What if your life had a past too?

This happened some four months ago during my visit to Jaipur with friends although I chose to remain quiet and ignore it till today until evidence came knocking me off my feet this morning. I am not superstitious and I stay at an arm’s distance from anyone who believes in irrationally of horoscopes, planetary predictions and past life regression. But then what I have experienced makes me rethink my entire surmise.

In March, my husband and I along with another couple and our kids took a four days trip to Jaipur and Ajmer. On the second day we decided to hire a hotel cab and visit the famous Amber Fort. It was all marvellously exhilarating to see history drenched walls and chambers and walk through the royal whims and fancies. However, all the mirth became a little dimmed when I became conscious of someone staring at me. No, this was not a situation where a street loafer checks you out. Here was a typical ripened Rajasthani man, with the signatory big and excessively greying moustache, the head covered in a red turban, adorning a white kurta pajama along with the jutees completing the look-the kinds you see or rather un-see merging in the backdrop of some filmy moments on screen.

I noticed him first outside the huge gates of the inner fort area and looked past him thinking it to be the curiosity for visitors. But then as sharp as my sensory perceptions have always been, I soon realized I was being followed by a very intent pair of eyes. He stopped when I did, pretended to look around and then walked on while he saw us strut. After a while I became very uncomfortable more so with the idea that we had two little girls with us and the world is becoming weirder.

My husband was duly informed and he gave him a stern look. The stranger seemed to have backed off, when shortly we spotted him again almost running after our car as it left for the hotel. The matter ended for me then but for him had just begun.

The next morning I became aware of him outside our hotel premises while we left for the sight-seeing and again after two hours when we returned-juxtaposed there like a pole. I generally would not have recognized him had he not got that same peculiar stare that he brutally and unsparingly showered me with. Something was wrong. He didn’t seem like an old man in heat or greed. I spoke to my husband and we got the man called inside although we thought it safe to meet him in the lobby itself.

What he said thereafter left us totally befuddled. At the very onset he showed us a picture to get what he desired-our riveted attention and jaws dropping. Within the frame was he and a woman in her twenties that anybody would agree to, was me. Only I didn’t know the man, had never been to this part of the world before and why would I get clicked with him in a traditionally Rajasthani outfit?

 

The picture was of his daughter’s. He then narrated a tale which I would relate to you, minus the historical and religious names that he had mouthed but I can’t seem to remember now however much I jog my memory. His daughter’s name was Ajeeta, a wonderful girl born in a humble family-cheerful, outgoing and rarely intelligent for someone brought up by his almost poor means. He had a set of six camels that he supplied to the Fort, to earn his livelihood-a kind of family business he explained.

Ajeeta was married at the age of twenty one and allowed to study by her husband who was in the police force, due to her love for learning. She became a professor of Economics at Rajasthan University. However, she could not bear children despite many years of attempting for it. It was then that they went to a local tantrik to seek for some ‘cure’ while he opened skeletons from the past instead. He said that Ajeeta’s soul was cursed. It was a set of seven souls, conjoined at the origin and bearing the same fate and face as I did, that followed a predefined circle of life till death.

He lost me as soon as he brought in the tantrik stuff but my husband and the couple with us were intrigued. I left to put my daughter to sleep, while he narrated more. About half an hour later, my husband returned to the room very concerned and his face death pale. I almost regretted getting the old man inside to talk-a complete waste of the afternoon over gibberish and hallucinations of a lunatic.

He made me sit on the bed before explaining more. Apparently Ajeeta and I had many similarities. She had near death experiences at the age of 18 and 25. The man had asked if I did too. My husband knew of an accident that I had at the age of 25 when our driver almost rammed into a lorry with me getting severe injuries on the left side of the body. He asked me if something had happened at the age of 18. I told him I had severe jaundice that lasted for almost two months but laughed it off as a coincidence.

What about being over intelligent and the love for learning, he asked. So now, did I have the copyright on that, I reasoned. He was getting exasperated for he wanted to convince me and yet not, to keep me away from the fears that had gripped his being.

He: “He asked if you have a big birth mark on your right thigh. Please, tell me this is a coincidence too. He reasserted that this set of souls cannot bear children, Suruchi. He said when he saw you with our daughter that it was the only perplexing factor. He begged me to tell him if the daughter really is ours. Can you still disagree? When I told him we have adopted her after years of turmoil for being unable to have our own, I cannot tell you whether there was reassurance more on his face or pain....”

Me: “But so what even if all of this was true. Does it affect our lives? Okay, there may be seven women of my face walking about the earth right now, with extra ordinary intelligence, leg birth marks and no children and near death experiences, so what?”

I was losing my mind here because I often get into these disagreements with him when like his mother he gives way too much importance to astrology and planetary influence and stuff that I consider as total hogwash.

He: “Had it been just that I would not have bothered so much. There’s more. It seems that Ajeeta died three years ago of a mysterious fever at the age of 32. The souls transfixed to your face and destiny come a full circle after completing thirty two years. We are just four months away from reaching yours. And since everything else has come true, what if....”

And his voice faded and he broke down like a little child. Although I still did not believe it was possible yet I chose not to laugh at it this time. How do you handle a grown up man, crying with unshakable belief that he was going to lose the only love of his life, the mother of his child in a few months? He was almost convinced that this would happen. I was wondering why all the drama has been destined in my life only although this peculiar epiphany really took the cake.

I became silent too, I know not because of seeing him like that or subconsciously realizing that death was as real as life and probably lurking around some corner for more significant instances were quoted to prove the similarities of our lives. I now had questions of my own circling and churning my mind.

What would a random stranger gain out of creating such a story anyway? How would he know exact details of my life? And most importantly, what was his motive behind telling it all to me? My husband then related that I was the last link of that chain and the other six have already succumbed to the same fate through the ages. The tantrik had foretold him that I would come. He was the envoy of sorts of this foreboding and....

And just then my daughter awoke and began to cry. We abruptly ended the conversation there and the same evening left for Pushkar. Although every one lightened up soon but the conscious effort of it was straining the natural enjoyment that we would have otherwise had on this trip. The matter was never brought up again until this morning.

Being a lazy Sunday and while everyone still being engulfed in the comforting arms of sleep, I sauntered outside the room, my eyes falling upon the silent newspaper as though beckoning me. After ages and after a severe bout of boredom, I picked it up. On the fifth page my eyes fell on the face of a dead, aged Rajasthani man with a peaceful pallor spread on his countenance. The report said that within minutes he had died of a mysterious fever on the road side outside the Kanpur Central station. It was reported that he carried a picture of his daughter and asked the people around if they had seen her. He also seemed to be saying repeatedly “They are coming, they are coming...”

I folded the newspaper with a sick dread swallowing up my heart.

