Live or Let Live?

There is something that you can't do without hesitation, no matter how heartless you claim to be, and that, is betraying a friend. A person close enough for you to have the privilege to call him friend. If it were a split second decision, you choose to live or let live, would you live and not allow him to suffer the misery of existence, knowing your intention, your betrayal, or would you let live to tell him, with no amount of uncertainty, that your heart never intended? That you would die rather than betray? Would he smile through his tears, fondly, at your stupidity, and pay respects to your grave with a regularity envied by those tombs whose flowers have long turned gray as the tombs themselves? Or would he cry out to the sky and pound the earth, whether in disbelief at your intention, or sorrow at your action? Those of which neither of you will ever know, to ever debate on it when your years and ears are both getting on?

On a long list of things that you should never have to do in your meager lifetime, burying your friend , and betraying your friend are both somewhere at the top, along with “Never take sides against the Family.” Which brings us to a Paradox, a Cyclic Dependence. If you can justify neither Burying nor Betraying your friend, then what do you choose when you have to?

Before jumping to the most obvious and most inelegant conclusion that Burying and Betraying are the same thing, stop a moment to think. Are they? Just like insanity is defined in each perspective, varied as the designs in a Kaleidoscope, so does Betrayal. Just to make the proverbial cut and get rid of the offending hand that offers the choice, would it still be a clean break? Is there even a solution to this?

So many questions, so many views, so many thoughts, each leading to the other in an unending spiral and eventually to madness or to the path of ignorance: both pathways of complete bliss. For only the insane understand what is the truth, and the sane suffer from the insanity of trying to simplify a situation and then achieving the complexity that we started to avoid. We build idioms to tell people to see things as they are: call a spade a spade. We made a complex solution to simplify for those who never understood the beauty of plain speech. We congratulate ourselves for something as stupid as that. Are we the sane ones?

Friendship is something we created, to give dependence a non-invasive name. I would not mind being a friend or going to one, but I am too proud to say that I am dependent on my “friend”. Well, after all, there is no dependence between friends right? I could not be closer to dying because of a sudden fit of laughter. Who are we trying to hoodwink? Ourselves I should say.

Digression, you say? I disagree. Who says what is digression and what is not? I raise an elegant eyebrow and smile most unpleasantly.

There are still others who understand that friendship is not for those who value pride too much. They stay within their little bubble of unbreakable glass and pour their heart out, knowing full well that that glass will throw the words right back at them. That's as close as they will get to being friends. They will listen passionately because pride only stops speech, not hearing. And then they will nod and convey, most wordlessly all that needs to be conveyed, and leave the other in a state of peace and light.

Of course if you do not depend, then there arises no friend and therefore betrayal is nothing more than a dispassionate flick of the wrist to sever the ties that bind them to you. Is that not?

But there comes a time for everybody's first. When some of those bubble people allow the slightest crack to form, and then you find a friend, and then you should hope and pray on bended knee that life will never throw at you a sword and say, “Go on, pierce his heart...”

I hate GoodByes...

Like the title suggest, I simply dislike goodbyes. They make me feel awkward, and it fills me with some sense of dread, the question, "Will I see them again?" rolls around for that instant, making me a little hesitant in turning around and walking away.

It is when the goodbye is more permanent that I become what I never am usually. A little lost. How do we tell someone Goodbye for the last time? It is a little more complicated than, "Well, till next time, seeya then.. Take care..."

Death is so Final, that there is little you can do when it comes knocking. No arguments, when it is time. Walk away. No teary goodbyes, no last minute declarations of love, nothing. Just Go.

Having faced so many such finalities, each time I make my heart a little more strong, the tears a little lesser, and the resolve a little tougher. Prepare: that's the only thing I can do. My eyes sting lesser and the understanding sinks in. We cry when we are not ready to let go, and when the understanding sinks in, we stop. I treat each goodbye as if I would never see them again. Sometimes I am right. Leaves me guileless the next time I think of the Dear Departed.

Yet, there are somethings that cannot be avoided. Manage your emotions however well, but one look at another broken heart's voice and it takes every ounce and more of all the available courage not to crumble and let it all go, strength be damned. I daresay I have become an expert at reigning over my own choked sobs, but it takes a very bruised pair of palms and cut lips to hold someone and watch such wrenching raw emotion wash over them, and you, and be the only dry-eyed one. Whispering words of comfort and promising them that everything will be alright, even if means lying through your teeth. It leaves me feeling wretched, it leaves me feeling drained. But someone has to seem heartless enough not to cry for their own Father's passing.

Such things leave people in a state where they cannot decide whether this new information is to be dealt with, how? Denial is easy, but never the right option. Always the hard way, it has to be.

There are so many little things that death of a dear one makes you think about. How quickly the "is" becomes a "was", how you will never see them smile again, how you will never get those few and far between hugs, how your family will never be whole again.

It leaves your thought in such a flurry, that momentarily you are disoriented. And when the thought get into order, you'll wish for the blissful oblivion of disorientation, knowing fully well that when you calm down, you have to fill in the shoes at the Family Head. It is far easier to forget and pretend it never happened.

The worst is when you don't know what your reaction should be. I was never one for open emotion, and I don't intend to make personal grief into a bawling marathon, blaming "release" for undignified behavior. As the British say, "Keep a stiff upper lip, at all times."

What happens when you don't have any personal grief left? Imagine someone who takes the news as "It had to happen sometime..." People misunderstand the facade to be real.

A bit of advice though. Never go to bed angry with someone, unless you can handle it. Tell someone you love them, no matter how much of your pride you have to swallow, to speak that simple emotion. Always leave someone with a kind word or a smile. There may not be another chance to do that. And not everyone can be so hard that it will not cause guilt.

So the next time you are saying Goodbye, leave no room for regrets.

Fallen Rain

I'm walking through fallen leaves,
Watching them float peacefully on miniature oceans
A drop that falls, playfully drowns one
Like children in a pool,
While the leaf retorts, and splashes
The heavens it can reach.
I realize that my image is rippled now
But I smile to think that something so small
Can have such a strong impact
Something sends a shiver down my spine
It's not the cold wind, but the warm skin to blame
And my attention is no longer on playful pairs
As we walk through the fallen leaves.

Sreedevi.

Dark? Scared?

This is the festival of light. The time when the dark was effectively vanquished by the Light. For a time. But as everyone knows, it was only time before Evil reared it's head, in the path of the Light again.

But in the modern day, I wonder what has the privilege to be called Evil or Dark? Privilege? You ask me.. Surely, you must be joking?

No, I assure you, I am very sane and very serious.

Tell me, what is the general idea of Evil? How do you define it? Is there an Oxford or Webster, universally acknowledged definition to it? We can deftly term evil as something dark, something that has unpleasant consequences, something that hurts innocent people. Innocent to the context, I should correct. I have always wondered. That makes falling in Love very evil indeed. People die for love, kill for love, do senseless things in the name of love. Does the means justify the end? If a person innocently fell in love and then was rejected, that person gets hurt, and the consequences for that person is unpleasant. Therefore, by the generic definition of Evil love is Dark.

Oh and for those railing about Moral issues, some parts of the world consider falling in love as a sin, so there. All in black and white.

NO. this is not another fluff piece. I assure you. Fluff is the last thing on my very black thoughts right now.

One more thing, why is it that we consider the absence of light as evil or scary? We make up tales of creatures of the night being horrific and being violently bad stuff. Come on. Give a vampire a break, will you? Did he personally demonstrate the sharpness of his/her incisors on your neck?

I have a dozen people whose thoughts screamed “Evil” at me when I mentioned I have a soft spot for the night and the moon and darkness around me. I can swear they walk around me with garlic pearls ever since I told them I enjoy solitude and that I sleep at dawn. A couple even “surreptitiously” grazed their necks to see if I had somehow managed to sneak a bite out of them. I think any non-vampire would smell the garlic, though..

