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.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
FASHION (OVER) DOZED
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.
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.
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??"
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??"
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The dog poo
What with these guys and their mentality. When dating they need a girl very outgoing and passionate and someone who is ready to experiment and go places but when it comes to marriage They want to be the guy who loves his mother the most and would want to marry the most docile girl around. Have no clue if they will ever grow up and learn. Do they know that we live in what century and just using the latest gizmos and gadgets and talking about how you adore the latest technology won’t make him the man of today? It’s just the pretentious feel in his mind that’s making him do it. What a dufus! Lets come face to face with the demands of their when it comes to a girl friend. She has to be hot and very sexy, would love if she wears fashionable clothes. She should be something I should be proud off while displaying her in front of my friends and when it comes to marriage, well she should be pretty, should have never had a boyfriend and should have worn anything beyond a simple salwar kurta. She should know how to cook, be very clean and should have higher education though I wouldn’t like her to work after marriage.
Hypocritism has a new warrior my friends. In the olden times at least the guys were on your face kind of guys. What they want was stereotypical and at least the girl knew what she was stepping into but now the so called today’s man in even more confused and confusing. On face he would pretend to be the space giving, unrestricting kind of a man but the show is about to begin. Initially after pretending like that his book of demands will reveal itself and then is when you know how rotten the dog poo is, on which you have stepped into.
when dating he would want the girl to enjoy and have fun and be the modern girl she is and later when the mother sitting at home is after his life to get a bahu just like she is, the guy will rush to his girlfriend and say sentences like “I guess it’s not working out “ or “my parents would never approve of you” or “you are not someone I can spent my life with”. What they need to do is get a spine on rent at least for that moment and tell the girl that what I need is not a fiery one who may be will have the guts to oppose me when I do anything wrong and may will fight me but I need that docile girl who won’t open her mouth and let me do anything I want and will serve me food regularly and clean my house at intervals. They should say that I don’t need a queen for my house but a servant who I don’t have to pay and I can sleep with too whenever I want to.
It’s not very difficult to say is it. At least we girls won’t be left wondering that maybe it was our fault and they are the reason. That is even worst. Getting punished for the crime you never did.
Wow. Isn’t truth real bitter? But it is the truth. Isn’t it?
Hypocritism has a new warrior my friends. In the olden times at least the guys were on your face kind of guys. What they want was stereotypical and at least the girl knew what she was stepping into but now the so called today’s man in even more confused and confusing. On face he would pretend to be the space giving, unrestricting kind of a man but the show is about to begin. Initially after pretending like that his book of demands will reveal itself and then is when you know how rotten the dog poo is, on which you have stepped into.
when dating he would want the girl to enjoy and have fun and be the modern girl she is and later when the mother sitting at home is after his life to get a bahu just like she is, the guy will rush to his girlfriend and say sentences like “I guess it’s not working out “ or “my parents would never approve of you” or “you are not someone I can spent my life with”. What they need to do is get a spine on rent at least for that moment and tell the girl that what I need is not a fiery one who may be will have the guts to oppose me when I do anything wrong and may will fight me but I need that docile girl who won’t open her mouth and let me do anything I want and will serve me food regularly and clean my house at intervals. They should say that I don’t need a queen for my house but a servant who I don’t have to pay and I can sleep with too whenever I want to.
It’s not very difficult to say is it. At least we girls won’t be left wondering that maybe it was our fault and they are the reason. That is even worst. Getting punished for the crime you never did.
Wow. Isn’t truth real bitter? But it is the truth. Isn’t it?
Friday, March 12, 2010
culture shock
There I stood with big dreams in my eyes at the nift gate, all those expectations of my parents and zzzzzz!!!!!!!!!!!duh its boring.....too senti I guess but that was the way I thought before I came here with those stereotypical filmy script kind of.....nift changed me Or to be more specific nift Mumbai changed me. I was a small town girl once (now I live in a bigger 1) considered to b the black sheep because i opted nt to bcum a doctor or an engineer just like my all other cousins so all i cud do was promise my mommy to study hard and packed my bags. Now a girl who has never been amongst people who smoke and every time there was emraan hashmi on the TV had to change the channel had a shock reaching here...