For a long while I was lost in a reverie or perhaps blank in my mind.

And in the backdrop crooned actress Rakhi’s voice in some movie as she hammed a line again and again, “Mere Karan Arjun aayenge....mere Karan Arjun aayenge”. I got up and switched off the television. What crap lady! At least my story above is more believable than yours. I sipped my coffee and waited for husband to get up and tell him how he married me and wasted my life in Kanpur. I should be writing scripts in Bollywood! *Sigh*

 P.S. Just so you know and see above, I really did go to Jaipur :p

Nobody Loves Me.

Drama and I have an age old association.

Usually blah these days, while in conversation with a dear friend I crooned my eternal favourite drama line “Nobody loves me” in my whining, attention reeking-seeking tone. And just like that he suggested putting it up on my status to see who all do. And yes, just like that I did. Some 90 comments later, this is what I have concluded from it all:

1. Fine, a lot of people commented though 1/3^rd of this number was my own replies. A little drama never hurts anyone, but I don’t take chances and go all the way.  And three people actually “liked” the idea of me being unloved-et tu Brutuses. Bah, Facebook has gone to the dogs I tell you!

2. There were comments from:

       A. My brother (My own khoon, calling me crazy and attention seeker-meh!)

       B. My mother (The epitome of naatak-giving me a jhappad)

       C. 2 Maasis (expressing less concern for me and more for my G)

       D. 3 Mami jis

       E. 4 students

       F. 3 sisters-in-law

       G. 2 students’ mothers

       H. Handful of cousins

Really people? This is NOT THE love I was anticipating! I know hum saath saath hain, but family planning will have to step down for my flirt planning to materialize. Waise, I am blessed that none of them raised an eyebrow at such a distorted status-Nobody doubts me ;) Charm runs in my family, it practically gallops and so does over-expressiveness it seems. Control people, let others take the stage sometimes.

3.  I realized that many of my Facebook friends’ favourite national pass time is calling me a ‘Nautanki’ and how generous I am to provide them this fodder to graze on. Nobody appreciates me should come next. Any references to donkeys is purely coincidental and unintentional.

5. Some great minds sauntered in there and voiced how they empathised and whimpered that nobody loves them either. Ahem, so I ended up doing the very arduous task of sharing the already dim spotlight-boosting their sagging whatevers rather than focussing on my needs! I am a rebirth of the Buddha it seems-such selflessness is unheard of in Kalyug.

5. The targeted audience-THE MEN, were conspicuous by their absence. Bloody hell! What a waste of well-chalked out Naatak! I was hoping for some inbox messages at least to salvage my sinking self-worth or MSA (Market Shelf-life Analysis) but the box was as empty as my brain. *Sigh!*

6. More women dared to openly address the issue of loving me. Yes, that is a nice way, Dear God of hinting that since the men are anyway absent, I might try rethinking of my preferences-the Mayans were right, the end IS near.

7. I think I scared away any remotely prospective “I love you” with my little stint. Sometimes things pop in my head and jump feet first out of my mouth-I need to handle this OCD. Random fact-Most women suffer from some form of OCDs-Obsessive Caring/Cuddling/Cribbing/Crying/Cursing Disorder. Mine is Obsessive Cuteness Disorder which more often than not, materializes and backfires into Chutiappa sometimes.

8. Not ready to give up, my next status was:

Tough choice-To buy a branded watch or a DSLR camera first, especially since I don’t have money for either now.  All those who professed love for me yesterday on my status, now is the time to show. Even if you contribute 10% each, I will feel very loved. Truly!

Only three helpless comments so far, mostly suggesting that they love me but their hands are tied-as if I asked for their kinky bedroom details.

So now, all love has vaporized. Kitne matlabi duniya! *sniff, sniff*

Nobody loves me! *Now where are one of those crying icons when you need them?*

Dear Girl nursing a Broken Heart

Dear Girl nursing a broken heart,

“Sometimes you just have to erase the messages, delete the numbers and move on. You don’t have to forget who that person was to you; only accept that they aren’t that person anymore.”

You know world over, genders alike, there is one disease that is slyly killing vulnerable souls even of the strongest of exteriors-heart breaks. The higher brains need to develop some vaccinations or immunity from heartaches instead of spending time, resources and intelligence on things like bacteria and atoms. Meh! The world is equipped to handle itself-we collapse miserably when it comes to managing the inner void, desires and unrequited love.

Everyone may smugly think they are above it-no sir, you are not and definitely not you ma’am. You mistake tumbling for love and you've just not fallen still how you should. We all are likely to get enslaved, with or without our knowledge or permission. The higher you fall in fantasy of someone, the lower you sink in depths of despair after having lost him or her. Love in the extremes is really what and how love should be and hence the most difficult to bear by your insides whichever side the see-saw dips. Even when at its brightest and most passionate, it burns you yet with restlessness!

It is not the moving on part which is difficult-it is the fact that you keep turning back to see if there are any remnants of what you sowed or has the harvest been burnt beyond recognition. You can close your eyes to the things you don’t want to see but how does one close the heart to stop it from feeling what you don’t want to? Yes, it is that tough and you are not alone my pretty one in feeling thus.

It is sad when the people you know become the people you knew. It is not so impossible to comprehend the bafflement of how you spend hours with someone discussing life as though he was a fabric of it and suddenly he gets covered in a veil that you find difficult to pierce through or reach out to, however you squint your eyes and fuck your brains for it. With every deep breath you take to puff yourself up with courage, you know something inside always crumbles. You wait for him to realize what he gave up on and repent while the wait slowly withers you within.

Love is like that-sweetest when it is lifting you up and cruellest when it throws you with a thud. You wish he chokes on the words when he says “I love you” to another girl. What makes you most generous, can very well turn you most heartless-for it robs you of all emotions. And when someone leaves without a reason, it becomes a sore point and pull for life, a point of no return.

People say that the most painful thing in love is losing someone whom you loved; not really-the painful part begins when you realize that you lost yourself in the process. The ache culminates into anger, frustration, regret and hopelessness borne out of the doubt and that tormenting, looming question-why did you allow yourself and your happiness to be dependent on one person?

Love stories that do not wrap up in a “happily ever after” are the strongest. It is perhaps because they leave us with many ‘what-ifs’ that you turn and toss over despite being on the most comfortable of beds that life may offer. We crave to hear the truth...Was that the truth when you said you loved me as if there was no other human filling up the earth or is this the truth when you choose to look through me like I am unwanted or non-existent?

Girl, do you hear Beyonce play in the backdrop while I talk to you? “You are the only one I wish I could forget and the only one I love to not forgive. You’re everything I thought you never were and nothing like I thought you could have been....” Beyonce is a wise girl. Love can make or break, give or take, mourn and elate. Such an oxymoron!

