Language and us

My moms conversation with d Gardner:
Mom: tum aadhe jheene main aao. Tum ko oradne ka hai. Tumne zhaad barobar nahi kataa.
Gardner to me: babhi kounsi basha main Baat kar rahi hai?

Sunshine

Sunshine's Twitter message was - Happiness is a mostly a decision.
I second that. 

Important Randomness

During an insipid journey returning home, K bumped into a neighbor who she has had mixed feelings of sympathy and stagnant dislike for.

She was happy to know that the lisp was gone, however the nasal sound won't budge. The other realization was very related to my last post 'class-apart'. [Btw, the previous post is a bias (however, its my bias, on my blog, with no malicious intention.)]

This lady was on a 'thinking aloud' spree - something that I have observed in some post menopausal irate, unheard, unoccupied women. With her, I did not know what it was - but I registered it as nervousness. The silly nervousness that you compels faux pas in the presence of glamorous authority.

Nervousness, I realized then, compels a certain palaver with a meek garishness. While confidence is silent and commands respect for the void and restrain.

Thank you Oyster Seeker and the Monk - I would have not learnt it with out observing you.

From The Gutters Of A Prolixious Mind

They are only a battery of letters put together. Sometimes they are words. Rarely do they breathe. It's an achievement to hear them mean what they so didactically were born to model.

In the disjointedness of K's mind, tongue, typing and language - she sounds rather circumlocutory. Hurtling through the pages to find the right word, regurgitating it onto the keyboard and fleeing again in the search of new meaning.


New entrants have joined the Orcs -

Cruciverbalism - was summoned during boy watching. He had mocked at her lit degree from a native college and a namesake university. A part of the crossword club, eloquent in his lexicon - he did not know its meaning. What K received was a 'UH?'and cheap joys of humiliation.

Aqueous - found on a blog. Have been preparing it for an unusual assignment. Say 'searching for truth in an aqueous history.' Naaah! :(


Swill - that's what K calls her work. It's wet and it's a collage born out of waste!

Feint - born from Krishna's head, was for a colleague.

Drone - It is this particular white noise that K would like to fill her head with.

Geriatric - 'Geriatric mind' was used for the first time for the septuagenarians, K suffers each day.


Soundlessly K's fragile cognizance cracks under the consistent flow of inebriated letters.

They take a halt. Make a camp. Breath, watch and K simply smiles.

Another journey begins...

Believe v/s disbelieve

What does one do when they are told that the best times of their life are actually their worst?

What does one do when the stars say a thing and you see another?

What does one do when the mind decides to disbelive and the heart is a little wonky?

What does one do when the world ahead is threatning to go at war for a sword whose shield you are?

What does a shield do when it is still to test the sword's sharpness?

What does one do? Blindly go at war and leave the rest to battle or withdraw and surrender their enemy?

Got to choose one.... K, you got to choose one.

Writing by hand!?

What I have missed the most over the years is a letter in my post and buying stamps to send one. I saw the old post man in his Khaki government uniform today after almost a year or more. It's odd how the digital has taken over, I love technology, I indeed do. I am waiting for the dragon speak (or so I've heard people call it) software to launch! Then the talking speed will kill the typing speed and cure people of carpel tunnel syndrome and other disorders related to being restricted to the keyboard.

However, when you've been to a school where they made you write your defaulted homework 25 times or made you write the same futile / fallible sentence 'I will not misbehave in class' 100 times - you will miss writing! Especially the fancy pencils (with rubbers on the back or back- scratching plastic holders; yes, I had cartoon ones as well!) and the fantastic (leaking) china pens!

Then there were those hated summers with the cursive writing books - and gladly they were discontinued during the 'secondary school'. That was the phase I enjoyed observing people the most! Our hand-writings' were developing just as our hormones were charging, our minds were shaping, our idiosyncrasy speaking out loud. The straight arrows in the sky, stuck to each other words or the one finger gutter space between them or the circular pearls that always won the best hand-writing competition. There were also the grasshopper's legs or the large elephant like writing that took-up three words on a line. The long 'g, j,y' loops that ended on the heads of other letters or clashed with the 'l, t, p'. None of them now can be seen, my handwriting analysis course also lays waste.

