She loved the smell of smoke

In the small hotel bed, the two of them lay next to each other.

He had opened his arm out on the pillow and her head rested in the crook of his elbow. Turning away from her, towards his side of the bed and he pushed his other hand into his backpack on the floor, riffling for a few moments, and fished out a cigarette pack. He flicked it open with one hand and pushed a cigarette into his puckered mouth.

She watched him with a mixed look on her face. Her forehead wrinkled with disgust but her mouth slightly upturned with fascination.  Her plump cheeks were flushed pink, from his proximity or from the wear and tear of his prickly stubble. She looked away from the cigarette smoke and laced her fingers through his other hand. The one on which her head rested. That’s when she noticed them. Small, dark, round marks on the underside of his wrist. Several of them.

“Are those..”  she gulped, turning her head back towards him.

“ Cigarette burns” he said between puffs.

She looked at his hard chiselled face. It was a weird face that he had. He had a soft school boy dreaminess around his eyes, but the rest of his face was all string and chiselled. High cheekbones, a strong square jawline and smooth, thick black hair. But his eyes were a light molten brown. Darkened amber, but light milk chocolate. She loved his eyes the most.

“Don’t worry so much,” he drawled lazily, “this is from way before.”

“How does it burn like that though?” she asked hesistantly.

“When the cigarette is at its butt end, I just quashed it on my wrist,” he said casually, like his wrist was just another spare ashtray he had lying around.

“Did it.. didn’t it burn?”

“Like hell”

She looked at his thin, almost black lips. That too was from his smoking, she knew. He had been smoking from almost 12 years, since sixth grade. He had tried to quit a few times, all half-hearted attempts.

“See these marks?” he jerked his cigarette hand towards her, “these are lighter. They will go away with time.”

“The ones on the other hand won’t?”

“Nope. They are not meant to. I held the butt to my skin for longer.”

“Mmm,” she said, already back to her thoughts again.

He smoked out a couple more drags before she spoke up again.

“How does it hurt?” she wondered out aloud, “Does it sting, does the flesh smell?”

He thought for a second and replied, “It was a long time ago, Kari.”

“Can you..” she looked into his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, “Can you quash that one out on me?”

She held out her wrist.

“No!” He almost screamed, his voice thick with horror.

“It’s not going to kill me!” she exclaimed

He shook his head firmly, “No. No way.”

“Niel,” she pleaded, “c’mon”

“Why do you want me to do that??” his voice was raw, hoarse, suddenly.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, and the sheet slipped away from her shoulder to her breast, revealing her low cut tank top.

His cigarette was burning out now. He reached across her to his ashtray.

“Niel,” she implored him.

“Kari, I..” He was at a loss for words. “Why?” he asked her, again, heavily.

“I want to feel it,” she answered simply, “I want to feel a bit of the pain you did.”

“What will that get you?”

“I don’t know Niel,” her voice became quick now, urgent, “Maybe some understanding of your life.” She brought her hand closer to him.

He looked at his cigarette. It was starting to singe his skin.

“Kari, please” his voice still hoarse.

“Do it,” she said simply and led his hand to her wrist. She held out her hand, palms open, exposing her wrists underside.

He brought the cigarette really close to her skin. Her soft, white, fleshy skin, with a hint of pink. He was looking at the cigarette, intently. She was looking at her wrist.

A bit of ash rolled off the burning stick and touched her white skin. Her eyes, expecting a burn, opened slightly wider. When she realized it wasn’t the cigarette, she looked up at him. “Niel,” she smiled, “Do it.”

He brought the cigarette down on her wrist. Held it there, and looked up at her. She had shut her eyes.

“When I turn 18, I will start smoking” Kari promised herself.

We are all victims of life's speed

Some of us sit around trying to define the depth of a relationship, some flirt with definitions and some are waiting. Waiting for the relationship as you know it to start.

We each course at a different speed through these confusing relationships, but what speed is it that we want? Why are we always dissatisfied at the pace we are at? The fast want to go slower, the slow, faster. The one's at the red light just want the damn speed to pick up and the traffic to start.

I feel like I am on slow mode right now. Waiting for the full throttle to burst. For the rush of speed to take my life by surprise. I am waiting for my life to start. I am done with laying the foundation for my life ahead, hell maybe I am not done with it, but i am done doing it, you know.

I just want life to start. I am tired of waiting for things to fall in place.. just so I know where my place is in this Universe. I know a few basic facts, and I am ready to take on the world on them. No more brick laying for me. Bring on the cars, and let's crank up the gears.

It's irritating when you realize that you have no control over your life right? very irritating. But what can we do, we are all victim's. Of the race that Life has set up. Some like it fast, they get it fast, some don't, so they switch to double lane driving. Now is now right?

End of the era of selfishness

In so many ways you show me what I mean

In so many ways, you show me my place.

It just makes it easier for me..

Easier to understand that you are not the man for me.

You are so not worth it. 

Finding my fit.

One chapter closes in my life. Another starts in a few days. I take over the residual wide-eyed excitement I brought to my first chapter with me.

But I also take renewed hope. Hope that this time, I will fit. Although deep in my heart, I know I am not the fitting types. I never fit in through my college years, or through school. I did not fit in in my completely firang department in University. Not because I was an Indian, but at that time, because I chose to not fit in.

Maybe I need to stop trying to fit? Create my space and be comfortable in that? Hmm.

