Daydreamer

Tiny frame can only hold so many colours 

Without letting it drip out of the golden gates

I wanted to be the ocean, the moon, the night

I wanted to be God’s own design

Instead they put me in cage

Teased me every time I closed my eyes

Now I am soiled with time and space

I have been told to be happy when the sun shines

But I am the daughter of the moon and the night. 

Whims Of A Shy Girl

I stood at the corner of the stairways listening to people talking about random, unimportant. I wanted to go downstairs, I was hungry. But their voices made my legs freeze. I knew if I go down I’ll have to talk to them… greet them, and do all the formalities that I absolutely hate and never understand.

If I just went downstairs and make it to the kitchen without saying a word they’ll think I am rude and uninterested. The later I was but not rude, never intentionally.

I am standing still but my brain is racing, struggling. It tells me to move my feet and go downstairs, be polite and then go to the kitchen. Could such a simple thing be a dilemma? What was I afraid of? They don’t live to judge me, they don’t care. But it’s not about the judgment. I just want to be invisible. I want more space. I feel the air is full of their energy, their thoughts.

I can’t just stand in once place, it’s already been thirty minutes. I go to my room and check my face. I look presentable, that’s encouraging. I spend some more time pacing from the edge of the stairway to my room, still listening to their voices. I can’t be a prisoner in my own house. I repeat this in my head over and over again.

Maybe I should go back to my room and wait for them to leave. Next thing I know, I am making my way down the stairs with a smile on my face.  I greet them and they greet me back. It happened so quick, almost effortlessly. I reach the kitchen and breathe out in relief

It’s over...for now. 

Yours Truly

She loves me unconditionally that I know

She will come for me one day

From sickness she will comfort me

Or my health she will take away.

I will lay the bricks and share my blood

I will shout my name from mountain tops

And when I think I have seen enough

Her presence will show me things I have never seen

Her touch will ignite my worst fear

And her kiss will make me fall in love.

My lover don’t punish me with your abstruse moves

Send me a sign before we meet again?

And I shall being you flowers

Take you in my arms like I never let you go

Before we take off for another adventure

And you leave me again

For a moment we will embrace

Until life do us apart.

via Google images 

Touch of Fate

What happens to mysteries that never get solved?

They go back to live in closed drawers

Silently waiting for a seeker to pass by

Hoping that he could be a little more sly

Zealous and bursting with pride

Skilled in discovering the meaning of unspoked words  

But the fates of mysterious things are cruel

Long they wait to be unraveled

Only to be abandoned and forgotten.

Behind hating, beyond hatred.

Sometimes no matter how far I try to run away from all the hate and negativity in this world, everywhere I turn, I see a hater. Their eyes that judge every moving thing, mouth that can only speak hurtful words. Even if they are dropped into a big tank of melted milk chocolate, they will still come out tasting bitter!

I can’t help but wonder the reason behind their hostility towards all things living. What satisfaction they get by putting others down? Is that a way to make them feel better about their own life? Something very silly can infuriate them so much that they can’t even keep those rancid, decaying thoughts to themselves. No, they have to open up their mouth and spill it all in the name of being ‘real’.

But what is behind their faces? Behind those abhorring, scorned expressions? Who are these people and what are their stories? Sometimes I think they are hurt. That every baseless comment they pass is just a cry for help. Perhaps they are immature and naïve, that they do not understand the power of words.  They must be too busy to look back and witness the repercussions of their comments. . They never saw the heartbreak. So they never knew they hated. 

Can they be just plain evil? Sadists who like to watch people burn in all consuming fire of their anger.

Or maybe, just maybe they are wounded and the only remedy they know is tears of their victims.

 "Hating is like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat." - Harry Emerson Fosdick 

Enigma

He raised the veil hoping to unravel a mystery. But her eyes were closed.
It's the nature of few women and stars, we live in secrecy, we talk in codes and thrive in little thing that are invisible to you.
She could never be tamed, like her hair that fell free on her face.
And whenever she talked it sounded like poetry.
Some were enchanted by her, others never listened carefully.
Her aura extends to the world you have never seen.
Even with all the grandeur, she is easily missed on the streets.

Mind your Language

I am an Indian and my mother tongue is Hindi. Hindi is also our official language, English is the second official language. Constitution of India recognizes no national language, which is appropriate because there are way too many regional languages (Tamil, Bengali, Marathi, Punjabi etc.). If you are a foreigner and you think learning Hindi will help you have a proper conversation in South then you are sadly mistaken. Not like Southies don't understand Hindi, they just refuse to speak it.
In my house we speak Hindi (or Hindi-Urdu to be accurate) in Andamani dialect, it's not much different but it has its own flair. It certainly is not the purest form of Hindi but I don't know who speaks like that anyway.
My mother is a mainlander and my dad is an islander, they both have their own way of speaking Hindi. Mine I would say is a mix of both style and not to forget I went to a English medium school, so I speak Hinglish, like many other people of my generation.

