Jaded

There is a certain truth to young love being naive, foolish and spontaneous. There is also a great deal of good reason  in our parents wanting us to settle down early with the right person, its easier to give your heart away when you've haven't spent a long time collecting life experiences and along with it, baggage.

Today I look around me, at the friends I have and the ecosystem I live in, and the common recurrent theme is that everyone is so jaded, so scarred by some past life experiences that they're holding on tight, to something inside, to themselves lest they let go, that they're passing up on these fantastic people and opportunities that they're being granted.

What happened to the boy I wrote about a few blog posts ago, you may ask. I wrote an email a few days ago, closing that chapter. He went away and kept me sufficiently 'hooked' so that I'd feel adequately special, but not committed. Occasional 'I miss u babe' sms's and pictures etc denoted interest, but not a promise. I closed that loop recently - I cant be the girl who holds on because I cant let go. I also think that if a guy likes me enough, he should be able to overcome his fears (or well do it together) and vice versa.

I met someone else who unexpectedly took my breath away, for a few days before he put a screeching halt to even getting to know each other because he's had a bad past experience. I'm a fantastic girl, he said - exactly the kind he wants to put a ring around.. BUT he's too scarred, too afraid to give his heart away again.

I'm SO tired of being exactly the kind of girl every guy wants, or that fantastic girl that EVERYONE lets get away. I'm tired of hearing the 'It's not you, its me' story. I'm tired of meeting spineless boys who wont take that chance on me. I'm tired of sharing myself, and tired of learning to get over moments.

This guy is perfect: he is a gentleman, chivalrous, opens doors, is ambitious, driven, smart, loving - EVERYTHING. yet, he was dating someone I knew who dumped him (badly). When i hear that girl talk about what she wants, it sounds like a guy exactly like him, yet when she had him, she let him go.

Do we all do this I wonder? Do we let go of things sitting right under our noses? When I think of all the boys I've turned down for one reason or the other, I wonder how unhappy I would have truly been had I ended up saying yes to any of them.. I suspect not very .. guess I was just chasing a fairy tale, wanting to fill in a missing space, or add another note to the rhythm.. think what I'm looking for may not exist. So let me restate, and re-evaluate and see if its asking for too much.

A MAN [ not boy ] who is ambitious and passionate about life and other things, who will love me and my flaws as I will his, a man who can be a boy and ride rollercoasters with me and be a child with me, a man who will know what to do when Im falling apart and whose arms I feel safe in. A man who is respected by others and who respects others.. A man who can talk about life and love and the economy and business, someone I will look upto. A man with a bucket list, a man with love to give and a life to share.

Too much?

"Experience is the name every one gives to their mistakes"

Now this is what a great film is all about. Stealing you away from yourself, filling your mind with delicious poetry and leaving you with a half nostalgic half melancholy tingle. Making you come home and linger. Zindagi na mile dobara turned out to be the fantastic film I dint expect it to be.

After reading RAVE reviews about Delhi Belly i was sorely disappointed with inane jokes, misplaced humor and juvenile shit related innuendos. God save Bollywood if this was the future. Which explains my apprehension for ZNMD. I was so, so wrong.

Zindagi.. is a film which takes three friends on a trip, only to find themselves, and face their greatest fears. Its an ambitious movie at that - I wonder if Zoya wanted us to leave the theatre thinking about our own unfulfilled destinies, unanswered questions and about the what could have been's. The poetry threading the movie along, neatly weaving a web around silences, and injecting meaning in pregnant pauses did exactly what it was meant to - create a song of melancholy around the frames, adding the rhythmn to voices and thoughts and intertwining them in soulful words.

How many of us have courage to face our own fears I wonder? I vascillate between a realist and an escapist often. There are times when I'm forthright about what Im facing and wishing I oculd avoid, and there have been times when I've blocked out something from my mind- and even from those of my friends, neatly concealing thoughts and flutters in my heartbeat lest they let out a clue, methodically leaving out traces of it from even this blog. And then again, one fine day ill lay my heart bare. Between the what is, what could have been and what I really want, my mind sometimes is a mishmash of wishes and wants, of longs and desires, of moments hidden away unlocked time and again, of a secret memory beknowest only to me and the other keeper, of parallel futures and alternate endings. I've made a LOT of mistakes along the way and sometimes my greatest fear is the one thing I've lived my life by - being true to myself. The fine line between being true to yourself and being fooled by your own thoughts, your own being drifting to the outside of you, urging you to do something radical - call off a wedding, move countries, break up with someone.. what if the true inner self is just a big joke? a mockery of rationale? a cruel incarnation of a reason to justify your actions? What if?