Space. It's a weird concept. Space was my personal bubble when I was in the US. Here, in India, it is invaded constantly. The woman who uses my thigh as a support to get up in the train, the man who places a fist on my shoulder to push me ahead in the bus, the colleague who peers over my shoulder to look into my monitor, to get a glimpse of whoever I am shooting an email off to.

Space. It exists where it shouldn't too. The one-time best friend who I don't hug anymore. The awkwardness in reaching out and grasping the hand of someone who has been making me feel much more comfortable in the last few days. The weirdness of not being able to sleep off mid-conversation anymore. The by-chanceness of missing out on different timezones.

What's a fit between all these? When I make my exotic dinner-for-one? Or when I bite into my mother's shoulder, over her giggles and protests? Yes. These are my fits.

Vicious

Her laptop pings in the background while she furiously types away at a word doc. She looks up, a bit disoriented at the ping, identifies the source as a new mail in gmail, and ignores it.

He doesnt deserve my time.  He does not deserve my patience, or my worry.

She goes back to her word doc. Clicks and clacks at the keyboard for a while and then grunts in disappointment. She is distracted. Her words dont come back to her, that fine silvery line of thought in her head has faded to the white blankness of nothing. The shimmer of words, pulsing with meaning, erased from their emboss on the white.

She sighs, and moves the mouse over to her inbox, angry with herself for having no discipline. Of course the email is from him. She does not need to check to know that. But it's not meant for her. It's meant for another, come to her because she was subscribed in the list.

More words, more charm, more sentences that clearly say I'm available now, do you want to hook up? Or maybe that's just her imagination. What it really says is, I'm available now, let's talk. Get to know each other.

The later was more scary than the former. Though the former gave her chills too. She had always seen that charm directed only to her, meant only for her. Just her's. No sharing.

She compose a new email, copied his message to her in the body and in the subject wrote three simple words, I hate you and then clicks on the send button.

 She understand the heights of viciousness she has reached today. But she also understands that there are levels higher up when she gets no response to her email.

He has moved on, she, on the other hand, hasn't.

Ramblings

I just realized that I haven't done many things 'new yearsy'. Din't think of anything special that I would do this year, did not do anything spectacularly special meant only for the new year and did not wish a whole lot of people too.

It's almost like the onslaught of the new year sped by me, and I realized 13 days later. When I was writing a report in office dated 13th Januray, 2010. 2010!!! Almost sounds like futuristic generation!

But then I just saw something. This last year was sneakily good for me. Balance. That's what the year was about. I finally managed to bring my weight to a balance. After getting desperate about it, deciding to starve myself, over-feed myself, over-exercise myself and over-diet myself, I finally found that balance that suited my body. That did not make me do any of the above. And helped me lose all my excess fat. (Almost all). I am 15 kgs lighter that this time last year. And I think that has been one of my biggest achievement ever.

The year before last, I met some of the most wonderful people in my life. But it is last year that I understood their significance. What they meant to me. What was their importance and what priorities needed to be set to make myself happy. I found my happiness. I made settlements with my expectations, understood what was not a fairytale and what was reality. And loved my life for it.

But while I have done these, I still havent been able to lay the ghost of a friendship past to rest. ABDC still bothers me. The friendship I shared with him bothers me. I don't know what it is about us, but something does. I understood my issues with Pilot. I know what needs to be done and what will just happen over the course of time. Balance.

I fixed up a job, got my brother married off. Hopefully, happily. I made new connections with a new family. Understood their quirks and whims. What makes them a different family.

I was faced with a situation where I lost my cool the way I never have before. I shivered with anger, and my ears turned red hot. Literally. I screamed my throat out. My mind shut down because of over-heating and squeezed out moisture in the form of unwitting tears. Abuses ran through my brains while my mouth tried to hold them down. There. I have a resolution. Never to be that angry again. When literally I have no control over any of my senses.

I took on amazing amounts of responsibilities, once back in India. Quite successfully, if not gracefully, met up to all of them. And then ended the year, trying to bake, hoping to cook, but not succeeding at either.

I am literally smiling while I write these last few lines now. Be cause I realize what writing this post has done. It's given my new year a direction. >> Avoid anger.>> Fulfil responsibilities with grace>> Bake more, cook more >> Travel more >> Lose 4 kgs more.

Not in that order.

P.S. I realize that this post is quite shabbily written, but it has literally followed my thoughts. And liberated me quite a lot. So, as long as it helps me, its all good right? :)

what is reality, really?

It is about a year and three months since this day.

I don't know when it happened, but my surreal world became my reality. The U.S.of A became my reality in these last two and something years.

I loved everything I knew I would love, and some more. I hated almost everything I knew I would hate, and some more. I faced everything I knew I would face, and so much more. If before coming here, I thought I knew all the emotions and feelings I was capable of, now I know that that spectrum is impossible to define. If before I thought I was worldly-wise, now, I know what the word actually means.

But, come the end of my studying, my original plans loomed in front of my eyes. Taunting me. Asking me if I still wanted to go back to India. Firmly I said yes. In a few weeks the firmness kind of disappeared. I found myself floundering for a hold here. Then, the universe reminded me of what I had always believed would be my happiness.

Home. India. Mumbai.

And now, Two years and two months and twenty days later, I find myself returning back home. To India. To Mumbai.

And now, this, right now, feels surreal. Leaving my life here and heading back. Goinf back to where I was two years ago. But going back as a different person. Because boy, I sure have changed. I know what worldly-wise means now!! :D

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...

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?"
Pause
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."

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.