free to just be in the sky.

I am busy most days, but I do wrangle out a few hours for myself, sometimes it’s just 15 minutes in a day, at other times almost an hour. During these precious minutes, I try to catch up on some reading, shut my eyes and listen to music, feel my fingers strum the strings, or like today manage inordinate amounts of concentration while having Hershey’s kisses melt in my mouth, chocolate coating my tongue, and warmth spreading over my heart.

Throughout the day we talk, communication is inescapable. To colleagues, parents, cab wallahs, grocers, anyone and everyone. And we pick up on a ton of opinions, on love, life, listen to their stories and pocket a few fears, learn, unlearn, relearn our insecurities.

We become a culmination of a lot more people than we want to be, good though it is, we also lose ourselves in the mix, one person at a time.

Which is why I decided to spend time with myself, weird at first but the more I look into myself, staying silent, cutting off from people, the more than required dose of the same people I’m exposed to all day, the more I like it.

Oh and by me, I mean me, books, chocolate and caramel popcorn, and icecream.

So there you go, what was keeping me away from scribbling my thoughts here, was me.

Most days I’d think of a few lines, sometimes witty, at times melodramatic, short stories and galore, but the balance tipped slightly towards the sit in silence and either watch the fan and eat kisses or read a book.  But I catch up on reading what my dear fellow bloggers read, be it on wordpress or on mails and I realise that I miss writing here dearly, so I promise to try and make time, steal, borrow maybe from myself and scribble away!

Gulmohar

And then there were two girls, blossoming under the shade of Gulmohars. Their meet was a chance of fate, pole opposites yet hearts in the right place.

Siamese Twins.

Dream Catchers.

Do-Gooders.

Under the watchful eyes of the orange blooms, they learnt, cried, laughed and fought. Weaving petals into the braids of each other’s hair, they shared secrets, and over cups of badly made chai, poured their hearts out.

On most days you could find them lying on a thatched cot on the terrace, legs hanging and heads dangling over edges of the cot. A sky of green leaves over their heads, punctured by blue clouds.

Cloud gazers.

Tear jerkers.

Memory keepers.

Love is a strange thing, it makes you understanding, and comforts in time of need, pushes people together but in their case drove a wedge between them.

Words that could never be stopped, stopped.

Eyes that spoke, bore a grudge.

Tears hung from jaws that once carried smiles.

Parting ways, they swore wouldn’t trace their footsteps back to each other. The city was divided into two, still not enough for the sea and salt to separate.

One winter, long after the blossoms died, one of the two found a crumpled wilted flower, one she was about to step onto. Safely tucking it in between pages of her diary, she reached out, unsure of how large the distance between them had stretched to.

Two texts. One nostalgic phone call.

They stood under the shade of the tree, all these years and nothing changed.

Half a foot taller.

Thinner waistlines.

Yet the same appetite.

Off season the flowers didn’t sprout, but a pair of orange ice gola stained tongues turned out to be a good substitute.

Corners

I pulled a chair into the balcony, it had been raining since morning, at times a cloud burst and bought in a fury of water, thundering and rumbling and then so, it drizzled and poured, like a woman unable to make up her mind, leering at the pastry counter and weighing whom she loved more, chocolate or butterscotch, yet ultimately taking two of each.

For most part of the day, there wasn’t any electricity, so me and an empty house, the rains, rhythmic melody of tip tap and fragrance, grey skies and lush green trees, tiny rivulets running down the length of my arms and pools of water in the grasp of my palms, trying to win endless battles against the laws of fluid dynamics.

Making myself a cup of coffee, a book and a pillow plonked on my lap, I wondered how long it had been since I felt at peace, no internet pulling you into the virtual world, no television screaming at the top of its lungs, no soul to put a brake on the train of your thoughts.

If I could, I would buy myself a piece of the sky to lie under,

A little place in the forest, where its scent rubs off on you,

And if you were really quiet, you could listen to your heartbeat.

Shut your eyes and disappear underneath a sky full of stars,

Watch the mountains from afar,

Let the rain seep into the pores of my skin,

Spend hours making constellations, and guessing shapes of the clouds.

An invisible corner in the middle of nowhere,

For when thoughts burden your shoulders and make your head feel heavy,

To take a pause from time.

Walk away from the mess,

Paint your nails red, the leaves pink,

Carve love on the barks of trees.

Wait for the waves to bring back what was once yours,

And the wind to take you, to where you truly belong.

And a million thoughts

It’s past midnight, I’m under the siege of a thousand thoughts and here is where I pin it down.

You know that one kind of deep intense love that transcends boundaries, gracefully clearing and jumping through loops and hurdles like a gymnast?

Yeah, that does not exist.

No matter how many times you tell yourself, there are some things that just can’t be forgiven. You may love them more than words can even begin to describe some things pull you back. Words even if not intended to mean one episode, magically transforms into that one reminder of an ugly incident.