So now that you are ruined, how do you help you? Talking does the trick-not to someone else per se but to yourself. The brain may be the smartest of all organs but silliest when it comes to being convinced and especially of an argument born in itself. Cry a river-build a bridge-get over it. Tears perhaps were watery by default for a reason-they cleanse as they drain. Don't fight them, don't resist the closure for therein might lie the key. Let him know how you feel now-for if he wanted to hear how you felt when he tingled your body with mere words, he ought to know how he makes it shudder too.

You have to remind yourself that he may continue to live in your heart but there was no way, he could have lived in your life. And until you are broken, you don’t know what you are made of. Collect the pieces and start as a whole again. Try not to remember half the things you will never forget.  The best way to ensure you don’t go treading back on his path again, is to erase the footprints you walked along with and uproot the milestones that lure you to digress again.

It is often seen that people jump into one relationship from another. It is not because they are fickle-it is the best way to nurse the wound of the organ which was meant to just pump blood but does everything unspecified instead. A new muse for the broken heart is as necessary as new strings for a guitar that loses its rhythm. It helps you to not keep running back to the one person you need to walk away from. 

So keep the mind alert and heart open to allow the one who suits your fancy again but be patient for comparisons would set in and it would be a while before you find someone interesting again. But then you will-that’s how we are conceptualized. You tend to find things that attract you and the things that attract you tend to somehow reach to you.

Also vomit the anger and pain on someone who is ready to take that shit from you-there always is. Be proud of every blow made at your heart for it left you with lessons that made you stronger and wiser for future. And remember you can never make the same mistake twice, the next time it will show a choice. You can never be “just good friends” with someone you loved once-the feelings fade with time or injury, but they never die if they truly lived when they did. So don’t look to be friends, accept the anonymity.

Realize that what is dead must be buried before it deforms to something ghastly. Realize that you can live without him-his first mistake was leaving you and then now, allowing you to bring to fruition that you can live without him. The very people who said they would never hurt you are the very those who take your heart to task. Guard yourself and your self respect. Don’t dismiss it in the name of pride-respect it in the name of your individuality. Anything that does not make us happy has no right to live even in the periphery of our existence.

It will hurt for a first few weeks, maybe even months but then life moves on, love learns to unlearn and heart aspires to mend and fend for itself again.

I know dear girl, it seems the end of the world for you fear you won’t find anyone this perfect again. His perfection was an illusion-a pedestal where YOU raised him to for nobody is perfect and that’s what he should become-a nobody. Learn to unlearn, grieve to rejoice, rise again to stamp down-chin up and smile to scare the doubts away and drag yourself out of the bottomless pit. There are many who deserve you in all your glory so gather it before you lose the sunshine.

And then keep the faith-Love does not hurt, lovers do.

Take care and heal fast,

Yours lovingly,

Been there, seen that.

Are you raining Praise today?

Strange is human nature-if someone praises us, they are sensible and a good judge of character. If they acclaim our contemporaries-what flattery and hogwash! One person saying nice things about my posts, I deem it as truthful, judicious awareness and the same person commenting generously on someone else’s mediocre blog is what I see as motivation by reader’s pressure. Yes, glints of narcissism are not always apparent.

It is as natural as breathing to believe nice things being said about us. We can be lulled into almost anything while listening to those earnest words which our mind signals to us as a craving we deserve. We want the world to borrow our eyes to see us like we do and borrow our mind to think the same too. We don’t want perspectives, we want garbed approvals.

It would be almost impossible to find someone who totally hates himself. Self love is the first love and like they say, the first love is the hardest to give up. So when someone fans this fire, it spreads faster than blood does in the veins. It takes us to a whole new echelon of enthusiasm within the frame of our skin and delicate layers of deliberation within.

Praise is not beyond us even if we are not one of those who are beyond praise. An act of appreciation affirms our connection to each other-validates us, expands who we are in this world. Even a little bit of a positive reception goes a long way to ensure action that may otherwise be postponed or crushed under the farce of monotony or disinclination.

It is a universally occurring phenomenon. Even those who profess to be above it are really somewhere lingering around its fringes waiting to be enticed by potent and believable enough bait. It is the marijuana of success, a vicious circle wherein enough is never enough and more leads to a wish for an encore.

The intellectuals to the retards, the artistic to the vulgar, the man on the chair to the man on the street, everyone’s looking to be considered special-every ordinary human motivated to be derived as inspiringly extraordinary or at least rare, whether they admit it or not, to a greater degree or less. And when someone gives that to us-we raise them to a pedestal just as they raise us to some altar in our minds.

Praise is often intoxicating. Watch someone who has left footprints on some soil, worth his mettle. See him bask in his own glory, drench in public adulation and tread only in hunger for greater applause. It is then that a dip in appeal occurs-for he alters to live now to please others who loved him in the first place for loving himself as he was.

Praise can balance you just as much as it has the potent power of turning you giddy. It is often misleading-it plays games of hallucination and you begin to imagine materialization of thoughts that were hitherto latent. It evokes desire and the drive. Whether it is positive or negative depends on its provocation and how much you allow it to go to your head and eventually the rest of the systems follow suit. 

The only weapon safeguarding us against this lethal attack would be the armour of discretion-being able to realize when and who is genuine and what is being said merely to ensure a reservation in the good books. Someone somewhere is always trying to get into your books-whether or not you happen to be sitting with an open or inviting one, it does not matter.

We live not for ourselves but for the redemption of how we should be. We want praise for we want to know we are not being discarded like the chaff at the flour mill of life that is grinding us mercilessly. So let's accept what we subconsciously plea to the world-as you rotate the blades of this machine, by kind to grind me to a fine powder that satiates not just your hunger but also makes me feel fulfilled in a life well lived.

The Ghats of the Only World

All girls wait for their happily ever after-grow up with dreams of watching themselves walk the aisle on their wedding date, or so do most girls I come across make me believe.

I never dreamt of marriage. I never imagined myself living in a big mansion where I would be sitting on a plush lounge with two doting kids and a mantle-place behind us portraying a huge frame of my husband and me. Yes, I am technically faulty by default.

But as far as I can remember-I think I have often dreamt even with waking eyes, of someone coming on a white horse from out of a haze, looking stately and handsome and smiling at me as his stead paces closer in slow motion. Yes, I am technically a douche bag too. I believe I was responsible for all those Yash Chopra movies doing well in the 90’s because I stepped on the threshold of my youth then with such buffoonery in my head. Filmy I know, sue me.

