Monday, December 27, 2010

The Party Girl

Ting tong! Is it the party calling? Well be all ready to glam up the party girl because that cute boy you have a crush on, he is going to look at you only when you stand out. Worried on what to wear and how to look all gorgeous without looking slutty. Well I just might have the answers. So what are you waiting for, take notes now and be ready to knock everybody’s socks out? Be the glam queen at the party with everyone oohing and aahing as you snog the best guy around. Can you see smoke coming out of someone?

THE BEACHY SURPRISE - prepare well when there is water around. No granny panties allowed, because anytime the scene can change from the beach to the water. So remember to wear a nice swimsuit or better yet if you have the body to flaunt then a bikini under your clothes. Keep the clothes you wear for the beach party to the minimum, as in no extras like scarves or stoles needed. Keep the jewellery chunky and yet don’t overdo yourself. Wearing shell s to the beach is a thing of the past and surely too predictable so leave them behind. For the feet stick to cute flats, or better yet pretty flip flops will make it better. The way to stand out is to wear some flowers or may be some earthy beads and look fabulous.

HOUSE PARTY- do you have a pair of dungarees lying at the back of your closet. Please do dig them out and try them on, cuz its time to throw a party in your house. Want to glam it up a bit then don a beautiful yet casual looking cotton sundress. To go for something different ,harems with a cute racer back will do the trick too. After all it’s a house party, you don’t want to wear clothes too tight and then spend all the time tugging them around. Right! Don’t overdo the jewellery. Stick to one accessory only. Go dance to the tunes and have fun girl.

PYJAMA PARTY- yeah I know, it is a house party, but sans boys and this is one place where you can show the girls that the pyjama party or the soirĂ©e as the new gossip girl term for it is, is the one place where you can be the crazy pink girl. Go buy yourself a beautiful looking pyjama with hearts or may be something sexy like a night gown that shows your curves well. Now wear those bunny foam slippers and a head band with a lot of lace sewn on it and there you are ‘the pink girl’. Fabulous and so girly. Don’t forget the pink nail paint too. To complete the look girl.

LOUNGE- this is the place where you take out the best dress you have, pair it up with your highest heels and take out the best jewellery. Oh yeah don’t forget your best make up too. The lounge is the best place to look the best with no reason for the whole arrangement to get spoiled. You don’t dance enough for your make up to get spoilt; you don’t walk enough for your ankles to kill you because of the heels. All you do is sit pretty and talk pretty. Go for shiny and metallic finish dresses or better yet go for a nice strapless chiffon gown and dazzle them all.

CLUBBING TIME- this is the best time of all. Time to look great and forget about it. Remember to stick to wedges or block heels if you want your ankles safe by the morning. But the glam girl has to wear peep toes with stiletto heels. Stick to satin or lycra this clubbing season. Body hugging is back with roses or zippers or even may be shorts. The one thing that’s ruling the roost is the boot heels. Wear long chains in metallic colours around your neck to finish up the glam yet chic look.

Go and let your hair down and forget that there is a tomorrow girls. Have fun shaking your glam clad booty on the dance floor. Do remember I will be there keeping an eye.

Monday, December 20, 2010

The life I left behind..

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts"

Shakespeare said that...let’s see how it applies in the normal college life...

A normal day in the normal college, national institute of fashion technology. I am in the class, as usual not paying attention and lost in my own world of thoughts and words in a corner scribbling away to glory and half heartedly listening to what our guest faculty has to say.
One of the four air conditioners is working. Someone is playing with her pen, the tic-tac echoing around. There are people playing with their hair, some reading a book, a murmur of silence surrounds the whole classroom.
The backbenchers are as usual sitting behind. Discussing some things (I leave the topic of discussion for the readers to guess, but mind it, it was nowhere near boring). A giggle here, a giggle there, fills the whole back of the classroom.
The geeks a.k.a speckyees (now replaced by lenses) are sitting in front glued to every word he utters, noting down every syllable, every sigh, every a, an ,the, mentioned. The sleepers of the class a.k.a getting –bored-not-interested- are yawning and already half asleep, fighting to keep their eyes open and half of them perched on their neighbour’s shoulders. Suddenly they slip down the shoulder and realise that they are ain class and thus the lost fight to not sleep begins again.
Then there are the second or the third benchers, mediocre writing at times and at times looking bored, basically they are just confused wondering whether to be the geek or the outrageous back bencher. These are also known as the average normal kids. Then there are the male starved females (couldn’t find a better term) , who for today are next to the front benchers, batting their eyelashes , a half smile on their faces, pretending to be glued to every word said, lips tucked behind their teeth , they kind of swooning , as if every word he’s saying is the elixir of life.
Then the usual wannabees, fashionistas, jocks, nerds, all who need no introduction. Then the lovers without whom every class is incomplete. Who may be not sitting very close, are exchanging glances and smiles whose meaning only they know. Exchanging whispers, stares and smiles, oblivious to anything happening, around, just existing for each other. As cheesy as it sounds. It’s completely true.
A joke suddenly cracked bonding the whole class, while it lasts, every one listening to the same thing for a while, forgetting their roles in the class and being just a simple student for once. Well that it.
A subtotal of everyone present.
And then last but not the least “me”. What am I? In which category do I fall into? What am I doing here not concentrating on the lecture and observing the around and writing. Well you could say just a simple crazy foolish intelligent WORDISTA...

