Corporate heels

chand lahwz...

2011-08-04T02:25:00.005+05:30

Yadon ke kuch anchuyen panne chedti hun

Beete palon ki ik potli ko tatolti hun

jane kya baat thi us guzre kal me

jo aane wale kal ke aks bhar se muh ferti hun

Paper Boats

2011-07-09T00:13:00.008+05:30

When I was a little kid, we used to live in a place called Hoshiarpur, near the Pubjab-Himachal border. It was a small town which took barely twenty minutes to cross from one end to the other by car.

Like most small towns in India, it had an old area called Krishna Nagar. And among its many snaky little streets was the narrow Street No. 7, where we lived.

There are a lot of things I remember about that street; the dilapidated old school next door, with the crippled brown tree and soft pink roses; Hanuman, the pandit from the temple at the end of the street who always gave me an extra helping of my favourite prasad and waved to me from his rusty old bicycle as I waited for my school bus every morning and the huge, crazy German Shepherd who barked incessantly at everyone and for some reason had been named Pepsi.

But the one thing I remember most clearly was the excitement the rains brought with them. For whenever it rained heavily, the street would turn into a muddy river, like our own pet version of the mighty amazon. And there I would sit on the once-glazed steps of our home; under the blue door with the twin white peacocks, chipped and weary from the years they had been there. I would watch as strange creatures came out of the water, big cola coloured cockroaches that made my mother scream, worms as muddy as the water, driven out of their burrows by the onslaught and an occasional snake scare.

But nothing excited me as much as the sound of my mother's feet behind the door, for I knew they brought with them the reason I loved that muddy stream. For she had just taught me how to make paper boats and promised me if my boats were good enough they would travel far and wide and journey to strange, mythical lands I could only imagine.

And so I would sit there, my tiny fingers working tirelessly creating one little boat after another, praying all the while that they would pass God's test and not drown.

Some would be brave and strong and fight the torrent and make it round the bend of the street accompanied by my whoops of joy. But there were others, which despite my prayers failed to make it and sunk to their moving muddy graves. As I watched their tiny forms topple, my lips would quiver and my eyes well up, but my mother would hug me and urge me to let it go and would egg me on to make the next.

It was a tough lesson to learn... letting go and I had lot of trouble with it.

And today, even though I am a young woman of 24, somewhere that little girl still has her fingers crossed and her eyes closed every time she releases a boat into life's muddy waters, praying for it to get past the bend and every time one doesn't make it, it still breaks her heart...

Letting it go is still a tough lesson to learn...

Crazy One-Legged Captain Crutches

2011-07-08T18:09:00.007+05:30

I woke up today in my narrow bed, wondering who am I?

Am I the girl who lost her footing and the love of her life, both in the same week?

The helpless freak grounded in her room staring at her patched roof, silently screaming for life to happen.

Or am I the crazy One-Legged Captain Crutches all set to hop her way to another adventure?

Free, alive and with ideas zooming like lightening bolts in her head?

So I closed my eyes and felt the wind whip my hair, and when I opened them, my crutches were my broomsticks and I was flying, high and higher, up beyond the clutches of the evil patched roof and sodden staircases. Up above the clouds, in a kingdom of colours, and oh! what a sight it was. The Red screamed to me from my left the Green waved with its easy grace, Blue flowed past like a musical fountain and Yellow was all smiles and whoops of joy.

I was alive at last... as this surreal world crashed into me and wiped out everything else, till I turned into a kaleidoscope of feelings, emotions, passions and dreams.

And thus I found myself again, in my narrow bed, not with empty questions and a present that refused to pass, but with a smile, a dream and the broomsticks to live it...

Up In Smoke

2011-01-14T16:40:00.003+05:30

Empty words in a world of empty souls

Smoke swirling from wet coals

Unseeing eyes, broken hopes

Dreamy abyss of reality's soaps

Feet on a table of headless freaks

Through this haze what my heart seeks?

Cracked mirror, arch lights

Ripping the sunlight from the dark nights

Empty feelings in a nightmare of empty roads

ghosts shivering from the memory of how life corrodes

Leather seats, a stolen kiss

a life of horror for a moment of empty bliss

Thanks for making me laugh when I thought it was humanly impossible to even smile

2010-12-14T02:03:00.008+05:30

...LOL...

ROFL... *TUMMY ACHE*

...LOL...ROFL...LMAO...Haaaaaahhhaaaa....bwwaaahhah....ROFL :) ;) :D :D :D

;) :P :d :) LMAO.....HUUUAAAWAAAH ...LOL...ROFL....BWWAAAHAAAHA...HAHAHA....LMAO

HHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA

Three a.m. Blabbers...

2010-12-13T03:18:00.010+05:30

I sometimes sit next to my window at night, looking up at the stars and wondering...

what happens to relationships that die, do they go to heaven or hell like people, do they become stars like fairies, or do they remain here... cold chilly spectres of themselves...

ghosts that torment those who killed them?

Why hasn't someone invented the morning after pills for relationship control?

Like sex without the consequence... rather safe than sorry....

got too close to someone, not ready to be haunted...well pop a pill and stop an unwanted relationship from coming into this world

If only someone had come up with this, a lot of people wouldn't be sitting at their windows at 3 a.m. in the morning, shivering from the ghosts that refuse to let go... looking at the spectres of their making through tear glazed eyes...

as I cower in the cold

the misty tendrils surround me

as they refuse to loosen their hold

the past through their eyes I see

I wonder what went wrong

when right it had seemed to be

I wonder why they weren't strong

feelings that felt like the sea

I wonder why I wish for one more chance

when into pieces he broke me

I wonder why I wish for that single glance

why he still holds the key

I wonder if they seize him too

these ghosts of our past love spree

I wonder if he misses me too

through a cold night's howling plea

Love's Proverbial Tramp

2010-11-30T18:08:00.016+05:30

I sit here under the yellow lamp,

wondering if I am Love's proverbial tramp.

Walking barefoot from cities to troughs,

through scorching passions and wintry roughs.

Crossed stars and tarot cards,

I sleep under, like those jobless bards.

but in my satchel I carry still,

A sneezing virtue, a leaking quill...

I sit here under the yellow lamp,

wondering why i carry this damning stamp.

Walking around in a forgotten daze,

weak from the ashes of blitz and blaze.

Foggy eyes and a swollen lip,

on the radar of love, but a fading blip.

But in my satchel, i carry still,

a breaking vow, a window-sill

I sit here under the yellow lamp,

wondering why my cheeks aren't damp.

Walking alone, for but a while so short,

running after trains I never could have caught.

Tattered books and unwritten lines,

a thirst unquenched, in a temple of wines.

But in my satchel, I carry still,

a begged hope, a glass mid-spill...

The lamp is gone, the light went out,

wondering what now to wonder about.

Walking along the crumbling roads,

as the frog by the side splutters and goads.

Mermaid hair and a dancing cramp,

what could I be, but Love's proverbial tramp.

But in my satchel, I carry still,

a tomorrow past, a fickle will...

Imaratein

2010-05-05T17:31:00.003+05:30

The last time I wrote something in Hindi, I was in class 11.