What if such dreams do come true? Do we have the sensibility to realize it or the sense to accept it? Do we have the strength to contain it and the guts to declare it, even to ourselves? What if our happily ever after is ever with us but we continue to search? What if these dreams are nothing but dreams or what if the actuality is a dream that is waiting for you to awaken from?

Dreams are fascinating-it is god’s way of saying sorry for the reality he created. But an apology is often not what we desire. We desire the healing of wounds that mostly are self inflicted. If I go out to search love, I would find it waiting on every corner I turn. But am I ready to take chances to turn on a crossroad that would take me perhaps windingly to the road less travelled. But then all roads less travelled must be so for a reason. One man’s adventure can be another man’s trauma.

I wonder why love comes constituted with pain. And then a love without pain-is really love or just a sense or whiff of it? Love is the epicentre of all that’s in motion-be it the earth, be it the beating heart. If love is all we need, why do we rush after money and things it can buy? I want to give love a chance but am I ready to take a chance? What if I find it outside the constraints of my wedlock? Blasphemy? What if I rediscover it with my partner? Herculean? What if I actually just need to fall in love with myself again? Seamless?

Love needs to be given a chance just as life gives us one. Cliché as it sounds but can’t seem to remember anything else more apt here-We can’t stand at the edge of a pond and try to gauge its depth. We have to take our feet out. It may be cold and then comes the decisive juncture. Should I still venture forward? Should I just dip my feet and come out dry? Should I move in and allow myself to be soaked for I am tired of being parched? And in case I do get sodden, would I smear the Ghats I turn back to with dripping droplets that spill with every step I take? I am at the Ghats of the only world and standing here, wondering if the water’s too deep or my step too steep!

P.S. Been in a weird mood lately, don't know if I make sense. My internet's mummy's been fucked, so not being able to read posts. Hopefully, soon and thank god for pen drives.

Does the Sun shining on me make me Sunny?

Yesterday my dear beloved returned from a five days ka tour and very tired. We both unwind around midnight with a little time spent on the web on our respective phones before we curl each other instead and last night I finally got a peek at some sacred parts...of his phone that is, before you begin to question me about wtf was I doing with him for twelve years of our marriage then.

Now I am not a ‘Big Boss’ person or a television person per se but then Sunny Leone is as much a household name in India today as is perhaps Sonia Gandhi, for different reasons of course. Twitter went barmy with her entry and I felt compelled to watch the idiot box for an entire five minutes just to see who is firing the imagination faster than AK47 can ever dream of. But thankfully I soon lost interest in their loony tunes.

It has been ages since I watched porn yes, despite it, I am normal and not frustrated in life and she wasn’t going to make me do it, never mind her 'doing' reputation and whatever of mine too after my open declaration for my fixation with Vidya Balan in a previous post because I had opined she was drenching in hotness.

I see you raising an eyebrow at the “ages” and muttering under your breath, eh-‘Tch, tch, yes, of course, what would old people do with porn anyways?’ Phew! Narrow mindedness and prejudice would bring an end to this country faster than the upcoming elections could. Baby, why would I need outside help when I have a more than eager and flourishing help desk right here on the bed? We don’t help ourselves, we get helped all the time #perksofbeingmarried

So, yes, we are talking porn again!

At the risk of sounding old sacrifices I make for your enlightenment, I belong to the generation when porn was not downloadable my god, the auto correct did not check me, you mean to say that really is a word? We had to manually go up to a stupid CD shop and rent it out. My escapades with a group of friends to go out and rent porn have already been enumerated on some post before but then a quick recap does not harm once a teacher, always a teacher.

Those who’ve been around would recall my telling how I found video porn in my parents’ cupboard, securely tucked under a pile of clothes. That was like sher ke mooh mein khoon lagna. Nopes, that does not mean I developed a compulsive disorder for watching porn else I would succumb to forces unknown; it just fuelled the curious cat in me to want more-get to the bottom of it no puns intended. I went out like on an invisible Noah’s ark to ascertain whether the absurd things done on that video cassette were done on a regular basis in all of them or were my janam-dattas just plain lucky to have found some unique stuff. Needless to say, I now know how easy it was and maybe still is to please my simple set of parents.

Anyway, we digress!

So last night after five nights of almost lambi judai, beloved was extra kind with me and on his own, without me having to plead and trade-bargain for it, decided to show me Sunny Leone on his phone. And obviously we are not talking about her strutting around, looking all innocent and cute like two big fat buttons on Big Boss.

“Aha, she is hot and looks less dumb without clothes” is what I said before he nodded his head in agreement. I am sure he just heard the hot part and nodded too soon and didn’t bother about the dumb bit. Hot and dumb are two adjectives that men don’t mind as long as they come in combination. There were just still pictures, though I know somewhere well concealed in some stupid passwords would be the moving ones too-not those moving you to actual tears but those moving you to wetness for sure.

So I eyed some shots with my gaping mouth till beloved had to manually close it with a push of his fore-finger from under my jaw and then we judge how men cheaply open their gaps at the sight of sexy women. “Please don’t tell me you are turned on again” is what his tired face managed to mouth for now. Isshhh thank god no one heard that or saw those harrowed expressions or else they’d think what a torture the poor guy goes through in bed.

“Don’t worry, I don’t find her thaaaaat hot to give up on men altogether or emotionally blackmail you into creeping into my blanket” is what I said to console. I looked back in slow motion at beloved, whose handsome visage was marked with some concern. “I am not worried about that, though doubtful of it....but then see how unfair, such a sweet and nice and pretty girl na, I wonder why she came in this business....” Had he used any more adjectives of the ‘nicer’ kinds, I would have really done something horrible to him under that blanket. Ya, right, the next you would say that she’s so homely and I would inform you that homely does not mean one whom you want to bring home to your bed.

Poor dear beloved, sometimes I wonder why God clubbed me with such a noble, innocent soul while he was at his pairing trip. Perhaps to show the beauty of equilibrium in action! “Really! She’s too pretty for porn? Would you want to watch ugly girls in the act instead? Please don’t tell me that you would for it would make me doubt myself at having turned you on for all these years like I do?”

During the first few years of my marriage we used to rent porn at every blue moon. There was a fat, middle-aged man in our vicinity who ran a grocery store and lent pirated CDs for a side income. Needless to say with a boys hostel just outside his shop, there was more business out of “woh waale CDs hain?” than any yeh ya koi aur waale. Dear beloved also got a whiff of it post his matrimonial status. I am sure that fat ass must have thrown not-so-subtle suggestions as he was grossly suggestive even without the slightest of provocation on a general basis.

So on some Sundays a CD would be rented for a puny Rs 10 and returned back on Mondays. And on some days if beloved left in a hurry and forgot to do so or I needed some general items from his store and reached his door step, I would be greeted with a horrendous grin from the bastard as though he was running in his mind a re-run of “I know what you did last summer” with a different allusion to summer here. But then thankfully came the era of the downloadable and his unbearable grins rested in peace happily ever after.