I don't care for what has gone but what is left of it remains hidden in a questioning poignant space in the mind. When personal quirks of handwriting, the emotional upswings and downswings marked on a page becomes an alien thing; When Times New Roman, Verdana, Trebuchet, Arial feels like an extension of the self, while our own fingers, their handwriting feels like an aberration, an embarrassment, an oddity. Then, don't we lose something- some ability?

I feel it today, know that many do too. A decade from now, I won't feel a thing. I won't miss any of my well preserved stationary.

However, I have to thank my mother for all the cursive writing I've had do. Just feels right to thank her.

Physical Abuse - Part II

K felt her day was wonderfully spent. Her work was in order, her 'attraction' war with the Oyster Seeker was upbeat and she had met Talkathon without Drama King for a subway dinner, a long walk and line of her fav. smoke. They spoke of sex, boys work and freedom form the shackles of commitment.

Talkathon dropped her to the station and as K walked along the length of a newly constructed bridge for pedestrians, dodging slow and swift walkers who pretended to bump into her, listening to blaring music, ignoring eyes that stared at her chest or a comment that was passed on her butt. K was too happy to let anything spoil a good day.

Then it had to happen -

A haze of shudder crowded her mind. Somebody had whipped her mind into a frenzy, had lashed her skin and blood streamed out of her. Acid hands had moved around her waist, arms, back , arse and culminated to brush against her breasts. Her skin was burnt cold, stretched tight, her stomach churned and her jaw hurt so bad that she wanted to smash herself against a steel rail to ease the pain. In her reflex, she rammed a her Ayan Rand in the face of a man behind her. K did not know how tall, short, feeble or strong he was - she was very hurt to realize any of that. It was senseless act of courage - she was alone on the bridge and she did not care if things got out of hand. K's sense of space, the stretch of lemon yellow bridge, her mode of escape, her ability to run in her shoes - none seemed to count.

K turned around to face him, whack him but he was gone - there was no one. She felt an elbow smashed into the side of her left breast, her fist clenched and she shirked, the last thing that she saw of her hand - was her diamond sparkling in the stale light of a dutifully gleaming tube-light. Then there was blood on it - the fine edges had torn his skin below his chin. He looked at her in pain and she cursed - he cursed her back, trying to grab the steel bar on the side - he yelled "Miane kuch nahi kiya, aap pagal ho..." (I did not do it, you have lost it).

K turned, not believing him, quietly she just walked on - a part of her mind was going numb, she refused to allow herself to think or feel think. She walked straight into the compartment, into the rick, then into her room, ignoring her father's presence. He had waited to have dinner together, he was cooking the whole day and wanted her to be a part of it. K lay on her bed, abandoning herself in strange awkwardness of a street child. He walked into her room, " Hey, I thought you were changing-up or so... let's have dinner, I am waiting. I made your special dal. I wanted you to make my favorite rice - I have cooked it - just give it the tadka I like. You okay beta? You look tired, lost and... what is wrong? Lets talk... " K never liked those words - 'Lets talk' - what was she doing to tell him? Some pervert felt-up your daughter in the most ugly way? That she hates her body and that she does not know why men behave the way they do? He tried to hold her arm but she sat-up with a jerk - "Nah, dad, just closing. work. I am exhausted. Did you enjoy yourself? Give me a minute, I'll have a bath later - lets eat!" K promptly changed into pajamas and tee, instead of her regular singlet and shorts. No part of her skin had to be seen. "What if he notices? Do I have a marks?" She knew it was late... her clock struck 10:30pm and he was late for dinner.

