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

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.

The Mysterious Caller

I know what you are thinking with a smug expression-this lady thinks no end of herself. First it was that stalker at the walk story, then getting a lift from a handsome stranger, to all the crushes on her and now a mysterious caller. But by the end of this all, you would be sympathising with me again dear friend, instead of envying...trust me, even though I don’t do so myself.

I absolutely wait for the ridiculous to happen with me which is rarely a disappointment so that I could splash it across here for my readers to float along with big monkey grins on their blessed faces over my misery yes, I know I am weird. And anyways, the last two serious posts had got me unbelievably itchy you don’t wanna know where to find my funny bone. After giving up searching in lards and yards and what not of me, I think I finally found it or at least hoping here that I did, thanks to a relative stranger again god bless them all in their species.

Since the evening of 3^rd June, the Friday, I had been receiving messages on my mobile from an unknown number-the usual philosophies of life moving on to love notes and hard-to-fathom shayyari. I delete numbers on my contact list after a while if there is no exchange or need of the person’s details on that space. What can I say, I just hate clutter. So on the 4^th morning, after the “good night’s” and the “good morning’s” became a little obnoxious and a tad bit curious for curiosity might not kill the cat here but it could definitely send her in a mini coma of sorts I messaged back asking, “Who’s this?”

Pat came the reply: “Ur friend”

Wow, wasn’t that unexpected!

Me: Say who you are or stop messaging.

After this the shayyari continued, getting much to my nerves for it was of the variety that shows like Comedy Circus boast of, dashed with romance to render it the most outlandish spectacle on the face of mobile phones. I mean who creates that kind of crap and worse still, who betrays humanity and his duties towards being a responsible citizen by circulating the preposterous!

Anyways, an hour later or so I received a call from this number and absent-mindedly I picked up. I do receive calls from unknown numbers I am not a celebrity yet.

He (in an amazingly squeaky tone): Hellooo Surucee!

Me (in an amazingly aghast tone, put there by just those two words): Kaun bol rahe hain?

MC (Mysterious Caller that is-any resemblance to any other anagram is purely coincidental and the author takes no responsibility): Mein Sameer!

Me: Sameer who?

MC: Arre, tum nahi jaante?

Me (wondering if someone called Sameer was just crowned the President or married the Prince of Wales that I am expected to know of this name even in sleep): Ji nahi. Politeness in the face of the absurd is the true quality of a lady my dear...what crap, I didn’t know how to blast him at such short notice.

MC: Acha I am a Second year student, kya hum dost ban sakte hain?

Me (losing it now): Whaaaaaaaaat? Please don’t call up again!

MC (with unmatched confidence, Dhoni should learn from him actually): Arre kal se messages kar rahe ho, thode der baat to kar lo.

Me (lost it now): *disconnects and does not pick up thereafter from Mr.  Persistence Personified*

Omgggggggggg! I was flabbergasted!

MEIN messages kar rahe hoon...MEEIIIIIIIIIINNNNN????

I didn’t know what to get more angry on this guy for:

1. He presupposes after badgering me with about 50 messages, to which I innocently and eventually just asked “Who’s this?” to MEEEEEEEE messaging him...sweet mother of lord, the guy needs help!

2. He was in Second year of college-I am hoping he didn’t mean second year school for that would mean class 12 and take my omg to the Himalayas. I mean agreed, age is no bar, but it is not an éclair either-Okay poor joke, but the guy must be twenty for crying out loud! When I was in my flaming teens, he was in his wetting nappies...such thoughts flashed my mind, which was in no way flattered by the attention.

3. Never mind that....story does not end there...picture abhi baaki hain!

The whole day thereafter the messages continued and also the hourly calls. He was instantly saved on my contact list as “DON’T PICK” to avoid making any blunders again. So DON’T PICK now said, “Mere se koi galti ho gaye kya?”

“Somebody sounding so sweet, how can she be so sour”-YEEEEEEEEEES...these were the exact words, followed by crueller massacre of the English language that almost prompted me to check his messages, edit with a big red pen and send him back with a big F that’s Failed by the way!

When the saga went on way into the night, G was informed and he seemed grim. I thought he would get angry. He seemed sad...I wanted to console him saying I belong only to him, my body, heart and soul saat janam tak, with a whole lot of drama that would put the entire Bollywood to shame, but then he uttered those words...Na bachche ‘DIVORCE, DIVORCE, DIVORCE’ nahi, re!