Monday, December 13, 2010

So Much For Fantasies

Holding her basket she walked ahead, taking small steps and craning her neck as if to see something. She did have that looking-for-something-look in her eyes. They danced around searching for something vital, life altering and they landed on that guy in the beautiful jacket standing near the bus station , the irises came to a standstill and fixed themselves everywhere but not on him. One look for today was enough. One look was enough to suffice the rage of emotion bubbling within her. What was she thinking, she wondered. She was a mother of two, a widow, who should not be eyeing stray guys on the road. Where were all those values which were pumped into her when she was a kid? Oh! How she wished she could control her heart from beating fast as she crossed by. She could feel his eyes burning her neck. His gaze was boring into her. The way he looked at her, it was clear that he had some feelings too, may be not that of love, but lust surely did come into sight. Her cheeks coloured red at that thought. Yes she wondered, a young widow who had not had the experience of being appreciated by a man in bed for a long long time was bound to have such thoughts, but about any random stranger. She felt a bit bad and naughty too at the road her thoughts were taking her. She was sweating profusely the sun bathing her with his light. Her hair was tied in a bun with a stray strand playing with her face. Her light pink cotton sari clung to her body because of the sweat. She knew she was no beauty queen in the garb she was in. All she could do was sigh and think about the days when she was well not this at least. Well all she could do was smile to herself and get into the bus which arrived. Normally he never got in, but today he did and he was standing just next to her. She knew he was behind her and just a tilt of her face was enough to see him. He looked delicious from this angle. A firm chin with a bit of stubble, beautiful gleaming eyes with thick eyelashes and muscled body with a sprinkling of fine black hair on the part what was visible from the t-shirt. She loved his jacket, leather she noticed; well he was definitely the bad boy types, she always was so attracted to. Ah! Life. It surely was unfair.
Her stop was nearing, so she went ahead and no surprises he followed too. The screech of the break bumped her against him and lo and behold she could actually feel those bulging biceps. Oh! How good they felt. She thought of her husband for a second.
She descended and he followed her. She walked ahead and he was behind there too. For a second she did enjoy it and then was scared. Her bags were too heavy and she halted for a second to take a deep breath and secretly praying that he would either pass away or come and talk to her. Well he did not seem to be the wasting time sorts and came immediately to her and in the most squeaky voice ever asked her “can I help you carry your bags?.” A girl would have had a more robust voice. For a moment she could think and then she collected herself and said, “No thank you, I will manage”.
With a smile she walked ahead. So much for her fantasies.

Friday, November 12, 2010

The Last Second

He lay there quietly. He was still alive as his skin still tingled with pain and his heart out of wanting. The blood seeping through his skin mingled with the blood of his friends. The pains searing through his whole body may kill him any moment, but he wanted to live. He wanted to live to complete the unfinished. The fence of his small house was broken, the well was unclean, and he yet had to tie the swing to the backyard tree. The last two lines of his favorite poem, the only poem he remembered from school by Robert frost came to him. “But miles to go before I sleep, but miles to go before I sleep”. He wondered if he really could cover those miles before he slept. He did feel woozy and wanted to close his eyes and just let it go. But hope tugged around and just the thought of her soft hands wanted him to live some more, wish some more.
He slithered towards the phone, shouting with pain, crying out loud the name of god asking him to help him. His right leg was limp and had lost every sensation. That leg was lost he wondered. But life is more important than the leg. He picked up the receiver with no voice on the other end. The phone was no good. Everything and everyone was dead just like the death surrounding him.
He just lay there thinking about his mother and how she used to pour water over his head at night, bathe his forehead and then sing to him. “O sweet child of mine, o love of my life and so on. The sweet memory still comforted him. The pain ceased for a while but was back to its hilt again reminding him of the reality.
From his pocket he took out the letter his wife had last sent him. She was pregnant she had written, she was expecting his baby. She had sent the letter 3 months back and was already 2 month pregnant then. She must be five months into pregnancy now, he calculated. How he wanted to feel her stomach, touch the bump, feel his seed kicking inside her womb. A good female she was. Not very beautiful but very understanding. Nor once did she cry nor force him to stay back whenever he turned his back to leave. He remembered how longingly she wanted that ring. How she had stared at it but not asked for it. He would buy it for her when he returned. Yes that’s what he would do. He will adorn her swollen fingers with that ting. She deserved it. He knew he loved her, he had never told her that, but deep down she was the one for him.
A loud wail left his mouth as the bullet inside his chest embedded deep. The blood gushed out and all he could do was hold himself tight. The corpse of his fellow soldier lay next to him. Good man that Pratap Singh was. He wondered what his family would do, as the sole provider was dead. The flowing blood now was replaced with water from his eyes crying in pain of the wounds and the pain of losing his best friends.
His throat was constricting. The air seemed to be leaving his lungs. He took the half filled water bottle next to him and drank, then just like his mother used to, he bathe his forehead. The pain unbearable he closed his eyes. Someone far away was singing” o sweet child of mine, oh love of my life.”

Saturday, October 23, 2010


Well if I say that it happened to my friend then am pretty sure that all of you are intelligent enough to know i am lying.So why bother.Well it happened to me and before I say what, I would like to add that it was not one of my best looking days and I was very very tired.. As much as memory serves I even had fever.I had been out the whole day in the sun so looked really drawn and sick. Okay so now if you promise not to laugh out loud am going to continue the story..