God, I digress once more.

What were we talking again...ah, Sunny Leone!

Haven’t I spoken enough today already?

Okay, 'she’s hot' is what I muttered to some of my friends today too but apparently not or at least not so much as some Priya Rai-and here I thought my education days were done. All those really dumb jokes of Leone Vs Dharam paaji’s son Sunny had barely done a rest than the ones on Jism-2 starring madam have started doing the rounds. I guess won’t be able to resist her entry in my bedroom for long, will I?

Pardon me but it is midnight once again. Let me see if I could lure beloved into showing me some video clips and lemme play some music in the backdrop to set the mood....#Nowplaying: I’ve got a feeling-that tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a BIG good night!

P.S. Imagine my torture now to have to go through Google images to search for a suitable picture of her to upload with this post #lifeisabitch

The Sleeping Volcano

This is what I wanted to say to a dear friend and myself... I hope it helps!

They say all that appears calm on surface has ripples below if it is not declared dead-a dormant volcano, the about-to-be-boiled tea in a pan, an electric socket that remains silent on the outside but has wires screwing each other within. We all live like colossal houses done up for the arrival of make-belief guests, cobble together to show it dandy, cover up with colourful fringes, spotlight focussed on the smiles and stacking away the unwanted and unseemly in some dark, deep alley or cellar. We stuff little nothings so tight in the wardrobe that when later we do want to sort things out, the door opens and everything tumbles down to greater disarray.

We must “appear” to be beautiful. But does that make us “feel” beautiful in the truest of sense or does that increase the pang of restlessness for all praise then becomes a mockery?

It is not easy to live a dual life and not uncomplicated to get rid of it once you acquire it thus-the constant struggle between how you are and how you want to be or what you have become and what you were. Or even in the present, you would find yourself sometimes to be two different persons-an oxymoron in a way that only you can perceive. It is when someone or some situation comes along that extracts you from a convenient environ dragging you to the risky hilt that awareness strikes in-it was a stagnant pond which you might have been impersonating.And then the mind fucking game begins of wanting to know which part of you is real and which you have fashioned to please those around you. You are made to mould in a certain way because that is how you are expected to behave whereas your contours refuse to take just about any shape.

You begin to churn within to meet you-battling to and fro between two extremes that somehow got created and the chasm therein sucking you so deep, that each endeavour made for a rising swings between the feelings of either ecstatic joy of a drug induced roller coaster emotional rush or just abysmal low of being painfully weary and drab.

You rummage around for answers, you spend time talking to what you think is you, you ask those who know you, you test yourself time and again hoping that where you stand at the end of the experiment would be the logically derived conclusion. But life isn’t all science and even all science does not have all answers. Some searches manifest themselves into invisible circles. You keep turning and tossing in your head as the jarring bafflement creates the cacophony that gets termed as your life.

And then there are days when the head gives you no answer so that you come to the conclusion-It is all in the head. You have no feelings or lack of it per se, it is the head that tells you and you could/should tell it back what you want to hear from it. But then again it is not the head that has the sense or ability to do it, for it is seldom used by the owner. It is the influences that fan its insecurities and harbour all irrationality.

And as if that damage does not suffice, ego comes in and strikes the death knell. What “I” think is right becomes supreme and care-a-damn sets in. What I want consumes what I need! All love is self-love, all actions are perpetrated to this very aim, and all feelings culminate in this sea that devours it all. We want us to be happy but we want us to also not to appear selfish-how ironical! Most of us live our lives in trying to strike a balance between the two and hence be trapped in the see-saw of emotions.

Often we continue to fight against arguments that are not in line with our own chain of thoughts or feelings. We seldom stop to evaluate what caused the resurgence of these thoughts in the first place. Are they really mine or did I gather them from people whom I think are mine along the route? And now that I have imbibed them so rigidly, are they worth creating a ruckus about? We would never know who/what is right and who/what is not!

One man’s heaven is another man’s hell. Then why not live freely off shackles of guilt? Why let little termites of doubt eat you? Why not do that which gives you pleasure, irrespective of how many accusing fingers stand against you? Let ‘you’ be that where ‘you’ is happiest. The ultimate decision to be taken is to please others or to please myself-and there will always be a contradiction in both these polarities. You cannot do both no matter how Herculean your attempt or how noble your intentions.

So then how do we know who we are? What is our purpose? Whom should we please? I am known by the relations that move along with me, but they are not me. I am needed by the services I render, but that again cannot define me. I am my interests and my likes, but they are transient and ebb and flow over, yet I remain.

So if I go on this struggle of finding myself, am I being too selfish, too philosophical, too foolish? Am I going against the intrinsic fabric of human nature to accept what we get and live in it to our very best? I am burning within to break my limitations but then my limits end there where some else’s intolerance begins. I want to find me and ask it what it really wants and who it really is. I want to be able to then not question my own actions or have to think over my own decisions for I would know me beyond my name.

Right now, I know someone who knows little but then the journey has just begun and I must not fear and I must not run. I must accept all facets and neither curb one or encourage the other. I must remember it has to be fun. I must learn to fight so that I do not lose me in the crowd. I must survive. I must understand my needs and confront the doubts. I must not give in or give up and must not imbibe or disperse. I should not flow along and yet go with the flow....

And in case you find her before I do, would you please help introduce me to me?

Let's talk about Love!

Let’s talk about Love-love as we know it, love as we want it and Love as it should be. But they say “True love” is like a ghost that everyone talks about and few have seen. Love is like that-vague at one time and yet so bang-on at another. Try telling someone exactly why you love a person or exactly why you don’t love another and you’ll encounter utter helplessness of the highest order. And like someone said, it is more than three words mumbled before going to bed or hanging up the phone.

Love is a momentary or a momentous spark? Actually a bit of both-it comes to you like lightning. Strikes you once and effects you forever. The spark may be gone but the smouldering remains. It burns as well as warms you for life. But then for some it is like fever-it comes and goes with changes in the environment around them. For many others it is breathing-it sustains and completes and though we may not realise that we need it and have it all the time, when gone it suffocates.

The falling in love in itself is such an extraordinary phenomenon! It becomes a temporary state of frenzy within-as though all the atoms are suddenly charged up and hyper active. Slowly they become sluggish or your system becomes attuned to the velocity and you crave for an upgrade yes, I know, trying to sound all scientific and all. Some bodies harbour very lazy atoms perhaps-they become satisfied with what and how they are and live like that forever. You may view that as a blessing what another man may call a curse!

