Monday, November 03, 2008

Can we??

Can I wrap you up in a song and make you the song itself?
Can you hum to me, that song?

Can I look behind one more time, because I am sure you will be there?
Can you see the sunshine within me?

Can I scold you to my heart's content, because you know I am just doing it to irritate you?
Can you keep making that frustrated face everytime I say something completely irrational?

Can I whine to my heart's content to you, because I know you wont judge me for it?
Can you keep trying to fill that void that has just opened up inside me? Some day it will fill..

Can I keep shopping for those little things that you don't even know you will need around your house?
Can you keep surprising me in all those little and small things that you do?

Can we keep forming these little traditions of ours? These little things which is always what you do, and these other things that are always my doing...

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Demons, the real ones..

*The post before the last one*

Normally her demons arose in the night. They turned the normally flippant, brilliantly blunt and straight answering girl into a blubbering, confused and sobbing girl. The world knew her as a very arrogant and collected person. She bounced back from all her problems and issues didn't she?
She did, but at night, when she was alone, sitting in the dumpyard behind her apartment complex, she wasn't all that brave. She could not even introduce herself to her demons. That part of her which she was unaware about. Which she had not been introduced to. Which she had not met. That part of her she dint know about.

She needed to see a shrink. She was sure of that. There could not be two parts to her. A demon that made her eyes tear up randomly. That made her begin every night with hours of crying. The part of her she knew, would not, could not let the world see her crying. Would not accept to the world that it was her weakness, her sign of indignity. Her fall.

Except, now, that demon had become so powerful that it came out in the day too. When she was around people, in front of them. She tried to supress it with silences, with blankly staring away into nothingness just so that her eyes would not well up with tears. Because one roll down her cheeks was never enough, it was a saga. Sometimes it would start in the class, sometimes while having dinner, sometimes while doing her laundry and sometimes when she was stretched out on the couch witnessing a happy moment. And she was slipping away into being powerless.

Her skin was behaving like it was over-exposed, her eyes looked like she was drugged. Her body frequently burned up to a fever. Was everything alwasy never good enough? or was it just that she wanted too damn much. That there were two parts to her, the demon and her. Together, they wanted a lot. Needed a lot. Expected to get a lot.

Which is why she started on back-to-back episodes of Scrubs.

Thursday, October 23, 2008


"Go," he said. And sent her off. All alone to face her demons.

Monday, October 20, 2008

A quick unfinished story

Friends Forever. Turned into blossoming infatuation. Forever couple. Is it love? Maybe not yet..

Distance, misunderstandings, arguments, fights and lies. A couple broken before love could happen. Friends again. Happy for each other's happiness.

He falls for someone again. She is happy with someone else again. They are happy in their own worlds. What could be, is a question and a doubt that will forever remain unexplored. A chance meeting, a stolen kiss. Nothing more, back to their happy worlds.

Kids turn into adults. Turn of maturity. Time for permanency. He is thinking of marrying his girl, she is still looking for love, although just happy with someone else.

A sudden encounter. It tears her up that his intense feelings for her are now for someone else. It tears him up that she was never this happy with him. A stolen night.

A few days, stolen from the world. Guilt. Knowledge that this could work. All it needs is effort.

But its too late now. Back into the worlds they built. The doubt, the question will forever remain incomplete. Because just a few days are not enough. They were forever friends. The forever part had magnanimous implications. Torn souls, forced into being friends.

Not happy as more than that, unhappy at less than that.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Striving to love myself..

The first time I was told I was ugly, it was my 11th birthday. I had worn what my mother had picked out for me, checkered shorts with a silver belt, and a black tee-shirt with something silver on it- I was quite skinny that time. You know you dress well in school for your birthdays, distribute chocolates? When I was doing that, my so-called brother Amey, pulled me closer and said
"I know I shouldn't say this to you today, but you look ugly. Why are you wearing that?"

I never wore that outfit again. I steadily gained weight that year on. Sometime when I was 13, I had my first crush, and the guy told me I was beautiful, and I did not believe him.

When I was 16, I was in a theatre group. I was one of the youngest there. The two other sixteen year olds were reed thin, I was, by now, plump and chubby, as everyone would call me. Obviously I never got the main part, until in the end I was given one as charity. One guy who was dating one of the reed thin girls, once remarked out loud,
"Girls just look so breath-takingly beautiful with wet hair."
The three of us had just come in from the pouring rain. We all had wet hair. We all looked at each other at this statement. The guy smiled and then after a pause said,
"But not you Pragni, your hair is horrible, how can you ever look good"

I have been out with models, a dangerous looking guy, an ok-looking guy, a gayish-looking guy, intelligent guys, rich guys, one player or casanova and one semi-celebrity too. But I have never believed myself to be worth them, physically or looks-wise.

I hate it, and I hate admitting it, but everytime one of the guys here tell me I look beautiful, I pause for a moment. That pause is to convince myself that even if I don't think so, maybe they do. They are not saying it to please me. They are not saying it out of any obligation. They mean it.

Till a really long time, everytime someone told me I looked good, my instant reaction would be "yea, right" or "Stop kidding around?", until one day, R got really angry with me and told me that he wouldn't say it if he dint mean it, and I d better start believing him or saying it out right that I did not trust him.
I said, "I don't know what other reaction to give!"
Said he, "Try thank you. It normally works."
I did not believe my thank you's after that for a long time too.

It's just recently that I have admitted to my being very very conscious about my body. About my self image. And admitted it in front of friends and now publicly. I know this is not going to liberate me. But maybe, somewhere along the line, I will be re-introduced to my self-esteem. Ironically, I do not lack in the department of self-confidence. Funny how I have made that thin line so thick for me.

P.S - Last two days of the pills. I promise this confess all mode will stop then and so will the sappiness.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Those three essential things for any kind of feelings..

"I can fall in love with someone because of their intelligence, its one of the three things that can get to me.."
"What are the other three things?"
I knew there were three things.. I just hadn't really put my mind to it to think what those three things were, you know? And this was not a person who would let me change the topic at this point.
"aah.. this might sound shallow but pampering maybe? I guess if someone pampers me a lot, I could fall in love with them." I have had cousins who have pampered me crazy, and I have adored them. So I guess, it could work...
"And the way a person treats other people around him. The respect you give other people, the distance you maintain, the way you talk to them." Now that was the correct one of the two. I was sure.

But pampering? I thought about it all night. Can I really fall for someone because they'd pamper me crazy? And then some instances came to my mind. Pilot insisted on me taking the diamond ring he got me. I refused, he actually went up to the sea to throw it. I took it. I love the ring, I had designed it. But I din't fall in love with him.

Pilot always always pampered me. If I saw a toy I liked, it would be sent to my place in a few days, twice in a week, fresh flowers would be delivered to my place, fancy dinners, and coffee every other night. I did not fall in love with him. And then he started hanging out with my parents. He respected them, took advice from them, revered them. That's when I even started thinking of him as someone who I might be able to be with. He wanted to them help out with the summercamp kids. He was beautiful with them, strict, scary but lovable. That's when I realized that he is worth a lot more. If things would have continued a bit, who knows I might have been in love with him (if love is possible). But end of story, I did not fall in love with him. Inspite of all the pampering, and inspite of all the respect I saw him give others.

I think the respect he gave others, made me respect him. And respect is very important for me. To give and receive. But it did not induce love. And pampering just made me feel nice, but I always knew it was a materialistic nice. And I guess seeing me feel nice, he felt nice. He never did it to make me fall in love with him. I hope.

Since intelligence is a must in people around me, I should have been in love with Dhum, Pinki, Petrovski, Veeru, Jats and looking at intelligence from a different angle, Pilot too.

But I am not. Which effectively negates my dialogue above. I cannot fall in love with anyone just because they are intelligent, or they pamper me, or that they are respectful. I can just be a little pleased with them for it.

I guess love just happens right? Without a reason?

So since you are reading this, I shall retract my statement above that I made to you. And rephrase it. A bit. "I don't know how to fall in love with someone. I don't know what can make me fall in love with someone. I don't even think I can define love. But yes, these three things that I listed? They make me think highly of a person. They make me realize that the person cares, for himself (intelligence), me (pampering) and others (respect). Which matters. I guess."

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Not a child, not an adult

I have been often told I think too much and too far. This post is a result of that.

Browsing through youtube videos I came across the videos of Chote Ustaad, a singing contest between kids. I started with the grand finale episode, two really pretty girls singing beautifully. One had the most beautiful, sweet and melodious voice.
The other had the most grounded, husky and fabulous voice.

One had springy curls all over her face, a clear face and expressive eyes.
The other had straight luxurious hair that fell in a cascade around her face, sparkling eyes and an attitude to match.

Both had the public fawning at their feet. Both are less than 13 years old.

What happened to have pimply faces, an unsure attitude, that awkward age when you look your worst for that certain time and not knowing what you want to do with your life because you are not even 13!!