So when this came to me out of the blue, I couldn’t stop myself from posting it here…

jane kis ghari me chupi h zindagi

kabhi dabi si, kabhi manchali h zindagi

kisi ped ki aad me luka chuppi khelti

kabhi kisi palle se aansoon odhti h zindagi

jane kis sadak ke bich ruk gayi h zindagi

jane kis bhid me bhagti h zindagi

kisi ke aks me ise dhundti hun

to kabhi kisi shishe me kaid milti h zindagi

kuch patjhadon ki sarsarahat h isme

kuch foolon ki masli khushboo h

kuch yadon ki imaratein hn

kuch aane wale khandarh

jane kis gali kis nukkar pe aaj bikti h zindagi

jane kis aasman ki tasveer pe mit-ti h zindagi

kisi khule pinjare ke kone me haari si padi h

jane kis agyat kavi ke akshar bani h zindagi

Pretensions...

2010-03-24T01:40:00.003+05:30

I was watching T.V. and for a change there was this program different from your usual "saas bahu" pollutants.

It was something called "Mahi Way", about this fat girl and her ups and downs in life...

At first it made me laugh, but then she said something about how we pretend to be someone we are not because who we are is too scary to be...and I realized how true that is...

I realized that sometimes we pretend so hard not to pretend that we almost make ourselves believe that we are not in faact pretending...

So I am going to take a leaf out of her book and let it all out of my tummy up into the air:

1) I am not as sad as I make myself believe I am or should be and I am not as happy as my laugh is loud.

2) I make fun of me being fat not because I am cool with it or because I don't care, but I think doing it before anyone else does, makes it less humiliating (it actually doesn't, I just like to tell myself it does).

3) I pretend that I know I am ugly and that I have accepted it.

I actually think my cheeks are the prettiest shade of pink and my slightly upturned nose is like a cute cherry, that I have the sexiest of lips and the sweetest of smiles, that the fat gives me curves and that my hair (though i like to call them unmanageable) form the most gorgeous of curles the night after i wash them... I truly believe I am bautiful, I am just waiting for everyone else to wake up and see that...

4) I pretend that I love serious books and that MBs are just for brainless chicks... nothing beats a night spent reading one of those old timer MBs, full of subtle romance and grand gestures...

5) I have always said I like rock music, because I thought that is what cool people do... it gives me a headache

6) I pretend about the number of guys who asked me out...

7) I love walking around my house in my bathrobe, not because its comfortable, like I like to say, but even though it makes me sweat like a pig in the summers, it makes me feel like one of those heroines from old English movies, sensual and graceful.

8) I pretend that I am all grown up and mature and am sooooo over mush...

the truth is sexually explicit flirting turns me off... I would rather be called a doll and pampered than be called a bitch and fucked

9) I don't give myself roses because I love them and like giving them to me... its just a way to tell others to give them to me and make me feel special

10) I tell myself over and over again that I hate Hyderabad and want to move closer home, the truth is I love the freedom it has given me

11) I pretend to be sooooo happy when my friends are happy and fall in love...the truth is I feel jealous that its not I who am in their shoes...

12) I pretend to be a cynic who doesn't believe in love anymore, the truth is I am still waiting for my prince to climb the tower and carry me off to his palace in the skies, to love me and cherish me above all else...the truth is watching pretty woman still makes me laugh and cry at the same time...

13) I pretend i never dream, the truth is every night before I sleep, I like to think one fantasy love story... I actually have an imaginary guy, who loves me and hugs me to sleep, everytime the real ones break my heart...

14) I pretend to be a miss-know-it-all, but the truth is, most times, I am like a rabbit frozen in front of a pair of headlights on a dark summer night...

15) I pretend to have more friends than I can count, the truth is I am just that little girl, whose Birthday party noone wants to come to...

The teddy...

2010-03-15T02:04:00.002+05:30

“It’s been a long time since I wrote something…”

This has been the starting line of most of the little I have written in the last 2 years.
There was a time when I would churn out two, three, sometimes four posts a night.
I could wake up at 3:27am on a black summer morning and find inspiration in the blank, except for the rotting bloody bodies of dead mosquitoes, walls of my minuscule hostel room.
Today, I lie in my plump bed, fatter in both body and experience, no not wallet, do you know the ratio of the salary of an ASE to her cost of living?? Its 1:38 (No I was just trying to be witty, no I did NOT calculate it, but you get the point right??)Ah! Well! I digress, so where was I? Yes I was in my plump bed with a fat body of experience, a fatter body per se, a blank page and a printed keyboard, in short all the tools required to cook a delicious literary broth.
Yet, the page remains bland and the words in my mind half-baked, because my kitchen is out of stock of the one key ingredient, “Inspiration”.
What is inspiration anyway?
Is it a strange face in the crowd that is gone forever in a span of a heartbeat, or a familiar stranger we sit next to every day on our way to work? Is it a little voice we hear inside our head, or is it the God whose existence we all try to believe in? Is it the smell of rain in the air or the colour of the sky on a sunny day?
Is it a broken heart or the edge of a tapestry you see through the half open window of the apartment in the building opposite to yours?
Is it hope or is it life itself?
I do not know…
All I know is that there times when everything feels empty and meaningless and life feels like a dream trapped in an eternal repetitive cycle. You crave for a way out, to write something anything yet everything eludes you, it’s like you are empty of ideas, empty of ability, empty of life itself.
You remember, how when you were little
life meant a cute cuddly teddy bear with a pink satin ribbon we loved to run through our fingers, ‘coz it felt so soft and shiny. Today, it is a monstrosity of unspent tears and dusty emotions, of broken hearts and discoloured dreams…

And then comes a day when you are sitting at your window, listening to the thunder of a rainless sky, as the sun takes a deep plunge down the horizon, feeling the wind whip your hair around your face. Your legs are cramped, your laptop at the verge of becoming extinct, your view is the same empty plot/garbage dump, you try not to look at every day, yet for no reason you feel this faint stirring of something, like hope, like just a faint hint that something other than emptiness still resides in some hidden corner of your being…

And in moments like this, you almost believe, that under all that grime, under those broken pots and disfigured pans this monster still has that little cuddly teddy curled up somewhere, a little too dusty, a little too frayed, quite a bit thinner and very wobbly… but with that faded pink ribbon stills blowing around its crumbing ears, just as soft if not as shiny as it was…in moments like this you almost believe in belief

In the Dark...

2010-02-15T02:14:00.006+05:30

He took her arm and tucked it safely in the crook of his elbow.

He heard her heart beat under the russle of her deep gown.

He bent towards her and whispered... "worry not my princess, I am there to hold you every time you falter"

She heard the gentle strains of music intermingling with the chatter of people waiting for her.

She saw the delicate patterns on the ancient glass panes of the door, enlightened by the subtle rays from the room beyond.

She felt his hand press hers reassuring...

She finally reached out and pushed across to the other side...

And then all was gone...

The light, the music, the people... his fingers slipped from hers... she twirled where she stood, lost in that dark hole of forever...