The funny thing is, I am more comfortable speaking English sometimes, maybe it's because I live in England now. But surely I can't put it above my mother tongue? Or can I?
I passed school with A grade in Hindi and B in English. So I guess my Hindi is better.

But grades have no significance in real life.

Today I went to get my eyes checked. They had one of those things that you read from a distance to check your vision. It had four sides, one was English alphabets another was assortments of animals, third was different signs and fourth was Hindi alphabets. I always read the English one but the problem is that I have had a lot of eye check ups and I have pretty much memorised the English one. So this time I had to choose something else.

I sat down on a stool and looked straight. There they were, Hindi alphabets arranged randomly. I stared at it for sometime and I just couldn't get it. I knew what they were but they seemed alien to me somehow. Like it was not the language I speak everyday at home. I said I'm not comfortable with Hindi so I'll read the signs. After trying different numbers, we came to the conclusion that the glasses I am using now is fine.

So I sat there with my 6/6 vision thinking why I didn't want to read Hindi. Is it some kind of self-hate? But it wasn't, because I didn't feel that I don't like Hindi. I like it, it's just complicated.  I have to think a lot while reading it. I don't read Hindi subtitles on TV because they go away in seconds before I can figure out what was written, I only read it if it's romanized. I don't watch Hindi news because I feel I have to concentrate to figure out those big complicated Hindi words they use. But I have no problem watching Hindi sitcoms as they are a more lighter version of Hindi, there are no heavy duty words there.

I thought of other things too. Like how I can only count till 20 in Hindi. How shameful is that? I got a A grade for the same language. And this was not like billion years ago, it's only been four years. Were the teachers really happy the day the marked me? Were they drunk? Did they have really good sex or their favourite cricket team won the match or something? They seem to be very generous with their grades.
Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I gave English an upper hand because I write in English. And really the last time I wrote more than two words in Hindi was four years ago.

I wonder if my kids will have more trouble with Hindi. I live in a multi-cultural country now so I guess I can have babies with anyone. There are good chances that my kids can be bi-racial. They would probably never write a word of Hindi, unless I want them to. But do I actually give a fuck? That is the real question.

I am always prepared.

I didn't sleep until 6am in the morning. Around 8am I heard a sharp knock on my door followed by my sister asking me, "Do you want to go down to the beach today with us?". After considering the pros and cons for few mins (cons being I only had 2 hours of sleep) I agreed to go with her and her friends who are visiting Andaman.

After breakfast my sister gave me 30mins to get ready. So I rushed upstairs, had my morning fag and chose a coral top and harem pants to wear, slapped on my coral lipstick, lathered SPF 50 all over my face and body. Voilà! beach perfect in less that 10 mins. I spent rest of my time packing essentials for the beach. I thought of taking my swimming costume because but instead I packed a cropped legging, a white tank top and another white lacy top to go above it. I thought swimming costume would be too revealing and no one actually wears costumes in beaches here except 5 year old. My sister asked me if I have packed everything and I replied, "I am always prepared".

Nothing beats the feeling of being at the beach. Tiny grains of sand under my feet felt orgasmic. Warm weather, cool water and smell of the sea awakened all of my senses. I went in the changing room to change into my cropped black leggings and white tank top. After that me and my sister jumped into the water playing and laughing like little children. I don't even know why I was laughing, the salt water acted like a drug. I discovered that of all the places to be, we experience immense happiness and freedom only around nature and not inside the brick walls we build for safety.  


But all my philosophy went out of the door when my sister pointed out that my tank top is now transparent. Here I am, surrounded by people who are in the water clad from head to toe in their sarees and salwars, and my nipples are clearly visible through my white top. I felt more exposed than I was. I decided to hide my upper half, find a tree and wear my bra inside my top and then go into the water again.

After that I went in the water fearless and we played for about 2 hours and sun bathed. Everything was going well until my sister's friend whispered that my legging is ripped, that too near my bum. I went to the deeper side of water so I can be inspect the rip myself. To my horror it was a huge rip over my right bum and thigh. Why God Why? Why me? Are you just trying to pull me down while you sit in heaven above, eat popcorn and watch me get humiliated?

I wrapped a towel around me went to the changing room and changed into my coral top and harem pants.

One thing kept echoing in my ears and mocking me " I am always prepared".

A word of advice : don't take old leggings and white tank tops to beach. Or better yet, take a god damn swimming costume.