I am scared. Scared for my children when I have them. Because either they will be one of these talented children, or one of the not talented ones. If they are like these, they will be under this constant pressure, which I am sure these children are under. They will have their life decided for them, no matter what it is that they want to do, how it is that they want to live.

If they are not, they will grow up watching these talent shows, wonder what their talent is, why they don't have a voice like that, or a flexible body like this, or a figure like that one. Or they might know someone who is talented like that, and feel inferior to them.

The summercamp where I teach dance, constantly has parents coming up to me asking me to hone the dancing skills of their child because they think that the kid has the ability to "enter and win boogie woogie". Or I have even had one come and boast to me about how her daughter has such an amazing face that she has already featured in 12 ads and won around 2 lakh rupees. The girl was 9 years old.

I have had mothers come and tell me "Look, look at my child dance. She goes to Shaimak Davar's classes every day to train" and when the girl dances, she swings her hips, but not to the rhythm, she looks ahead with her eyes all small and scrunched up, but blankly, and she says, "my favorite dancer is Isha Koppikar and Sameera Reddy".

I once choreographed a dance for one student for a talent contest in her school, and she was pretty good. We did on the song Remix, which is based on school life. We hunted all the markets to get an awesome costume for her, a black corset, with a leather jacket, a leather skirt with knee high boots and a school tie. When we reached the hall, she pointed out her rival to me. She was a girl dressed in a yellow bustier with chiffon strips for sleeves, and a chiffon transparent harem pants and her hair all curled up and heavy orange eye make up and gloss. I had not let my student put anything more than a dusting of powder on her face to block sweat.
The girl danced on "Saaki saaki, aa paas reh na jaye koi khwahish baaki", while my student danced on "Na koi tension lena, nahi koi darr ke jeena.."

Ofcourse, the Saaki girl won. My student was heart-broken. And she asked me, "next time can I dance on an item number too?"

I fear the day my child will ask me that. When my child will think that to be liked, she or he needs to expose, be extra-ordinary at something, be supremely talented or have an attitude.

Monday, October 06, 2008

Chemical Imbalance

I wish I could explain to you what it feels like when you are actually in a happy mood, but you can feel something clicking somewhere in your brain which brings on a bad mood.

I wish I could explain to you the anguish that tears through your mind, and then the other side, where you know why its happening, you know you really are not that sad, but just the fact that you are not that in reality, but are feeling so right now is a pathetic thing.

I wish I could explain to you how horrible it feels, how alienating.. how much you would just love to give in and cry, because although you know that that wont solve the problem, it sure as hell seems like what you should be doing.

I wish I could explain to you how much it hurts to cry alone, or cry but let no one notice it. Because logically it makes sense to do not cry in front of anyone since its an induced state, but in the mental state you are in.. that's the polar opposite of what you need.

I wish I could explain to you how suddenly you want so much more, you need so much more, you emote so much more, you expect so much more. It's like you just CANT bottle up these things which you know have the capacaity to hurt you.. so are best not wanted, needed, expected, loved.

I wish I could explain to you how much imbalanced you feel, how it completely puts you off your foot, how helpless you feel and how much you need that support from everyone who matters.

I wish I could explain to you how it is so so necessary that in this state you give me every little thing you assumed was given, you say all those things that can assumedly be left unsaid, you give and show every ounce of what you are feeling.

I wish I could explain to you how much you matter at this stage. And I wish you would realize that more than one person, I need all of you. That I am literally dependent on you. Really really do.

I wish i could explain all this to myself. And coach myself enough to get over this.. to learn and to master this too, so I can stop depending on your calm, your faith, your love, your company and you. All of you.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Bonfire tonite

Am off to a bonfire in a farm tonight. Like a proper bonfire, in a proper farm, with hayrides, and hot dogs ( :( ) and beer. And wine and chocolates, because that's what I am taking for the host. We are taking, I mean.

But before the bonfire, I have a ordeal. A bike which actually screws my case. The bloody seat has been made to dig into the butt bone (if there is one) of the rider. Which is me.

As of now, I am trying to think of what outfit to wear, and such calm (?), pleasant thoughts. But soon, I will start on the endeveour of screwing myself up.

Might post pictures if anyone wants to see them. So let me know if you want to see me, Petrovski, and lots of random people, some who are my staff, and a lot of fire and beer.

P.S - Wine and Chocolates (Ghirardelli's) and a Thank You note. That's a good enough gesture for a boss who is hosting a Bonfire right? Please say yes.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Innnn-Out. Innnn-Out.

Breathe. Breathe harder. Slow. Innnn-Out. Innnnn-Out.

He had "quit" smoking. Except for yesterday when he had a couple. And a few days before that when he had a few at a party. But he had quit. Really.

It’s just the room you know. Too many people. Innnn-Out. Innnn-Out.

He was choking on his emotions. She had just entered the room.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Weighing the scales

So eitherway you get screwed..

Either its a lifetime of regret that you dint follow through.. or its a lifetime of torture that you did follow through..

What's better, regret that eats at you all life leaves you discontent or torture that eats at you all life and leaves you unbalanced?

Friday, September 19, 2008

WTF is happening in Gotham City

Unbelievable mood swings.. And I don't know a single person who could understand them..

So many things to say, but no one's there to listen. Flitting in and out of people's lives.. Some, have completely shut their lives altogether. Maybe I am shutting mine too..

Suddenly my attachement to this blog has increased. But it feels exploited, because of random people who dont care a hoot and their random comments, and because of people who care, but dont care enough to say anything.

Everyone is suddenly black and white. It's like I have lost my prowess of seeing the shades of grey. She is white, he is black (I thought he was white, but no, he's black) They are black. He is black. She is white. They are black.

Suddenly I am questioning all the relationship I have made. Isn't it supremely stupid to claim to have so many best friends? And if they are, which of them really understand you? Which of them knows what is happening right now, even though you dont talk to them daily. Most best friends are actually just good friends. Or very close friends.

I wonder if there is a point beyond which you wouldn't want to mature. And leave your fun, flighty, so-many-best-friends side behind. The side which laughed a lot once upon a time, when you were with them. But now you laugh with others. And then feel scared. Coz maybe you have lost what was once too precious.

(I know this blog has been getting too mysterious and non-understandable lately. It's majorly because it's me talking to myself. If you don't get it, or don't like it, I don't want to say sorry to you. You can either just continue checking up once in a blue moon, or forget that it existed. Your pick. Either way, the loss is mine.)

Thursday, September 18, 2008

constants and variables

Time is the only constant.

Emotions increase or decrease in intensity, reactions waver and fluctuate, friends come and go, people live or die, opportunities knock, withdraw and knock again, situations, cimcumstances, nature, weather, hell, every bloody thing changes.

But time is the only constant.

That day comes every year, no matter what. That night comes every year, those few hours too, repeat on the cycle of the clock. Its a different surrounding every time, but the thoughts inside me, run on an endless loop.

If only I could go back and change these few hours... And then a pause.

Because I know, no matter what, I would still do things the same way. Because the emotions then were pure and strong. Even if now they are diluted and gone. The reactions then were instant and true, even if on hindsight it all seems stupid and immature. The friends then, I believed them to be the best, even if now I realized they sucked at their job of being my friend. The people then who died a million deaths, resurfaced, survived the blow, and trusted again. Opportunites were lost, but other's came up too. The situations and circumstance, seemed justified then, now.. don't even ask..

But time remains a constant. Through it all. Unfailingly on time, and unfailingly there. Just there always.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Easy to Jinx

Ever wondered at how happy you are, how perfect everything is and how wonderful the weather and the day is.

And then have it jinxed so bad it's not even salvagable. The sky opens up and pours (and you washed your hair today, dammit),  the day turns dour and that perfect balance is ruined.

And happiness? It's like a bubble that you keep trying to catch or even just touch. But it either flits further away, or bursts into nothingness the minute you are close.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Mumbai's underlying faith

What happened to India? As in India a country and not Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal as different states.

Is this man crazy? I am a Mumbaite, I am NOT a Maharashtrian, I do NOT speak Marathi, I do not even KNOW marathi for that matter. I was better off without knowing the existence of this man. Should I be banned too?

I am no big fan of the Bacchans. But I do know that Mumbai was always about being a cosmopolitian society. Just like Delhi, and Bangalore and Calcutta to a certain extent. My friend circle in Mumbai was always a mix of everyone. There was a Gujarati, a Maharashtrian, a Catholic, a Marwari, a Parsi, a Muslim and a South Indian. And we were always so proud of it.

No one asked for the state origin of a person before helping them out during the floods. We din't ask for language proof before stretching an arm and a leg out to people affected by the Train Blasts. Those who went to help after Godhra and the Earthquake in Gujarat were not only Gujaratis. Those who helped after the Tsunami were not only South Indians.

The last time people in Mumbai asked about dharam, mazhab and religion, Mumbai burned. And bled. Is this man mad enough to want to start that again? We have learned from that incident right? We will not fight amongst each other because your God has a different name, your heaven has a different name and your religious scriptures are different from the next persons.