In the quietness of her mother's kitchen - she cooked, cleaned the mess he had happily created and heard him narrate his day. K wished him goodnight and he was reluctant to ask why, and hit the shower. She scrubbed her body, it started to burn and she ignored the redness that was surfacing. K was lying around the bed looking at the white overalls of her walls, her bed linen, blocking all sensation from her mind, she turned around to hold her teddy. Talkathon's call ringing in her face - K cut the call and messaged her good night. She could not afford to put their night to waste.

She tucked herself in bed, but the anger did not seem to go, she could not concentrate on the book, she refused to flirt over the phone. Refused to let another man into her mind. Not that night. He was being kind in the message - wanting to know if she wanted to talk. She did not. He was a man and he would not understand. He would feel bad but the magnitude of hurt, anger, filth and guilt she felt for being born - for being called gori chamdi, for being treated like a cheap piece of meat - he would never feel that. There was nothing she could tell, words would not sooth her - he would not know what to say. Mushy had once apologized on behalf of all the dirty men in the world and it had not helped. Sometimes he was sorry that he was a man, just as K was now - she was sorry for herself, for being born a woman, her her body and her mind and the feeling she felt.

She turned to put her mind to sleep and then she realized the pain in her chest. The elbow.
The chill had started to make her feel awfully cold, she needed to hug someone really bad - someone very strong, very warm and very pure. She missed Childmom. K knew she would need to strengthen her shield. She swore she would not cry. She had to wipe this muck from her mind tonight. It would be unfair to carry yesterday into tomorrow.

another embarrassing test - darnedest

Okie - this one is not my fav, but a nice person sent it to me and when i turned down the offer to shoot reply and post it up here; she (in her true blood) reminded me of a favor that i owe her.

*P, you shall not be forgiven for this.

Here it goes reluctantly:

10 MATERIAL THINGS (AND THEIR TRUE MEANING) ABOUT YOU THAT PEOPLE WOULDN'T OTHERWISE KNOW.

1) love solitaires. Seriously, want to epitomise everything a diamond stands for. (yes, yes... gold digger!! i have no scruples and no soul and would not marry 'a nice man' who can't afford them. what a shame, i know.)

(2) know more about 'heels' (the most important part of a shoe) than most professional fashionistas. (yes, i take pride in the most useless frivolities of life when there are millions who lack the opportunity to even choose footwear... and Saint Marie Antoinette says - eat cake!)

3) secretly smell a guy before deciding to go on a second date. (yes, me, bitch, me!)

4) collection of ganjee & shorts. black or white vests paired with pink floral ones, red soccer ball ones , etc... (i am juvenile, girly, silly.)

5) beauty: sunscreens, moisturisers, body lotions, hair gels, bath accessories, blah, blah, blah ( self indulgent). Make-up: Kajals, lipsticks and lip balms of six different types. secret wish is to wear cherry red lipstick in broad daylight without appearing tacky. (geisha's also got sex appeal!)

6) enjoy floral scents and musky nauseate me. (yes, i do not use them even if they were gifted.) P, ur hugo boss lies unopened - do not complain, u asked for it!

7) like wearing skirts (i'd wear them shorter if i didn't have a web of sliver stretch marks on my calves) and d classic white shirt and blue denims with a broad brown belt! (my ancestors were apes, i have no shame in admitting so!)

8) a hoarder of antique jewellery and traditional pieces. (hoarding everything that has resale value. apart from that i'd not have to buy anything for the next generation ... this 'passing on' will not be looked down upon. u see it has multiple benefits)

9) wealth - ghar, ghar ke aage balcony, balcony ke aage garden, garden ke aage samundar (sea), samundar main ek chotisi ship, ship par a chotasa helicopter, etc... (Fav cardinal sin - GREED)

10) with all my love for shoes (neatly stack in boxes and cloth bags), on any given day i'd prefer to wear running shoes or keds (if i do not have to look at my feet) no jokes, they protect and keep your feet in shape. I envy men for the same - they rarely have tanned feet!