So as it happened, I had to go some place from Dadar and as I reached the required platform the train was about to move so I rushed and climbed into the nearest compartment. The compartment next to mine was a general one and people were actually fighting to even stand where as my compartment which seemed general too was almost empty. After a station a female all decked up with two kids boarded the same compartment and the old man sitting in a corner shouted on her saying that it’s a handicapped compartment and she was not allowed there. The female panicked and got down at the next destination.
And it all left me wondering that why did the old man or any person sitting in the compartment for that fact say anything to me??? I had been sitting there for quite a long time and they uttered no word....ah!!Alls left to imagination...isn’t it???

Sunday, October 17, 2010


I stare through the cage
I see you
I bark out loud
you stare at me
smile,then mingle
into the crowd
I wag my tail a bit
once or twice I jump
just to please you
oh a joker I have become
my eyes beg to you
to save me from this hell
all you say is 'awww'
nothing rings a bell
you ruffle me for a moment
then look into my eyes
I ask you questions
you don't understand my whys
every action futile
I droop down
and then may be you understand
cuz I see a frown
till I was shouting
u wanted to hug me tight
once I have lost my strength
you want to keep me aside
You lifted me high in your arms
And put me back down to earth
I thought you desired to do me a good turn
Sigh, you turned your back on me,
and thus!behind these grills I return

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Refletion Difference

Ever wondered what was the real story behind the poem Jack and Jill...:)

Old Mrs. Higgins was happy today. She still remembered the day Mrs. Nell on her deathbed asked her to take care of her twin daughters. Finally her promise was going to be fulfilled partly today. It was Jillian’s wedding. The mansion looked beautiful. There were flowers all around. The food smelled great, the cake was the biggest the guests would have ever seen, the band played a beautiful mozartian tune and above all Jillian was marrying the guy she loved. She went upstairs to check on the progress of the bride’s dressing and upon entering saw Jackie kneeling down arranging the pleats of her sister’s dress.
They were uncannily alike. Beautiful, long flowing, silky hair, fair skin, brown doe eyes and petite body, though there temperaments were just the opposite. Jillian was the family girl, she loved to sew, cook, embroider and wanted a dozen kids, on the other hand Jackie was independent, and she loved playing outdoor games, was daring and hated cooking.
Jillian looked like a perfect bride and all Mrs. Higgins could do was hold her heart and give a sigh. Jackie looked very pretty too. She was going to be the prettiest maid of honour newyork had seen for a long long time.
Relieved that everything was going well, Mrs. Higgins left the room and went downstairs to check on the caterers.
The smile from jillian’s face vanished and Jackie left adjusting her dress and stood next to the wall.
Jackie knew that jill had an inklink of what she was upto. She was an independent soul and now when the war was going on with thousands of people getting killed and injured everyday, she had made up her mind that her country needed her more than her family and so she had enlisted her name for the duty of a nurse on the Red Cross. She had to leave today. Her bags were packed. She was here only for jillian’s wedding, the ship would leave in the evening.
Just the thought of leaving her sister scared her but the independent streak called her and with every passing minute the urge to go and serve her country increased.
Jill had read the letters Jackie had received from the Red Cross. She knew that she was leaving today but still could not understand that why was Jackie doing so. She knew she had to confront her before anything happened. She was scared. Part of her wanted to hold her sister tight and part of her just wanted to run away from the sad confrontations. Oh how she wished she could undo everything.
They both looked at each other, their eyes met and they knew the time had come; a decision had to be taken.
Jackie told Jillian it fit could wait till after the ceremony and heaved a breath of relief as she nodded.
The ceremony was beautiful. There was not an eye that didn’t shed a tear, every one ooed and aahed when the bride entered and as they read the vows everyone was touched by the depth of the words. Finally the minister announced them man and wife and the bride and groom kissed.
Jillian was tensed throughout the ceremony. Her eyes followed Jackie. She could sense the tremor in Jackie’s walk too. She knew now or never. She knew they had to go to the hill, there talking place since childhood. They could really bond on the hill. And so Jill gestured Jackie to follow her. Jackie initially confused, eventually understood.
They went up the hill, and Jill confronted Jackie.
Jill-“how could do this to me Jackie”
Jack-“this is a quest to find myself”
Jill-“how can you be so selfish, you have to be with me, your sister, you can’t abandon me and go away. What about your duty towards you sister”
Jack- “what about my duty towards my country Jill". It needs me. There are thousands of people dying. How can you call me selfish when it’s you who is acting so?”
Jill-“you are my sister. Do you know how will I survive without you?”
Jack-‘I can’t take it any more. I love you, you know that but this is something I need to do, for myself and my country. Please don’t force me Jill. I don’t have the strength nor the will to fight you.
Jill could feel the grief Jackie was feeling, her grief was equal.
Saying this Jackie ran down the hill. Her heart was breaking. She wanted to get to the house and get away as soon as possible. She was wearing the high heeled sandals from the wedding and she tripped, down she went the hill and hurt her head. There she sat holding her head in her hands when Jill reached the bottom and seeing Jackie in such a situation she rushed and hugged her for a long time. As they broke the embrace they knew no matter what ever happens, as many wars and distances come between them, their love for each other will never die. And then they laughed at how silly they had behaved throughout.
They returned back to the wedding with Mrs Higgins rushing to their side asking if both of them were okay and where had they disappeared to?
All they could do was smile and keep that adventure detail to themselves forever and cherish it for a long time till they meet again.
Finally Jill had made peace with her sister going away and Jackie was sure that no matter what happens she will always have her sister with her. She knew that she could leave in peace now. With this thought she left to gather her bags and set for the shore, she turned around and saw Jill watching her and could see the love sparkling in the form of tears in her eyes.