Love at first sight is something equally intriguing. Imagine for a blind man then-the dim possibility of this ever coming true. But blind mortals fall in love too. Sight as our guiding partner is a boon or bane depending upon how well we balance the other senses with it. So imagine it also for a man blinded by what he thinks is beautiful! There is only attraction at first sight-love is too long a process to get so simplified. Yet love at first sight can really not be dismissed as too dreamy, for dreams are said to reflect the sub conscious.

Erich Segal had said-‘True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked.’ It is a latent phenomenon, say like a dormant volcano simmering within. To outsiders there appears nothing till one day it all bursts out and everything succumbs in its sway. Loving someone is not the same as being in love. A dear friend once said-everything is about a season, a reason or a lifetime. You may love with all your heart for all your life but that feeling of being in love comes for a short while. Some want the transient madness and others run after the perennial assurance.

We live in a world that waits for the extraordinary to come about to love and the ordinary rarely gets a chance to show that it can rise to that level. Why do we ignore the fact that ordinary requires just that little bit ‘extra’ to make it rise to the occasion? We sit with a list of what we want in a man/woman to make us love him/her. When truth is we never know what we really want from love till we fall in love. It is then that we realize what more we could and should get and how juvenile was the list to begin with. It then becomes an internal dilemma to accept the person as he is, which is the popularly deemed yardstick for love, or to keep on the search. We generally fall in love with our eyes and fall-out from our mind. Very few people are actually happy in love-as for the rest, they were either too quick to declare love to someone or too late in doing so!

If you say you can’t live without someone, get a rain check there too. Living without someone is easy-living with someone is the difficult part. When you fall in love once, there are chances that it becomes a habit-you can fall again-the body becomes inured to it and on its own finds ways to satisfy its craving. Living with whom you love, is THE test-for then you step down from the hazy clouds to the caked dry surface of reality and remove the shades to face the glare. You can scrunch your eyes or shut them or stare at the dazzle in its face. How long you can take it before you look for shade then measures if it was true love?

True love is often confused with romantic and frantic love. It is believed that if there is no madness, there is no love? If there is complacence there is something missing. So it is sometimes the hardest to derive at the inference of whether it is love or just a very deep-seated infatuation. It always is baffling for the symptoms are almost similar. The craving to be together, the adrenalin rush, the constant meditation of the beloved to the extent of becoming oblivious to it all-how do we know when it really is love?  This is where being in love and loving might come in handy. It is so easy to convince ourselves that we are in love and so difficult to actually love.

Some live to love and some love to live. It is what segregates wanting to sleep with someone hot but not wanting to do so too. It makes you look past all the negativity for that one positive aspect which thrills you no end. Love is such an incomparable feel-good. It is what happens to your mind when your mind should be at someplace else. It is the feeling of fear that grips at the thought of it being lost even before it is found. We love because nothing thrills like love does.

Can love be selfish? Yes and no. There is no such thing as ‘unrequited love being the strongest’. How long can you love someone who is unaware or unconcerned about how you feel? Loving someone is the reassertion of loving ourselves. We love because our love makes US feel good. Would we love where we do not experience the feel-good? So it really is about “me” at the end of the day. But then again-when two people do fall in love, there is no room for selfishness-no games played, no jealousy, no boastfulness, any offense or defence. In the Utopian state, there is no thinking then if you are being used or no devising of ways to play hard to get. Love is simple-you don’t do ANYTHING to hurt the one you are in love with-anything at all, and you know you’ve landed on something pure. Love makes you always ready to accept, to understand, to trust, to justify, to support. That explains why some women stand by their men despite knowing that they have been unfaithful. They know no other way of being than by giving unconditional love-accepting and not expecting is sometimes love’s biggest characteristic.

That also brings us to the very debatable issue of being in love with more than one person at a time. Is it possible or is it just an excuse to sleep around or boost your ego with the possible notion that you are so loveable? We can be in love with multiple people with evenly balanced purity of emotions and intentions. Aren’t we equally loving towards our parents, brothers, set of friends-why segregate romantic love from the domain of feelings? It’s like saying you can feel kindness just for once, compassion just for another and passion just for someone else.

We always look for a love that is forever-but how can something that is born have no end? And forever has anyways become redundant in the present times that we live in-nothing lasts forever and never say never! It is natural to expect something that’s been begun to reach its destination and thereby completion. A line can never become a circle till what you give comes back to you. And why is ‘end’ associated with a ‘dead end’? It can be a cross over to begin something new. Yes, love is like that too-transcending, changing its shades, taking new forms and you must move along with the flow or be beaten upon the crags on shore.  

Love is never easy-nothing that is worthy ever is! It tests before it puts you to rest. For some absence makes the heart grow fonder and for others-out of sight and out of mind. Love requires consistency, otherwise you just might turn around a few years down the line and realise it was just another fascination or fling. You may not hold hands anymore, you may not caress as before, but love is that million dollar look of concern when the loved one trips or a message on the phone that says ‘We don’t kiss much anymore and I know it is my fault.’

Love is a must for at least once in a lifetime. Find it if you feel it might not come searching for you. Experience it, for it might not give you opportunities forever. Treasure it, for nothing is more valuable. Without love, you’d remain vacant from within, lost even when found!

You love so you may live

Or do you live so you may love?

Tossing over a feathery bed,

Yearning for a tender touch!

You see the wonders the world has to offer

But only then close your lids gratified,

When you see passion in some loving eyes!

Why run after riches and fame

Suffering just to see your name

Etched in history as a glorious memory,

When all you need is to be stuck up

In someone’s fond reverie!

Crave not for immortality

Nor desire the world’s adulation

Pray to keep close a heart

That skips its beats on separation!

I want not gods or heavens or things money can buy,

I want not the worldly ties.

I want this fluttering heart of mine

To feel true love before it dies.

Of 'Zindagi Na Mile Dobara' and more!

It is 1 o’clock at night. I have just returned from my first night show of a movie in a year because the world was hollering about Zindagi na Milege Dobaara since a week and I thought if I won’t catch it now, I would soon probably be gasping for air or something or be labelled an outcast and deported to Alaska.

But as I was returning I was also pondering over my exact feelings about the movie. Of course there was a feel good but then there is also a tad bit of disappointment somewhere. That was also introspected and I came up with my very own bullet list again:

1. We actually had centre seats 6, 7, 8 (my nephew had also gone with my beloved and me) but the stupid seat guy made us sit at 3, 4, 5 and then came a fat aunty ji, some ten minutes late in the movie with two gawky guys dangling by her sides, made us all stand and create a ruckus and probably got us cussed under the breath by those seated behind us and despite me asserting that she’s seated her big butt on our space, they eventually gobbled up our seats and we had to settle back on her corner ones. Not that I was cribbing about those seats before, beloved was-but then the aftermath conclusion is I hate being bullied into giving what is rightly mine for no rhyme or reason. So bad start and also a nudge to beloved to remind him the umpteenth time that it is great that he is so super accommodating and all but there are times in life when he has to give up the ‘chalta hain’ attitude that surfaces EVERY where. I tell him people are using him for his niceness and he only says ‘Chalo, kisse ke kaam to aa raha hoon!’ Grrrr-believe me, it is not so “awwww...” every time.