Moral of the exercise: i am an honest person and I keep my word.

Random Conversation

Scene: Post walk to the juice center from the spa.

Him: K, you are expensive!
K : Don't blame your lack of ambition on me.

*#&^@*.....

Obstinacy of vacant undesired spaces in relationships feels like a prized clutch trapping pure air.
You can neither duck your head to breath in and nor can you let it merge with the smog.

Bonding

Women rarely bond; they may converse, ramble or critique but not really bond, they never slide under a skin. It is often a 'She and I', identification, comparison, complain, etc. Rarer are the silent understanding of the other person - (I would often conclude that because the gender is so obsessed with the opposite one they never see themselves in any light). Nonetheless, we all have had chats with other people whilst travelling on the local train. I have had conversations while reading a book - a hangover from college that I refuse to shun. It often starts with a question, remark or compliment; and I do my best to read 'intelligent' books with a Booker, Nobel, Penguin, Frankfurt backing them (some justification for my choice of books). If you are reading a Sheldon or a Forsyth, they'd look at you and turn away and if you are reading kitch the *sigh* is just not ignorable!

Yesterday, after a finishing Unaccustomed Earth, I picked-up a Mills and Boon 'The Executive's Surprise Baby' (honestly, they aren't as ridiculous as their reputation), a joy that I have very recently discovered. As I comfortably snuggled into the tote, half way through the book and blaring Roja music; bevy of irate women got in, urging everyone to make more space. In that bustle, I happen to notice that the girl beside me was reading as well. I did not bother to check what she as reading as my protagonist had just discovered her fiance's infidel nature, and she being 7 months pregnant - I knew there would be a major twist in the next paragraph.

She politely made space for me to come closer in order to allow the lady a comfortable fourth seat. Then she spoke
She: "Mills and Boon, you too?"
Me: (jostling with the guilt of being caught) "Ya, I know it's trash!"
She: Ya, but it's just time-pass, sometimes it's okay (certainly re-negotiating with her Id and Super ego.)
Me: Ya. This one isn't that bad.
She: Yes, mine is just about okay, as well.

For a brief moment I looked into her eyes and there was something unspeakable, something that was understood. It wasn't the 'Desire series' that incidentally we both were reading. It was something beyond that, an understanding of allowing the pretentious, polite intellectual her raw space. It was a reconciliation with one's primeval yet silent needs. Emptiness fell back in and moments later she alighted, leaving me guessing. How many onion skins does one need to peel before really knowing the other's never expressed desire?

Emails conspired

There is so much to write, so much to tell, so much to read, however I am stuck in a phase - a phase of doing the wrongest things - being in a wrong mindset, wearing the wrong set of clothes, saying wrong things, and worst of all reading the wrongest book at this point in time!

Here is something that transpired between the Monk and I last evening. He too is familiarising himself with the emotion called 'being frustrated with oneself' - I for an unwanted and not understood reason excel at pissing myself off.

All that apart - this conversation was what I call interesting!

MONK: Sometimes we take things for a given, while others don't ...Please do check this forum link discussing the fundamentals - http://www.physicsforums.com/showthread.php?t=55334

K:
do you know ?

- the best in the world will tell you that all reality is actually factional - it's like a gossip whose meat is little and the masala more.

- the concept of time is as genuine as your last night's fantasy

- history eventually echoes mythology

- the world works in circles - we discover, comprehend, modify, absolve and turn around to discover it all over again (with the same enthusiasm).

- most things are arbitrary. like calling your comp - comp, or yourself human.

-there is no logic to human communication - example: if 'x' can be y, z, and q in three different languages, and cultures (mahsa - in Marathi is a fish, in Turkish is the moon) (the moon in English is feminine, in Hindi masculine) - then you can call it anything you like - mahsa means lover, and moon is a mirror. The world around you was created from imagination and fantasy, creating your own will only add to it.