I made a statement, and I think I'm officially to say it first. Pain, sorrow and darkness are a person's best friends. Horrified? Let me explain the reasoning I employed to reach this somewhat disturbing conclusion. Happiness and Joy and all that jazz cannot come unbidden to you. Not all the time at least. They last some, but I think they are the main use is to cushion a fall sometimes. Which may be good or bad.

These three and Fear, are those that can come to you at the first bidding. Even without you calling to them. They come and they keep the thoughts in your head straight. Like joy, they don' t tell you that the world is made of marshmallows, and that if you are feeling joyous, a truck can't run you down.

What and How you react to these best friends of yours, when they make an appearance, is up to you, and it will define how strong you are. It is way to easy to laugh and smile and make people believe when you are happy. Much less so when your smiles have to hide the pain you feel and call attention away from the fear in your eyes or the sorrow that is weighing down on your heart.

Make no mistake, they are not meant to drag you down. It frustrates me when people believe that they are bad things. I say, wake up and smell the coffee. These are the things that teach you to understand the value of a smile or of “Love” (ugh that word again!!). Be grateful, infidels.

I am an advocate for the dark side. Dark != Bad, for Salazar's sake. The darkness of the night is gracious enough to allow a measly candle to fight it. It is the unknown. That's why people fear it. What darkness is used for is not an excuse to condemn darkness itself.

This does not mean I'm going to go around waving sticks and claiming apocalypse is here. Rather apocalypse is in my coffee cup because I have unwittingly ruined the perfect taste with sugar. Impulse is sometimes so bloody unhealthy.

MY point is: don't be so quick on judgment. Before fearing something, and insulting it with fear rather than respect, think about it. Dark and Light cannot exist without each other, as you so well have already noticed. It is the classification that annoys me.

Pain, if you understand it, will no longer be feared. That is what I'm aiming at. Understand before you Judge. I sympathize with the anti-heroes simply because things are so unfair for them. With them being so unceremoniously being shunned because they react differently to the same stimuli. If someone yells at you for being stupid, they are bad. If they pat your head, go “there there” like everything will automatically undo itself, they are the best. How Pathetic!!

I wish half the children understood why they were being chastised. Oh yes, I understood why I was being chastised when I was a child. I reacted , how to say, differently... but I understood nonetheless.

My friend once burst into tears when I faced my mother's tirade, got slapped and calmly apologized before slamming the door in my mother's face. She apparently was never chastised at home. Explains why she was and still is a very spoiled twit. My revenge was sweet, but I understood why that scene occurred and never repeated those mistakes again.

The point of that little anecdote was just that. Understand and then deal with it, but learn from it. I cannot say that I always follow my own advice, but I, in all the goodness in my heart, am trying to help whoever needs this kind of brash truth, being slapped in the face. I utterly dislike being told “it's going to be fine” when I know that is a lie. Being lied to is not good and it will do good for you to keep in mind who is right, the next time you run someone crying.

If you want someone who will blind you with sweet caresses and soothing words, even though you need to be shaken to the truth, good for you. When it finally hits you that you have been living a lie, and those so-called friends of yours made your life better then but that led to a blatant crashing of your world in the long run, just remember the words of the “unsympathetic” ones as you labeled them.

Digression, you call this? Read again and think about it. They are all interconnected. Beyond that, I can say no more.

I see you moving to get those garlic pieces and mentally making a note to not get me on a temper. Go on, call me whatever. I recently have been termed as the “Ice Princess.” MY response is fitting: Sneer.

I'm not even going to dignify that with a retort.

Becoming Me.

Ok, I know, the title is not my own. I filched it from "Becoming Jane." But the reason I did that was because, I felt it only apt. After seeing the movie, I had that reassuring feeling that there are others in the world, or were there, who were also not understood. They also had no one to connect with. There were others and will be others who I can relate to. And there will be people who can relate to me.

Perhaps you'll roll your eyes after reading the previous paragraph, perhaps you shall be intrigued to read ahead. Perhaps your reaction will be neither. I will not justify this writing of mine, other than to myself.

There are so many many times I am bursting to share my views on something, but I find no channel for release. The need to bounce the ideas or views or whatever it may be, simply finds it's way obstructed, and either slowly dies, or proceeds to contemplate the virtues of schizophrenia. Surely, talking to self sometimes seems so much more useful than talking to people who will halfway not understand, and halfway make assumptions, and bothways make idiots of self and of me.

Not that I regret my quaint tastes or my cynical attitudes, or my aloofness that is so easily and readily construed as arrogance. I am very, very happy to break the mould, even if the creation is uncommon and uneven. Unfortunately, the vices of the soul deem the desideratum of intellectual company very becoming indeed. Unfortunately, such company is rarely, if at all, so attained.

I wonder, by how the notion of headstrong women and arrogant men is passionately pursued, whether it means to be of more use at all, than make up the essence of classic, evergreen fiction. To be read, enjoyed by the season, bound in volumes of rich leather, initialed and labeled in shiny gold letters, and then forgotten till some one finds comfort in those tomes again. Rarely by the same reader as before, I assure you.

Such stories are, I believe, never forgotten, once introduced to memory. The ingenuity and the powerful natures of the leads are so delicious, it is inclined to be etched, may not be in the fore, but in the least, some back-shelf of the vast expanses of the human mind, to be remembered in civil conversations and brief re-collections. Never Forgotten.

Are the realities of such delectable characters ever accepted? In all my life I have never once come across a self styled person resembling a Mr. Darcy, or Colonel Brandon, or here it comes, even Severus Snape. Not even in the same ballpark, not by the measure of a very long stick. Sometimes it makes me wonder if such characters are somehow the taboo, only to be read about, but never experienced. It is such a shame really. Chivalry is all but dead, romance reduced to physical entanglement of limbs and mouths, and men neither proud, nor prejudiced. Pride, dear reader, is somehow becoming the equivalent of arrogance. Looking down an aristocratic nose is mis-conceived as pride. Little wonder why people have confused hearts with souls and brief concurrence of ideas as being depth in understanding another individual.

Loneliness is the mistress of torture, and the lady of strong men's dreams. It's amusing, to the point of raised eyebrows, how young couples mistake an idea of concern toward the other, as love. I wager that most of these couples will not realise what they are really in, and when sufficient time passes, like the rock is reduced to sand in a desert, so will the boundaries defining concern, affection and true love be so indistinct, believing in either for the other is hardly an effort, given the slightest hint. Attraction, Nature's simple antidote to thought, works well indeed.

Singularly, I bring these up, for the reason that Finding ideal company is more than just a climb up the Himalayas, and so everyone settles for the next best thing, finding whatever company. I have had so many corrections to my train of thought recently, it had left me lost. I figured a good day or lifetime of introspection would be helpful to making such corrections. I found that a dozen years of talking made little effect on the listening powers of my closest friends. Other than gleaning correctly the information anyone could pull off in a hour's conversation at a local party, my "closest" friends had no idea who I was, or what my thoughts on common topic were, in the least. Even my next of kin, couldn't understand my responses, after 20 years of growing up together. I am truly, alone.

For a long time I walked around with questions threatening to drive me mad. Was I that much of an sociopath? Why do I enjoy the silence as a better company, to the sweet frivolities of friendships known. For one, people have become so adept at judging a book by the cover, that many think Playboy deserves a Pulitzer. It's maddening, infuriating, and blasphemous. How intellect is now restricted to proficiency, is simply annoying.

I do not, however, claim that I have knowledge of the pages within the bindings of great books, throughout the world. I do not. I barely have scratched the surface. But what I can claim with pride is that I have learned from all that I read. And I do not need the tag of fame to be attached to the author's name to compel reading their works. I have read several obscure books, short stories, and plain doodles on the back of a paper napkin, and I am sure that I can attest to a good writing style when I see one. It's unfortunate that I am in want of reasonable company, when there are so many millions of individuals around. I say nothing, however, of their individuality.

