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?

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..

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.

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.

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.

HOME

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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."

Thanks

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Semi-anonymous

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!