- you can walk into a different life and walk out of it - at this very minute, if you want to.

- all action is destined and modified every second - we live in parallel realities of ourselves, we call them opportunity. when you move from one to the other, the story line stops there and another starts at that very minute.

- you encounter the same kind of people everywhere - and by the way, there are no people in this world, only thought processes. Brutus and was suffocated every day by Cesar's tyranny. history is his-story, and who will be the demon and hero depends on where 'his' loyalties lie.

- that brings us to the myth of 'objectivism' - of truth, love, and beauty.

- there is nothing like past and future, before and after, it is a figment of your imagination. Everything is in the 'present' - for the present is eternal.

If you buy all the above then I think you may buy this one as well -
- I am not as silly, as I seem.

MONK: Every ones perception of reality and fantasy is a compilation of experiences, circumstances and instances that has eventually led the mind to conjure a particular set of preferences that it feels is comfortable existing in. Perceived images of others are drawn from conclusions based on projected circumstances and reactions, which are often misinterpreted, sometimes by choice and sometimes by mistakes. Whatever perception or assumed perception you might have of me is not entirely true, for I unfortunately have moulded my projections, reactions and communication on a myriad of influences that have affected me.

These influences have been strong- direct and subliminal, evoking a mixed and confused reality and imagery suitably projected. I in my reality exist (not live) in a world entirely not my own and alien to my core, a belief that is inconsequential to my daily effects. Abandoned and lost for long I have secluded to a space that I often find both suffocating and safe.Constantly periled by contradictions, I am often torn between the various identities that are a vivid and real part of my Psyche.It was tried by a few to de-link these earlier, but all failed for I refused to given in.Hurt and lonesome I did not allow anyone to come hither.Although I seek to resolve my torn world, the vagaries of my life disallow any such move.This is probably more than I have ever confided in any.It may sound like the incessant babble of a child, but it is the cry of a lost soul.
You may laugh or you may cry, but this is I....

K: I wish you could have a little more faith. what I wish even more is that he could have a different life, different eyes and a different soul.

An Evening ...

I refused, pondered, made calls and decided to go to the Loquations almost after six months (or more). I missed the lady and the reading - above all I missed the memories - NCPA memories, sunken garden memories, Monaco memories, crowded memories, flirtatious memories, memories that carried a beacon assuring there was more to life, Baudelaire memories, Jim Morrison memories, my feet on wet cold grass memories, Fat cat on broad steps memories, Q memories, Tenzin memories, old woman with onyx, sapphire and penthouse without an heir memories, memories of sane men succumbing to depression, losing sight, losing wives - and finding refuge in arguing over other dead people.

My teeth are sunk too deep in this addiction... I leave, drift apart and return to feel these random ones - like the evening at Leopold's with half of me stepped over with two others and half of me left behind with three young faces.

The knowledge of now has often been the knowledge of what I had, and what I can have.

If I were

A close friend sent it and asked me to fwd it to all of my favorite people. Didn't know it would be such a thoughtful exercise!

If I were a beginning, I would be: " The floating board on blue waters, beneath a red moon
the dice rolled three ..."

If I were a tree, I would be: Banyan

If I were a musical instrument, I would be: bongo

If I were an animal, I would be: The white shark

If I were a sound, I would be: Thud or Phatak or Owwww

If I were a scent, I would be: Raat Rani or the White Lily

If I were a religion, I would be: peace

If I were a facial expression, I would be: Smile

If I were a subject in college, I would be: Philosophy

If I were a color, I would be: white

If I were a thing, I would be: Diamonds

If I were a book, I would be: Like water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

If I were a monument, I would be: The Colossus of Rhodes

If I were an artist, I would be: A photographer / craftsman

If I were a collection of poems, I would be: The Four Quatrets- by Eliot

If I were an element, I would be: Water

If I were a Word, I would be: Phantasmagoria, Chutnefication

If I were a watch, I would be: Dead

If I were a theory, I would be: Re-construction or one of Iser's

If I were a cartoon, I would be: Hobbs from Calvin and Hobbs

If I were a technology, I would be: The mind-chip or the time machine

If I were a super hero, I would be : Superman

If I were a Shakespearean Character, I would be: the Fool from all his plays!

