chand lahwz...

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

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...

Love's Proverbial Tramp

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...

Pretensions...

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 day of love

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

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

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 :)

First ever award!!!

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

A mirror...

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

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

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...

Broken...

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

Confession..

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...