Friday, July 9, 2010


(Dedicated to a very dear friend who lost her mother at a very tender age. Am sorry I hurt you )

I emptied my heart in the night, the pillow was all wet and my eyes swollen, but my heart was full again in the morning, the heart wanted to vent out again, to lament, to cry out loud, proclaiming my love for you, announcing to the world that it was unfair to me, unfair of the world to take away something so beautiful from me. I somehow thought that if I shouted, the gods will hear me and send her back, send her soft hands, her beautiful curls and the most important her enveloping hugs back.
My harrowing sobs turned into sniffles, and I paused to breathe, I knew she was gone, long gone, and all I had was the empty vast feeling which gnawed at my heart. Oh how I wanted to feel her, and just wanted to smell her. Just wanted to tell her that I still remember your sweet scent ma. It reminds me of home no matter wherever I am. I just don’t want to forget it ever. It’s all I have left of you.
But why me, why me out of all people? I know am not the best person in the world, but am not the worst, am I? So why did you leave me, all alone in this world, am not even the grown up yet to fight the world and even if I were the grown up, I wanted your lap to be the kid for a while each day. How can you take away those childish moments away from me? Who gave you the right to do that to me?
I want to fight with you, complain till you agree to come back, I want to pull you, force you and just be the teenager I am and get you back no matter what. I know a lot of people suffer but I am not ready to lose you yet, I am not ready to forget that touch yet. Not that touch that comforted me in the nights, not that touch that held me when I was sick and not that touch that was so familiar that I would know it anywhere. Why does it feel lost? Why do my hands feel so empty? Why do I now stretch my hands in the darkness and nobody holds them, no body consoles me when I cry, no body shares my jokes the way you did ma.
No body.
My eyes welled up again, my throat constricted and those lamenting noises were back, I started to look around, for any reminder of you ran into your room, and looked for anything familiar, a fingerprint, a bangle, something you had cooked, your shoes, anything that will make me feel that you were still there and this all was just a dream, something that will convince me that I am just playing around and you are going to hear me and come running to console me.
Emptying my heart I slept, praying that the dream would end, but it was full again when I woke up.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The Mad lady at Kurla station

I was at Kurla Station, had to go somewhere. As I made my way from the first platform to the fifth..she caught my eye. She sat there, hair unkempt,clothes astray, her pallu falling off and the two buttons of her blouse missing. Two naked kids slept at her feet. Her dirty nails combed her long, even dirtier hair and at times she would hit her self and her children. Now it was an attempt in keeping the mosquitoes away or some thing habitual due to her mental condition is something I am not aware of. she was mentally imbalanced, sitting in a corner begging for money, even grabbing the hem of people's clothes for the sake of money. But all they retorted by was shooing her away, as done with a filthy roadside mongrel. I wonder how can people be so heartless.

She was looking around as if waiting for someone to give her some treasure and suddenly she saw me staring at her from a distance. First she extended her hand asking for money and when I didn't reply to her action she started making faces at me. All I could do was look at her and be mesmerized by the innocence on her face and yet was sure she has seen a lot.

The title says "the mad lady on Kurla station", it doesn't refer to her. but me who was transfixed there looking at her and wondering about the miseries and the miracles of life. The portrait she formed was too beautiful and at the same time filled with sad feelings.She was deranged and yet was fighting for her life and her two kids. Who can be saner than that?

All i could do was admire her and click some pictures of her..

There stood the mad lady at Kurla station staring at the sane one..

Friday, June 18, 2010


I was hungry. Noticing a monginis near by me headed towards it. My eyes looked greedily at those gooey chocolate pastries and those great blue berry cakes. Salivating I ordered a big pastry and even asked the girl behind the counter to warm it. All the jumping rats inside my stomach could imagine was the warm melting chocolate they were about to taste in a while. The smell was intoxicating and I was about to order another pastry when I noticed him. He was standing just behind me. The place was not that crowded that he had to be so close, but I just ignored the fact as he was cute. He was not that I-am-a-chocolate-boy-and-gooey-types cute but the-geek-outside-and-the-hunk-inside-cute. He wore those geeky specs. My rats suddenly transformed into butterflies and they started flying around. Our eyes met and were locked for a long time. Suddenly flashes of us together started clouding my mind. I was thinking about all those “awws”.”Ooh”, “so cute” and “wow that’s so romantic” I would get when years later I would tell my kids and their kids how I met their father or grand father. How we were both hungry and bumped into each other and fell in love and how it was love at first sight? and how hungry I was??

Arrgg!! My rats were back at it again, jumping around. He turned around, ordered a paneer patty and was back to coyly staring at me. I tried to behave like a decent girl by not returning his state and started studying my pumps, my nails, my hair, and my mobile, basically everything except him instead.