And there she twirls still, in that russling gown of misery... living the unreality of betrayal... stilled in a frozen block of eternity...

reaching out towards a hand of promise whose fingertips forever remain just out of reach...

The day of love

2010-02-14T20:48:00.005+05:30

Its the designated day of love, yet all I feel today is an emptiness where that love should have been. I try to substitute the void with rose coloured excused dipped in chocolate sauce.
I keep enumerating the things that are missing, because when I sit down to list the things that are not, I end up with a blank sheet.
And I hate blank sheets... I hate barrenness.
Some people say that emptiness is a place from where you can start again, its the point where you have so much more space to fill up.
But what do I fill it with? The past that no longer looks back? or the future that is nothing but an empty picture in a frame of the present?
I did not lose anything, except an illusion, the illusion I created to appease a hungry dream, an illusion that lulled the dream into a poisonous sleep.
And now I sit here at my dusty doorstep,
watching as the illusion walks away down the road to sea with its boxes of magic and colourful scarves, with its eternal promises and packs of cards...
I wonder if the dream that I so treacherously put to sleep, would ever wake up to sing me its sweet lullaby again?

Broken Butterfly

2009-11-27T03:28:00.005+05:30

I would have fought till my last breath
against the very Goddess of death
I would have stood in the way of every rolling hill
and slain every monster with my sword, until
you were safe and sound
in dreams profound
in your bed tucked, away
from every drowning bay
yet, as I lay here crumpled, in a pain so fine
you sit on a high seat, laugh and dine
with the fiends who pierced me, with their fiery spear
I scream and cry, but you find nothing to hear
And as I wonder with my dying sigh
if you were my friend or was it just a lie
you flare at me, raise a hue and cry
how could I doubt you, how could I deny
that you had a life and a right to choose
whom you wished to laugh with, whom you wish to bruise
And as you laugh there merrily, on your table so high
A broken butterfly, I quietly die...

I lost my best friend today-- To betrayal, to love and to pre-set notions.

The people who know you are the hardest to convince that you are trying to change.
The people who tell you what's wrong with you and what you need to improve are the first ones to think you are mocking them or being sarcastic,when you actually take their advice and try to be a "better" person.
The people who tell you to give them space are the ones who tell you to FO!!! for being a snob, when you do exactly that.

Why is it that the relationships we cherish the most are the ones that we invariably end up losing?
Why is it that "baseless insecurity" is what often leads to broken ties?
Why is it that the one person we trust with every hidden corner of our heart, betrays us the deepest?

A personal surprise

2009-10-31T22:17:00.004+05:30

On an impulse, yesterday, I bought myself the most beautiful long stemmed red roses.
It felt so good. I used to do this in college. A lot of people found it weird, you know, giving roses to yourself. But then, I love roses and so why wait for someone else to realize it and give them to you to make you smile? Why not just have a little romance with yourself?
But somehow over the last year amidst the clutter of my useless existence, like most other things that were me (the long walks exploring, the lying in the dark listening to music through the night, the hanging out with friends and laughing my head off etc.) this too got lost in some forgotten recess of my memories of me...
Well, yesterday walking alone in the night, flagged by lighted shops and wizzing traffic, a backpack on my bag and no idea of where I was going, just following my heart, I felt more alive and more "me" than I had felt in a long time. And the roses were really the cherry on the cake.
I was on my way back when I passed this flower shop, I had actually gone by without stopping, but then something made me smile and turn around without another thought, and a moment later I was there, looking through his bundle for the best roses of them all...

This just proves, that even after living with "me" for the last 22 and a half years, I still have the ability to surprise her :)
I wish I have more days like this.

PS: Finally after almost a month after my poor lappy went into a comma, its working again, and after ages I had an urge to write and so I did.
By the way had the greatest day today. Will write about it in the next post. TC all :)

I miss

2009-09-23T23:07:00.002+05:30

I am missing the joy that only writing something creative
I am missing being hugged so close that I can't feel anything but his arms around me...
I am missing the sound of a shared honest laugh over maggi cooked in a heating kettle
I am missing my best friend (a lot)

Reading the "Signs"

2009-09-16T01:26:00.005+05:30

Ever since my one of my best friends introduced me to "Sun-Signs" by Linda Goodman in my first semester of college, I have been hooked. I wouldn't say I believe in all those daily predictions that come in the newspapers for the different signs, but as far as the basic characteristics associated with each of the signs are concerned, I have found a lot of examples that fit.
I lov studying people and so I have learnt a lot about certain behavioral patterns of the sunsigns I have come most in contact with.

So, I decided to share my insight into these here at my blog.
I will be sharing one sunsign with each post. I invite you all to share your views on the signs and even your experiences with them either in the comments section, or even by mail (I would love to publish them here)

Cancerians:
1)Extremely sensitive
2)Extremely caring
3)Extremely family oriented
4)Extremely vindictive
....a lot of "extremely"s there, but when it comes to cancerians, nothing is less than "extreme"

They are the best moms,
the best cooks
and there is something about them that makes u want to share your deepest secrets with them
they have great intuition and they love to say I told you so ;)
they are great when it comes to taking important decisions
when it comes to handling finance, well, they know what they are doing
they can be quite adamant about what they think is right and can be self-righteous(some people would call that an understatement)
not very independent by nature, but when it comes down to it, they know how to stand strong come what may.
they love getting pampered (yes we all do, but to them its as important as air and water to most of us)
they love getting gifts and will never forget someone who gave them one, or for that matter someone who didn't
they can also get a little too easily swayed by praise and a little expert buttering ;)

But they can also be really really controlling,
they never accept their mistake,
they never accept that they never accept their mistakes,
they are usually very impatient,
they are big time cribbers but can also be extremely resilient when it counts
they can use what u share with them against u if u cross them,
don't realize what they say when they are angry
and they can well, just be tooooooo mushy at times
they don't easily understand the concept of "space" in relationships and get hurt if someone asks for it (they take it as an insult to them and to them it translates to "I don't love you, I don't appreciate you and I don't need you anymore"
Whatsay??

PS: My mom is a cancerian and I love her. I couldn't have asked for a better mother. We have had our little tiffs and taffs but she has learnt to live with my need for "space" and my wierdness and from trying to get me to "behave", today she is my biggest supporter in letting me do my thing. She loves me for what I am and trust me thats a feat I sometimes find difficult to accomplish. On my end, I have learnt to respect her for her strength and the sacrifices she has made for her belief and love in her family. I haven't said it often enough but inspite of her flaws (very very minute ones mom) she is the strongest woman I know...she is my ideal and I know I could spend a lifetime trying, but I can never be like her

PPS: NO OFFENSE INTENDED WHATSOEVER!!!

Innocent Betrayal

2009-09-12T22:35:00.005+05:30

She sat there with her eyes closed, listening to the waves echo back the words he had just said...
the gamble he had played with his trusting heart and lost...