If I were alone, I would be: Free

For The Day

Randomness Incarnate:


1) I saw a dead crow in the middle of the street, then a jeep ran over its body and crushed it completely.

2) I feed old people and street urchins, whenever and where ever I see them, irrespective of how late I am. I shoo away beggars and women who beg with infants in their arms.

3) I love bitter chocolate and espresso shots - they calm me down.

4) Movies have a unique effect on me - almost like my morning meditation.

5) I am sometimes thoughtless in speech but most of the times - it is intentional.

6) I enjoy the shock value certain things have - like meeting eunuchs on the train and striking conversation with them.

7) I am extremely judgemental about people with extreme judgements.

8) I weave factions with great enthusiasm and have fooled zillions with them.

9) My lie is often caught and I suck at it - although I am a writer. Gosh my future is scary.

10) My hair has a mind of its own - it is just as disobedient as I. Sometimes I think I will shave it off in revenge! on the other hand, my mind has a tongue of its own - whenever I see a mirror or an over-powering thought passes through the mind, I say it aloud, only to hear if it sounds as good as it reads in my mind.

11) I can laugh at almost everything - funny, gross, sad, irritated, unfortunate and happy. It is my back-up emotion and reflex action to everything unexpected.

12) I love god and know I am his/hers favorite child - I have been offered protection for every calamity of mind, body, heart and soul. I once saved a butterfly in college and it returned to my window to show me it was alive - it was my first "I am not crazy, but it happened' experience. Everything unfit for me in the larger picture is removed strategically by the universe. (I am sorry that the eclectic bitch and hyper bastard aren't together. I was unsure of what I felt when I knew they were together. But I am sad that he made her cry and became something that he hates the most. However, they deserved each other. Thank you god, for letting her step-in and bear the burns.)

13) I have super powers - a) I can tell you if a person has a good soul in 30 secs after I meet them. b) I have an electric charge and often receive shocks around metal objects and people with strong magnetic fields. c) I can tell which person has a serious past-life debt to payoff. d) I just know certain things - period. There are a bunch of scary and scarred things about my past life and the people that are around me now and were then.

14) There is black hole in my mind. I enjoy SAW and Hair Spray back to back, then have the enthusiam to watch Gattaca.

15) I am rubber and you are glue - everything evil you and do bounces off me and sticks on you!

16) I love pop-art more than Picasso, Guernica was such a disaster of a painting. Dali must have been quite a piece to watch in his hay days - however I love pop-art and Andy Warhol supersedes them.

17) I think too much about roads not taken, lives not lived and feelings not felt.



18) Photography especially with a considerable shadow and play of light on human nudes turns me on completely! there is something a photographer can do with a face and a body that no other art form can fathom doing! I keep falling in love with this form of art.

19) Fashion and luxury freeze me and am extremely critical of the same, just like the literary trends. I think Carine Roitfeld is probably the most beautiful editor the world of vogue can lay claim to. (she is unconventional looking and what she exudes is confidence and a shit attitude towards trends - the wild side of fashion is what I think makes her a class apart unlike the U.S (more celeb driven) and the brit (classical and vendor friendly) vogues'.

20) ..............certain things will never be had, certain emotions never be released, certain voices never be heard, certain memories never be shared, certain secrets will die with me.

weekend - taunts and touch

Something very weird is happening to me. It is happening and I am just watching from faraway – unable to decide whether I want it to happen or not. It’s a new feeling, a new experience.