What Happens Ever After?

I had a quiet weekend. A mellow one. And it was delightfully enjoyable.

Every so often I like doing nothing much, watching a long slow, non commercial film, lazying around home on a Saturday night, with no huge party to attend. Its funny that it started with attending a wedding and a birthday party on Friday night. Yes, in true Social butterfly style, I walked in home from work, showered, dressed and left in a completely Indian ensemble for the wedding which was thankfully 15 mins away from home. The wedding attended, I got home, changed completely into a whole new outfit and left for a birthday party. My watchman must've been impressed. I walked in and out of home in 3 different avatars in the space of a few hours that night. Phew.

Weddings are fun though. I always look around and think in my head 'Oh at mine, I want this done this way' Or 'oh wow, let me take this wedding card makers number'. Yep, I'm one of those women. The kind who wants attention to detail, small things she's seen here and there and liked and loved to be a part of her wedding day. Who wants to hold her husbands hand and look frightfully happy, not photogenic plastic smile happy. Who wants every emotion felt that day to feel dazzlingly heightened, look her bestest best, and have her face hurt from smiling so much.

That's the one thing I look for when I look at a bride - how happy she looks... With all the numerous ceremonies and other extravagant hoopla that surrounds Indian weddings, its a given that the Bride and Groom are tired. Still, Its the look in her eyes, the palpable excitement that events and fatigue of the past few days cannot overtake that tell you how she's feeling inside...
There are two things a woman knows: what she's looking for and what she'll settle for... And if she's settling, it'll show.

I want to wear Dark Green and Red with Dull gold work, Antique gold Kundan Jewellery, with shoes as flat as flat can be. With all the standing around that brides need to do, Ill save all the uncomfortable-ness for my clothes and jewellery. Hair will be lightly clipped, no grand bun with 1500 hair clips and swarowski studs in it for me. Just a plain simple blow dry should set it. Nude/Smoky eyed Makeup. Not too little, not too less and whatever happens, I will NOT match my eyeshadow to the colour of my saree. Not even if I have to fight with my stylist for it . (i.e. assuming of course That I have one!)
I want us to pick out my ring, and not his folks, And I'll pick out his. A simple plain wedding band with the date and our names engraved on the inside. Sealed with a kiss.

I want him to know me inside out. What I'm afraid of, Which toothpaste I like. What makes me cranky, Love the people I love. Fight with me over ordering food, insisting on making (burning) the toast, Learning to swim from me, knowing when that time of month is, Buying me my favorite lollipop (cause god knows I still Love 'pops). Loving me for all my eccentricities and always walking on my left, and walking on white striped crossings and looking for logarithms in car numbers and still not thinking I'm a nut job. And that Is why I DON'T want to have an arranged marriage. And that's where A comes in. He 's cute. A second chance... Something I thought may never happen to me again after V and I broke up. He makes me feel as though these things aren't weird after all. Remembers a random tiny little thing I Mustve said 3 weeks ago (and freaking me out) whilst conveniently forgetting Valentines (How?!!). I like.

Anyone who leaves me a bunch of red flowers and a note AND a prettily wrapped box with a big bow on my desk first thing in the morning is worth it. No? Want to know what was inside? 3 very adorably picked out cosmetic products from Lush and a big dialed, pearl plated Esprit watch. Which I wore although it clashed terribly with work wear. I just stepped up the attitude so I could carry it off.

How I digressed. But I'm feeling good, somehow. This was on my mind maybe. The thought that I probably couldn't grow to love someone again, and maybe have to resign to *meeting someone through my parents* and the 'Settled/Arranged' marriage bit, scared me to no end. I'm allowing myself the luxury - of feeling these feelings again..of missing him so much (when he was away for 3 days) that I wanted to pick a fight when he did actually call, its a Delicious feeling, to allow yourself to be swept off ... although this is for real. It isn't fairy tale like (except when I think of it later, with sound effects in my mind), it isn't hypothetical, I don't have my expectations through the roof, and he isn't even claiming to be prince charming. But, its real.

His favorite line is that he's positive he's gonna hurt me and made me mad at him more times than not. He's even convinced that one day I might reconsider, since He isn't offering me rainbows and stars and a big fancy life. But baby, If you stand by me when I look like a hag and pat my back when I'm sick, worry about me when I'm crossing the street, and make me feel so much peace within, I don't think there's a chance in hell Id let you go.