Guys and gals all smoking around, girls dressed in clothes I just saw on the tv,even the guys dressed in a different way(depends how different the guy is),then those late night parties (Gosh I never stayed out after 9 o clock max.) with the alcohol consumption, people getting really (read really really) cosy at times. All of this was completely unexpected.
Guess nift is all about expecting the unexpected, still more was yet to come, and suddenly there were so many couples around. It’s kind of a trend and like clothes you need to discard them sooner or else they smell i guess.
Anyways it did teach me things never thought or heard of,like always following the fashion, the difference between a fashion victim and a fashion follower ,u can really joke with the teachers, vogue being the fashion bible ,boot cuts are totally out and a lot of things that will help me all along.
No doubt with all that smoke and smooch around it was difficult to adjust at first but now its a part of my life and as the saying goes , hate the sin and not the sinner, i love all the people around. Its me living here loving here.
Guys and gals all smoking around, girls dressed in clothes I just saw on the tv,even the guys dressed in a different way(depends how different the guy is),then those late night parties (Gosh I never stayed out after 9 o clock max.) with the alcohol consumption, people getting really (read really really) cosy at times. All of this was completely unexpected.
Guess nift is all about expecting the unexpected, still more was yet to come, and suddenly there were so many couples around. It’s kind of a trend and like clothes you need to discard them sooner or else they smell i guess.
Anyways it did teach me things never thought or heard of,like always following the fashion, the difference between a fashion victim and a fashion follower ,u can really joke with the teachers, vogue being the fashion bible ,boot cuts are totally out and a lot of things that will help me all along.
No doubt with all that smoke and smooch around it was difficult to adjust at first but now its a part of my life and as the saying goes , hate the sin and not the sinner, i love all the people around. Its me living here loving here.
Monday, March 8, 2010
I want it all
This women’s day let’s make a list of all the things we women want
1- Want to change the world, want world peace and blah blah and blah.
2- Want the prices of Gucci, Prada and jimmy choo to be slashed by 80%.
3- Want every guy around to pay compliment to us like all the time.
4- Want all the guys to start working out. No more paunches and male boobs for us.
5- Want the big brands to make bigger sizes.
6- Want today’s size 6 to be tomorrow’s size zero.
7- Want all the male hunky actors to take us on a date.
8- Want all the good things in life
9- Now body shop products should be cheaper.
10- Cheese and chocolate should taste the same but shouldn’t have any calories.
11- No matter what we eat, shouldn’t gain weight
12- Pimples should be eradicated like small pox
13- Want separate washrooms for men and women in every house.
14- Hair fall shouldn’t exist along with dandruff.
15- Plastic surgery should become ease as chewing gum.
16- Those fairness creams should actually start working.
17- Want to have a personal private band all to ourselves playing every song live on our command.
18- Wrinkles should start coming from the age of 65.
19- Please please no pain during child birth.
20- Tired of being a mom, aunty, sister, this and that and everything, just want to me for a change.
1- Want to change the world, want world peace and blah blah and blah.
2- Want the prices of Gucci, Prada and jimmy choo to be slashed by 80%.
3- Want every guy around to pay compliment to us like all the time.
4- Want all the guys to start working out. No more paunches and male boobs for us.
5- Want the big brands to make bigger sizes.
6- Want today’s size 6 to be tomorrow’s size zero.
7- Want all the male hunky actors to take us on a date.
8- Want all the good things in life
9- Now body shop products should be cheaper.
10- Cheese and chocolate should taste the same but shouldn’t have any calories.
11- No matter what we eat, shouldn’t gain weight
12- Pimples should be eradicated like small pox
13- Want separate washrooms for men and women in every house.
14- Hair fall shouldn’t exist along with dandruff.
15- Plastic surgery should become ease as chewing gum.
16- Those fairness creams should actually start working.
17- Want to have a personal private band all to ourselves playing every song live on our command.
18- Wrinkles should start coming from the age of 65.
19- Please please no pain during child birth.
20- Tired of being a mom, aunty, sister, this and that and everything, just want to me for a change.
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