Recent observation had me jumping on to my defence instantly – be it with the Crankyhag, Moss or even Androgyny. My vitriolic tongue spews counter attacks with unimaginable accuracy. For one, I wasn’t like this; secondly I am not too sure I like it. It goes against my principles of non-violence. And for propagating the same, I am seriously violent. I reflected on the way everything was happening and realised that I am unconsciously deciding what I want; but I am unable to convey what I don’t want. That frustration comes out in unappreciated smart-ass comments and physical violence against the people I don’t like. Then again, its not that I don’t like them – some of them are my closest buddies, colleagues and family – what I am unable to tell is that, “dear Soandso, this trait of yours affects me, it makes me uncomfortable and I think I am beyond ignoring it; so please refrain from behaving like that with me henceforth.”

Simple, ain’t it? I told myself that today. I had to figure out ways of telling them the same. I am not a bitch and don’t wish to turn into one either.

Another element in the weird-sphere is of touch. I have been a hug-n-kiss babe for a while now; apart from my profession, ‘the kiss on the right cheek (unless you have bad skin)’ drama was a part of me since college. I have aced the art of cordial hugs. Now, someone even trying a friendly touch gets me mad – I have become a mimosa plant. The way I cringe away makes me feel as though the other person is a bad case of psoriasis. There is zero humaneness, warmth or any friendly love in the casual shoulder hugs that I now give – and it’s not the people. I simply don't feel some people should touch me . Its like they will spoil something in me - I am afraid their negative energy will rub-off and I will be responsible for it.

It’s been a while that tears rolled down my eyes. Say probably a year or so. Today I finished the book and the moved to watching a movie on sorority. The rules were same: independence, happiness, courage, grab the reins of your life, respect your desires, stand by your decisions, live life, etc… the loss, gain and absolution of fears and hatred had me sniffing. Then came the boo hoo hoo - why are people the way the are and how can they be so cruel, etc... the usual drama.

Before watching the movie though, I had a random discussion with Childmom, who pointed to me that I have been erasing certain people from my life by avoiding them even in public. Well, I would agree, the other day I met the gang for dinner, Crankyhag joined us uninvited. Apart from the fact that I had to reschedule the tables, I decided to not converse with him for the lack of mutual subjects. Conversely, picked on me the second he sat. I was teasing Monkeybaby and he made unwanted remarks in intervals; finally I retorted and Wise capitalist gave me a dirty stare, as if I was the culprit! I wanted to smack her, but I didn’t want to screw my evening. I am here to have a good time and I might as well do that. I cut both of them out and concentrated on a fantastic meal with Con-artist.

As we parted ways, Cranky made another comment and that too before Wisecap, monkeybaby and childmom, I was on my best behaviour and returned it with a plastic ‘ya, right whatever’ smile. What pinched me was that my friends didn’t say a word. Next day morn, I pulled up Childmom for the same and she acknowledged her mistake, "km on everybody was there, what was the point of picking a fight. He is older to u na, ignore baby, ignore. And he means a lot to Chameleon, so forgive him. Ps. I can’t tell u how much he got on to my nerves; I had to spend my entire evening with him, before you guys arrived.’ Serves her good!

My question still stands, why have different faces all the time? I sent out a ‘please do not invite me if ‘he’ is coming’ sms to all. It was reciprocated with smilies, alright - whatever, you are over reacting, and I understand replies. This had to stop – so what if I had to be the one to start?

Xanadu

Xanadu, Ithaca, Helios, Olympia… imagined habitats, worlds filled with magic and happiness, and then there is our world! The real world—which is not so real sometimes. We don’t know the amount of orbits we exist in, subjective, relative, subjectively relative, situational, justifiable, normative, deviant, involved, pragmatically involved, crashed, hyped, loved, blessed, hoax, spontaneous-- multiple layers, rolling out characters every single day with every single person walking on the kerb.

Is it easy to custom-make yourself to the needs of the other in your orbit? On a random basis I don’t think so. But then again don’t we do it? Persephone (daughter), Athena (working women), Aphrodite (girlfriend), Hira (wife), Demeter (mother), Diana/ Hestia (you) -- I am in a conflict--- to be or not to be who I think I am; is the question!