So what happens after? Is it Happy? or Does Cinderella drive him nuts with her obsessive need to clean the castle, cause she missed her day job? source (for the dialogue above only)

It is as it is...
Rebuild. Renew.Refresh.
Retry.
Reinforce. Repeat. Relove. Regive. Resurrender.
Retry.
Defend. Protect. Give in. Let go. Fall. Rejoice. Redeem. Resurface...
Retry.
Realign. Rethink. Replan. Reacclimatize. Re-unplan. Reminisce. Remember. Rewant.
Retry. Refresh.
Re-energise. Resolve. Renew. Resurrect. Readjust. Reaffirm. Regive. Retake.Resurrender. Rekeep. Re-happy.
Really Really Live.
*disclaimer - liberties taken with certain words.

As I grumbled my way through having come to office on a holiday yesterday, and sitting idle waiting for someone else to finish what they were doing, so that I can begin, my thoughts naturally began to drift elsewhere.

I was thinking on the same lines, and had a half finished post about it, when I read this And it hit home, what I was thinking - melancholy thoughts in the cab on the way back from my younger brothers birthday Party, One in which I somewhat assumed the role of a Chaperone. This guy, who I took downstairs for a walk in my arms when he was a baby, and to Birthday parties after much convincing(of mom - ' i can take care of him, promise i wont drop him' and all that), feeding him mashed cake cos he didnt have teeth is ....all grown up. And so am I. So am I...

I nearly GAGGED when I said 'How old are u turning 14?' to which he very indignantly replied ' Hello! Im turning 16, Im Mature now'. He's now a pimply faced adorable young guy in his teens who pooh's at the names of girls in the building when he's teased with them (Wait another 6 months eh?)

I remember him being 4 years old and climbing on top of me, biting my nose, licking my face, messing up my book shelf. It was no surprise when one day, someone asked me Why i dont have a pet - to which I saucily replied 'Course I do - My brother'. He partook of all duties of little pets - dirtying my room, peeing on my bed, waiting ardently for me to come home, waving goodbye from the little window which overlooked my bus stop. Course he was cuter. Nothing is sweeter than hearing a tiny tot calling you 'Tai'.

Sometimes Im thankful for having such a vivid memory -- there are images which are so precious to me, which are frozen and filed in my head which send a delicious shiver down my spine when i re-think them. The image of him waving to me frm the 7th floor window for instance. He was all of 3-4 yrs old, supported at the grilled window by my mother. From where I stood, his face looked all of 12 cms in diameter with two little black buttons for eyes and a dot for a nose, and a pink jam blot for lips. I remember wanting to run back home and not going to school at all! The definition of adorable was that for me...

Course, I also enjoyed other perks such as all the older boys in the building who never took notice of me, and played basketball with me only cause they couldnt deny I was pretty decent at it, were suddenly all 'Hey wheres your brother, bring him na' and I enjoyed a momentary surge in popularity. Also, there were a few 'Bhaiyyas' i was taught to call anyone upwards of 2 yrs older than I, whom i took the liberty of calling by first name then, since I was the 'Older sister' and all that.

Cut to now, he's 16, (Mature apparently :( ) and making demands for cell phones and the likes. And suddenly my maternal glands have begun secreting extra hormones it seems cos Ive begun being extra protective, extra careful to not give in to each demands. The age gap between us (9 yrs) puts me in a quandary -- Im young enough to be a 'cool' sister, but old enough to want to tell him whats right and wrong, and be protective.

Isnt there any way I can get time to stand still? or rewind a little?

Of being there...and doing that.

Overrated and badly edited it was, but I came away from having watched Sex and the city very mellow. Was thinking to myself - 'Do I have a Charlotte or Miranda in my life?' The intense love and unquestioning caring between these women is the kind of friendship dreams are made of.
The scene where Charlotte hugs Carrie and doesnt let Big get near (on the road, right after the almost wedding) that sheer anger in her voice when she says 'NO', that assertive protectiveness in the way she held Carrie, that intense hurt she showed, gave me goosebumps.

I love the bond these women have, I love how 'each other' took precedence above all else, how everything is unimportant enough to ensure that they were there when Carrie needed them. 'Its the Movies' I KNOW! But by now its established that im a foolish foolish girl with stars in her eyes who still believes in romance and prince charming and all the other ghastly untruths of the world!

I loved the unthanking, assumed and seemingly routine way the love and friendship would be exhibited between these women, that there was no doubt Carrie was going over to Mirandas dressed in Pj's in the middle of the night, the undoubtability of these actions really struck a chord with me.

I LOVED that they love each other with so much passion, thats the only way love is meant to be loved. With a crazy intoxicating logic defying all encompassing execution of seemingly mundane things. Somewhere we're a lot more calculated, a lot less giving and even more held back....