Which makes me wonder, are things better when left alone, maybe fixing or rather trying to get back to what you were just tampers the lovely memory of a time once gone by. What has sailed past is already a memory to cherish, protected and that isn’t going to rust. Maybe to be in love again, you need to be that very same person at that place, is it worth running back into the past?

Also it doesn’t take much to feel like you are half in love, 5 nice words, a few laughs, wit and charm and there you are floored, especially when there is no flirting! You go zoom from stranger to Wow! Why the hell did I not meet you earlier and I wish we were dating. The harder someone tries to flirt, the greater the put off is.

And as luck would have it, I had the most amazing conversation for over 3 hours with someone I had no clue existed 5 minutes before I spoke to him. Being the technology klutz that I am, I got stuck at a place and with no help around and on the recommendation of a friend, approached this stranger a few hundred kilometres away for help. And not only did he spend a good chunk of time despite being terribly busy, infact not just did he manage to help me out but also assigned another person to finish my work for me from his team.

These rib tickling, loud laughter conversations are what I long for.

Add to this that it really doesn’t take long for impressions to reduce to dust and bury itself in the ground. In retrospect, it really makes you evaluate as to what the hell was happening all this while, were you delusional or are people really crappy at times.

There are days that I sob and mock cry on not finding someone to date, but the truth being, I don’t just want to date someone and be in a typical relationship, more like close friendship, the kind who’ll tolerate a 3 hour movie for you, long lunches and longer conversations. Someone who isn’t in it for the typical romance part of it, friendships that run deeper maybe? Or love but not the clingy, compulsive, regular garden variety.

Also why would you talk to someone with the aim of just flirting or a quick fling somewhere? There are maybe two other paths to run down, what about the intense passion or the good friends one? Wouldn’t you want to know someone’s dreams, thoughts, take a peek into the workings of their mind? Is the body all you want?

Currently all I want to do is stuff my face in ice cream, any chocolate variety would do and just be done with men, love and promises. Oh and definitely get someone to mentally kick me when I start my funny flirt routine, great ice breaker but terrible in the long run.

In some weird sense the funny flirt comes easy to me, I’m one of those women who run away from the words hot/pretty/sexy and chase after smart, confident and witty and I never feel conscious while doing the crazy routine. The practice of being able to laugh at your flaws throws away the awkwardness, and that is where my strategy of ‘win-them-over-with-your-personality-and-then-make-them-find-you-hot, comes into play.

On second, third and probably the hundredth thought already thought this week, I should swear off romantic books and movies, sometimes that is just where they belong…

Cab rides

There are perks of landing a job, financial independence, the idea of working on a challenge, which can be frustrating as well as incredibly satisfying, prospects of meeting new people on the job and the tons of learning.

But now, I also look forward to my ride back home. Off late I’ve been commuting long distances and along with the terribly long time that it takes, safe to say it pulls all of my purse strings hence in order to be slightly economical, I’ve been taking the Ola share (This, I repeat isn’t a promotional post. Just my feelings out here and for those who don’t know what Ola is, think of it as India’s Uber that also gives you the facility of sharing your ride)

Over the course of a few weeks, I’ve met incredibly interesting people, some who light up your face like an Old man whom I shared my ride with. He’s 65, retired but still wants to work, and not out of necessity but because that is what he’s learnt all of his life, to be resourceful, use his time. So he works with a ton of NGOs, teaches his neighbourhood kids and blesses and wishes good morning in the most incredible manner.

Which got me thinking, why don’t we wish each other like we would when we were a couple of five year olds? Loud good mornings, bright smiles, hugs that envelops you. Why the sullen, back to work, waiting for a weekend ones?

And then there are others who’ll just break your heart. I spent an hour and a half with a woman who silently sobbed while talking to her better half/almost at that stage person. Wiping an endless stream of tears with the back of her hand, hiccups, stammering, red eyes and a runny nose. All I could offer her were water and tissues.

Then there are others who are part time poets/models stuck in a corporate job; ones who’ll talk about politics and the issue with Kashmiri pandits; Women who’ll giggle and share their love of your favourite actor; some who’ll brood and not talk to you but suddenly owe you two rupees of their cab fare and look guilty; who talk about their jobs; talk about their love, a royal enfield that crashed and is recovering at a garage and all that is left of it is its helmet that they carry as a remembrance; figure out the business strategy of companies; drivers who’ll complain of faulty GPS routes, traffic, the times they got conned, a bit of their life.

These conversations are strangely liberating, you have no expectations out of people, and no pre conceived notions. Every ride is like drawing a card from a pile, you don’t know who you’ll bump into today, what you’ll stumble upon.

All of us are maybe just a bunch of stories, some long gone and a lot others waiting to happen.