Assimilation, aberration, chutneyfication or Ghettoisation is the question. Is striking a balance d best? My bargain into the person I am and want to be. I don’t get the whole share but something is better than nothing.

Family, friends, work, me- doing the balancing act, I trip—everybody does. This is not a fantasy world of my mental construct- I may exaggerate my comfort but it’s a quest to remain happy. Writing about depression and living through it, for me, have been completely different things. Sometimes it’s just better to imagine shit -- than go through it. When in it, I can’t write about it- inspiration turns to self-disgrace n loathing.

So what if we don’t have a perfect world? I am an adorable daughter but I get grounded often. I was a fab girlfriend but the fact that it didn’t last speaks for itself. I'll make up for it and the next time, I am a little aware of the impending folly: this constant situational awareness makes me a nervous wreak and an over-excited fool!

I am going into meditation again.

obs

I prefer to write in a blind ‘I’ and ‘You’,
Can’t write about the ‘One’: deaf and invisible.
Fascinatingly the One is often plural.

Diet Control

Married men are a dessert treat. Also the best breed of tarty flingers one can encounter. Being born a woman, my morality and conditioning kicks me in the arse when my eyes go 'stare stare, blink blink, want want'.
I think of everything including his wife, mother-in-law, how his kids will be treated in school... everything and more that the man I am about to go out with doesn't think!
*Sigh* they start with a casual hello, generously peppered with looks, to simply ignoring to irate, to smiling at oneself when you r around.

For the past week Marshmellow is dressing to kill. Funny part is he, looked in my direction for a certain approval and I ignored... Lolololol. being a childish gorrila man, he got back at me- I had a simple Q with his game partner. I was looked at and ignored by him. The game is going good, we are in-step!

However the steps end there... his alter starts. I can't walk that road, I can't accept the 'date'. This is when my mind is buzzing with: 'heck what-his wife, if he isn't worried, why are u?'

But then like mom says: there are certain foods that give us immence pleasure, but they also decay our system in the end.

Haves and Have Nots

Too many women want padded bras. And that has become a problem for many who don't want that extra cushioning. 'the lady behind the counter sensed my frown and said, “Wonder bra is wonderful maam!” Do it need it? I ask her and she just smiles. Her notion is the bigger the better- but if I wore a padded bra I'd look like Pamela Anderson or Pamela Chaddha.
The problem with wonder-bra is that makes you wonder initially and disappoint forever! That cup 32f doesn't exist. Apart from being odd, if you had that bulbous a chest, it'd give you a terrible back.
Retail shopping teaches you there has to be a market for this scary cloning of your stats... boobs size xxx, waist - x and arse in the circumference of xx. There is a problem with that unrealistic proportion: Anorexic women. Chicks who fit into kids clothes; they, I concluded are simultaneously fueling, and are dead-doltish-victims of capitalist lingerie market.
Here's why, “I want a double butt pad, g-string ,size small panty”, the Chiquita next to me was casual, tiny, teeny twit with the twit's voice. Thank god that mum wasn't around to give her an uninvited embarrassing talk on 'its is not healthy to be thin and a woman should look like a woman... how are you going to hold a baby in the 24 waist womb , your breasts have nothing to feed or hold,beta you look like a dried date (litotes)!'
My mother over-did that with me-- I have inherited boobs that can feed half of Cambodia. However, its better to have it, than pad it. Too dammed difficult to go through the grind: step 1:starve. Step 2. avenge the treadmill. Step 3. alter clothes. Step 4. hit the lingerie shop- pad up of what is left of those butt 'n' boobs.
I couldn't help staring at Chiquita's thin-ness, and the over looming halo around her saying, 'I fit in'.
Short of smacking her on the head, I replied, And yes, I want to be your clone!