It was the stuff dreams were made off...the beach, the song from her favorite singer, the eyes full of the emotion she had always wanted to see...
But she didn't say a word..confused...looking for feelings she knew should be there...
And he stood there misunderstanding her silence for yes
He took her into his arms then...
Something within her panicked and she struck away from his surprised arms...
the arms drooped...the look shattered into a million crystals...struck down by the wall of her betrayal

She opened her eyes to see him chasing crabs...
To anyone watching from a distance, it would have been hilarious...a grown man on his knees crawling after tiny translucent crabs, being a charming little boy
But to her it was the most painful thing she had ever seen...a grown man broken in half...grasping for sanity which chased away from him, slipping into little holes in the wet sand

It broke her to break him, it tore her apart...but she had no choice...her fears, her doubts had taken over and masked the love that was somewhere inside...
And she had turned and run away...

she ran...

she could hear him calling...

but she ran...

she ran till she could no longer hear the accusing waves,
she ran till she could no longer feel the coldness of pain,

she ran for days
she ran for months
she ran for an eternity

and then she stopped

for she could smell the sea again
for she could hear his voice again
and there was the same love in it
she turned to see the look she knew was in his eyes
she turned to tell him she was not scared anymore

and there he was...

and it was stuff dreams were made of..the beach..the song...the eyes filled with the same emotion...

but his arms were closed and his head was bent, and where she should have been, was someone else...
she fell to her knees crawling away from the pain, looking for crabs that refused to come...
a little girl..a broken woman...Innocently betrayed...

A december evening

2009-09-04T15:20:00.006+05:30

a mist of words so silenced
an embrace so sweet so violent
bodies mute
playing like a lute
a heartbeat missed
an earlobe kissed
a dancing soul
a burning coal
an evening I remember
of a forgotten December
the love so warm
impatient yet calm
the memories remain
like a foggy terrain
here I sit in my empty quilt
as cold as the heart frozen with guilt

PS: This is inspred from Priya's post A love Poem

First ever award!!!

2009-08-31T21:41:00.004+05:30

Hey guys, I recently got my first award for this blog thanks to Iggy!!

Its the Sumptuous blogger award. Unfortunately, there is something wrong with my blogger, can't upload pictures to it for some reason.

The recent Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations saw the entry pathway of our township decorated with lights.
Walking back from work one dark thunderous rainy night, with the twinkling lights on both sides, the following lines floated into my head...

I stand there amazed,
what a wondrous sight
darkness walking calmly,
through a boulevard of light...

Its a time for endings and beginnings... I have made some tough decisions. I wonder if I would ever be able to stick to them completely...
Call me selfish, call me mean, call me a bloody bitch, but i have decided to live for myself. No sleepless nights, no rocketing phone bills, no emotional entanglements... just me, my ebooks and my movies.
adios

Pitter Patter

2009-08-21T19:51:00.002+05:30

I listen to the pitter patter of a silver rain
colouring the wan glass grey with strain
I feel the feeling of being headily drenched
and wake up to find, in a galss tomb i am trenched
With the whiffs and whaffs of crackers and tea
my wicked memory, restless, teases me
With a curl of my lips I watch them pass,
those wavy shadows of the greying glass
playing at being the thunderous waves of a silenced sea
a memoir of a bliss I can now only see
I try to remember, but fail
the potent taste of setting an unleashed sail
The wild cry of a free wind, so young
eludes me like some song I had once sung
I wonder why i am lying here like a vampire of light
interred by choice in this tomb of glass, fighting the flight
is this my fate?
to understand when its too late
the direction my life should have taken
to live in servitude of a glass, that can't be shaken

PS: I know most people would see this as a sad poem. But trust me, I was so happy to just be able to write something, that about wiped off everything else :)

The Funny Feeling

2009-06-26T22:11:00.011+05:30

She looked up at the stars splayed across her ceiling
and wondered what was this funny feeling
that had left a snake slithering down her cheek
and an odd sniff, anything but meek

she looked out of her window at the children kneeling
and wondered what was this funny feeling
that made her feel so empty inspite of everything around
and wrapped her in blankets that blacken out every sound

she looked at the kiss the sun from the ocean was stealing
and wondered what was this funny feeling
that sent a tingle of memories chasing through her heart
and bred emotional hiccups that gave her a start

she looked at an old picture whose edges were peeling
and wondered what was this funny feeling
that made her laugh and cry at the faces in it
and wish they could have trapped time forever in a pit

PS: Listening to "kyu...phoolen ke khile khile se rang udd gaye" from kambakht ishq on repeat... wondering why my cheeks are so wet?

My Old Friend

2009-06-05T01:46:00.010+05:30

My collar is wet and my eyes are swelled up, but I haven't felt this good in a long time

No i didn't get a new job (one I can at least tolerate, if not love)
No I didn't find the love of my life
No I didn't read the best book I have ever read
No I didn't get a bouquet of 20 roses
No I didn't have anyone tell me I am the most beautiful girl in the world or the sweetest creature of God
My life hasn't changed all that much

except...

except that I just found an old friend...
She was lurking right round the corner, and I never noticed. And then tonight, out of the blue WHAM!! there she was before me, laughing her head off, being her silly goofy self.

We had lost touch for a while, you know, in the motions of life, learning things, unlearning things, making THE BIG decisions, while ignoring the little ones that really mattered...
in short---in growing up!!

Tonight, like most nights, I revved up my faithful lappy, checked for mails that never come, half-heartedly replied to the comments on the depressing post I had put up on my blog, logged into gtalk and logged out before anyone got a chance to ping me, put up another one of those historical dramas for download and played the same stage of mario i have been playing for the last 2 months again (again failing to pass it through).
I was about to sign off and call it a night when i remembered this dog movie I had downloaded on a wild hunch a couple of days back and forgotten about. Well the sleep angels weren't exactly purring yet, so I decided to dig it out and sample it...

It was there that I met her again...my long lost friend...me...
prancing around incessantly, disobeying every command ever thrown her way, chewing on anything she could get her teeth into, loving the people who mattered with every last golden hair on her 100 pound body... all in the skin of " THE WORST DOG IN THE WORLD "--- Marley.
Yes, I am talking about the movie "Marley and me".

Sometimes when we are lost and desolate, it is the strangest of things that can get us reaquainted with that friend who is hidden somewhere under all that artily smudged kohl and piles of tic-tacs, under the very visible frown lines and the invisible laugh lines, under the crisp shirt and the choiciest chooridars...the girl who doesn't care if her eyes are puffy because she cried over the death of her favourite book character all night or that her laugh woke up the neighbors down the street at two in the morning, who doesn't care if her t-shirt is on inside out or if her favourite comfy old shorts are coming off at the seams, literally!!
Yes, the same one who would end up playing with every little kid she came across...who spent every second of an auto ride looking with wonder at the things passing by...
Its strange really when you think that there is no good in the world and that nothing matters anymore, that everyone is selfish (including you) and nothing can touch your heart anymore, a simple story of the journey of a dog and that of the people around him can move you like this, can make you feel again, can make u see yourself again... not only as who you were but who you want to be... who you can be!!!