2. Facebook was screaming and reeking with praises of the flick and how it was changing lives-some scores of very flattering updates were about the movie. I remember a cute blogger friend also updating this as her status. “Those who liked Delhi Belly and not ZNMD are sick.”

I did not dislike it really but just to be sure, I took the thermometer into my mouth to check if I was-98.4 it says and along with that in asterisk, are the invisible words that only I can perceive- ‘You are over healthy, could you please do something about it?’

I guess over expectations nipped the outcome a bit. Lesson learnt also that one must watch movies that we look forward to before the reviews flow in because you might not read the movie buzz section in the newspaper or avoid the pompous critics on television giving their ratings but you can run, you deny but you can’t escape the reviewers on Fb-count me as one of them too.

Zindagi Na Milege Dobaara:

Firstly, why such an excruciatingly painful title Madam Zoya Akhtar? I mean agreed there have been worst-Kabhi Alvida Na Kehne, Kuch Kuch Hota Hain, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam it’s now 1. 19 a.m. please forgive me for my tired memory and hence not coming up with more of such obnoxious names, I shall devote a post on this some other time to make up. But fortunately for those flicks the names kinda gelled well with the mouth. Zindagi-makes me just stop short at that...“Zindagi” for ZNMD is too weird an abbreviation and a very inconvenient for the lips.

Please don’t get me wrong here my friends- I have nothing against wholesome family entertainers-they’ve built our cinema on that. Look at The Johars and The Chopras achieving cult statuses by selling larger than life dreams. You come out hoping for a Raj to bump into or imagining flowers blooming at every encounter to turn it into love at first sight and then dance on well choreographed chartbuster numbers in Swiss locales, wearing heavily designed outfits at your sangeet. I never thought I’d be saying this but I now think-Isn’t it time we grew up?

I mean agreed ZNMD sounds such a fabulous proposition if it could really come true. If all men could go to Spain or even a poor old Singapore for bachelors party and then bump into beautiful scuba divers and have one night stands with good girls and with no strings attached! If we could meet up school friends after years and get together for such longish time as though nothing’s changed! If we could just dive into water or jump off a plane or run before a mad bull which I feel many do anyways in this part of Uttar Pradesh with rampant street animals making a go at your rear side at their whims and fancies and feel that we are living again. If only we could just as easily turn down marriage proposals without caring a damn about the feelings of those involved especially family and become Runaway Brides and grooms! Yes, we’d be kings of wishful thinking!

The Times of India recently informed of a study that revealed that romance novels lead to unstable mental health for women making them either over-the-top expectant or wanton to materialize such as they read, in their own mundane lives. So I guess it is time we told the movie makers to stop messing with our heads and please don’t give us larger than life ideas that seldom see the daylight. I mean till we craved for houses and families like Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum it was alright-please don’t make us yearn for a life like what you show here! On a personal note perhaps I am also a bit bitter because I have always wanted to live like that-be on the move, new experiences around every corner-may be this mad post is just a response to the ‘sour grapes’ syndrome of the fox who is tempted by the grapes on the vine and then raises a snooty nose in disdain when it realises that they are beyond its reach.

Then I am also pondering that maybe it is the small city deficiency syndrome-may be life is such in metros of Delhi, Mumbai and the likes. But then we also have friends in these places that are equally stuck up in the grinds of the everyday earning of bread and butter that I suppose they strive to be served in gold plates adorned with precious diamonds, for their work schedules are so maddening that enjoying what they are reaping is postponed till some other time. Enough is never enough!

The movie-ZNMD was less of a movie and more of an experience, a journey you made with them. Of course I laughed and smiled and ogled at the three gorgeous and sexiest men in the Indian film industry and wanted to be Laila at many points yes, the smooch point topping the list. But then I also felt it all was too beyond our reach. I mean what could possibly have been the outcome of life for the trio after such a road trip-back to the grind or can they afford to party like that forever? How can you keep living Zindagi when zindagi makes 101 demands out of you to slog to survive? We all love holidays, we all love to be free without responsibilities, do things that make ME happy at the end of the day and period. But is it really possible? To just be with no strings attached?

It’s not that people like those don’t exist who live up their lives-they do, but their number is too miniscule to want everyone to be and behave like them. Possibly like a rare ‘Salman’-who gives up his obligations to an unborn child and his unwed mother for he never really grew up to want to grow up? And then also-do Hrithik, Farhan and Abhay really look as though they were out of college just four years back? Despite all their hotness, please! There were many shades of Dil Chahta Hai and The Hangover there and also some other movies which I could not put my finger on. I loved Farhan’s recital of poetry, loved the Senorita song and ached to be buried in the tomatoes too. And as far as the lip lock was concerned-we’ve seen Hrithik do better- remembering here the Dhoom kiss with Aishwarya that was oh-so-awesome!

On the other hand was Delhi Belly, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Again male bonding formed the crux with three guys as the protagonists. I read many reviews condemning the toilet humour and offensive language yet there was a novelty attached to it. The unique blend of English and Hindi that did not look artificial or put on in anyway-no songs, no intervals, no pretence, no dreams-just shit happening as it really does happen in actuality sometimes. There were genuinely moments when I laughed my head off my seat.

Despite all my aversions to crassness in real life, if you ask me which is closer home to me-I’d say there are more chances of me finding myself in trouble with the mafia and hear the worst of F and all the rest of the alphabet words than finding myself with a sexy finance man, who’d be ready to give up his job to go away with me to Morocco and the likes and sing Senorita there for the rest of our lives. I know what you are thinking-is ke liye tereko Katrina types hona padega-but then even hypothetically it is a weird possibility. I also know that you are going to tell me ‘It is just a movie-itna sochte nahi hain’-but you know, one of those days when a movie makes you-THINK!

After having blah-blahed about it all for three pages and still having you hear, let me also say this-our opinions of movies are formed not just by the content and merit of the movie itself but what frame of mind we are in when we venture to dekho them. I remember a couple friend and us went once to see this suspense thriller by the actor who played Meheer No. 2 in the television serial ‘Kyonki Saas bhi kabhi Bahu thi’ and laughed our guts out at the ham scenes and blatant and obnoxious over acting and omg-dialogues that were dissected and imitated-it remains one of my most enjoyable movie experiences ever! I don’t know what made me write a movie review for I generally don’t. Just that ZNMD makes you wanna be free and when you can’t, you wanna tell the world it is an impractical and bad idea! ;-) 

Have you ever got a Hair Spa?