Hell, I don't even believe in Religion and God. All I believe in is Mumbai. In the people in Mumbai. Their might be crooks, rascals, and eve teasers. But please let there not be people stupid enough to believe this idiot.


Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Not smart enough. Really not.

I dropped a course today because I am not smart enough for it.

Seriously. I thought I was the nerd of advertising. Today I realized that even that is not good enough for this class.

Have you heard about those classes where students and the professor sit around a conference table, stare at a problem set in the center and try to reach a solution which will co-relate with life's problems? That's this class.

The students argue about the epiphanic moment in their lives when the situation they were in was influenced by history, politics and their own biographies. And how that relates with the white and black racial division and the undermining of Native Indians and the poverty they have had to go through because of the Great Civil War of Independence in America and the hegemony of pedagogy.

Lost. I am thoroughly lost in the three hours that the class goes through. While the students around me go through various stages of orgasmic noises because of the great knowledge imparted in the class, or dawn on the real solution to placing wooden blocks in such a way that the bottom blocks do not have to take the burden of the neo capitalist economy.. I sleep.

These are all scholars, who actually learn a lot in the class. Who actually can make a lot of sense of everything that just bounces past my nose. And I can't do that.

So I shall drop this class. And admit to the world and myself that there are several levels of intelligentsia and I am way low on it. Way too low.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

"Take the next flight out and come back."

Sometimes you wake up in the morning, hug your T-shirt, and realize, how much you miss things.

And then you just wish that you could hug them quick and tight and then carry on with the new routine.

*Hugs Gumbal*

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I'm a Grad Student

When you are a Grad student it is assumed that when you shut your eyes for a minute it is because you are re-thinking the thought.

That when you stare into the distance, you are pondering over something deep.

That when you are gazing into your laptop, you are considering a problem and when you are furiously typing away? You are storing away each word spoken in class.

It is believed that when you are discussing something with the guy next to you, it is worthy of disturbing the quiet in the class.

That when you turn to look at someone talking, you are not checking them out.

When you are an under-grad student, it is assumed that you are sleeping, not focusing, lazing, chatting online, emailing, gossiping or checking someone out.

I am a Grad Student.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

I know.. that 10 years down the line.. I am going to look at you and wonder why I held back. Why I doubted.. but I know I must doubt now.. I must think and re-think now.. I must hold back..

Because The Crazy in me? It resurrects itself with every doubt I have in me.. regarding me, you or the future..


She sets the table. Puts out the soup, toasts the bread, heats the mushrooms. Absentmindedly she picks up the red handled spoons from the holder and lays them next to the mismatched plates. The microwave pings and the oven buzzes. Both the mushrooms and the bread are done. She sets it out on the small kitchen table and pauses. Picks up one of the plates, serves, steps to the sink and eats. Standing there.

When you start living alone, you train yourself to get used to eating by the sink too. Standing.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Jaane Tu - Please Don't Torture Yourself...

Its been over two weeks since Jaane Tu.. Ya Jaane Na was released.

The furor over this film, the fact that it was supposed to be "refreshingly nice and cute" and that it had a feel of what I call the Neo Indian Cinema phase made me want to see it really bad. I had been pestering Mr. Pilot to catch it with me since the day it came out. Yesterday, finally we managed to see the film.

And I cannot begin to describe my disappointment. Trust me folks, its a rubbish film. Coming from someone who actually adores films, loves a new feel to movies, and likes masala, action, comedy and every other genre. This film is a messed up venture.

A messed up effort because the story is good, but the execution of the story (not the movie) sucks. The main characters are real, substantial, and amazingly well done, the side ones? were forgotten in the deal. The dialogue delivery is awesome, but the dialogues itself are archaic.
The shots are beautiful but they make you think that a lot was cut out from the film. The twists are stupid and unnecessary. Isn't high time people understood that you do NOT need horses, Maharajas, typical Gujju friend who slips in and out of his accent, ghosts and flashbacks in a movie to make it good? If you wanted to take digs at older films, you should have made the Indian version of Scary Movies.

So there's Aditi and Jay. Both have unbelievably possible nick names - Meow and Rats. Go figure. I think the director and the screen play writer spent so much time carving their characters out that every one else is just an excuse to the movie. Both are the typical college kids, confused about what they actually feel, and looking outside for what they actually have right within them. They share an awesome rapport with their families, with each other families and with their friends.

And then there are a volley of side characters. Jay's mom- Savitri Aunty, thoroughly unbelievable; Aditi's super-cool parents, who suddenly become presumptuous; Aditi's brother, who could star in a sequel about his confusion and loneliness; their friends each defined by one character trait. And Jay's girlfriend, and Aditi's fiancé, also defined by one character trait. Jay's girlfriend lives in an imaginary world, and Aditi's fiancé lives in a macho, maar-dhaad world.

Did I leave someone out? Oh yes, Jay's dead father who lives through his portrait and his long lost Maharaja brothers who ride horses to city clubs and aspire to be jailed wearing leather vests and stetsons. Sigh.

Have I said enough? No? Ok how about the final scene where Jay, who has never done any horse riding, except in his dreams, starts galloping across Asiatic Library, Link Road at Malad and then to the International Airport to stop Aditi from leaving the country. But since she has already completed immigration and is sitting right next to her departure gate, he whizzes past the airport authorities, ducks machine guns trained at him, kabaddis around at least 10 security guards, goes through the baggage x-ray portal, up and down a few stairwells and reaches Aditi and starts screaming Meow, Meow. And then adds his trademark love song to it. And wins her.

The songs have a new age feel to it true, but they really are not exceptional. I love Kahi toh, but that's because I love such sappy songs with beautiful lyrics. I like Kabhi Kabhi Aditi, but I wouldn't listen to it after 3 or 4 months. And Papu can't dance sala seems quite stupid after hearing it twice. But I guess everyone has a different taste in songs, different genres for different peoples.

All in all, please please please don't see this film in a movie theatre. In fact, avoid seeing it even. If you really want, catch a few glimpses of it on youtube, and you will know the best parts of the movie. Else, avoid such mind numbing nonsense.

Sorry everyone, who claimed that this movie is spectacular, runaway hit, refreshingly nice like sunshine, peppy, cute or even fun. Really it isn't When will someone start writing truthful reviews and not mislead the poor aam janta like us man...

Thursday, July 10, 2008

The spoils of a conquest

A pure white hair-band lying on the floor. In front of the drawn curtains.

The roller chair, abandoned between the room.

Flowers knocked over from the glass vase. The vase, amazingly, unbroken.

The laptop lying on its side with its charging cord dangling from the side.

The book, the page you were reading preserved so preciously till now, on its face on the floor near the bed.

The Ipod speakers blaring an instrumental track you normally always skipped over.

Pillows on the floor and the bedspread crumpled. Bruises on your legs, your calves and your neck.

Going to Imaginary Places..

Saturday, July 05, 2008

"Have your medicines NOW" "I would, but I can't find them.."

I feel like I have lost this entire last week. Starting from the Sunday gone.

Everything planned went up for a toss. The only thing I remember of the week is endless visits to damned doctors (nothing against them, just a personal grouse) and endless flowers.

I think I might have visited every species of doctors in just 7 days. Gynecologist, Radiologist, Ophthalmologist, Obstetrician, Pediatrician, Dentist, Endocrinologist, Anesthesia Specialist, and a Psychiatrist in making. Sigh. This from someone who is shit scared of doctors and read the italics above. Trust me, it feels like I have met every species existing..

Yours truly is a believer in natural cure. Meaning when sick, wait for the body to recover by itself. Without the help of medicines or damned doctors. And now, after the last 7 days, I take 5 pills, 2 syrups, 2 powders and drops in my eyes daily. This is what is the perfect combination of mental and physical torture.

Believe me, I try to 'lose' these medicines as often as I can. Now only if that would work...

Thursday, July 03, 2008

phobias of the mind..

So you know what's the problem?

I am not committed enough to writing and posting here. I write, actually, I start writing. I voice out some random thoughts. Most of them pretty heavy. I don't piece them. I just pour them. Then when I feel like I'm half way through, I re-read it.. I wonder why the hell should I be posting this. Writing it should help me enough. Posting it means expecting something more. Why expect more? Especially where this is no real commitment. No expectations from the other side. It's not like people who read this blog expect to know all this.

So there is an expectation problem and a commitment problem. With this blog. And in life. Not only mine, every human being's life. Too bad, I say.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Needs external magical touch

I have written 7 posts in the last week. Each of them are what I was exactly feeling at that instant. But I haven't published a single one. Just thought I'd let you know that I am not being lazy, I'm just swinging on the mood terribly.

Anyone know where I can get some magic potion to lift me out of this?

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Please tell me I'm not the only one..

Have you ever felt like shouting out.. screaming out randomly..

Have you ever felt like turning the volume on your ipod up so loud that hopefully it could drown out your thoughts?

Have you ever felt bare, exposed although covered from head to toe..

Have you ever felt like stretching out more, and more and more because it feels like there is something in your bones thats not right?