A wave of this, uncompromising need for a like minded , similarly inclined person, if at least one, is enough to make me run to the hills and live in solitude, with a handy multiple personality disorder, to satisfy the need to feel understood and equaled, in mind, heart and soul.

A handful of sparks

Each time I have that feeling, that familiar tingle, I cannot help but hold out my hand, palm up, and and curl my fingers heavenward. The glint of the gold on the finger of the heart is somewhat dimmed by the shadows cast upon it by the light playing on my fingertips. Familiar creases deepen and threaten to forever mould into my palm, canyons upon fair lands, tinged in red as the setting sun.
I stare at the sight, never shaking, deadly still hand. And I feel it. The ever so slight tingle of blood teasing my finger-tips, tickling my nerve endings, and I wonder what it is.
What is that strange sensation? Why do I feel it so? No reason is there, or is there reason where there is none?
What do I do with this, this energy ready to burst forth? For I know not how to expel it. I know not how to treat this condition, to see it through it's end.
Tell me, What will it be, with these tips to bend?

Autumn in New York...

Is there something that can completely captivate you? "Ensnare the senses?" Something that can make you stop mid-stride on a busy street? Something that makes you pause in mid-sentence and make you forget? Forget where you are, Forget what is happening, and take you to another place?

Think.

I am sure that there is at-least one such thing for every person.

What made me ask such a question? Take a guess. Something did captivate me, ensnaring my senses and took me to another place and time.

What was it, you ask me? I'll tell you.

"I wandered, lonely as a cloud,
That floats on high, o'er vales and hills..."

There was a distinctly beautiful song playing on my i-pod, which I think was "Be here to love me" by Norah Jones, and I was enjoying my self-declared coffee break, on a cool autumn afternoon, with a particularly beautiful blend of cinnamon-flavored coffee in the wake, trying to be at peace with the world and remembering to savor my last scraps of solitude.

Shaking the mental images of impending doom at the workplace from my mind, I tried to concentrate on the coffee, trying to get my mind to relax, which I was finding increasingly hard to do. There are some days that you would want to lie down and never wake, hoping they'd instate a memorial for you, who died bravely fighting workplace pressures. This was one of those days. My stamina was steadily deteriorating, owing to the hectic work schedule, and lack of sleep, thanks to imbecilic "above the floor" neighbors and a nagging sense of responsibility for my own demise. I wanted to just close my eyes and pretend it was a bad dream. Didn't work.

I sighed and decided that peace was a little hard to get right now, and leaned back on the cold metal seats that adorn the sides of the little stone pathway leading back to my personal hell. I needed a break. I felt like laughing out loud. A break? Damn it! You just had a summer break. What in the name of Merlin and Salazar are you talking about? It is just the first week of work and you're ready to drop dead? I chided myself for being such a coward. After all, I was not the only one in this boat. I felt a little better, knowing that I would not be alone in this. A deep breath and I felt practically normal.

Sipping the remnants of the coffee and letting the warm liquid gently soothe my aching throat, I settled back into my seat and glanced around, amusing myself with the behavior of overly-greedy pigeons, when I actually paid attention to the surroundings that I passed through every day, without so much as a cursory glance.
I was surprised at how ignorant we could be, not noticing the little beautiful things around us. The little things that would make things seem so much better for the moment.

I could not take my eyes off the sight. The afternoon sun lazily tickling the fall-tinged leaves on sleepy trees. The wind, blowing fallen leaves around gently, as if trying to help them remember how it was to be above the ground, fluttering in the playful breeze, how it was to be alive. The rays of golden that seemed to be drawn tight as rope, binding the earth and the sky, upheld by the strong branches of tall, proud trees. It made me smile and a content sigh escaped my lips, which were parted ever so slightly at the wonder that lay before me.

How long I sat there, I don't remember, but why I sat there, not caring about the time that passed, not caring if anyone watched my fixed gaze, not caring if I had to leave.

Not caring if I was in this world or the next.

When I finally forced myself out of my reverie, the rays of bright gold had dimmed and my coffee had long since gone cold.

A minute to a day

There are several things we fail to notice. And when we do, we wonder why do we ever worry about "greater things in life," but then we always worry.
The wonderful feel of the fresh air on our faces, the gently fierce wind. The feel of soft grass beneath naked feet, the warm glow of light to draw shadows on the walls. The warm fuzziness of the thick comforter on a cold night. The wonderful flow of silky hair through our fingers.
The grace of a slow-dancing flickering candle flame, the feel of warm coffee flowing down the throat on a cool evening. The wonderful chill of cold water in our mouths on a warm day.
The crispness of fresh snow under boots.
Warm glowing feeling when you do something nice for someone, or someone does for you.
Laying down to sleep after a tiring day, and waking up with that lazy feeling on a weekend.
Having nothing to do for a few hours.
Reading novels when you should be reading textbooks, just for a few stolen hours.
The tickle of the carpet when you walk around without shoes.
Smelling a wonderful meal from the door when you come home after a day of hard work.
Getting so much as an appreciative nod for something you put your heart into.
Smiling when someone lies to you, just because the lie makes you smile.

I will go on when I can, but for now my greatest pleasure is sitting back in a chair, feet bare on soft carpet, in a comfortably warm room.
There are my favorite songs playing in my ear and the cinnamon dolce latte has left a wonderful warmth in my chest and the faint smell of magnolia blossoms tenderly floats around.

I only sink lower in my chair and give way to a relaxation I can enjoy for sometime without worrying too much.

Cruel Caresses

The trees bow their heads in despair, as the wind rages over them, crushing, tearing and hurting. The anger is not unexpected. The wind was always the same. It was only time before the wind learned to calm down. Too many times the wind had destroyed before realizing the extent of ruination. It was never happy times at that. Too much too soon, never to come back. And yet the wind raged now.
They cried with crimson, cinnamon and lemon hues as the wind shrieked and tore at them, ripping the leaves and throwing them carelessly around. The pain would subside. The trees gave up trying to stop the colorful tears, let them flow.
On and on, the wind went on, making everyone who could, run for safety, for no one was safe when the wind was in a temper such as this.
Tentatively the trees touched the wind softly, gingerly brushing against the wind, waiting for a reaction. A rustle. A gentle response. The wind was ready to be calmed now. He accepted the caress.
The temper subsided, slow and steady, and the scorned lover gave in to the touches and the simple pleas. The wind slowed down and touched back, caressing away the pain the wind was responsible for. Wind's way of apologizing without breaking stride, so smooth and soundless. The wind embraced the resigned trees to gently sway them, whispering sweet words that only they could hear. This was only for now, before the wind was wild again, but it was for now.
The trees respond, and a gentle rocking of the branches ensues, making a peaceful harmony.
All is well for now...

The End of Summer

Sorry People. Just a phase I assure you. I never intended it to be as mushy as it turned out, but it did. So, apologies from my side.