The girl behind the desk at last kept the big dollop of chocolate in front of me. It was huge, melty, soft and very inviting but suddenly I was filled with horror. He will see me eating so much!! OMG!! What will he think? He will surely won’t even look at me again!! These thoughts scared me, shattering my awws and oohs and the love at first sight stories.

I suddenly behaved as if the female had made a mistake and told her.”I never asked for it, all I want is a bottle of water and a paneer patty. (Yes my order was just what he had ordered too).lucky for me the female didn’t argue and cordially handed us both our respective patties.

I looked towards him and he was staring at me too. He smiled a sheepish smile and oh boy! I was taken. I didn’t know what to do further and then he suddenly as if scared moved away from me.

The door opened and a fat old lady with a big frown on her face, entered and slapped him on his back saying “tu maine chad k aa gaya khote” (you left me alone and are here, you ass!), and I stood there shocked as how she kept on scolding him and he kept on listening with a feared expression on his face. After that he didn’t even dare look towards me. The scared little puppy was just too scared.

My heart sobbed. I had left my cute little faithful, tasty piece of chocolate for that momma’s boy, and then I realized that leaving chocolate for a man is never worth it.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The man and the boy (part 1)

There were no more holes in his soles, but the hole in his soul was getting bigger, his clothes were no more moth eaten, but his heart was being gnawed at. Yes he had money today, everything he willed at his footstep, but what he didn’t have was love, anyone to trust. Anyone to believe in, anyone to just be yourself with. He was a different man with everyone. He himself didn’t remember when was the last time he was just himself, the real man that he really was. He didn’t believe in real anymore nor did he believe in love. He didn’t believe in honesty. Hell! He didn’t believe in himself too.
Today he sat on his favourite leather finishing chair, with a glass of bourbon in his hand, Mozart playing in the background. The ideal evening setting for him. It was his evening ritual after office every day. The whole atmosphere helped him think. But today of all days he was not happy with the whole feel of the room. He never felt alone in that huge room with carved wooden panels into the walls and the floors furnished with the most expensive of the Turkish rugs, but today something was different.
It was his 38th birthday. Was he really that old? He asked himself and then suddenly reclined on the plush soft cushioned chair, feeling the age creeping in.
He had achieved everything he had promised himself the day his mother had abandoned him. Well abandoned was a term he used for what had happened. She had died is a road accident when he was only 15, but he still blamed her for just leaving him. She was the only human being on this earth he had actually loved and when she died, it was like his innocence was robbed of him and the boy was forced to become a man overnight. Since then the boy was never came out and the brutal man just lived.
After his mother died, he had seen the worst of days, he had no pennies to rub together and no roof to call his own, and the foster homes he was sent to were more interested in making him slave for his stay than to give him a bit of love or affection.
The music stopped abruptly, and he was jolted back to reality. No he was not living in some shabby house any more with his stomach churning out of hunger. He was in his mansion, his huge mansion, but he was still lonely today.
The day she died, he was all alone and till today that feeling was there. He was still the wet rat standing under the rain scurrying around for shelter.
Will he ever get the umbrella?

Thursday, June 3, 2010


The lonely souls beckon me at last,
I run to them, reach their fast,
I sing to them all night long,
The beautiful eternal love song
But when I am lonely,
there is no one to sing,
Even my bells don’t chime,
Ha! Such a lousy writer I have become,
Now even my poems don’t rhyme...

Thursday, May 13, 2010


And I bid thee farewell
With a broken heart and broken smile
I let you go,
I know you wanted to take that trodden road
Oh many before you have walked upon
Abandoned me and moved along
The road lies ahead of me
Go take it and let me be
The desolate one with a sigh
For the forlorn future is for me
And the emptiness of the skies
Doth ye walk away
The smiles will fade away again
The sun will shine, the moon will too
And I will bear the pain
The feeling of being wanted
Has left my side and did flee
And now as you are gone
Its again just me.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010


I remember I called her sissy. Laughed at her and made faces. Was a part of” her hating crowd”. I know I was one of them, one of those kids who involved her in the games just to have a scapegoat. She never asked us if she could play. She just stood there watching us jump the rope or swing or do anything small girls do. We were the ones who invited her and then made fun of her. Called her names and then laughed at her. All of us together and she alone. Just on her own, fighting her own battles or actually not fighting at all. That’s why we called her sissy, dumb, loser. These were the names we associated with her. Looking back I still remember the way she responded. Not by uttering a single word from her mouth but thousand from her eyes. They looked hurt every time we said something but she never answered back. Never, not even once. I used to wonder why?
I was her neighbour. We shared a common wall and am sure my room’s wall was her wall too. Because I could hear no voice from the other side at all. She had no father and her mother made enough noise to make it clear that it was she next to my room. I was really excited when she moved next door. She was about my age and her mother was excited enough to tell my mother and all the other mothers around that she will be starting school soon which turned out to be mine. I was happy. I thought I was given the gift of a friend, a friend who would tie the string to her cup and then tie it on mine so that we could have those telephonic chats through the window in the night. Boy! Was I wrong? She never spoke a word.
We all commit mistakes, don’t we. Well here was my childhood sin. There she sat on the swing in the park one day. Combing her Barbie’s hair. I had a similar Barbie and I wanted to play with her. I went up to her and said hi. She just smiled. When I showed her my Barbie all dressed up proudly and asked her if she wanted to play, she just smiled again as if mocking me and went back to combing the hair. That made me furious. I snatched her Barbie, beheaded her and threw her on the ground and stomped away. I still remember the look in her eyes. At that time that look salvaged my childish pride and made me feel like I had won that battle but today thinking about it makes me wonder how cruel can a girl of five be.
Her mother was hospitalised. She had some disease my mother wouldn’t tell me. I knew it wasn’t cough and cold as you don’t go to the hospital for such things. Then one day my mother told me that her mother went far away to meet god and will come back after many years. She was sobbing when she said that and somewhere I knew she was lying. Her granny took her away. She waved at me while leaving .I just made a face.
She faded from my thoughts then till today when I overheard my mother talking to an aunt about her as my only disabled friend. I asked her about it and she said “now don’t be such a kid". You know na she was dumb”.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