Have you ever felt like covering yourself up with water because you need that fluidity enveloping you..

Have you ever felt like running away from talking to anyone in the world?

Have you ever felt like this is not you... not your body, not your thoughts.. and not your situation..

Have you ever felt like avoiding everyone around you and meeting absolutely random people, at the same time?

Have you ever desperately wanted to go to that one place, do that one thing, but something or the other has just restricted you from it..

Have you ever felt the need to express yourself without words, through action, art, pictures, or ink?

Have you ever stood up, looked up and desperately wished for the rains to wash away every bit of consciousness..

Have you ever just randomly met someone every goddamn day because you want it to start feeling right?

Have you ever thought if while reading this you are thinking of the exact same things I was thinking of while writing this..

Have you ever wondered if the person in front of you is really real or just a hoax, a bundle of illusions, a manipulation of thoughts and gestures?

Have you ever looked back and wondered what you did wrong for this to happen, for that person to behave like you just don't exist anymore..

Have you ever questioned your decision because you aren't really sure if that's going to make you, or anyone else too, happy for sure?

Have you ever doubted the potential that you might have had.. the promise that seems real sometimes and impossible at others...

Have you ever felt incomplete, right in the center of your being. Like there is a page left unturned in the book of your life and you have flipped past it and can never go back to it..

Friday, June 06, 2008

Wet, wild and lovely

I have a lot of posts due. Tumbling thoughts, words and feelings from my mind. But they are all assigned to later because one thing numbs everything else in me. Rains.

Monsoon here is not just rain. That's why monsoon here is so special. There are crazy winds, the sky clouding up and suddenly immersing the atmosphere in a beautiful dark haze, the trees going crazy with the water droplets and the winds. And the wonderful beautiful rains itself.

Champaign rains are just rains. Suddenly the sky tears up and it pours. Straight sleek sheets of rain. And then it stops.

Rains here have just so much character, so much substance to it. Like it carries all this personality with it just to make a person feel good from inside. Feel whole. If there's one thing that will always pull me back to Mumbai, over every other thing I have been noting in the past month, it is this. The wildness that is the rain here.

The sky rims up with dark clouds leaving a small border of its original blueness as a stark contrast. The wind and the rain lash out, but never feel cruel. Even if all the doors in your house are fastened, the wind will definitely find a few doors and windows to clatter. Love the feeling of going around the house shutting those doors up, waiting to see what more will be clattered next.

I love going up to our terrace and just standing there, the center of the world, with the wind pushing out at me, the rain pouring down and the trees reaching out. Right now its just the sixth floor of our house, I wonder what will the 30th floor be like next year. It'll feel like being between the cloud of rain I guess.

The climate fills you up, completes you, makes you forget everything else and makes you remeber every best thing. Makes you want the best comforts of like, hot coffee and a soft couch with a book, but makes you want to stay put there and get drenched. Makes you want to get up between the night when it suddenly starts pouring to just lose yourself in the rumbling thunder. The rolling noise of welcome. He lightening mesmerizes you, stuns you and brings out the best in the dark hue which the clouds bring about.

It feels like the world in within your embrace, everything you desire for is right there in front of you, or just within reach. It feels like it takes little really to keep you happy, to make you feel content, complete. Because thats what you are at that moment, content and complete.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

losing a best friend..

I'm tired...

Tired of looking for your walk in the walk of that man on the road. Tired of comparing how that guy looks and how you looked like that when you were 17. Tired of stopping myself from having the faith, but somewhere within, believing. Tired of ignoring all the signs which point to a banner in my mind that says, "Your trust is going to be questioned again".

I love challenges, and distances, and games and waiting. But I am tired now. I never wanted this friendship to be a game. I have never wanted any relationship to ever be a game. But I am tired of this.. whatever this is.

I am tired of being cynical about the people closest to me. I am tired of wanting my best friend to not have the "world plot against him" and for him to everytime get stuck in a situation wherein I lose my faith on him.

I am tired of staying awake, although I am dead tired. Of not being able to shut my eyes, just because I had been promised something at 3 am. This is my last wait.

I am tired of promises that are made with random words, and then forgotten just as randomly. And I am tired of believing these promises every single time. I am tired of waiting to recapture the best moments I spent in this city. I am tired of getting hurt again, yet again and then again.

I am tired of other friends telling me to give up on this friendship. Not tired of listening to them, but tired of hoping that they might be wrong. I am tired of being excited because this time you wont break a promise, but that time has not yet come. Not after seven years. I am tired of not being able to trust someone else's affection, because trusting yours has only brought me disappointment.

I am tired of being a coward, and giving you one more chance everytime. I am tired of being strong, and taking all the blows you give me each time. I am tired of doing the wrong things in life to other people because of a setback I get from you. I am tired of standing up for you.

This is your last chance. If you don't come through this time, my best friend, I'll lose everything I have pinned on you.

But when I lose all that, I know I'll get a different kind of freedom. What I don't know is whether I will like it or not. Whether I will be able to accept it or not.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Flying Alone

Flying by yourself is magical. It’s magical when you know how to not think. To snap out of everything the minute you end that last call and switch the bloody nuisance of a phone off. Its magical when you select a movie, see it, forward the parts you want to forward, see another movie, supposedly a sappy one which your friends refused to see with you, tear up a bit with a chocolate not having to worry about damaging your macho reputation, see another movie your friends saw when you were not in town, accompany the movie with a glass of terrible tasting wine.

When you pick and chose what you want to eat in the lunch/brunch tray provided to you, wonder for a bit if its really vegetarian, and then because there is no one to verify, try a bit, and leave it because it tastes bad, not because it tastes like meat.

When you try to surreptitiously look around the plane for any guys worth trying to catch a second glimpse of.

When you curl up on the seat adjacent, without worrying about disturbing someone else’s peace.

When you spot that female with beautiful hair, and try to catch a glimpse of her face to see if it matches with the wonderful hair. (It did)

When you get off at the connecting airport, see a model of something you know your best friend would love, and pick it up for him without worrying about how it will damage your credit card conversion.

Because, after ages, there is Marathi floating around you in speech bubbles. And the shrill Saathiya ringtone ringing somewhere, with a mother calling out to her child in Gujarati, a Parsi wife asking her husband to speak softly, a muslim guy spiffing his hair up to impress that wonderful hair female mentioned above, an old uncle in a safari suit carrying a peti around, and a young kid in military pants trying to steal his sister’s ipod. And you are absorbing it in all alone, and smiling contently.

When you happily think about only those patchy parts of an issue you want to think about. The rest will be thought about when anyone else is concerned about it. You are not at the instant.

Because when you finally get 12 hours just for yourself, you enjoy them like never before.

Flying with yourself is magical, but somehow at the beginning of the journey you always wish you had someone standing in the security check line with you, with their arms around you.

But, I love flying with myself. Because I am not alone, I have me for company.

Saturday, May 10, 2008


1 Car Ride to the first airport.

2 Bus rides between destinations.

3 blocks of walking lugging huge heavy bags.

4 Plane rides between five cities

5 train rides from one part of NYC to another.

And home. Thousands of miles away from home, but home nevertheless.

Makes you wonder how relative or absolute is the term home. How much of a variable is it, with dependables being the people who make your home, home. And how important is it.

I have wondered several times in the past few days what I am going to, and going away from. And what is following me there. It’s all relative. My realization of leaving India when I came to USA to study is fresh in my brain. I don’t know how. But I still know exactly how I felt that day, when my brother picked us up from JFK and took us home. This post does not begin to describe it. And inexplicably, but expectedly, I feel the same as I sit in Abu Dhabi Airport. This time for my home in Champaign. For my home that is the people I have left behind.

I packed up by house before I left. Because I am moving out of that apartment. The last two days in Champaign have been crazy. RM left a day before me, we have finally PARTED WAYS. No more RM bitching, unless she pounces on all my friends who are going to be her neighbors next year. But over the last few months, I realized she is not important enough to write about or bitch about too much here, so I stopped. I don’t think she can remedy that situation anymore. Unless she tries to become to friendly with Dhum, Petrovski or Pinki. She won’t bother with the girls ofcourse.

Anyway, so I packed up my apartment. Everyone of the Gumbal got a little emotional about it. It was home for a lot of us. Even if we didn’t spend hours and hours together there. It was our haven in some ways. My apartment was always there to have fun in. It always had any ingredient needed, had our cooking sessions, our Friends marathon seasons, our talking into the nights, night maroing with coffee walks in the morning. Our haven. The new apartment has great expectations to live up to.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

I want too much, I think too much

I have a page full of drafts. The last post was a recycled one. I wrote a post about the things heavily on my mind, completed it, tagged it, and then.. hit Save. He speaks about this same phenomena in a much better way.

A day and 20 hours away from India, I'm wondering...

What am I going away from? What am I going to?

I feel like I'm leaving one family behind. Here I am, sitting among boxes and boxes of my stuff, wondering if that family has already left me behind, or is my mind paying tricks on me again..