He walked, out into the open. He couldn't stay inside anymore. The house was too large for him. It smothered him. Absently he walked toward the surrounding woods, arms wrapped around himself, the evening was cold. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he angrily shook it away. No, he would not allow himself to cry.
The weather suggested it was time to end summer. The wind howled around him, as he curiously looked at these things below him that were taking him somewhere. "Stop," he willed them, "Stop. Where are you taking me?" But his feet would not listen, they did not answer him. It was as if the trees moved aside to let him pass. It took him sometime to realize he had wandered far from his home. "Home? What home?" he thought, and then, threw his head back and laughed hysterically.
He was there. This was the place where his life had begun. The fountain of his life. He glanced around. It was not the same anymore. Never again. The water seemed to beckon him, call out to him. "What?" he asked the water, "what do you ask from me? I have nothing to give you."
A voice inside his head told him to go to the water. He did. He didn't have the energy to argue.
Quietly, he knelt by the lake and absently stroked the surface. There was someone in there, he thought, and he did not disturb the water anymore, and waited for the turbulence to recede. The he curiously peered into the water. In the dull light of the evening, he saw someone there.
The man had a drawn face, and dark patches under his eyes, and his face was wet with tears that fell from his tired, reddened eyes. He strangely looked familiar. That man seemed as if he had aged in a hurry. "Who are you?" he asked in his head. It took a while for the reply to run through his head. "You," it simply read.
He sat there and stared at his reflection. "Narcissist," his mind told him, "what are you looking at yourself for?"
"I'm not looking at me," he spoke aloud, "that man looks like he lost some... something- that was precious to his heart. I wonder what could be?" He smiled and the man smiled back at him, with a look of pain.
"Show me." It was all he heard himself say, to no one in particular, eyes wandering to the opposite bank, and beyond, into the darkening woods, before slipping away.
He sat at the same glade, but only on the bench that overlooked the water. He was not alone. Glancing down, he saw a face, on a head resting in his lap. She looked so contented, a small smile playing on her lips. He absently pushed an erring lock of hair from her forehead and let his hand rest there awhile, before moving to stroke her beautiful auburn hair. She was amazing. So tender and so beautiful. She opened her eyes in response to his movements, and he found himself looking into the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. They danced with glee and mocked him. He saw his reflection in those eyes, and realised he had been smiling gently, as if at a child. His gray eyes were alight with happiness.
"What?" She asked, in mock annoyance, before taking his hand and kissing it gently, before letting it rest on her neck.
"You're the most beautiful person I have ever seen," He said, drawing his free hand to gently stroke her fair, oh so soft, cheek. She grinned, revealing pearly white teeth, and said "I know. You keep telling me."
She swung her legs off the bench and moved to settle in his arms, snuggling into his warm chest, loving the velvet feel of his shirt, inhaling the intoxicating cologne he wore. "You smell wonderful," she murmured, not realising that he had buried his face in her wonderful silky hair, inhaling the faint floral scent of her, that always drove his mad. He tightened his embrace and sighed.
"Promise we will be together, forever, " she softly spoke, head pressing ever so slightly into his chest. He placed his forefinger under her chin, and raised her face to his. He took a moment to take in her face, the fine raised cheekbones, the wonderful eyes that seemed to always mock him, the beautiful lips that had just spoken in an angel's voice. "I promise," he said, gently bringing her face forward, moving in to lightly touch her lips with his own. He was drowning in those eyes, those eyes that seemed to hold the secrets to the world...

They were sitting at the dining table, sitting across each other, the long table between them filled with silver platters filled with delicious looking food, gleaming in the flickering light of the candles all around. Everything had such a warm glow to it, especially her face. There she sat, radiant in her simple black dress and around her neck, was a single strand of pearls, which she seemed to playfully twist, as she picked at her food. She looked up to find his eyes studying her, pride in his face, a smile on his lips. She returned his smile and then her gaze moved to the window, overlooking the magnificent gardens that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, dully lit by the light of the moon. She caught her breath at the sight. She held her gaze for a long time, evidently not noticing he stood and walked over to stand behind her, following her gaze.
She gave a small start, when he gently placed his hand on her bare shoulder, to bring her back. She turned her head to see him smiling down at her. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked her.
"Yes, very," she said, before placing her hand on his own.
"Let's dance," he said.
"But there is no music," she said, laughing playfully.
"There is now," he clapped his hands enough to be heard beyond the room, and a string quartet started almost immediately, from some part of the house.
"You never cease to surprise me," she smiled as she placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be led to the wide floor beside the table. They danced slowly, quietly revolving on the spot and she moved her head to settle in the crook of his neck, her arms circling him, and resting on his back, while he brought his arms to rest on the small of her back. He didn't know how long they had danced, not that he cared. This seemed to be so perfect.
"Will you promise never to be apart from me?" He whispered in her ear.
She murmured into his shoulder, "Yes, I promise."
He gently withdrew from her, enough to face her.
Her eyes roamed his face, and she broke into a small smile.
"Then marry me." She seemed surprised for a moment, but then her face glowed even brighter and she gave him the most wonderful smile.
"Yes," she said simply.
He withdrew his hand and brought it between them, slowly opening it. A small gasp escaped her lips as she saw what he held. A beautiful ring, shaped like a curled serpent, studded with diamonds and emeralds all around, was gleaming in his palm.
He slowly took her left hand and placed the ring on her third finger.
"It's a family heirloom," he said, looking into her eyes, "my mother asked me to give it to the woman, whom I loved more than anything in the world. You complete me. "
Her eyes glistened in the light of the candles, making them even more beautiful than he had ever seen them.
"Thank you," she said, smiling and crying at the same time.
He was drowning in those tear-filled beautiful eyes, shining like stars in the sky...

He was sitting by her bedside, holding her hand. Something was wrong. Her face was drawn and pale, almost white. Yet she was so beautiful, so captivating. Her hands were almost only bones and she was so small that she hardly seemed to exist. He felt hot tears streaming down his face. He took her hand and placed it on his cheek, weeping silently. She smiled at him and struggled to sit up. He held her and raised her. She slumped into his arms, not having the strength to support herself. He could not help himself and shuddered as he wept into her beautiful hair, even though there was hardly any. Still he felt that floral scent.
"I'll miss you," she said, into his ear.
"Don't say that..." she cut him off.
"I love you. " He withdrew her head gently to kiss her face, her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead and her chin, before resting his lips on hers.
"I love you," he told her after a while, "please don't go..."
She only smiled, and he felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest. "I have to," she said simply.
She looked at him once, her eyes tired, yet mocking him. And then embraced him, with some strength. He sat there, a long time, till he felt her breathing steadily slow down, and then stop.
"No!" he screamed. "You can't die!" he said more softly, but realised that she was gone. His life, his love, his equal. Gone.
He felt hands on his shoulders trying to draw him away from her. "No!" he shouted, he was not going to let her go! He pushed the hands away. It was Death, he knew, come to take her away. He was not going to let go! She was his! He held on to her tightly, and then felt a prick on his arm. Slowly, he felt himself slipping away. He tried desperately not to, but he couldn't help it. He saw her, floating away, her face the same as it was when they shared their vows, she was wearing a beautiful white gown, flowers in her hair, holding a single white rose, but she was sleeping, and floating so far far away....

He found himself lying on the banks of the lake, it was pitch dark all around. He wondered how long he had lain there, but was unable to answer. He lay back and closed his eyes, and wept, his body shuddering with every sob he tried to stop from escaping his lips. In the end he let out a small cry of agony, his heart painfully throbbing in his chest, and his face wet with what was like the rest of his soul.

He staggered to his feet, his body felt like he bore the world on his shoulders. He struggled with each step he took, back to the house. "No, it's our home," he chided himself and walked on. He stepped through the door, and led himself to the study. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, throwing eerie shapes onto the walls covered in book-cases.
"She loved to sit here an read for hours," he remembered. This was her favourite place. He sat down in the armchair in front of the fireplace, and drew his feet under him. He stared into the fire, listlessly, seeing her face in the dancing flames, till the fire burned out, and he fell asleep in the chair.

She was gone.

Hanging by a Titanium thread

It was said in the movie that Superman's hair, a single thread of it, could hold a ten-ton weight indefinitely. Great, isn't it? I really wonder how anything so frail can be so strong. Well wonder no more. You have the power within you. No, This is not a bloody pep talk before any non-existent game. Seriously.

What the hell am I talking about? I'm talking about the heart and the soul, so frail, yet so strong we assume it to be, and unknowingly tie to them all the burdens that we can ever imagine of. They carry all that we fear to let go of throughout our lives, and believe me, you'd be surprised as to how much weight that turns out to be.