Yes, you can be that girl in a pair of travelling shoes, clicking away pictures with her phone from the window of a moving bus, yes the one who is not afraid of laughing louder than thunder and makes friends with every dog she lays eyes on...
the one who is hoping for a sunnier day... but if it still pours..., well, what the hell!!!
there is nothing like a dance in the rain to raise those spirits is there??? :) :)

Tc people!! Sherry is back!!

aimless scribble

2009-06-01T01:25:00.003+05:30

After ages I actually logged into gtalk and talked to old friends... and then at 1:30 in the morning had a sudden urge to scribble something here.
life has been a little topsy turvy recently...made a really hard, life changing decision
lost something very important to me with my usual talent for screwing up everything that matters to me
made a few new friends in hyd..don't know how long it will last
watched angels and demons today...if u separate it from the book it was actually ok but for someone who has read the book and loved it, it was murder, "literally"
i am still on bench...nine hours of doing nothing continue, though i have taken to looking up obscure things, case histories, movies etc on Wikipedia as my new hobby and it helps pass the time pretty well...
I don't know why i am scribbling all this... may be its been so long since i wrote something, the craving is overwhelming
I want to learn to play the guitar
i want friends
i want to have a good time
i want to slim down
i want to talk to someone who would make me laugh till my tummy ached
i want to travel
i want someone to give me company exploring Hyderabad
i want to start clicking pictures
i want to get soaked to my skin in the rain without being watched
i want to feel his breath on my shoulder
i want to cook something exotic
i want a big close long hug
i want to sleep
i want to be happy

a clean slate ..

2009-05-06T20:22:00.002+05:30

I am sitting at my desk with nothing to do except write crap, I don’t even know whether I would publish it or not. What a day it has been.

I came to office to a merciless dressing down from my ex-manager because I failed to hear what he said over the deafening traffic and because I “dared” to ask him for a charge code for the work I was supposed to be doing for him. Add to that wadas so soggy, they almost made me choke and the unbearable stench of stale coffee all over me because I managed to spill it down the front of my pale yellow shirt, which is now irreversibly ruined.

‘A’ thinks I am bored of talking to him, ‘coz I managed to fall asleep for three consecutive days on the phone.
None of my friends are online.
I feel like breaking something.
I feel like tearing off this foul smelling shirt and jumping on my maddeningly white desk; naked.
I feel like pulling out and shredding every piece of poetry, every picture, every thought I have put up on my cramped cubicle wall.
I feel like crouching under my desk, running away from this unforgiving world like a kid.
I feel like ending my career before it has even begun.
I want a chance to wipe the slate clean once again and begin anew ..

Enough Reason?

2009-04-28T23:22:00.001+05:30

I am not usually the silent times.
I am known to have had the loudest voice and the most thunderous laugh any room.
I used to spend hours lost in songs and their meanings.
I used to love to chat and gossip like an old maid and yet they all loved me.
I used to have the best friends in the world, my little circle of love and trust.
I used to have the most photogenic smile in my group.
Whether it was placing an order for food or talking up a complete stranger it was I my friends used to catch ‘coz I could hold a confident conversation with just about anyone.
I used to be the life of any room with my craziness.
I used to have 10 simultaneous windows open in gtalk with something to write in each of them.
I used to spend many a day dancing on top of my bed to some wild tune.
I was a moderate success in just about any work I took up.
I used to spend sleepless nights rolling in bed musing over that greatest mystery…love.

The only time I talk now is on the phone. I am so silent elsewhere, I fear that my voice would disappear.
I can’t remember the last time my laugh sounded like my own.
I listen to songs endlessly on my phone but would be at a loss to answer which song was playing on it.
I don’t gossip, I don’t bitch, I don’t tease and yet everyone seems to hate me.
I have no friends to speak of, no one to trust and can’t remember what a loving hug felt like.
I don’t get my pictures clicked, the smile is too painful to look at.
If someone talks to me I stutter and can’t think of anything to say to a simple question like “what do u dream of?”
I glide in and out of rooms like a ghost and no one even looks up.
I sign into gtalk and can’t chose one window to open from my 200+ contacts.
I don’t dance , ever.
I got my first feedback with “FAILURE” written all over it.
I have lived through the painful reality of love and don’t even have its soothing illusion to hug close to my heart in a lonely night.

Is it enough reason to be a depressed blogger Mr P? or do I need more?

and days go by ..

2009-04-26T01:35:00.003+05:30

It’s been quite a while since I wrote here, and no the culprit has not been my high flying career with one of the leading software firms in the industry. I have none. I have an obscure corner in an obscurer bay of my company building…the ITP bay commonly known as THE BENCH. Which means while people in projects slog under deadlines, do overtime, miss their own weddings…we put up our feet (literally), lower the (imaginary) brim of our hats and doze off with earplugs streaming the songs we have been listening to for the last 8 months into our ears.
When sleep eludes us we turn to some unread book or unopened ebook.

We sign into chat but are soon found making excuses ranging from an urgent meeting with an absent supervisor to a desperate call of nature in order to go offline, simply because we don’t want to answer the proverbial question—“Whatsup??”

Some of us might be found engrossed in their own world of equations and synonyms, trying to plough their way into a B-school.

And when nothing is left we search obscure topics on wikipedia, like, psychoanalysis, pagan rituals, or in an act of utter desperation, the six wives of Henry VIII.

We recently joined our out of practice hands and rusted heads in a “SAY NO TO PLASTIC” campaign which had us painting posters, even a first grader would be ashamed to call his own and writing slogans that wouldn’t inspire a duckling…
It also had me laughing like I haven’t in a long long time, and had me making friends and chatting up with people like I no longer deemed possible in office.

The campaign got over yesterday, the plastic bags are back and the posters have been lost somewhere in the labyrinths of the office…
but here I am sitting on a desk, sharing a bag of peanuts and a diet coke with my new found friends along with childhood stories and poems… painting ridiculous paintings and trying to make sense out of dumplings of paint… holding discussions on who is the worst painter in the bay and on our views on paganism and Christianity and on long lost tales…

I am sitting here, with a smile on my lips, the proud owner of a shirt marred by dashes of paint and a heart of many shades (which I painted) taped to the wall of my cubicle alongside a brand new poem which came out of nowhere just like my new-found joy.

I want to live in a house by the sea
With whose white spray my spirit could flee

Or may be I would prefer a house on a giant tree
With whose red blossoms my heart could grow free

A castle in the wilderness it might as well be
In whose hidden passages my lost spirit I could see

Or may be my destiny is a quite plantation of tea
In whose green bosom could be the answer to my unheard plea…

Inside the bubble

2009-03-18T17:03:00.001+05:30

I am sitting at my desk, feet on the upturned dustbin, no work to talk of, grey raxine-like walls converging into a cone behind the black dell monitor, a white board blank except for a blue date of three days back marking one top corner. The outside world is blocked out by curvatious black headphones singing “o saathi re” into numbed ears. An e-book version of salman rushdie’s “satanic verses” has been fished out of the long-forgotten archives of my C-drive and is being devoured with a demonic hunger. g-talk is logged out, both cell phones lie lost and ignored in a heap in my little black bag of endless mysteries and intrigue…

After a long time, I am not bored, not sad, not lonely…I am the girl with pigtails sprawled across a rope-bed on a brick terrace in an obscure town of Punjab, drowsily reading one loved book after another, dreamily jumping from one fantasy frame into the next, while the winter sun teased the hair on her pink payjama clad legs…untouched from the world outside, her innocence virginal in its ignorance of the intricacies of lies, betrayals and untouched by lives which are nothing but farces…
I want to live this fantasy forever…never want to take off these headphones…never want to ever worry about what who thinks about me…never want to hear another lie…never want to laugh at a joke I don’t find funny…never want to share confidences with a false friend…never want to pretend to feel things I don’t…
I want to be the epileptic prophetess Ayesha one second and her ignorant sinful archangel the next. I want to swish my angry tail in desperation like the not-so-evil devil and the throw my head back as the rebellious Mishal and kick out.