Last evening i spent a few hours with someone who, thanks to my advice, Didnt hold back. he now regrets it, thanks to some confused woman who isnt sure what she wants. He asked me once -'What did i do wrong?' and i was B-L-A-N-K. The price hes got for being there, going ALL OUT, and giving her the benefit of doubt when she was acting like a kook is a broken broken heart. somewhere i blame myself, and my ridiculous theory of filmy romance. Maybe i ought to have asked him to play the game. Maybe i ought to learn to play the game myself.

Forever and ever, Amen

Now playing : Dancing on a ceiling (Lionel Richie)
Today i had an intensely happy moment. The kind that makes you feel soo happy inside, it made me well up and not have words to elaborate it here.

There are some songs, I realize, that hide away certain memories for you - that when u play them back, you can just magically disappear into that long forgotten moment for a while. Songs like Forever and Ever, I told you so ..Randy Travis, Lionel Richie etc are so reminiscent of my childhood.

Today i downloaded the songs mentioned above and rushed into my parents room and called Daddy into my room, and played one of his fav songs for him. It took him all of 5 seconds to realize what song it was, and this immense smile overtook all other expressions on his face.... it was this surprise old feeling for him. Those 2 minutes when we both were listening to the song, we both that strange, melancholic smiles - he too, was revisiting.

How do i even say it? 12 years ago, more actually...this same father daughter have heard these very songs played from a Hitachi 2 in 1 from cassettes that are long lost. Daddy would have a book with him, lying down with a beer on the table next to the bed, and I not to be outdone would be with my 'grown up' book of Enid Blyton etc, sleeping with my head on his stomach reading and listening to the music.

Daddy would smell of Brut, and have that typical defence hair cut and demeanour, well built arms and a staunch, principled stagger. Everything he did, I admired. The music he loved, I loved. I have many of his characteristics now, just like i hoped i would. Save for the dimple... the darn dimple i tired sooo hard to get. He's strong willed but soft hearted, aggressive but naive, principled and staunch, classy but homely, firm and steadfast in his beliefs and dreams and acheiving them.

In my teens i found myself growing more and more towards my mother and more and more away from daddy. My mom became my point of contact 'where are you, wat time are you coming home etc'. However Daddy came into the picture when an unknown boy called home. Let me just say this, for those who called back, Thank you. :)

Just before he left my room, he told me a few more songs he'd love if i 'get somewhere from the internet' ....quick kiss on my forehead and he went back to his room.

And just like that, for that brief moment I was Daddy's girl again.

Title thinking in progress

There's a lot to be said about hospitality in Delhi. Having lived in Mumbai for the better part of my life now, i left Delhi and its mentality behind ages ago, got swept into the fast paced, nonchalance of Mumbai life.

The difference was stark, and it hit me hard. I was in Delhi the day holi was celebrated. From the previous day, my aunt and nearly everyone in the house was fervently cleaning the house (so the holi revelry doesnt dirty it?!) making holi food (Dahi Bhallas, Matthi, Gujjias, Shakkarpara etc). This went on for the entire day - i was made to eat dinner in my room since the entire surface area of the dining table (a 12 seater mind you) was covered with food!

Point being, so much trouble was being taken in order to serve the guests that would invariably drop by on Holi. I had my doubts, lookng at the quantity of food that was made. Wrong i was, as
early morning a flood of unidentified people were gathered in the living room. Neighbours, colleagues, friends everyone who knew my aunt and uncle looked like they were present.

I soon caught on to the festivities and reluctantly offered my face to the everyone who was waiting with baited breath. On Holi, a completely untouched, clean person is anyone's most desired bakra. People i did'nt know coloured my face and hair and wished me happy holi. What i enjoyed was the fact that everyone who i dint know, very gently rubbed colour into my face. It was a mix of 'your not supposed to be clean on holi, you ought to be pulverized with colour' and 'i dont know you, so ill be nice, lest you get offended'.

Of course, a seemingly innocent walk outside (to go to the Shiv temple outside) out of sheer naiviete led to a downfall, and i got smattered with more colour. Luckily it was mostly all dry since my refuge was my 6 month old niece who i was thankfully given the responsibility to handle.

Here is what it all leads to. Mumbai festivals. (Categorically speaking of myself here, as many of you might have family and hence celebrate festivals in a big way) I dont have ANY family (other than my folks and sibling) in Mumbai. Like 99% Mumbaikars, i live in a flat system and i dont remember entering any of my neighbours houses. Holi, Diwali and other festivals are subdued, usually small Puja's with four of us at home, followed by the traditonal food.

I have three neighbours - Catholic, Parsi, Parsi and Us. My building is predominantly Catholic/Parsi hence most festival celebrations are somewhat diluted. Although i would like to mention that my catholic neighbours children celebrate Diwali with equal zest.