Are we, frail as we are, so presumptuous that we can handle all that burden? Are we, try as we might, so afraid to let go?

I think that in 90% of the cases, the answer is "yes." We are afraid to let go, no matter how passionately anyone argues against it. A few of us can let go of a few of the things some of the time, but not anything that makes the ten-ton weight disappear. I think people fear that if they let go of things, they will no longer have something to blame and therefore will have to accept responsibility for their actions. Now that is simply unacceptable. Isn't everything a part of the "blame game?"

The thing that made me think of this was seeing people, myself included, kid themselves over and over again with the same thing. The most common being the illness of the heartbroken. Now that is a classic. "Maybe if I hope a lot and wish on the falling stars, he/she will come back and things will be perfect." What a load of goat dung. Thankfully I am not like Severus, with a doe patronus. I have long ago learned that letting go is useless in some issues, but best in others. Especially in the affairs of the heart. Well fortunately I have had no more heartbreaks than the usual schoolgirl-celebrity crushes, but I really pity those people out there who suffer this insufferable illness of holding on, even when nothing can come of it.

The heart, in this case is overburdened. Taking on more and more burden with every passing thing. Even though we think we have forgotten, we still are not ready to let go. I do not know how to let go. I don' t think I am ready for it. And I wonder how many people are willing to accept that one weakness? Well, if you ask me, it is hardly a weakness, but my friends disagree. They think that by letting go, it is to forgive, be it yourself, or others, and that makes you a better person. Well I hate hot dishes and I think revenge is something that suits that condition just fine. Not that I'd go taking revenge on everyone I don't like, screaming "revenga!" but a person can dream, can't I?

No people, I'm not mentally imbalanced, I'm as sane as the next guy.

I have asked myself, "Why am I holding on to all those little things that I know are done, that cannot be reversed, and that is absolutely no use to me?" and I draw a blank, every single time. I try to reason out, as I do with all issues, to find a good solid reason to keep holding on, as the eloquent modern day poets say (feel free to use paper napkins to wipe off the dripping sarcasm), especially Avril Lavange or whatever the hell the name is, in her song. Well, I find the music good, just that I don't pay attention to the lyrics in most songs, therefore tripling my tolerance for modern songs. Let's not digress. I guess it is because those little things define a lot of my life. They are pieces of me, and I am afraid that if I let go, I lose myself. Not a pleasant thought. Maybe I'll leave that ten-ton weight exactly where it is now.

So go on, sit in that dark corner and think about what you have done. Are we fair in punishing ourselves for our own mistakes even after the message has sunk in? Or has it?

Weather Vanes

No, I'm not talking about that darn rooster standing pointlessly on the arrow with the NEWS needles. I am talking about us, people, being weather vanes. Think a Nargle or a Wrackspurt got my mind? Nope, it's true. We, as people can be so affected by the weather.
Why, just the other day, we joyfully stepped outside to "sail to Philadelphia" (well if you really want to know, we were going to take the bus), and our moods, so uplifted with the prospect of a nice trip with friends just then, fell, face down, on to the concrete- the moment we set foot outside the door.
The air was balmy and the temperature showed no signs of proving it was only 8 in the morning. This started the mood swings. The intolerable humidity made our clothes stick to our skin and sapped out our energy ever so slowly. Tempers were slightly irked.
Finally we decided that it was all OK and jumped on the bus, cheerfully pulling up our feet and then the journey, for me, meant a well deserved 2 hour sleep, something I had been lacking for sometime now.
As the sun steadily climbed into the sky, and stopped awhile overhead, Philadelphia's streets beckoned us to explore them. But no sooner than we heeded the call, we found ourselves being burned. The sun, was playing his cards right and we fell for it.
Hastily we tried to flee and find shade, find the cool reserves of air-conditioning, which I believe, was the aim of most people that day. We ran into the Visitor's Center to find the whole enchilada of tourists there. For a moment, I wondered: Have we become so conditioned to the air we breathe that we can no longer accept natural weather?
Barely into the cool, our moods lost their dourness and we were once again cheerful.
Now you tell me. Doesn't it strike you that our mood is an indicator of the weather? I would like to think so. Or maybe there were Dementors around. Yeah right!
Thing is, we had fun as far as a couple of hours. Then the pretense lost strength and we all set to whining miserably about the heat. The endless heat, that did not go down even with the sun. It looked like the sun enjoyed torturing us. Well, maybe he wanted us to appreciate him. What we take for granted and what we try to get out of. What we ignore.
Either way, the weather drove our mood. Though the direction the mood is driven in depends solely on the person, we indicate the weather. If the legend to the map is known, the map can be deciphered and put to use. So is the story with our behaviour with respect to weather. For example, I turn dreamy when it rains or is gloomy, so a friend who has no idea of the outside conditions, if the person knows me well, can say "Oh dear, better carry an umbrella." Well one might argue that a simple "What's the weather like?" can suffice.
True. Ignoramus. True.
Well that is what I think. What say you?

Thoughts for the Day

A splash and the image is distorted
And it takes some time to heal
But before you know it's started
Like an ever spinning wheel
Same old questions haunt my mind
Answers, not just yet
When will I wake up and find
That i am done paying my debts?
Somehow I'm alone on the street
Though people and cars fly by
They are all just dancing to the beat
Of another flowing lie
I get nudged, pushed and shoved
Strangely I'm thankful for the pain
For when I'm cut, I'll know I'm cut
And that shows i can feel, even the cool rain...

Clime, Chocolate and the Carribean

It was no manic Monday, and it was no freaky Friday. It was that day of the week when the pressure of work wears off almost, the day that serves as the transitional between the hectic, always too long, work week and the always too short weekend.

It's the wonderful Thursday. I always felt something special for a Thursday, apart from it being my only strictly-veggie day of the week (Don't ask!). Normally my Thursdays are a hazy time of the week, when I barely realize what is happening, floating in and out of meetings and dreaming of how I can spend my near-at-hand valuable days of rest and relaxation.

Wipe that smirk off your face, unlike "some" people, I don't get "rest and relaxation" on weekdays. :)

This Thursday was remarkable. It was one of those really amazing days when you give thanks to the Lord for life, and the flora we hardly notice and tell our problems to go suck an egg. Precisely that. I didn't quite notice the nature of the day till it was half gone, but better late than never right? Well, what factored the revelation? Reggae. Yes, you read it right, Reggae.

You see, the school where I educate myself (or more accurately, pretend to be smart enough to be there), is located right in the middle of a commercial a.k.a business center, and these business people are nice enough to provide some form of entertainment (albeit an inexpensive one) to the toiling stockbrokers and programmers and all the jungle. This is in the form of a weekly concerto featuring unknown (for whatever reason) bands, over a range of music genres. Once in a while these concertos are really amazing, rather than the regular "good". I believe this week they found one such band.

Normally we wish for soundproof glass during Thursdays, but this time the beat was good, the thump was right and the guitar intermediate and fairly non-AvantGarde. Thankfully the man's voice was almost inaudible. But there was something so lazy about the beat that it was contagious. It spoke to my confused mind and said to it, "Aw.. shut it woman, and just pretend you are on a slow boat in the Caribbean with a nice drink." And my mind jumped on the boat almost immediately. Face it, warm weather, a Summer day, and a little time to spare, what did you expect would happen?

I threw a thick tarpaulin sheet over the "Lose weight and Stop spending" policy I was on for a couple of months now (to facilitate uncovering and resuming it later) and went out to get something made with chocolate. Soul Food.

Thus, pace slowed, mind relaxed and thirst quenched with a cold chocolate coffee, I came to my work spot, got hyped on calories and got to writing this far. Wouldn't you say I'm having a rather wonderful afternoon?

Patriotism for dummies - Volume 1

I just spent a whole hour and a half watching the presidential democratic debate and realised that these debates bring to light so many issues that were hardly in the focus of any regular US citizen.