the teenager

Confessions of a teenager: from a girl to a lady.
A woman sees a lot of changes in her life. From an infant to a girl, a girl to a lady and a lady to a woman and then a mother.
A girl to a lady, she discovers a lot of truths and shocks which change her being for ever.A delving into the certain female of how she discovered lady hood at her doorstep and welcomed it.
An innocent girl dreams when just entering her teens dreams of those movie heroes she sees, the hormones churning inside her make her conscious suddenly of the males around her, that is what happened to me when I turned thirteen. Though my mental state was still that of a kid, a wary feeling for the males around did engulf me later. At those moments the movie heroes, Jack of titanic or Raj of kuch kuch hota hai were the ones who kept my feelings alive and later the fantasies of the prince on the white horse coming to rescue me from the bondages of home fuelled my desire to grow up soon. Ah how I wanted to have those curves as those beautiful girls on screen and look like them.
A certain elder female residing near my house made me jealous because she was better looking than me, had better curves and boys looked at her ignoring me where ever we went. Initially she was for me the nice and cute neighbour and elder sister who taught me to ride a cycle or the one who used to stitch my Barbie’s clothes for me, but suddenly she was the rival like any other girl. Just some days and all was forgotten because of these hormones.
A big change in my life. I remember how those simple jokes initially thought to be grownuppy stuff made sense and a smile tugging at my lips of knowing things which I supposed no one knew always remained intact. The stories made more sense now and books like Nancy drew and hardy boys lost interest. The miils and boons and the harlequin romances mad e more sense and made my dreams kind of nearing reality.
Talking of dreams, well they are the most beautiful possessions of mine of that time. The dreams are so pure, so untouched and so virginal. That was the case of my dreams. Beautiful yet different than the earlier ones.
Dressing up was something I always liked but suddenly I wanted to look really good. Those hours in front of the mirror looking at the tiniest detail of my face and figuring out the best features, plan to enhance them was a common thing . Combing my hair for hours and hours together staring onto the space. Being lost in thoughts was my new favourite hobby. It was like being born again with more understanding and intelligence.
I knew that time had come. I was no more a kid now. The girl in me would never be dead but it would never the4 whole of me. It was like I was the larva, metamorphosing into the beautiful butterfly. The process had begun and I knew it.

Monday, April 19, 2010

The burial

I carry the coffin. It’s too heavy. Need your help there. Are you going to help me or as always stay away? I have to lift the coffin, will you please come and help me lift it or just let it go as usual. The coffin carries the past which is heavy. Will you help me carry it, lift it, cremate it. Put dirt over the coffin and shed tears over it. Will you do that or just sleep as you always do. Or will you once in your life help I hold it. Feel the weight of the past, the love, the feel of the feelings. Will you? Should I let you go without any questions and will you just go away without any answers. Will you just do that to me? The coffin is getting heavier, the tears flowing from eyes are making it heavier, and they just won’t stop. They are just rejoicing the death of our love, our beautiful love. See by this they even flow harder. They are happy to dance around my cheeks and my heart is sad to shed them. It is very sad. It was the part that I put in the coffin. I did, I really did. I let it go. Just let it go. Because I don’t want to be a person who wakes up one day thinking why did my perfect love be so imperfect? Why did it fail? I don’t want to wonder about things. So I put my heart in the coffin do that it won’t have such questions. It won’t ask and won’t love anyone so much ever. It just won’t, and thus I won’t be hurt. Am learning. But will you come with me please to lift the coffin. Please. Do come. Do help me out. We will bury it at last and then get it over with it. Today don’t leave me alone as u always do please.

Friday, April 9, 2010


t was 8 o clock in the morning except it didn’t feel like the morning... the sun was no were to be seen, the sky not bright but dark with clouds all around. It was raining. A beautiful morning except for the brightness there was a melancholy in the atmosphere. The rain kind of a cry of nature, the clouds cascading around as if have been here throughout. A rain that gave you a want, a want of something special. Yes that is how it made you feel. I was up, just like a lazy cat lying there. Every day the bright sunlight pouring through the windows awoke me but today it was the want, the want to go outside and feel the beauty, to take the droplets of the rain on my fingertips and kiss them or may be, be my love r for the day and beautifully comb out the hair entangled because of the wetness.