I am going to one family. The one that can never leave me behind. Never isolate, desert, or go away. Never make me feel like maybe I'm better away. But where's the joy gone?

I'm convincing my mind to detach, detach, detach. While one part of me is loudly yelling inside my brain, another is putting on a straight, pleasant face, looking understanding and .. detached?

I'm looking at three months ahead, wondering what happened to this time. Where did it go?

I m wondering why does it feel that whatever is really inside this shell, is being torn apart. While I sit patiently waiting for realization to dawn.

I don't want one at the cost of another. I don't want either if both ask me to make a choice. I don't want time with one person, while the rest stay away. Spend their time somewhere else.

I want them. Back.

I hate Finals

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Universe = my friend

Isn't it weird?

When we are kids, teens, and freshly "in love" for the first time, all we can think of is ahead.
When we are old, mature, in the twenties, old enough to logically consider the ahead, all we can think of is now.
When we are older, more mature, and in the thirties... I'm not there yet, can anyone else fill this in?

When we have happiness in hand, we forget how painful the sadness was.. and when we have sadness, we forget how elevating the happiness was.

When we live with someone, we yearn for the chance to live alone. When we live alone, we yearn for the chance to not eat standing at the sink, alone.

Isn't it weird. How the universe turns things for you at every angle? If it wouldn't be like that, it would probably be very boring and non-crazy.

And I can't do non-crazy. I need spontaneity and crazy to live by. Yea, I think the universe is my friend after all.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

My shot at soulmates...

There was a time when each post had a bit of you in it. When fights, fun, smiles, laughter, anger, possibilities, hopes, crying, cribbing, whining, sleeping, would be shared with you. It seemed right.

You are my missed chance.
The one random thing that can pull me out and plunge me in.

You are at a distance now. A distance I drew. But we are good. And we will always be good, no matter how. Because we both are each others impossible, but beautiful lives.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Magic and craziness

There's some magic in lying down on the curb, of a highway, at 2 am and looking up to gaze at a thick, cloudy, starless sky. Just because.

And there's some magic in walking across a small-ish flower bereft park, at 1:25 am, and suddenly looking down to see a small pot of fresh flowers and a brass plaque saying, "Florence Dorsey, 77 Elm Street", under an unexpected star studded and bare branches screened sky.

There's a lot of magic out there in the world. You just need the craziness to be able to explore it.

Monday, April 07, 2008

The anonymous troll who slept with my blog

Is that taking it to far? Ah, well, ok then. This troll definitely wants to take things further with this blog. Troll hates to love this blog, and loves to hate it. But can't get enough of it either way. So here is ~dream theatre~'s inner monologue. This side of the line.

"I know this troll is taking things further. But isn't it too soon? Ah.. the trials and tribunals of courting. We have so many things common. Anonymous Troll and me. I, being a blog have no gender really, so does Troll. Troll, being anonymous and bitchy does not have a gender too you know. So many similarities, yet Troll complains that my love is selfish. That all I think about is me, and my creator, of course.

So here Troll, is this post for you. To show you my love. You stalk me so much, oh I find that flattering don't worry, you leave me little notes. Have something to say for everything I say, and you get so agitated when someone else leaves me notes, expresses interest and admiration for me. Ah, possessive love.
I have too many admirers you see, and even if they remain silent, their love for me is just so obvious that it pains Anonymous Troll.

Yea, Troll has a little bit of a problem with using abusive languages. But everyone has their little flaws right? Well, Troll and me might have had few personal interactions, which obviously I did not record too well, but that is hinted at so beautifully in the little notes. You notice that's why I am addressing you only by your last name or your full name.

My friends seem to be accepting Troll too. See they are trying to bring you out. Troll, I promise you the second anonymous note, oh that wasn't competition. Only, Dhum, a guy. So you have nothing to worry about. You see, he has an identity, expresses his thoughts with his identity and is a guy!! So, nothing to worry about.

But taking this further seems to be rushing things. You see I am only 2 years and 4 months old, and I think our first communication was in mid-october sometime only. Its just been 5 months since we know each other! Taking the step (while I write this my poor blog eyebrows, the header, has gone way up, last the toolbar even!), it's a little too soon for my immature self.

But our little affair will continue I know. I know you are loving my friends, and that you are following me everytime, every step, all the way. So it looks like we will have a long relationship. And I dont think you will ever that courage thing that my creator fumes about, so I am sure our similarites will continue too.

Here's to a long, hide-y, and beautiful relationship that we have. Meanwhile, please dont get distracted and concentrate your spewed delicate words on my friend. It's me you love, stalk, and vent out on, remember?"

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Meeting Meat..

My family is strictly vegetarian. No meat, no fish, no eggs. This, by religious affiliation. I, on the other hand, being as completely non-religious that I am, should by default not be vegetarian. But I am. For the simple reason that eating something that once pissed, shat and carried out all those weird bodily functions grosses me out. Hence I have always been more or less okay with eggs. Eggs don't piss, shit, bleed right. And I try to forget that they are the animal equivalent of fetuses when I have to have them.

But I had always believed that when I did, by mistake/chance/fate, unknowingly, eat meat, I would freak out. I would do all that that my strictly vegetarian friends do, puke, gag, force-throw up or not be able to eat further.

Today I had meat. Unknowingly, by mistake. Not mine, the waitress'. I asked her for Pasta Fettuccine, without Panchetta, or pork. I specified that I don't eat meat, or fish. She said she would exclude the meat. And then included beef in the recipe. God knows why.

When she came with out orders, I asked her if mine was no meat, she replied in the affirmative.
I had a bit of what looked like a miniature corn on cob and could not quite place its taste. I asked Petrovski to try it. He laughed out loud after trying it. And then declared,

"Its Beef."


I dint throw-up, or dint feel like throwing up too. It was no big deal. I had something I did not want to have. I returned it, and waited for the replacement to re-return. While Pinki got pissed with the error, I thought over it. Friends in the background assured me that it was unknowingly consumed, so it was not a big deal. It was a mistake after all.

It wasn't a big deal for me. At all. I would probably have reacted a little more aggresively had there been tomatoes in my dish. But even that has toned down quite a bit. I realized that I am completely dis-jointed from the religious sacrilege, that little bit of beef put me into. In my past job, I watched the chef mince beef all day, every day. I watched while chicken was grilled and chopped and prawns were sautéed. And then I washed those vessels. And at the end of the day, if I could wash my hands off it all, I was ok.

And I thought, You go girl!! I love the fact that I dint throw a tantrum, dint spout hare ram, hare rams or beg for forgiveness from some imaginary force. I asked myself it mattered that much, and it dint. And the incident floated by. No one's mood got spoilt by it, no one's appetite got spoilt by it and I dint behave like a typical sissy.

I have come to terms with the fact that my beliefs are more important than the religious beliefs in the entire world, and that even if I have not found my crutch to lean on, I have a rock solid belief system. The balance of which is not teetered by incidents like these.

No apologies, and no misgivings.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

How long?

It's always a random conversation on the phone with a random person that dashes my dreams. And everytime my dreams have been dashed, I have wondered when will that final stroke come. Which will crash and burn my dreams. Which will remove me of this childish attachment I have to my dreams. And they crashed today, and they will burn till the fire reaches exhaustion.

I used to dream a lot. Every stranger on the road could be a dream, every obtuse comment could be a dream, and if I had known you for more than 5 minutes, you would definitely have featured sometime in my dream. Now I just know that those dreams will have no more value in my life.

Because how long can someone keep believing in second chances? And how many second chances are there in life?

How many times can you take the whip on your back? When every whip diminishes your self worth by chunks. When you finally start rebuilding a soft, vulnerable version of your self worth up again, that final blow can kill it forever.

For how long can you stand on the sidewalk and just try and concentrate on the footfalls that you hear, and block each and every killing thought our of your head?
For how long can you block the world out.. just so that you can forget that anything apart from this microcosm that is you, your body and your brain exist?
For how long can you look at nothingness, blankly, and feel that twinkle in your die, a slow painful death every realization that the brain draws on?
For how long can you be stuck in this weird position where you know that the million things happening to you at that instant? are killing you inside, but somehow, tears cannot be contemplated even.
How much more time, before the poison from the eyes spread to being, and kills it too, completely, slowly and painfully?

For how long can you survive on a staple diet of lies that are fed to you?

For how long exactly can you wait, for that phonecall of truth?

And how long then will it take me to stop believing that its all those little white lies I indulged in as a child that are coming back to me, triple fold, now?

There'll be changes on this blog soon.. the word dream is crawling under my skin, creeping me out. No more.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Swinging into the sea..

In my dreams I found that place. That one place I have always wanted to go to. And it felt so real.

I know exactly how far away it is, the exact way to it, the exact bend of the road, the foliage at the sides of the road, the decrepit building which stands at the left of one of those curves, the bank of sand at the end.The low trees as soon as you enter the sand chute which hide the the place from your view and then emerging out on the soft shore of the river. No big waves, just small lapping curves, gently licking the feet and a swing set at that very edge. So that when you sit on the swing and take a push, you are soaring over gentle laps of water. Deep blue near the bottom and a shimmering blue at the far end.