While I paid close attention to all the topics that were being contended upon, it dawned on me that I had not made any such attempt to figure out how exactly the elections in India were going.

Frankly speaking, I have never voted till now, and I gained my legal voting status 6 years ago. Hell, I didn't even know when the elections were held!

This led to yet another analysis of the matter at hand, which was, "Why do most young Indians hardly care who is governing them?"

Not that I am unpatriotic or anything, I believe in "Mera Bharat Mahan" and all that jazz, and I truly like India for it's cultural background and everything, but stop and think for a minute. Are we really as concerned with the current state of our country as we should be?

I for one, am not even a little concerned. I know that it is going to bring a lot of heavy artillery on me for saying it so candidly, but it is true. I don't remember the last serious time I was honestly thinking about how to change the country. Hell, other than having my family back home, I didn't want to go back because it is just so convenient here in the US of A. Sure a lot of people are going to say, "Of course I'm going back," but get real, when was the last time you saw an immigrant leave because they honest-to-goodness wanted to, and not because of some reason like, for the sake of the children growing up and stuff like that? If you have, then good for you. Personally all the Indians I know who left the country left, either because they had to (not wanted to) or for family reasons such as their children reaching school going age. Everybody knows that the schools here teach such diluted syllabus that the kids learn our middle school math, in high school. That tends to make them less informed, mind you: not stupid, just less informed. Not to mention the obesity and loss of Indian culture that happens when growing up here. In fact, given the opportunity, I'd stay here, get a nice citizenship and keep everyone happy.

My subsequent question is, why have so many of us given up on our country?

I have my reasons. I was not always like this. I did my bit, kept my promise to keep my country clean by not littering, by using public transport when possible, to reduce pollution and all that. I even helped make a lot of my friends aware and forced some into doing their bit, even in the face of sheer insult. I did that for a long time. I believed in the free speech and the power of the written word. All that was till I found out that the power of the written word was also dependent on the power of money. No, No, it is true.

I faced a whole bunch (big big big bunch) of inconveniences with respect to public services, and I patiently dealt with all of them, which meant I sweet-talked and coaxed, and sometimes threatened (but never bribed) to get a lot of things done, which should have been done without these methods being necessary.

I needed to use several government related service in New York, including applying for an SSN, get insurance work done and a number of other things. To my surprise, nowhere, and I repeat nowhere, did I need to use another technique other than politeness (which is correct) to get the work done quickly, efficiently and with no side-effects.

Looking at the two scenarios, and given the choice, what would you do? I already told you what I would like to do. Now it's your turn. Think. Ah Ah Ah! No cheating. No lying.

It is true that only the rich enjoy life in India. When you are middle class, you are pretty much screwed. There is no buffer for the middle class when they are faced with a tax increase. They just don't have the money. I should know, I am from a middle class family and we had trouble making things comfortable at home. My mother has single handedly supported the family for over a decade now, with my father retired with a puny (Rs. 300 a month) pension. And I have truly known the meaning of being "broke all the time."

Why don't we have something to protect our aged and retired? Why don't we have better health care? And why in God's name are the rich getting richer, while the poor are getting poorer? It doesn't make any sense.

God willing I will support my parents with all my heart, but what if I cannot, because I am earning 5 figures, but that is not enough? Inflation is so inflated that a blimp is a sorry representation.

A hundred rupees has no value now. A hundred rupees!! When I was a kid, we got 5 litres of petrol. now we don't even get 2! A single decent meal outside for 2 people costs hundreds of rupees. What is that about?

Here, 20 dollars is a lot of money. you get good clothes and maybe practical decent shoes and I can eat 4 full platters of Chinese food. Thing is, spending 20 dollars doesn't sting, as much as spending 1000 rupees for the same.

I've heard the story. "I'll earn a lot of money and then go home and live in luxury." I think it's a great idea, but for God's and everyone else's sake, don't call that patriotism. It's called something, not entirely, like "capitalism." When you have enough money to bribe everyone into getting your job done, or by simply scaring them with your wealth, you wouldn't mind India. Hell, you wouldn't mind Saudi Arabia!

Well, I've thrown in my hat, and I'm tired of typing, so now you tell me what you think of it.

Beauty and the Beast

Many people who have read my blog are wondering, "Why the sudden change in wind?"
Meaning, I've suddenly had a string of blogs dedicated to running down the traditional image of love. This, after I wrote a couple of mushy flowery poems dedicated to love. PMS? No, different times, different streams of thought.

Those poems I wrote long ago, several years ago in fact, when I was still the starry eyed teen-ager waiting for my knight in shining armor. Since then, I've grown out of the mold and broken through it, to face what is.

In my lifetime, I have seen so many couples. Both serious and fling-types, and in 95% of the cases, I have made a similar observation. Both parties involved lose their individual selves for the good of the relationship. That really make me want to ask most couples a question that has been gnawing me ever since it hit me.

Is it really that important to give up one to become one?

With every couple I know , except one "former" friend, all the women in a relationship will not go anywhere without their better (really?) half. They constantly think only of the other and almost every thing they do is with respect to the other. The same, I see cannot be said of most men. They happily continue as if the woman is another of their trophies. Except for one "former friend" of mine, whose lesser (yes I said lesser, though size has nothing to do with it) half is hen-pecked before the parents know and gave up his dream for her. This too, is extreme.

In a former friend's word: Whatever.

I know that relationships are successful when there is compromise, but giving up who you are? I don't think so. That's why my friends, and my sister tell me that my attitude will not help me. I have to learn to "sacrifice" to be happy. I don't think so. I'm happy alright. Sometimes I go through the weak phases, but then, after a dose of caffeine, the sun shines and I see a rainbow again. Whoever said caffeine was a bad thing? So maybe I'll die earlier, but who said that was a bad thing either? ;)

I spent the weekend with one such couple. I soon realised that this single woman thing was something to be glad about. I had so much freedom, I could take off for the beach or the park or simply ride the subway to new destinations without so much as a thought in the world.

But mark my words, being single is not for the weak-hearted, and being in a relationship is not for the free-willed. When I'm ready to hang up my walking boots, I'll be ready to take the boat to the land of no return.

I would love to see the day when we can be who we are and yet be a team. When people can be apart when they want to (emotionally I mean) and be together when they want to. Support and Love can be free flowing even then. It doesn't mean making a business out of it, but we don't have to be salves of the bond either. We can be independent and yet be dependent. There is no vicious Circle in that, if you actually think about it.

Call, Cancel, Crap!

Here I was, sitting at the park, at lunchtime and really wondering what I was doing here when I distinctly remembered, I was meeting friends for lunch at the park, supposed to be enjoyed with a side of Broadway shows. Wait a minute, there is no one else with me, is there? I thought so. This being a particularly bad spot for me, with people canceling left, right and center, I wonder why I even agree to making plans in the first place.

Things used to be good once upon a time, with people keeping up plans and making time to spend with other friends. And as usual I called my dear friend in the far away land of Detroit, who never has given me the nudge even once, except for having the bad habit of exagerating the amount of time she would take to call me back. And she heard my sob story and consoled me. "It happens," she says sympathetically, and I think to myself, "Yeah, it happens," which led me straight to my laptop.

Thanks to my other dear friend, I was spared from having a desolate afternoon. I was practically ecstatic when she agreed to drop everything and come to meet me for lunch, even though she had already finished hers. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't mention that the first friend who cancelled made it a point to come and meet me anyway, at least for sometime, before I went off for my last minute lunch appointment. I really appreciate that gesture; she could have just left it, but she took the time out to come and see me anyway. Hard to do that sort of thing.

But that got me thinking to past such events, when people didn't care, like my friend I just mentioned, and just left it at that.

Anyway, back to my real issue at hand. My question is, once grown up, do we get so involved with our jobs and selves and boyfriends (current or ex or non-existant) that we can forget our other friends? Are we really that cold?