I loved that people walked in and out of my aunts house in Delhi. I loved that if you dont go visiting your relatives and friends on holi and other festivals, they could be offended. I loved that the dining table was full of oily festival food and that my aunt spent the entire previous day lamenting about what she would do in case she fell short of food (HOW that would have happened considering the quantity of food made was beyond me). but thats Delhi for you. its the 'Beta tumne to kuch khaya hi nahi' (you havent eaten at all) after having eaten like a glutton or 'Yeh to short notice par itna hi kar pai' (in short notice, this is all i could manage) after having served you more food than you couldve eaten on an empty stomach.

I loved that people in Delhi dont necessarily have more time, but they make it. Family, friends, festivities take precendent over clients, deadlines or targets. That sense of longing i felt for that feeling of carefree frolic, of reckless joy, in a room surrounded by mostly strangers (to me) was something i dint know i missed living here.

But I do, and I hate that I know I do. And i hate that wishing doesnt make things better.

Those things you believe in..

“You know how when you were a little kid and you believed in fairy tales, that fantasy of what your life would be, white dress, prince charming who would carry you away to a castle on a hill. You would lie in bed at night and close your eyes and you had complete and utter faith. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming, they were so close you could taste them, but eventually you grow up, one day you open your eyes and the fairy tale disappears. Most people turn to the things and people they can trust. But the thing is its hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely cause almost everyone has that smallest bit of hope, of faith, that one day they will open their eyes and it will come true.”

-Dr. Meredith Grey

All it takes is some faith..

Something i had read in a Cyrus Merchant article years ago and still remember. For the person who wrote this, whoever you are, thank you.

Untitled - Anon

Some say love is a river,
That drowns the tender reed,
Some say love is the razor,
That leaves the heart to bleed..
Some say love is a hunger,
An aching endless need
I, say love is a flower,
And YOU its only seed.
Its the dream afraid of waking,
That never takes a chance,
It’s the heart afraid of breaking,
That never learns to dance,
The one who can’t be taken,
Who cannot seem to give,
The soul afraid of dying,
That never learns to live.
When you’ve grown too weary and the road seems too long,
And you begin to think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Remember – that in the winter, far beneath the winter snows,
Lies the seed, that with the suns help
in the summer, Becomes the Rose

Raindrops keep fallin...

Probably one of the oldest songs i recollect from a lazy sunday afternoon. carpenters/abba/niel diamond were the other artists my dad was..is a huge fan of. those sundays would be great.. my dad would curl up with a book and music while mom would go rest and i would be sleeping with my head on his stomach.

So..where did this song come from? it played in my car while i was drivin home from a nice dinner at Basilico. i obviously took the longer route home - the one that passed marine drive and wasnt even on the route home.

Memories like this are so comforting - at the time, life was mostly shifting houses cos we hadnt been allotted a permanent "A type" {as they call it in the defence} house yet. and i would live for those sundays - when i would curl up with an Enid Blyton and pretend to be a "BIG" girl too. i live for memories - i live for the times i have saved up in my mind- for the moments i remember so distinctly, for the places and sounds that transport me back to that world.

life was simple those days - my most prized possession was my bicycle. i took immense pride in washing it nearly EVERY single day. i would even cart it all the way up in the service elevator to the 7th floor where i was living then cos i dint wanna leave my best friend locked in a dingy garage.my room overlooked the sea - which was where this love affair with the sea began in the first place.

coming back to the rain - it kept drizzling intermittently all evening yesterday and i kept longing for it to rain.. i was yearning for that pitterpatter and the beautiful overcast romance that rain brings with it. there's somethign about sharing an umbrella - somethign about the way the guy tries to fit you in completely while not bothering abut how wet he's getting that makes an ol fool like me love the rains and pretend i dont have my own umbrella in my bag.

Rain also makes chaai taste better - its strange this. i had one of the most expensive chaai's ever - 25 rs at the Sukh Sagar. To be fair, was in the ac section and wonder of wonders they served wine! who would've ever thought. also spent a coupla minutes trying to sort out the red little thingies from the sauf while on a 2 min call with someone who happened to mention to me that i make trivial little things fascinating. how could i not make a mention of it here then.

dreamers like me live for memories - they are a part of me, they define my every action. optimism stems from this very fact - that these pictures in my mind egg me on.. they tell me that life is prettier than it seems, longer than is felt, more painful to go through than can be written about and that it IS actually worth having your heart broken once in your life.

i realize i went from rain to memories to dreams to rain again and then finally this, on this blog. but then thats what it actually is - interlocking things in the mangled mish mash of my mind.