I opened one eye, looked around, everything seemed the same, the fan moved pretty much the same way I had seen it before sleeping, my nightgown lay there at a corner discarded the way it was last night and other than the draperies soaring high everything was there the way it was. But still I felt different, very in fact. As if the weather had made a flower grow inside me, which was blooming. Don’t know why but my heart beat was racing, like it used to happen before the exams, or the first time I had kissed. I could feel that it was a day of happening.

I sat up and removing the heavy blanket covering my body I flung my arms high in the air and stretched. Closed my eyes for a second and wished that whatever’s to happen be good and with the smile still intact dancing on my lips I made my way to the big widow.

The draperies were given a rest and tied at near the corner. They were not flying any more. But surely my heart was. I could see the droplets slithering down the window pane, making patterns on them and the reflection on my skin. I bet my face with the tumbled mass of my hair, and the reflection of the dancing away droplets looked umm....quite black and white or retro I guess.

My hand as if involuntary went outside to feel the wetness and every drop falling on the skin ran a shiver down the spine as it was cold, very in fact.

The rain beckoned me out, to feel it and cherish it, to admire it more closely, and I not wanting to hurt its sentiments as the others running away from it did made my way out to let it engulf me.

As the thunder and hum of the rain on my skin sang to me, another chord of music joined. It was someone standing behind me.

He was there, walking towards me in long strides, his travelling bag slung casually on one shoulder and flowers in another. The midnight subtle was forming a shadow on his chin and he looked tired. He was back home early. I looked at him confused with a flower unfurling in my stomach. He rushed brushing those tiny droplets clustered at the tips of his hair and took me into his arms and said “I missed you a lot”. Those words were enough to say it all.

As I walked inside into the house, I smiled to myself. I knew this morning would make something happen and it really did.


We all come with big dreams, big aspirations to this city. We all come here to fulfill our dreams which we have been dreaming since we were kids. We come to this city to make new friends, to lose ourselves in this city and be a part of it. We come to this city for being everything we are not and everything we want to become, but as we come here what happens to us? Do we still remain the friendly, chirpy, going out in the evenings, having fun person or we become an unfriendly person with constant tension. With a mask on our faces that does not show any emotion, does not show whatever is going inside and we are mere carcasses with a bit of life in us. May be your heart cries but the mask eyes don't show it,not wet at all, may be you are joyous but the mask's lips don't even curve. Ah! Such is this city. You come here in search of something and in the end lose yourself in the crowds.
Do you even know your neighbor's or even the person sitting next to you on everyday basis name?

You have friends but are they true bosom friends or just some people you need to hang around with. Well as you can see you come to this city to make a change and the city changes you. Your priorities change, your emotions, feelings, thoughts change. Is it the city or we ourselves change us to fit in?
Ah! tough one , but not one that the heart cannot answer..

Thursday, March 25, 2010


The vast sea my mind
The lost breeze my soul
Life isn’t playing a fair game
Every time it commits a foul
Blowing away like the loose sand
On the shores of the less trodden beach
I wander around like the nomad
And to the lost land again i reach
Like the dew drop about to fall
From the edge of that leaf
A softer ground to soak me up
Or a open oyster do i seek
Chaos and confusion with me move round and round
Make me dizzy after the play
I think i know what i want
But am confused once i start to say
Feelings thoughts i do write
To show what i really am
Inside a volcano but a scared one
Outside i look calm
To take the path less walked
Or to follow the one already walked upon
I close my eyes and point my fingers on one
And just listen to none
The tears now running dry
As the thought is in the make
I want to be their up and above
Not for me, but for her sake.


Sniff sniff, kiss kiss, Chanel no .5 and Eva deodorant, Aldo gladiators and Bata pumps both existing side by side. Mango and Mango fakes from Bandra linking road adorning the belles around. Well no matter what brand or what the cost, every one aims to be beautiful and fashionable here. Yes we have landed in the fashion festival of Mumbai which occurred in The Hyatt in Santacruz this year.

Fashion being the main agenda on every one visiting and for every one participating, LAKME INDIA FASHION WEEK has been the style hub for everyone. Fashion victims and fashion innovators and just fashion admirers, everyone is present here.

This fashion week was no exception. The page 3 people, the fashionistas, the designers, the actors, (upcoming and down going), the x-models, socialites, everyone who matters or who thinks he matters made their presence felt. Then there were the media people, the journalists, the photographers and then the students, the students, the people who got passes some way or other were there.

Well m sure you all must have heard a lot of how good it was, how the models were gorgeous, who were the show stoppers and what happened at the after-event parties but did anyone hear about what the show was all about, we don’t want o know how sexy Sameera Reddy looked but are more interested in what she was wearing. Isn’t fashion industry being all about fashion irrespective whose wearing it, but naa , seen them all, all news papers talked about everything except the main thing, i.e. fashion or how the collection was. So that what knowing about fashion week means then sorry and no thank you.

Come to think of it, the designers participating in the fashion week were great, everyone had something good or something bad to display, but then the ramp the front rows, adding one or two more were more interesting. The Indian fashion population or claiming to be fashion population was (give or take one or two) seemed to have forgotten the meaning if it. May be the dresses they wore were latest in vogue, were worth more than the annual income of a middleclass man, and the labels were to die for, but how does it even make a difference when it doesn’t suit one.