I rarely turn down invitations to go out and give someone company, unless I really have something else, or I don't like the company. This happens rarely, maybe 1 or 2 times out of ten.

By nature I'm a no-nonsense and reserved person (yeah you should read this before you meet me, you wouldn't believe the reserved part otherwise) and I frankly would prefer a good book or movie to "hanging out", but that was before. Then they pulled at me and dragged me to all the group activities (and by "they" I mean my "friends") and then change me into that kind of person who short of having "loo-company", needs company for pretty much everything else.

Carrie Bradshaw said "Once in a blue moon, you can change a woman," but I wonder why people try to change other people and then leave no use for the "changed/new" built nature. It's like renovating an old castle into a beautiful new 5 (or maybe 4) star hotel and then abandoning it. Does it even make sense? I think if you want to play God (Hypothetically speaking) then you should be responsible for your creation or mutation, whichever. So now, I have decided to do a "system restore" back to the point when I could spend days alone and not worry about it. Somehow it is better.

"Friends" don't have time these days, to stop and see beyond the smiling exterior of someone with a really messed up mind.And the wierd part is, when someone needs a friend, they don't go to one, thinking they have the power to work things out a.k.a "I don't need help."
"And why should anyone else be any different?" they ask.

I believe such people need a lobotomy.

As to my original thread of thought, here goes for everyone. If you can't keep up plans, avoid making one, and if you can't spend time with friends, then don't waste people's time by having any.

And some people are so grown up about things, that when you say you're sad, they listen for ten minutes in their very busy schedules and then say, "Whatever."

Perfect Sense Pt. 3 (NOTE: This article has been highly contradicted)

"Can't you see? It all makes perfect sense...
Expressed in Dollars and Cents, Pounds, Shillings and Pence?
Oh! Can't you see? It all makes perfect sense.... "

Well since Roger Waters (I love you!) already has proprietary rights over parts 1 and 2, I settle with part 3.

A friend and I were talking last evening, relaxing on the beautiful green, lush Central Park Lawns (more than 250 Acres to mow.. mark you), and who cannot notice the tall, elegant (or modernly mad, whatever suits you) architecture visible over the tree lined park? I took one look and it struck me, such a beautiful sight! And this concrete jungle foliage we are looking at, from the world's largest park, located right at the heart of Manhattan!

Of course my friend noticed it too, and made the statement I was thinking of.
"So much greenery in the middle of Manhattan. Hard to believe."
Of course I agreed.
We also agreed with the recent statistics that Americans were among the happiest people in the world. We thought, given "all this," the rest of the world's nations would have happy people too.

And as always the conversation took a turn to touch upon various topics, till it came to one topic, which, I confess, has always been and probably forever will be, on my mind: Monetary Wealth.

Everybody knows the US of A is the richest country in the world, which explain why people come from all corners (no, I know the Earth is round) of the world, to the land of opportunity, to make a better life. I don't know how many actually succeed, yet they come. Neil Diamond said so himself.. "Every time that Flag's unfurled, they come into America."

I'm here, following my Parents' dream. What happened to mine? Don't ask.

Let me stick to the point I'm getting at. Why do people come here? To become something, to live in a better world, to tell family members with pride and vanity, "I'm in the States."

In short, in the words of 50Cent, to "Get rich, or die trying."

Which leads to the next part of my seemingly random digression. Why does money (Pounds, Dollars, Euros, Yen, Rupees, Drachmas, Robles, Lira, even Knuts! ) have such great influence on men, women and children? Yes, I said Children. Think about it.

I believe that people believe, earnestly, in the power of money. Money can buy everything, period. Have you ever known an unhappy man with a million dollars? Show me one, and I'll be glad to relieve him of the million that cannot help him. I don't think you'll find an unhappy woman with a million dollars, ever. They'd be too busy investing wisely, or burning blonde-ly the money they have. Yes, they'd be very happy indeed. In fact, give me a million and I'll explain exactly how I can be happy with it.

So where is the million?

On a more serious note, money is a language that makes perfect sense. Expressed even in Yen.
Money, it's a wonderful way of expressing love, roses, diamonds, fine clothes, exquisite villas in the Mediterranean, I'll gladly give my love. If the man's a jerk, then I'll use another form of expression - "alimony." Isn't it just wonderful?

Whatever happened to old values of marrying for love?
Yeah.. whatever happened to them? If you find out, shoot me a mail and tell me what happened.

I'm not against love, mind you. Neither am I a gold-digger. Don't get the wrong idea. I am just emphasizing the fact that you simply cannot live on love and fresh air. You have to be materialistic and realistic. Gone are the old days where you would suffer with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart because your are poor, but you are with the person you love.

Codswallop!

I wish people would be less hypocritical, by accepting the fact that everyone wants to be rich, live luxuriously and be able to use currency instead of firewood. I'm just sick and tired of people talking about marrying for love and all that jazz.

Note, please that my friend(thanks, Riddhi) duly pointed out that you won't be happy spending your money on someone you don't care about. Eventually at least. I agree. She also believes in being content with the amount of wealth you have. Good to know there are still nice people in the world. Honestly. Money is second on the list. First is love (or tolerance/ mild interest if u ask me).

On that line, I believe in chivalry, old fashioned love and all that, I really do. If you are a great person, you will find happiness, no doubt about it.

Maybe I'm one person who thinks too much money is not a bad thing. I still need to grow up in that aspect maybe. I still think I'm joined in this thought by millions.

But for those still dreaming of knights in shining armor, still thinking that being poor really doesn't matter, just because you are rich-bored (or plain idiotic), wake up and smell the coffee. This isn't Tara and he's not Ashley. This is not even a Hollywood movie set.

Rhett Butler's still a good choice, What Say?

A Late-Summer Night's Dream

Fragrance from a dozen kinds of flora
Tickled my senses alive
The warm summer wind in my hair
Made me want to cry...

This was basically what was running through my head when I sat there, on the rare occasion that I decided to do something nice, all by myself. It was positively scenic- calm, serene, a feeling of peace within myself. Occupied with a good book with a whole bench to myself in the park, with 200 or more people around, I almost forgot their existence. I managed to get this wonderful spot just when I was getting tired of having this old man peering over my shoulder as if i was reading the alchemist's secrets, learning how to get the Midas' touch.

I picked up my bag and walked over to the bench, quickly before it was taken again. Sitting cross-legged, book in lap, I forgot the world, busily buzzing away, right in the heart of the ever alive and moving Manhattan.

It seemed beautiful, but not moving at first. I sat slowly inhaling the fresh perfumes so generously being lent to me by the beautiful white, purple and pink flowers surrounding me. It was a little later I realized how wonderful it really was. Another hundred pages later, I raised my head to find it was dark out, and then saw the faint patches of light streaming on the ground and forming careless patterns where I was. The movie started almost immediately, Black and White of course. A hush fell over the crowds gathered and for those few moments, all I heard was the beautiful opening score of the movie, the summer wind whispering mischievously and the earth giving me a beautiful mental massage with her fragrant caresses. The ultimate romantic illusion.

An hour into the movie, the excitement I felt since that moment of realization was quite dimmed, because of the fact that I, was all alone on that park bench, in my ultimate romantic stage.

It burned out abruptly, when for my mis-fortune, a nearly drunk and staggering man found the need to park his rear on the other end of the bench. The fragrance now turned into the heavy stench of alcohol.

Thirty seconds later, book in hand, I found my way out of the park, disappointed, but thankful for the few hours of peace I had felt in a long time. My Summer Love was rejuvenated.

Coffee and Bottled-Water

This may be a sequel or prequel or not at all related to "Snickers and Ice-Water." I guess I have been bitten by the blog-bug and let's see how long the effects will last.