I want to be a drop of time, with the universe rolled into one…
I want to be the daughter of a king and the man who killed her for a son…
I want to be a bubble in full flight, out of reach of every bursting pin…
I want to be the taint in everything pure and the virtue in the heart of every sin…
I want to be the beauties and their loving beast
And the girl who had butterflies for a feast…

Today,

I don’t want to love
I don’t want to be loved
I don’t want a kiss or a cuddle
I don’t want sweet nothings whispered into my sleepy ears
I want to be left alone in my bubble of self
I want to be free of everything…every chain, every pain, every relationship, every obligation, every desire, every smoldering fire…

Stark White Ends

2009-01-04T18:39:00.003+05:30

He felt the breeze ruffle his hair lovingly, as the bike yawned lazily down the dark road. Unlike most people, for whom biking meant riding full throttle on an empty road, flying faster than the wind itself, leaving the world behind, for him, it was a slow ride along an empty road, taking in the scent of the wilderness, breathing the slow languid solitude, as the world moved past, slowly at its own pace. Nothing relaxed him more. On some nights he would go to the dark empty road on the outskirts of the city, just put the bike in the first gear, close his eyes, and let the bike take him wherever it wanted to go.
It was one such night.. He was lost in his version of nirvana, when he sensed a foreign aroma ripple through all the familiar odors of the night. He tried to place it..what was it that he smelt? A bud of passion in a swirl of loneliness coloured with a dash of the wild and the unfamiliarity of the city, an open invitation hiding an impenetrable wall, a feminine mystery.. his eyes opened, and he saw her walking down the pavement. The white salwar, unhurriedly kissing the quick paced heels... the kurta coloured with little drops of ruby red, that seemed to be shifting, forming a new pattern with each step... the long black braid, that went in a pendulum motion, that had something hypnotic about it, It took him a minute to force his eyes away and break its spell. But what took his breath away was the scarlet dupatta, which seemed to whirl around with a life of its own... the deepest red with the starkest white ends...
He pulled his bike ahead and stopped next to her. The heels stopped, and she turned a slow black gaze towards him raising her questioning eyes, with just that hint of suspicion in them. For a moment he didn't say a word, standing there dumbfound, staring at those impossibly red lips. It was when they moved to ask him his purpose that he finally snapped out, "Hey! This is kind of a lonely place,to be travelling alone, I would love to give you a ride back to the city". He sensed a hesitation in those vibrant eyes, and quickly turned a smile to put her at ease. "Are you sure, it won't be a inconvenient?", the lips asked slowly. "Not at all, I was going there anyway".
The bike started again, and he felt the dupatta on his back, almost caressing it. He could have sworn there was something almost wet and sticky about it.
He ignored it as the wind took over and the scents of the night returned to fill him.
The trees fell past, as if of its own violation, the bike got faster... the wind ceased to caress him, but crashed against him to break into a million pieces.
The grey ribbon ahead disappeared, as the red dupatta whipped out like the devil's tail, to wrap itself around him.
The ripple of his scream shattred the silent mirror of the wild, before it set itself back in one.
She walked on with the white salwar, unhurriedly kissing the quick paced heels... the kurta coloured with little drops of ruby red, that seemed to be shifting, forming a new pattern with each step... the long black braid, that went in a pendulum motion, that had something hypnotic about it, and the scarlet dupatta, which seemed to whirl around with a life of its own... the deepest red with the equally bloody ends...

A mirror...

2008-12-23T21:16:00.003+05:30

Today I was a mirror...
clear, like the most virgin lake...
smooth like the finest silk...
shimmering like the brightest star...

Today I was a mirror...
hit by a wayward rock
rippled like a torrid sea...
and as the cracks spread to every part of me...

I fell..

fell to the unforgiving ground..!!

my shimmering pieces,
spread far and wide,
like the traveling tears of a lost child

The perfect sunday

2008-12-21T20:01:00.003+05:30

The perfect wake up: A call from dad, saying how much he loves me

The perfect meal: Scrambled eggs, cooked to perfection with the purity of onions and the ooze of eggs accompanied by self-cooked burning hot paranthas

The perfect afternoon: watching the rerun of roadies followed by a session of "jane tu..ya jane na"

The perfect relaxation: An hour spent in the bath pampering yours truly.

The perfect blow-dry: jumping full hilt on top of the bed to "Have a nice day" by bon jovi at a volume high enough to make the windows vibrate.

The perfect romance: A slow motion dance in the arms of my giant pink teddy

The perfect moment: Reading lolita, curled up on the sofa waiting for the crazy colour on my toe-nails to dry.

The perfect Sunday: All of the above rolled into one day.

#Sherry#

Midnight exploits of the wandering maidens

2008-12-21T00:58:00.006+05:30

My day started at 5pm today.. no, that was not a typo. It was a late lazy 'p'.
Of course that was partly because last night had ended at 7am, with a helping of Lolita and a dash of Salman Rushdie. Add to that an utterly spectacular spell cast by the "Illusionist" at 4am, and you can understand my late resurrection.
Anyway, I opened my eyes to an empty flat(except if you count my in-her-romantic-world, glued-to-skype rumie), an empty kitchen and emptier tummy. Luckily I found a half full packet of maggi in some obscure cupboard in the living room, which I quickly turned into a sumptuous break-lunch-fast.
What followed was the usual weekend fare of lounging on the sofa, aimlessly switching channels and basically waiting for the torture to end.
On a sudden inspiration, I raided the fridge and decided to cook "the house special" aloo beans :slurp: :sigh:, which when paired up with spicy pudina chatni(which I found hidden in some obscure corner of our powder blue fridge) and ghee drenched slices of bread, served steaming hot, and accompanied by the finest chilled pepsi "my can", was the feast-de-glory.
But the best part of the day was yet to come. After dinner, I along with my three rumies(who had finally taken a break from their busy love lives), went out for a walk. Whistling and singing, both completely out of key, and dancing like drunkards, we made our ways through the lighted, empty, 11:30 pm streets of our township, towards the all night cafe for an after-dinner sweet tooth indulging session of steamy gulab-jamuns and slurpy ras-milais. Tavi had this sudden idea and whipped out her blackberry for an impromptu photo-session. And so, we posed like school kids, prancing around all over the place, laughing like a bunch of crazies and vying for getting into the frame. On the way back we stopped in the deserted park and draped ourselves on the stone benches like Egyptian princesses of lore and their hulky bodyguards(complete with the seductive pout and the body-builder poses),all for the camera's benefit. We brought a fitting close to the day(yup it was midnight), by going to the childrens' park and transforming into 5 year olds, running after each other, climbing the spider net, almost upsetting the sea-saw and having a competition on who could ride the swing higher. A couple of whistles from some guys on a balcony high up, prompted a string of the choiciest lakhnavi galis from neha, and fits of laughter from the rest of us as we finally made our way back to our flat, singing typical shadi-type punjabi songs and doing our own version of the bhangra.
And here I am curled up on the comfy diwan in the living room(my rumie is back to her skype in the room and i don't like to disturb her, and anyway i like the diwan a lot more than our bed)under my favourite cuddly soft blanket with the fan on full-blast, and the windows open to the world below, with a satisfied smile on my face at last, writing this post, waiting for the download to complete, so that i can get to watching the movie of the night. A day well slept and a night well spent...