The richistas and the fashionistas have a big difference, one has money and one has fashion sense and money. In India the former are more to be found. The display of brands was a lot in the fashion week but then where was the fashion suting the people.

Well the amount of suited fashion was very less as compared to the unsuited one.

Indeed fashion over dose or did the fashion just doze off.

my happy ending

I saw you again today in the lift. You looked lost somewhere which gave me ample time to take in your beauty. To take in those eyes, deep deep eyes. That chiselled nose, and those lips. I loved that chin of yours, tilted to that stubborn angle. You seem like a matured guy with a kid inside. Seeing you makes me want to love the kid inside and to be loved by the man.

Ah! Me and my fantasies again. I should admit that for a married woman I have not lost the imagination. At times I think of speaking to you, to tell you a lot of things, to tell you how lonely I am. To tell you that the guy, this society calls my husband is no where related to me. Emotionally we lost contact years ago and after the three miscarriages, he lost interest in me physically too. I am like the phone number which cannot be deleted from your contact list and is never dialled. The unpaid maid who sleeps in the master’s bed.

Ah! Leave it. Now days I don’t like thinking about him or cry on my miseries of life. Now I have you to fill my dreams and thoughts. To fill the void created and thats whats makes life beautiful. In the past two years I had lost the urge to dress up or try and look good. But now days I can’t stop staring in the mirror and blushing like a love sick teenager. At times I make faces in front of the mirror imagining you to see from somewhere laugh and talk to me. You at times feel like the manna from heaven sent to make me happy again.

Can’t forget the day you came to our flat, talked to Ashok, and told him you were shifting to the flat next to ours. And borrowed the stool. I was there, looking at you from behind the curtain. From that day onwards my heartbeat has not been back to normal. Even Ashok noticed some changes. He actually after years of ignoring said that I look different and asked the reason. Why should I tell him, that it’s because I am in love again. I feel pretty again. The love songs make sense again and every time I open the door, my eyes search for that known face again. It’s like am alive again.

This is no bollywood movie so I know that there will be no happy ending. May be you will never know my name let alone like me, u will not even know that I exist let alone touch me. But you know what I have no hopes and no demands, because after a long long time I am happy, happy, not for him, not for you but happy for myself and in the end isn’t it all that matters. My happy ending.

The forgotten relation

Who are you?? She stared at me and asked. Her thin frail body lay there and her hands slowly stroked my cheeks. She repeated who are you? I said it's me, rati , it's me . A blank stare was her answer. She scanned my face, searching for some recognition, first with her lost eyes and then with her hands, when her eyes were too tired to concentrate. Still not finding any inkling, she surrendered. And so did I in some sort of way. I held her close for some time and then not getting a stirring left her to her own questions.

My own grandmother couldn't remember me. She didn't remember my voice nor could she register my touch. My grandmother, my very own grandmother. The tears that seeped the pillow were long time overdue. The hours I was away from my grandmother were uncountable. The tears were a repentance of sorts but still not enough.

My bleary eyes went back to the time when I was a kid and she used to come and live with us. Every night I used to be after her life for a story. I always wanted new stories, new tale of heroism and love to fill my story pit and she always had some, some new, some old and some manipulated to become new. I don't remember ever she said no to me for a story. I used to wake her in the middle of the night asking for a story and she always obliged. Even when sleepy she wove beautiful stories out of thin air. Of exotic lands, of princes and princesses, of love and war, what not. The greatest storyteller I ever had. My childhood is sprinkled with her stories and her childhood descriptions of her life.

Growing older I always had something or the other to do, always a lot on mind. Whenever she was around all I could respond, were unmindful grunts to her questions and nods for her talks. Life was busy for me but she was always there to stroke my hair in the night and was even ready with stories in the night and I becoming the small kid again devoured the stories in the night. I guess she never stopped telling me stories because that was the only time of the day I paid faithful attention to her.

The stories kept us together.

I remember once she come up to me and pointed to one set of bangles saying this is for pratik's wife, then she touched the other set and said this is for monty's wife and then slowly as if whispering a secret into my ears she came closer and whispered, beta you see these earrings, they are for you and only you. She had forgotten the other sisters in the division. It was always me for her. For as long as I can remember she had worn that pair. Beautiful gold chandeliers which had my attention from the time I understood the concept of decking up.

Whenever we all cousins gathered around her teasing her about being biased towards me, she would hug me tight and tell the rest, Rati is my favourite and will always remain. You can't do anything about it. How I basked in the glory of her love at that moment and beamed with pride.

I could hear my name from somewhere, someone calling me. My sleep thinned and the memories left me bringing me to the brink of reality. My cousin was calling me for lunch. I went downstairs. There again she lay. A shrivelled mass of bones and skin. Her gaunt stare followed me to the dining table and I not letting a single morsel satisfy me went to her and then she looked at me and said rati, you have come, what took you so long beta. Teri dadi to buddhi ho gai re teri yaad me. Saying that she started crying and my tears had no stopping either. I hugged her tight still she didn't fill the whole round of my arms. Her tears didn't stop and then after a long session of hugging and kissing she lay still in my arms, her frail neck drooping as if seeking support.

My heart was light again, it weighted a feather. Those tears felt like my penance for every minute I was away from her. I lay her down, touched her hollow cheeks, took her fragile fingers into mine and gave a teary grin. She returned my smile and then with a puzzled look asked "who are you??"