I feel like taking pictures, maybe I did take some, because the picture of that dream still shines in my mind. With muted gold tones.

I remember thinking, "Oh my god, this is the place I have always dreamed about. I should show this to you" I don't know why you came into my mind then. It felt like of all people I know you would appreciate it the most. Appreciate all of this.

The place is still in my mind, the picture is still fresh, but because it's a dream, I don't know how long it will stay fresh. I feel like sketching it before it disappears, but I don't think I'll do justice to it. It's only my mind that is doing justice to it right now, and these words come a far second to it.

I am sure everyone dreams of things that are so real-ly imaginary. Care to describe them and make me feel like I am not the only one?

Sunday, March 23, 2008

There are people..

There are people who are not different. They are the difference.

People who don't just solve a problem, they let you reach the solution.

People who get hurt when you are hurt, and when they want to be there for you.

People who sit with you on a bus stop and talk about the most random things about your past, that you never thought you would share. At least not with someone who you know from just a few weeks.

People for whom you don't have to care about how long you know them from, but all you care if how long they will be yours.

People who's departure, as distant as it is, disturbs you enough to consider a departure too.

People who mean your microcosm to you. A world of your own, and no one else outside understands it.

People who you feel so close to, that you are shocked when you see that others are that close, or closer to them.

People who you don't necessarily talk hours to on the phone, every day. But when you do? that once in a while becomes minutes without your knowing it.

People who sometimes have the power and ability to finish your sentences, mouth your thoughts and crave the same things as you.

People who encourage you so silently that their confidence in you shows.

People who don't think about what they are missing out on, as long as you are happy..

People who you know will not go into super sentimental mode, just because the occasion is so.

People who you know will react rationally, but so super funnily that you will actually be on the floor laughing.

People who have a quiet strength around them, that gives you warmth too.

People who hug you so tight, you forget your entire day in that moment, and who peck you so sweetly, it feels like it's their birthright.

People who you want to be in your life forever, as a part of this parallel family.

People who teach you the art of parallel thinking, a parallel thought for every statement issued.

People who have the art of keeping an absolute poker face, while dishing out the fatalest of jokes and concealing the deepest of secrets.

People who are always game to try something new, no matter what, as long as it is not illegal.

People who you know will wrap you in their embrace when you are too out of your mind to string coherent words together.

People who don't need to be told what exactly is your choice, your taste and your selection. They know it because it fits them perfect.

People who just come to mean so much, there are no words to express how lucky you think you are to have them in your life.

Dhum, you are all this to me. And more. Happy Birthday!! I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been a part of my life. I love you.

Friday, March 21, 2008

A butterfly bond

He was not the person she expected him to be.

No, he didn't deceive her. But, he was just not who she had brought to life in her mind. Who she had put all her faith in, all her trust in. He was not him. He was different.

"But how am I different?"

She didn't know. Different. Maybe a good different for some other girl, but not the different she would have loved.

Maybe she was not what he had thought she would be too. She didn't know. She asked him, she never kept such things in her mind, hidden, but he didn't give her a direct yes or no. And they had always had a direct yes or no relationship. But he tried. She knew he tried his best to create what both had had in mind before they had met. But because he was not who she thought he would be, she did not think it possible.

He still said he would do anything for her, but she did not believe him anymore. He was not him. She did not trust him in the same way too. She just couldn't tell him what was in her mind. She wanted him to at least know that something was on her mind, she would pave the rest of the path, but he seemed ignorant to that. He admitted that she could still read him in the same way, but she didn't really believe it. She wanted to, desperately, but she didn't.

She had wanted more. But she couldn't put a finger on what was that more. It wasn't more love, more affection. more warmth, more trust. It was just more of him. She felt like he was not putting all of himself out there, like he had done before. But he couldn't do that.

She wanted an attachment which was solid, where they looked out for one another no matter what, without actually hovering on top all the time. Just by knowing it. She wanted to have guy talks with him, go girly shopping with him and just go between the night for a walk together, grab some coffee. They ended up liking the same coffee, but not wanting to go for walks together.She missed the bond they had formed. She had come to think of it as everything. As her support system, her sounding wall and her cheer-up valley. She didn't know if he had weaved the same kind of web around him, but she knew even she was not all this for him anymore. She believed she was once. It wasn't love, or any such grave thing, but it was a deep deep trust. Which was supposed to have solidified when they met, not dissolved into something weaker. Something more humane.

She din't want humane, she didn't think he did. Not the he that she knew. But that was all that was left. A light, teasy, butterfly kind of a bond.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Predicting emotions 50 days from now

May 7th - 10.50 am - Sitting in my room in Champaign, with boxes and clothes and chocolates and gifts.

May 8th - 10.50 am - Sitting in the Subway in NY with Veeru, talking excitedly about May 9th, and 10th and more.

May 9th - 10.50 am - Etihad flight EY 100 JFK to Abu Dhabi - Abu Dhabi to BOM. Thinking about everything I am leaving behind for a month and a half, and everything I am coming home to for a month and half.

May 10th - 10.50 pm - Mumbai, home. Sitting on my sofa, soaking up the heat, wondering why there are so many people around, Desperately wanting, wishing, missing my brother there. Wanting Dhanno and Jay with me at all times. Missing Veeru's presence that completes our Sholay. Wishing Mr. Pilot had picked me up at the airport with everyone else. Wanting Dhum to be here too. And Pinks and Pals and Petrovski. Wishing Pri had been there a couple of months later.

And back to..

March 20th - 2.00 am - Champaign, sitting on my sofa, feeling pleased to have completed the India Tickets Booking procedure, extrapolating my emotions (above) and starting the countdown to India. A month and 20 days to go.

Will you meet me when I'm there?

Sunday, March 16, 2008

One more...

Yes, one more deleted post..

Give me some time.. I don't know why, but the doubt hanging over this post did not subside after I posted it for sometime.

I will probably resolve it and re-post it soon, because I just banished that post to my drafts folder again. Sigh.

Monday, March 10, 2008

I am not a feminist because..

Because I do not believe in a weighing scale between the two anyway.

Because I have a lot of masculine behaviorisms which would pit me against feminine stereotypes.

Because I believe in the goodliness of both. Those who don't? Meet my brother, Mr. Pilot, Jay, Dhum, Pinks, Jats. And meet my Mom, Dhanno, Pri, Radha, Doc and Chocolate. This is the world.

Because I do not see a difference between men and women as two categories.. I see differences between each and every person. And I see that there is nothing called a personist.

Because I stereotype unconsciously and hate myself for it. For men or women.

Because I believe marriage is between two individuals, who are of the same standing. Neither wears the pants nor cooks for the house. Both do both and both should be able to manage both without the other too. And the two individuals can be of the same sex too.

Because existing is about defying stereotypes.

Because people I love being pampered, and I love pampering too.

Because I appreciate people who show chivalry, but hate those who overdo it.

Because I hate being undermined just because I am a woman, and love being respected for un-womanly things.

Because I typically hate sissy kinda behavior, whether it is a guy doing it or a girl.

Because I love appreciating beauty, and woman ARE beautiful.

Because I love broad shouldered, clean shaved guys.

Because I am confused about where I stand at the pedestal of which sex is better, both are essentially just humane but with different behavior systems according to me.

Because I hate being termed, put in a mould, or joining a bandwagon.

Because I have been asked before where I stand on this debate, and my answer has been "I don't know, I haven't figured it out yet because I don't believe in equality or inequality between two of the same kinds. "

Because I do not believe in the existence of this term at all.

There is this cloud wafting over the blogosphere right now about feminism, sexists and such. I did not intend to post anything on this. But this has been a discussion I have evaded from a long time. Here are my views finally, and that too because I realized the vacuum in the existence of it.
For some more views on it, diverse and otherwise, read this and this. She writes real good stuff on topics such as these.
For a different angle all together on this issue, read this.
For some typically blood boiling kind of a read, see this. Actually, I should not be giving him anymore publicity but I need people to see how disgustingly speechless you can be rendered.

Saturday, March 08, 2008


What's in a name? I have discussed going anonymous before. I had then intended to change the address of this blog. No wait, I was not going to lose my readers, I had an elaborate process in mind. I would have put up a post asking all my readers to kindly de-lurk, just once, and send me an email, and I would reply with my new blog address. I knew a lot of my readers might not be comfortable with this, apart from the ones I don't want reading my blog [yea, there are some like that out there, but NO you are not one of them ;) ]. But well, since I knew everyone would not appreciate my sudden flight for anonymity and a new address, I dithered, and then let myself be convinced out of it.

I have a lot of friends or maybe I should say I know of a lot of bloggers, who are friends now, who are completely anonymous. No names ever. They have debated about whether they should reveal who they are, while here I am, going the opposite way.