A scarf in the wind

2008-12-20T00:38:00.004+05:30

Today i am a scarf swirling in the wind..
without aim, without purpose, without a care in the world
I blow, alone, but free..higher and higher i go
and on me..as the greens and blues splash the yellows with a helping of red and there hidden just under them..dancing to its own crazy tune is a dash of fresh violet
aaaah!! how good the wind feels so high up as it touches me inside out..
just how perfect the sun looks from up close, look how I make it blush as I blow it a kiss
as the world below me disappears into little specks, I am free at last..stringless guiltless painless.. just another scarf in the wind :)

I notice.. I wonder

2008-12-10T20:36:00.002+05:30

I am sad.
I am sitting on top of my friend's desk in my white bay. My work here is done, but I have to wait for my blasted hip-hop class, where I happen to be the worse student, but for which I enrolled in some moment of temporary madness
I notice that the shiny leather on my not-so-old pair of black heels is coming off at the tip.. I wonder whether that happened, across the sleek floors of the office or on the ragged rock-strewn ways of the railway station, I cross every night to get home?
I look up to notice the people around me laughing... I wonder why a crowd is the loneliest place to be in sometimes?
I turn to walk away, its time for my dance class. I notice him sitting there, typing away at his computer.. I wonder why I felt sorry for him, when all he had to say was "keep your opinions to your self"?
I turn away and rush towards the lift. I notice that I have pressed the button for ground,. I wonder why I did that, since my class is on the 2nd floor.
I rush out of the building into the open night, the dance class forcibbly forgotten. I notice its cold enough to make me shiver. I wonder why I am not taking the warm red shuttle parked next to the main gate, and am instead walking the mile and a half to the gate, shivering in my rickety heels?
I notice the darkness, the cars zipping by, the bikes zooming past, the couples laughing, the shuttles stuttering.. I wonder why all this seems to be part of an uninteresting background today?
I notice the scores of little holes all around me on the road, and I wonder why is it that everytime I walk so carefully, my heel always ends up getting stuck in one, while today when I am walking like I don't give a damn I clear them, like they were never there..
I have reached the gate. I notice dozens of auto-wallas vying for my attention... I wonder who is this girl under my skin who is standing here and bargaining like a wizened old woman, when all I care about is getting to that bed to collapse on and cry my lungs out..
I am in the auto and I feel so listless.. like nothing in the world matters.. I notice that a tear just rolled down my cheek.. I wonder why I don't have a clue about when or what happened to made me this sad...
Its a red light and my auto stops with a shudder.. I notice a begger next to my auto trying to get me to put a few coins in his torn cap.. I wonder how he manges not to let them fall out of the numerous holes?
The light is green now, but we are moving slowly with the crowd.. I notice a group of saree-clad women in vibrant greens and jumpy oranges look down at themselves self-consciously as they get their picture clicked in front of a monument of red rocks.. I wonder if the seeing the picture later would make them smile, or would they wish they had done something different?
I notice that the traffic has thinned out and the lights are silent on this stretch of the road.. I wonder how much longer I can hide in my darkness..
I notice the driver of the truck in front driving erratically in the wrong lane.. I wonder if he'll pass a drunk test if a policeman stops him..
The last thing I notice is how soft the crunch of glass sounds as it crashes into a million pieces.. I wonder why it draws so much blood?

I don't know...

2008-12-04T21:50:00.004+05:30

I don't know why it is so torturous to know that he is happy loving someone else, while I find it impossible to even imagine being in love with anyone else...

Happy Ending..!!

2008-12-02T22:01:00.005+05:30

Had a long day at office, quite literally..was the last one to leave the bay..at a drop dead 9 pm!!!
By that time,
my kohl had melted from my eyes onto my cheeks and hands, from all that continual rubbing, waiting for the bugger of a job to run..
my eyes and my shirt had become the same shade of pink..
It had taken me 20 minutes to notice that the earphones plugged into my ears weren't playing anything 'coz the IPOD's battery was long dead..
I had reedited the same job twice, 'coz I found it difficult to differentiate between OPS_CAD and OPS_IND..

In short, I knew it was time to pick up my heels, and put on my bag and lock up the marker.. oops.. I mean pick up my bag put on my marker and lock the heels.. Oh! Whatever..!!!..
So, anyway, I was staggering towards what looked like the lift door, when my teammate offered me a lift to the auto, something I was in no position to deny.
Off I went on his brand new red HOT!! I mean Black HOT bike. And trust me, there is nothing like a ride under the stars on a fast bike to get your sight and your senses back. In short quite a happy ending to a not so happy day :) :) :)

Tonight I saw the wind's magic show
it took me high and dropped me low
it made me its undefeated queen
with a crown the colour of emerald green
Power without bounds i felt
as before me the world knelt
and the stars shone for me alone
as with a fury my hair were blown
as I closed my eye
and let out a sigh
the show came to an abrupt end
i had reached my auto-wala bend..

My Taj...

2008-11-29T01:13:00.012+05:30

Her tiny skirt caught on the rusted old seat, as the little boat dipped suddenly. Her pink knee, turned red as it scraped against the much-used wooden floor. But that was too little to keep her still. She was up again, running towards the side of the boat, looking for her favourite place in all the world. Even as the salty spray from the sea stung her eyes and the sharp sun pierced through the back of her head, making her dizzy, she stood there, looking for her jewel, on the other side of the horizon..looking for her Taj...
And there it was, she could see it now. To her tired eyes, the hustle bustle of the Gateway of India was muted. All they could hear was the melodious red of The Taj..her Taj.
Every time their ship came to Mumbai, her 5 year old feet couldn't wait to get onto the lurching boat that would take them to the shore at the Gateway of India, right behind which stood the object of her fantasy. Taj, with its gigantic walls, majestic windows, cool marble floors, leveried waiters who always treated her like the princess she knew she was, and most of all the breathtaking fountain right in the middle of its shiny lobby, which she loved to dance all around, was truly her haven.
And as the boat neared the harbour and the half naked boy jumped over the pier to tie the little vessel to the port, her excitement knew no bounds. Her father had to hold her back forcibly, kicking and spitting, lest she fall off the side and crash against the rocks. As soon as they were at the pier, her parents asked her with a grin, already knowing her innocent answer, "where do you want to go today darling?". And with her eyes bright and her cheeks red, she said, "My Taj".
And off she went sprinting towards it...