Since last night I have this curiosity for the species "Femme Anorexic" in other words, starving women in NY (for now)and by Jehovah, I am not referring to the homeless.

I realized that they are all the victims of one thing. The obsession to look good. They certainly do, with flawless skin, visible bones and a bright prospect of acute arthritis in the future. Even High School children.

I observed this particular species on the street, in the subway and lounging about or waiting in front of Julio's for the morning caffeine dosage. There, with the short smart suits, perfectly waxed arms/legs, figure hugging jeans, pointy-toe high heels and the general air of contempt for the chubby and fleshy beings.

Mark you, I'm not pro-obesity, I've been fighting that all my life. But I feel pity for these people, who are so involved in how they look and how many calories they just ingested. They must be quick calculators, because they probably can look at an item of food and calculate the number of hours in the gym they will have to spend, proportional to the number of grams of fat (or should I say trans-fat) they will be in danger of accumulating.

Being thin (or a BOB) does not necessarily mean a sign of health and being chubby doesn't mean you're on a one-way track to spinster-hood. I wish I could convince myself of that :)

After a year or so in the "cheerleader club" (a.k.a thin-women-who-don't-eat-club) I was happy when my mother and elder sister force fed me and made me now an outcast from that club. I missed eating ice-creams and feeling good about it. I resolved that I would remain strong and healthy and possibly single for a long long time, rather than ensure my senior years as an invalid.

Not that I'm a health-freak, because if I was, I probably wouldn't be chubby, and also I would have been poorer than I am, spending too much on health foods. Can you believe you have to pay for the gym, pay for the salads, in general, become poorer to become healthier.

Coolies in India eat healthy if not rich food and work hard, and are probably much healthier than most millionaires with personal gyms, and unlimited salads to die on.

I'm for healthy, even if it means fat. What do you think?

Snickers and Ice-Water

Well it's midnight, Sunday, the end to a less than productive or relaxing weekend, and here I am, typing in yet another flow of thought.

After a marathon of a dozen or so "Sex and the City" episodes, and a quite successful cooking experience, I break my no-chocolate-bars diet with a more than happy heart. It seemed to me, after watching the plight of delicious anorexic women trying to land a guy to avoid boredom, that me trying to get into a shape less than "round" was not really going to help out when it came to the affairs of the heart. Hell if they couldn't be happy even after giving up food and any thought of a normal life, a long forgotten snicker bar (snuggled away in my usual back-pack) and a poor excuse for a drink (ice-water, for God's sake! A single woman with a drink does not have to mean it's a cosmopolitan or a Manhattan for that matter) found themselves in my hands.

My room-mates have long since fallen asleep and I'm the usual nocturnal creature, with the usual ton of thoughts on my mind. Too true when someone said, "Women often think too much, and understand very little." Well at least women are not like men, with minds like bridled horses, flaps over their eyes.

This brings me to think, not without Carrie's influence, the chinkle of ice cubes in my china mug and the taste of chocolate, whether women should stop thinking so much?

I mean, if we didn't worry about every single detail, and be pessimistic and consider every way that something can go wrong, who will and who can?

While the men are thinking toward live-in relationships and we are thinking of the family china, is it that difficult for men to commit (speaking of a majority -- every flock has it's black sheep)? When all they want is the love of a woman, why is it so hard for them to think of just one woman? When women are willing to commit to a relationship every so quickly, why is it so excruciating for a man to say "I love you"?

Mind you, this is in most of the cases. Women, put their heart out on the line hoping that someone will come, swoop them away to a fairy land where everyone lives happily after, and find their hearts crushed by a train on that very same line. Several times before someone can swoop them away, at least to Manhattan.

I'm starting to think that we women are the ones who are wrong. Maybe we should give in to being barbaric and everyone can live like monkeys, with the males "swinging this way and that."

More on this later...

Fire and Water

It's raining, it's pouring,
and the old man is snoring...
another rainy afternoon
for me, far from boring...

Well, there is a thing about the rain that makes me feel so good.

Maybe it is the thought that it is probably one of the purest elements save Fire, which also makes me feel good, in another way.

I like opposing elements, Fire and Water. Born under the water sign and hopelessly in love with Fire.

Water calms me and Fire humbles me.

The sight of either makes me unreasonably calm. Fear? Certainly Not! Respect is more like it.

I still feel small when I stand beside the ocean, and smaller when I am faced with fire. I love to watch the grace with which the waves dance and the fluid motion of the flames.

Water makes me want to write in flowery words and fire makes me want to take over the world. A true inspiration. I wonder what will happen when I am faced with something like the picture. Fire and Water... which emotions will I choose? Shall I sit down and write like a true poet or shall I start scheming?

Maybe I will want to take over the world with words. Like Alexander and Hitler put together, minus the evil nature. Or maybe I'll discover something within me that I never thought could be possible.

These seem strange incoherent words I write; heart encouraged by thunder, mind lit with lightning, ears fed with soulful music, eyes misty with images, sense of smell soothed with the fragrance of fresh and cleansing rain, warmed by solitude and somehow calmer than a sleepy forest.

Incoherent yet coherent.

Wonderful things that can happen on a beautiful rainy holiday. I wish I had the courage to dance in the rain.

Lost

What do you do when you feel that sometimes,

Everything wants to go wrong

One thing’s not done and you stop it for another

And the other one never moves on

It so feels like the world is against

Getting my job to go right

I was the one who was fighting before

But I'm losing my strength and I'm tired

Help me up; help me get back on my feet

Before I fall down, halfway through this feat

Walk me forward just a few steps

Till I get time to clear my head

Feed me love and be affectionate

Tie up my wounds that have been bled

Help me go on to be what I have to be

Before life pronounces me dead…

Time is moving on and I'm growing old

I'm not able to do what I'm being told

How I wish sometimes for a bullet in my head

And then I want to have time to be stalled

It’s so confusing that I cannot see what is real

And I'm so numb that I cannot feel

Even the thoughts that run through my mind

I have to get away to find a place where I can heal

I can’t run because they would surely find

That I am so weak in mind

I just need to buy time so I can continue

To hide what I really am,

To decide where I do stand

To believe that “I can”

To prepare to be invincible

Or at least to pretend that I am….

For my Neice, who brought Poetry back into my life

What is it that makes me love you so?

Those eyes that stare into my soul,

Or the smile that makes me whole?

Maybe it is just you.

What makes me remember you every moment?

Is it the way you play, those silly games?

Or the way you spend moments as days?

It simply may be, just you.

At times when I'm blue, I turn to you;

Maybe because you always lift me up

To a lighter, brighter place?

Or simply because you love me too.

I haven't learned so many things

In twenty years or so

As you've taught me to do and see

Since you came a few years ago.

How is it that you melt my heart,

Without speaking even a word to me,

And you break it up in a moment

Pretending that you don't remember me.

Why is it now that my world revolves,

Strictly around what you say or do?

And why do I come back to asking myself,

"Why is it that I love you?”

Without you around.

[ONE]

There comes a time

When nothing ever seems to fall in place

And then the days grow darker

And the nights turn sleepless and white

Then when I look at the stars

They seem to spell out your name

And twinkle like the sound of your laugh

My mind starts playing those games

Chorus)

These are the times that I miss you the most

Feels like a decade since you’re gone

Your voice seems so close by on the phone

But I’m living the life of a ghost

[Two]

Staring at your pictures on the wall

They try and capture the essence of your smile

Trying to get used to being alone

It’s going to take me more than a long long while

Feeling heartache and my soul is on fire

The days seem to blend into one

Slowly fighting a burning desire

Till you come back, I’m trying to hold on

Chorus]

[Three]

Trying to get a little rest

But that’s not all that easy to do

This seems to be no medicine for my tiredness

Except for every little thing you do

I lie awake till the dawn breaks over

Trying to remember when you’ll be coming back

There is no life in what ever I do with these days

You’re the magic that I lack…