I have some very fundamental reasoning in my life. Everyone is essentially good. But there are those few people in the millions out there, who are mean, bad, bitchy and judgmental. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong being like that, but when you are like that all the time? It doesn't sit too well with me. Because then basically I think you don't have enough brains to know what's better, for your health and well-being.

I don't want those people googling my name and finding me. Because it IS pretty easy. Finding this blog or me. And actually, this blog is me. Pure, unadulterated me.

So, I have removed my name from this blog. It's become just "~The Dream Catcher~. I am trying to remove my footsteps from where ever they are on the net. Directly linked to my name. My name is one of those few things about my that truly make me proud. But those of you who know my name, will always know how special it is to me. Meanwhile, I bid my name, adieu from the internet. At least where I can track it down.

Also, I have been very careful with not letting my picture out on the blog world. Even when Petrovski wanted to post a picture of me and him on his blog, I insisted it be a silhouette for the same reason. But if it is there, with my name, and I am not aware of it, do let me know.

P.S. Those of you, that I don't know of, and have links to me with my name on it, please can you make it "~The Dream Catcher~"?
Also, if anyone has a picture of me, by any chance at all, on your blog, or flickr or anything, please blur it or remove my name or something. Thanks a lot!

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

There was a girl

She had a strong voice, but it was pleasant and confident to the ears. Very masculine. Too heavy, but soft. Never sounds like what I think it sounds like.

A large frame, broad shoulders and an interesting, open face. God, I wish I was tiny, I tower over everyone. I wish I had even a little bit of the look on my face. I wish I knew how to Look.

An assertive personality, a strikingly comforting style of dressing in smart clothes which suited her well, but were not exclusive designer material. Frumpy. I look huge in this. I can never wear that small little tank top that I think is so cute. I will always have to chose comfort over style.

She was always ready to try new things, learn more. Intelligent but watned more knowledge. Talented to an average person's level. That is interesting. I would love to be able to be just naturally good at that. Or that. Oh I wish I had some natural flair for something at least.

She spoke less and only when she had something to say. Over the years she realized she did not need to opinionate everytime. My opinions are biased. I need a lot more knowledge and information backing just statements.

She asked a lot of questions since her childhood- relevant and irrelevant- in her clear strong voice. Goodness, where are all these thoughts coming from? Am I sounding like a freak? Shit! Questions again!!

She wasn't the top scorer in her class- but for some reason her classmates always thought she was. Her comments, opinions and ideas always induced everyone to think that. Her confident views, spoken quietly with her assertiveness always impressed. I need to score better marks. My family expects me to be the highest. They think I am so intelligent, I wish I could just tell them that I am not. Really I am not. I am the anomaly in the family. The one dull one. And these people in my class think I am intelligent just because I speak less. I wish they would stop expecting me to be so brainy too.

Everytime after she spoke, one thought ran before and after through her mind.
Maybe I should just shut up. No one wants to hear me speak.
No one wanted to hear that. Why did I even open my mouth.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Sometimes it must be nice to be a guy..

Forgive the stereotyping but...

Muscle doesn't look bad on you.

If it's hot, all you have to do is go bare.

That you have a big stomach is of no concern to you when you have to wear your swimming trunks.

If you get a ticket while driving, no one says, "obviously... male driver"

If you ask where the brakes and accelerator are in a new country and a new car, you are not ridiculed.

You don't have to worry about some piece, any piece, of clothing being transparent.

When you binge eat, you do not entertain and welcome thoughts of throwing up.

You don't call it binge eating.

It's ok if you forget small details and dates.

If someone asks you if you have a child, you can easily get away with, "Not that I know of.."

You don't have to bother about bleeding.

Or not bleeding.

You don't have to worry about what the eff are Manolos and Burnheck, Burnbeck? Burnham? uhhh.

There's more I can add to this list, but considering that this is a family place, I'll keep the mouse in the house ( wink for those who understood that), but if you want to add any, be my guest commentor.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Random jokes at 3 in the night..

Pal: I love Paki singers..

DhUm: Youtube is banned there..

Pal: Why is the song not playing??


Me: Because youtube is banned there?


Pal: Why is the video quality so bad?

Piks: Because it's coming from a place where it is banned?

Pal: ...

We are studying while this conversation is played out. We are crazy. I know. :)

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Don't tear it up.. please..

You hold out a paper with your thumb and index finger. You clasp it tight. And then the train starts, at full speed, rushing past every tree, light pole, building, and glass structure. Rushing past some stations too. Then stops at one station, a slight pause, but the momentum is gained back.
And the paper is fluttering crazily in the continuous, fast and strong wind.

Sometimes the paper falls out of your hand, but sometimes you can hold on to the paper. No matter what.
Trust is like that piece of fluttering paper. Held just as gently between your heart and your brain. But once it goes out of your hands, another paper, just does not feel like the old one. Or it's really really difficult to find that piece of paper which flew with the wind. Difficult but not impossible.

And I hope that day never comes when that paper is just torn into bits.. and flung into the wind..

And no matter how much I love the wind, the heady gush of wind in a fast train, I hope till my last breath that the people I trust do not let go.. It's a crumbling feeling, getting all too familiar to me..

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

You. Just you.

Just read this.. and no matter how clichéd it sounds, try to look beyond the words and the lyrics..
(the {very brief} post follows this, but do read through it to reach the post. Say it out loud if you can.)

Na hai yeh paana,
Na khona hi hai..
Tera na hona, jaane...
Kyu hona hi hai

Tum se hi din hota hai,
Surmayi shaam aati hai,
Tum se hi, tum se hi
Har ghadi saans aati hai
Zindagi kehlati hai,
Tum se hi, tum se hi..

Aankhon mein aankhen teri
Bahon mein bahon teri
Mera na mujh mein kuch raha..
Hua kya..

Baaton mein baatein teri
Raatein saugatein teri
Kyu tera sab yeh ho gaya..
Hua kya..

Mein kahi bhi jaata hoon
Tum se hi mil jaata hoon
Tum se hi.. Tum se hi..
Shor mein khamoshi hain
Thodi si behoshi hai
Tum se hi, tum se hi..

Aadha sa vaada kabhi
Aadhe se zyaada kabhi
Ji chahe karlu is tarah..
Wafa ka..

Chode na choote kabhi
Tode na toote kabhi
Jo dhaaga tum se jud gaya..
Wafa ka..

Main tera sarmaya hoon
Jo bhi main ban paaya hoon
Tum se hi, tum se hi..
Raaste mil jaate hai
Manzile mil jaati hai
Tum se hi, tum se hi..

Na hai yeh paana,
Na khona hi hai..
Tera na hona, jaane..
Kyu hona hi hai

I know its a romantic song. But it is not the stereotypical romantic song. I know it is a song written to make everyone who hears this identify with it. But for some reason, this song is so much more. So much more.

I know I could paste the youtube link here for you to see the song too, but the beauty of the filmed song is a different thing altogether. (And I know everyone can look it up on youtube, if everyone wants to see it.)

I know that no one really will want to respond to this post, but this truly is a post of passion. Written with all that goes on in my mind while this song plays in the background and I write down the lyrics.

Because copying and pasting the lyrics from some site, would just not do justice to what I feel for this song.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

A life lost..

I see my updates in Orkut telling me that you have put up more pictures...

I click on the smaller-than-thumbnail picture so that I directly go to your album. I do that very deliberately. Carefully. I don't want to be redirected to your profile so that my visit shows up on page.

You nic says that you recently went to Goa. Your pictures show you there. With your hair flying, in a sleek sleeveless top. Note: a top not a Tee-shirt. Remember how we always used to crib that we were both too guyish. You look pretty and pretty darn girlish in the tank. Your hair is open too. Something you never did then.

I see other pictures. One's that I have already seen, the last time I visited your album. I see pictures of you celebrating someone's birthday, a diwali party in the office, a pajama party at someone's place, a classy party in a hotel and then there is a picture of four other people who you claim you can't live without.

I am not there. I am just in your friend's list. Probably added under the category of "Don't Know Too Well". Probably added just because I sent you the request. All we have exchanged till now on Orkut is a Hi. One word.

Behind that word hides the million conversations we once had. The cell phone bills we used to drive up, even when incoming was not free. The way you taught me statistics and the way I taught you logic and English. The way we discussed that guy who looked like a Greek God and smiled at me sometimes. The way you oohed and aahed at a typical Rahul. The way you covered up for me when I made that mistake. And that's it.

That mistake ripped my life. But I have accepted that. What is still difficult to accept is that it took away my friend from me. Just because her Mom thought I was not a good enough girl, while once she adored me and fawned over me. And because my Mom thought that you were a liar to cover for me. We were both at fault, but those were mistakes teenagers often do.

But it has carried on to our adulthood. I don't know what type of a person you are today. But you are someone I still sorely miss. Not as an everyday presence, but as a support. As the one person who backed me and told me that "If you think this is love, then I will back you through everything so that you are happy."

I hope you think of me tis wistfully too. I hope you miss our friendship too. I hope I am not asking for too much.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Understanding Irrelevance..