Today, that Taj, My Taj is getting ravaged by reasonless men. Its gigantic walls are being blown apart like a pack of useless cards. Its majestic windows are being used as gun slots for shooting down are brave guardians. The cool marble floors are being made slippery with hot flowing blood. Its leveried waiters are being taken hostage and being sacrificed by men who are trying to bring alive their own sordid misshapen fantasies. And the fountain..my pure magical musical fountain is being silenced by the cacophonous disenchantment of a vile death...

PS: This is a tribute to the Taj that I had known, the palace of dreams, the epitome of grace, and to the countless smiles and memories which it gave me and many more like me.. No AK-47 bearing terrorist can kill those smiles or burn those memories...

Broken...

2008-11-26T22:36:00.006+05:30

The high walls of a coastless sea
The hidden power of a humble plea
The guilt born in the lap of love
The pain struck by an empty glove

The face reflected in a broken mirror

The distance that grows as you go near
The betrayal brought by an honest touch
The emptiness caused by too much
The tremble of an unshed tear
The bloodless death by a spoken spear
The story told with a silent face
The sorrow writ in a clown’s grace
The world destroyed with a shaken head
The faith that was left for dead
The reasons I look for behind
The pieces that I never find
The wonder at what has been done
The horror and I are now one…

No, I am not still hurt or in love with him, but now I know how it is to be on the other side of the fence... How it feels to break a heart...

PS: Office was boring today..not much to do except staring at a blank screen and listening to Bryan Adams on my friend's IPod. Not that I am complaining, I kind of enjoyed sleeping with the back of my chair pushed backward, my unheeled feet resting on the upturned dustbin and the earphones singing in my ears... , and yeah dreaming about the irresistably hot HR I have been literally oggling at during lunch hour for the last week and a half ;) ;) :D

Weekend sprawls..

2008-11-24T23:42:00.005+05:30

I came home with aching feet and a head full of service lines and delivery logs (I couldn't have remembered the steps of logging one if my life depended on it.. but since my job does, I just spent the whole day trying to rattofy it)..collapsed onto my huge teddy, took off the killer heels and closed my eyes. Images of the weekend just gone by came flitting through and brought a much needed smile...

5 pairs of funky shorts sprawled on the floor..eyes glued to the lappy screen, as a single coke bottle passed hands...

The shared guffaws at abhishek's overacting and ooohs at John's sexy body in dostana and yeah..!! the green smoke of jealousy at priynka's hot style

the imprompto full blast dance party at 3 in the mroning..with everything from "kala chashmas" to "kajrare"

The smile just grew bigger as the images of all those cool dudes we discovered on orkut at 5 in the morning went by.. ;)

the sudden wakeup call at 1 in the afternoon...

the marathon to the bathrooms

the hurried facials and the last minute kajal..

and we were ready to hit the malls!!

The window shopping for goods and guys alike ;)

The gorgeous red top and funky new handbag..

Tryouts for dresses we know we won't wear in our wildest dreams, while the helpless shopkeeper watched on..

The bagsfull of household goodies(yup yup I am a girl with a flat now)

Behind an old obscure board..the most delicious chinese food I have ever eaten...I can almost smell it.. :yumm: .. :sigh: :sigh: :yumm:

and the best part... dawdling along the streets of hyderabad at 11 I the night looking for the elusive paanwala..

The knock on the door pulls me away from the swirling red gulkand.. That's my rumies back from a long day... its time to pick up the broom and sweep the weekend under the covers for the moment, along with the empty popcorn bag and the capless bottle of coke..

Confession..

2008-11-23T16:54:00.004+05:30

Guys...I have a confession to make. Some of you must have read the blog Freeville, by Sherry Rowl.
Actually, that was my anonymous blog. I know a lot of my blogger friends would be angry and shocked that I hid this from them. But the truth is that there had come a phase in my life, especially my blogging life, when I needed to get away from the sad moping sob that I had turned into. I had to run away from the increasingly depressed posts I had taken to writing. I had started writing as a means of getting away from my pain, but my blog turned into this web that was strangling me in that same pain.

So, Sherry was born. She was bubbly, free and dreamy... The old pre-heartbreak Umang, but with a new zest to dream and survive, with a thirst for life and a hunger for joy.

But now that I am out of my net. I don't need an alias anymore. I can be myself again.
So, here I am..
proud to be free, proud to be a dreamer, proud to be happy...
proud to be UMANG...

Corporate Heels

2008-11-20T21:57:00.000+05:30

I sit at the windowsill behind a wall of glass and look down at the flimsy tin roofed huts of the laborers working in the construction site next to my office. I don’t know why I find the sight so enigmatic and relaxing. It’s like I can sit there for hours just looking at the torn clothes and broken boots strewn across the silvery sheets, drinking cup after cup of watery dispenser coffee. But someone is waiting for me at my workstation… its time for implementing another code I don’t understand…trying to decipher error logs more cryptic than ancient Egyptian…remembering file paths longer than my blog posts… Sigh… Welcome to the life of an “Associate Software Engineer”. Yup that’s my new title…gone is the Queen Bee or the doll…It’s ASE now or “Absolute Stupidity Expert”, as I like to call it.

It’s been a mere 4 months and how much has changed…a pair of innocent run-down floaters have been discarded in favour of sophisticated corporate heels. The torn jeans have finally made it to where they should have reached years ago…the bin basket. It’s all razor sharp creases and stiff collars now. The girl who made a friend of every stranger with a single smile, now looks blindly ahead at the distorted image in the shiny doors of a jam-packed lift, feeling like a stranger to herself…

Not a very exciting life is it? Well, it has its moments…like the time when I walked into the store I had looked dreamily at for ages, pulled out my all new debit card and bought an unthinkably expensive pair of shiny black heels. Its another matter altogether that it took me 30 days to walk 30 meters in them without stumbling, and another 10 to get over the violent bites they gave me.

But I am getting better every day. Only yesterday, I climbed a hill of stones in heels…and only yesterday I completed one complete job of ciphers and codes all by myself…

PS: By the way, for all those bloggers who remember me, yup guys, Umang is back to blogging. I know I said I was done with blogging, what with how unbearably sad my blog had become. But, how long can you keep the shark (I would consider it a huge insult being compared to a mere fish, even if its in a proverb ;) ) out of the water. So, here I am with a brand new blog, to share my equally brand new (though not so shining) life. Hope I’ll still have it in me to write something worth reading after the proverbial long day at work.

And for those unlucky (ya I heard the uhms uhms ) souls who have had the misfortune(ok that cough wasn’t so discreet) of never reading me, hi!!!!!!! Guys, I am Umang aka exuberance and I… OH SHIT!!! I think that burning smell was my allooo-would-have-been…I better salvage some of it else my rumies would have me for dinner!! See ya!!