“Have you ever got a hair spa?”

A year and a half back I was asked this same question and I had looked despairingly at the saloon owner thinking here she goes again, trying to push through another product/service that I don’t want and what is wrong with the world and spending on frivolities that we can definitely do without? I mean a ‘hair-spa’ sounded like another chochla of big people with bigger pockets and the biggest of vella time.

“Just get one,” she had said with eyes so full and assertive as though she was coaxing me to volunteer for a mission of world peace. Post that she began to enumerate how my hair was begging for moisture. “But I do wash them every second day with water,” I stressed, half wondering what these women wash theirs with. I was then explained to that my hair was dry and damaged and more blah-blah on some pollution crap. I wanted to tell her how my beloved still loved to hold them tenderly in his hands and not so tenderly when not so tender, but let the urge pass. Hitherto I had lived on the premise that pollution is only fatal for the lungs and breathing and glaciers. Apparently like most of my premises, this one too sucked and sucked my natural and otherwise eternal beauty.

She had already made some not-so-flattering remarks about my non-toned and sagging skin I can’t believe I just typed that and I am not even deleting it and bulging sides and age spots on my face-it was a fitness cum beauty centre and so what do you expect-the diversions from my face to the body were natural yes, I am trying now to salvage the damage done. I had finally begun to wonder-not about the so called flaws in my physicality but rather what the f@#$ was I still standing there and doing, listening to her rip me apart? My self esteem was wilting so low that we’d need cranes to lift it up again.

I told her point blank- ‘Lady, you are not helping your own cause if you are going to pick my faults even worse than my husband!’ And finally she got the jhatka, immediately realising that she had overdone it and then began a butter dipped little speech on how fair my skin is otherwise, and how fair-soft skin could LATER be prone to problems now she tells me and how my hair just needed a bit of pampering. She just saved herself from being crowned with the worst salesgirl tag and almost won the best one, for I gave in to a trial session. Okay hair spa me and this better be good!

I was led inside a chamber and little red lamps and candles were lit instead of the harsh glares of bulbs and tube-lights. Light instrumental music to the likeness of a flute being played near a waterfall with soft chirping bird almost made me look around. In walked a guy wearing an apron and asked me to change into a gown. I was suddenly alert-dim red lights, gown, guy-all seemed too red-light-y for my own good. But what the heck, my mom had got it done and survived it to praise it, so who am I to act all touch-me-not. Reasserted henceforth that wackiness runs in our ‘genes’, even when we wear a salwar kameez-okay, very poor joke, I know.

And there I sat on a plush, cushioned seat all set to be experimented on. Why do the thirties have to be so hyped everywhere as the warning knell to watch out for, just because they want to sell their stupid anti-wrinkle and age-defying creams and ‘you are worth it’ hollers...rather all a bunch of gobbledygook? I so love this word and wait to use it at the first hint of hinting at nonsense. Yes, I wrote this post just for it! So I was given the head wash and some cream was lavishly spread out on my strands and roots, enveloping just my head but giving me an overall feel good. My legs were placed in between an automatic mechanical massager that totally lightened them from knees to the toes, with soft squeezes and pressures so that I almost felt after a while as though I had no legs at all-and that was a good thing by the way.

So then began the unexplained aren’t you lucky that you are on a page where even ‘the unexplained’ is explained in such great lengths? The guy could create magic with the so right movements of his fingers. He used the pressures to unlock every tired and knotted vein running through my head and spine and the rest of the body took to the impulse and let me be free. It was the most relaxing head massage I ever got okay the most relaxing of the two official saloon massages in my lifespan and I think I even closed my eyes for long gaps in between as though I presumed I was being transported to the ethereal and I would open my eyes and ask, "Mein kahan hoon?" Of course the best was yet to come. The ‘hair’ spa then culminated into the disentangling of my neck, arms and shoulder build up and also of the back-over the gown of course! And I thought I’d died and gone to heaven and there Yamraj himself was welcoming me saying that the back massage is the heaven’s way of a shake hand and I am nodding in unadulterated pleasure wait, isn’t Yamraj supposed to be at the entrance of hell? Then who the hell guards heaven-damn, my mythology!

Thereafter there was hot steam treatment, some equally hot coffee with yummy nachos along with a mayonnaise cream dip nopes, I don’t go there for the free food, a hair wash again and conditioning and a very well pampered me. Two hours of such indulgence that I almost felt spoilt. My tresses caressed my top like Solomon’s silk! I thought the hair clip would fall off, it became so soft and smelt and felt so sexy.

Okay, I have been trying very hard to evade using this word but I think if I do not I shall explode (with no puns intended) and the essence of the feeling would not be conveyed just as well. The experience can be defined as good as being orgasmic! Phew! There! Said it!

And you know what else did I say, which I can’t believe till now that I actually said it that day to the hair spa guy- “Your wife is a lucky woman if she gets this kinda massage!” Yes, extreme gratification tends to cloud my thinking and vocal abilities. And he just smiled shyly in response, interpreting it god knows how and showing his tobacco stained teeth in his own version of a gratified expression.

When I returned home and told my beloved how unbelievable was the experience, he mocked me saying that I only loved it so because I got close to an actual massage by a guy although it was just in my head-literally and otherwise. And also was added that since I had got it done, he should also be fairly given the freedom to get a massage from a woman whenever we go to Thailand. Alright I said and then mumbling under my breath, as long as I get to pick the woman and praying in the next breath that the sexed up country also has obnoxious and ugly women available for these stupid services instead of the just-out-of-magazine-cover models, using whom they have spoilt the imagination of half the Indian men! And as soon as I agreed, his suspicious eyebrows now got raised even higher wondering what exactly happened that got me convinced so quick.

Ewwwww! I retorted almost offended, not because he had raised scepticism at my Ganga ki tarah pavitra intentions and actions but because he still didn’t trust me to have a good taste. The massage guy was half balding, married and ugly I said, although those hands and their skills didn’t tally with the rest of his body. I also slowly added that I had shed a few grands in taking a package of 15 hair spas at such a heavy discount that he would be super proud of me as a thrifty and prudent home-maker and not to add the hot hair one.  

This was prior to Seeya happening and while I took 10 of those in the next six months, I have managed to avail just three in the last year. The second last just happened today and hence the nostalgia and the super feel good. If you have already got it done, you know what I am saying and certain 'chochlas' come guilt free. If not, try it once and preferably by a man, for sorry my genderkinds but this requires a certain amount of strength and knowing a woman’s head-all puns intended!