19 or 20 year old me would have definitely killed me had she known I would say this in the future..

Today I realized something really important. Something that has been important to me all my life, but I only understood it now.

You know how we always curse those extra classes we take in college? Economics in Computer Engineering college, Accounts in Advertising college, Feminism in Urban Planning college, Hindi in Science college, E-Commerce in Mechanical Engineering, Great Social Thinkers in Civil Engineering, Sociology in Aerospace Engineering. The list goes on.

One of these were my cribs too. I am sure everyone can account for at the least one subject in their college years which were absolutely ridiculous. Or so it seemed then.

Today after attending a class on sexually violent video games, I realized, that understanding these studies, researches, people's way of thinking, deciphering, deriving is an understanding process too. Struggling to understand a research over the span of the entire night, with anatomical jargon, terms and biological measures, I realized that I did not hate this. I liked it. I liked the fact that I was studying something that did not do anything directly to my career field, but it contributed to my knowledge base, to the library within me I call intelligence. To helping me form more credible, and valued opinions.

I remember being asked when I was 19 what I wanted to be in my life. I had said, "Knowledgable and wise. Well read and someone who has a holistic understanding of whatever is being discussed."

I am not there yet, but I realize that reading about P300 amplitude in Brain Functions and applying it to advertising and every other thing I can think about, is what will get me there. For a start.

I know this is not my normal style of a post, but its a thought. A very valuable thought for me, and that's what this blog is here for. To record my thoughts, even after I don't last, which I actually meant as a record of thoughts once I cease to exist. And I aimed to achieve the exact same thing with that. Have a record of my thoughts, opinions, dreams, ideas and emotions.

Sunday, February 10, 2008


It's like different pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, which has a way of falling in place.

It's like a complicated game of Sudoku, which has a way of all just fitting in together.

Its like a beautiful song, where each word and sentence are written to complete the whole.

It's like a a strong coil of rope, where each individual strand is inter-twined.

It's like looking around you, and knowing, this is right. This is real.

It's like looking up at a comment passed by someone else, and knowing that all of us are thinking the exact same extension to that thought.

It's like reaching a point where its all about pulling through, and we do it together, for the love of each other.

It's like

It IS family. My Family here.

For once, I wished Pal would actually go ahead and start her blog, so that you could read her version of it, because trust me, when she writes, she floors the reader. And for once, I really really really wish Dhum would let his words come out to us, for I know he has worded his thoughts, and his thoughts, are beautiful, way beyond beautiful. His words can be magic, and would be magic for me.
And I am so glad, so so so glad that Pik has written this. It shows how the entire episode was processed in his brain.

But all of these would show just the tip of the iceberg of their thoughts, and the rest? is just for our gumbal to scuba-dive and explore.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Yes, I deleted the last post

Not in randomness. I deleted it after sleeping over it. I deleted it after coming to face with facts. After accepting it all.

And realizing that there are people around me doing more of the accepting than me. Because they are accepting me with all my flaws.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Beginnings - Vikram

"Bhaiya, I want to study in U.S.A too", Vicky bounced the table-tennis's ball across the wall as his brother cleaned his closet out.
"Yeah Vic, but not now. Complete your bachelors here. You can do your Master's in U.S.A"
"But why Bhaiya, I want to get out of this place. I hate the system here, the teachers are pathetic and Mom-Dad just don't understand"
"No Vic, what you will learn here, you will never learn there. Trust me", Ranjit replied.

Vikram shrugged away. He hated being here. He couldn't wait until he completed his 12th and then finished his engineering so that he could fly away from here too. He would probably do Master's in Computer Science and specialize in Networking.

"You enrolling for GRE classes, man?", Hayden asked Vic.
"Definitely. I shouldn't have done a BMS, yaar, this way I have forgotten all my maths, and english is fu---, I mean screwed anyway."
"So why are you avoiding abusing again?" asked Hayden. Abuses were a part of his conjunctions.
"Because, my parents don't like it all that much. And I don't see the use too you know.. Anyway, where are you thinking of applying?
"I was thinking maybe UK, you know.. MBA's from UK are pretty well recognized, and they just need my TOEFL or IELTS scores.."

Vic got through the University of London effortlessly. The thought of London excited him, but for some reason, the thought of going there for so long, was, still not sinking in.
He had been reading up on everything about London, ridiculously expensive, ridiculously snobbish, unbelievably beautiful and really good-looking girls. Lots of Indians. He joined all the yahoo groups for students going to University of London.

He was ready. His mother was packing his bags, his aunt was making all his favorite sweets, his cousins had gifted him watches, and leather pouches and belts and wallets. His friends were running around, last minute errands. His bestfriend, Nita was leaving for the airport this minute. Her flight to Chicago was within a few hours and he couldn't even go to drop her. His flight was after 2 days.

"Vic, here. The last pair of contact lenses in your number, man"
"Hayden, one last favor?"
"Yea dude"
"Call me Vikram please. Always"

Sunday, February 03, 2008

Counting the Kilos..

Seven days, and two meals consumed. And counting... the days.

This is a confession. And this is an awakening. I hope.

When I was a teen, around 17 years old, I wanted to look good for someone. I had read a lot about people who ate and puked it out, then they wouldn't put on weight. I tried that twice. I gave it up after that. I think. I don't remember trying it more than twice.

As a kid I was skinny (that's what all over-weight people say I think). Around the beginning of my teens, I started putting on weight. No particular reason. I was FAT when I passed out of school, chubby when I was in junior college. I started gymming seriously then. I had already enrolled in Talwalkar's after school. I needed to lose the extra 15 kgs on me. Everyone said I was fat. My neighbor, pesky as she is, once told me, "I saw you from my balcony when you were coming yesterday and you looked like a full circle."

The gym helped me lose slowly. I had lost around 4 kgs in a year and a half. In 12th, I fasted for 8 days, no food, only water. I lost 8 kgs. I was at my perfect weight. I looked good, really good. A model bloke was interested in me. It did not do wonders for my self-confidence but it was assurance that I was not fat anymore.

Under grad at Nationals. I had to regain that weight sometime. I slowly put on weight, a few kgs not much. I was still not too bad. Summer came, and my Mom is the world's best cook. Really. I went through a horrible time. Depression, lies, deceit, and the wrong guy. I put on weight. I had a best friend, Mr. Pilot, who thought I did not eat enough. I put on weight. All over again, I was 5 to 6 kgs over weight. I gymmed some more. Like crazy. I lost some more.

I was riding on a pendulum. I put on weight, lost some more. Put on some more, lost a little. My confidence was not that bad. I started drawing a line between self confidence, body image, and weight issues. But I had an eraser in my hand all the while.

One comment about not looking good, looking fat, and I was tempted to, and did many a times, erase that line.

One day, someone I did not know too well said, "Are you dieting? Please don't believe in that rubbish, you are fine the way you are." That took me a little by surprise. I was not dieting, but I was avoiding food which had excess calories.

All through BMM I used to avoid food I did not need. I used to urge Pri to lose a little bit of weight because I knew she would look beautiful if she did. When I was not overweight, I would love my state of having no tyres or love handles.

Grad School in Illinois. First few months alone. Wrong kind of food. Soda. It's not a good combination. I was putting on weight. I realized, and I stopped the wrong kind of food. I went to visit my aunt in Chicago. Home food, and the Gujarati custom of "Agr", its when the person who has cooked almost pleads you to eat. And eat. And eat.

I put on unimaginable amount of weight. All of a sudden I was back to square one. 15 kgs over weight. I was not too bothered about it. I thought I could push the weight off. I had enough encouragement from Mom, Bro, Pal and Pri to get started with it.

Once I came back on campus, I could control my weight and diet. The day I came back on campus, I was too exhausted to eat anything. The next day, there was so much to do! The day after that, I was just not in the mod. Th day after, I was good on coffee. 5 days, and no solid meal. I finally felt hungry enough to eat a meal, but I was outside. Shopping.

Subway sandwich. Lite Mayo, no-fat sweet onion. Half a sandwich actually. As soon as I finished the meal, my system started on a weird drive. I was feeling guilty. I felt guilty all night, and all day. Did not eat anything the next day. A cup of milk, no fat. The next day, dinner at Pals. Ate a little. Felt full. I swear I thought about taking a second helping. But my brain would not let me do it. And today. Coffee in the morning, and a cup of No fat yogurt.

I know what I am doing is wrong. I know that my body needs the food. I know that I am hungry. I know that I am not cooking because I am hungry, since I can't cook on an empty stomach. I keep convincing myself to eat a little bit. A little morsel, if nothing else. Just a little bit. But, it's not working.

I did not write this blog to declare a food disorder. I did not write it to receive shitty comments. I wrote because that seems to be my last solution. The last way to convince myself to acknowledge a problem. To face it. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I am hoping it will work this time too. It took me a lot of guts to write this. To be able to admit it here. To push that button "Publish Post" which is a bright orange below my blog's body window. And I hope you guys acknowledge that.