“You still get calls from admirers and are in demand but I don’t. Tum abhi bhi jawan ho aur mein buddha ho gaya kya?”

Omg...would the men orbiting my horizon please act as sensible men?

This is not about you baby, it is about me and I shake him up like a nice cough syrup ka bottle, after reminding him of the saat vachans to guard my izzat, taken round the holy fire eleven years ago during our wedding day!

So the next morning is encounter time*playing background music of some cowboy theme where the two opponents wear squeaky shoes and walk up to each other in painfully slow motion, reverberating with thak, thak, thak...you can also imagine close up shots of the silly faces in the crowd and bemused faces of the horses, for absolute imagery there*

At the first “good morning” G calls the bugger from his cell.

G: Kaun hain bhai aap?

BC (that stands for Badtameez Caller now, situation ke saath thoda adapt karna padta hain na): Aap kaun hain?

G: Aaj kal bade messages and phones kar rahe ho kisse ko? Kya baat hain?

BC: Haan kar raha hoon...to? Kya kar loge?

G: Beta, yeh sab jo kar rahe ho, lagta hain tumhe maar khaane hain?

BC: Kha lenge...ho sakta hain ulta ho jaaye.

G: Acha to milo tum abhi mereko station ke paas, mein batata hoon!

BC: Theek hain...arre nahi abhi nahi, 3 baje milte hain!

And he disconnects the line.

OHHH MYY GOOOD GOD!

One would think two people were asking each other out on a date! I didn’t know about the BC’s sexual preferences, but mere aapne maathe ka sindoor and yeh sab! Ghor Kalyug! I gave a stern look to G, that said, "Kar kya rahe ho aap? Usse time pass nahi karna hain...hadkana hain!" And what on earth would you derive on meeting the bugger anyways? 3 baje to aise bola jaise facial, manicure, pedicure ka time mind mein set kar ke aayega, mera haath maangne- @#$%%#$@##@!

A minute later I get another message, “Tumne apne boyfriend ko bata ke acha nahi kiya”. Omg please don’t keep the omg count here, some situations demand repetition!

Nahiinnnnnnnnn! Yeh meine kya kiya*one hand on the forehead with the 'mein lut gaye, barbaad ho gaye 'expression* I almost imagined a group of bikers in high boots, growling engines, leather jackets-oops, okay it is summers-costume change-in white shinning vest with muscles-shuscles rippling, circling my poor G in the nukkad near the station. And as soon as G got up with a very determined look that said ‘do or die’, I also thought of maaro-ing the favourite line, “Station tak pahunchne se pehle tumhe mere laash par se guzar ke jaana padega!” Thankfully or not, G had only got up to go to the loo!

Half an hour later he emerged from the washroom looking all victorious, which is generally anyways his look after every such trip and generally the IST-Indian Standard Time taken by the men in this family inside there I have often seriously thought of putting cameras in there but that for some other time.

G: The matter is solved. He won’t bug you any further.

Me: Huh? What did you do? (I was thinking he had contacted Pappu Bhai, whom I have overheard him saying umpteenth times on the phone, “Is baar bhai mera kaam theek se karvana, koi gadbad na ho!”)

Well, to cut the long story short, G had asked the bugger point blank if he knew whom he was calling and that the woman in question was married and ek bachche ki ma! G said I should have heard his tone for it seemed someone pulled the earth off his feet. He obviously didn’t know. The bugger had bought a mobile phone from a friend ka friend, found a girl’s name on the contact list and randomly sent messages hoping someone would get hooked.

Five minutes later I get the last message on the phone,

“Sorry yaar, chal bye.” G has not been able to wipe the smug grin off his face uptil now and I am still recovering from the disappointment of not being able to render my drama lines.

Morals of this story:

1. I may not be as jawaan as G thinks after all and G may not be all that useless in handling my izzat ke questions as I thought.

2. Though I truly believe we should not disclose marital status and baby issues in such sensitive matters to ensure a complete closure...where is tact, people?

3. Pappu Bhai is the garage owner where our cars go for servicing and repairs.
4. For heaven’s sake, people-delete the contact list before selling your mobile phones. It can bring someone’s home/ego crashing down!

5. That picture up there is not mine- just mentioning, in case I still have some market value that may not come staggering down to below zero thanks to that lady!

Anonymous Blogging!

I am often asked how I can be so blatantly blunt n brutally honest about stuff on my blog!
Sometimes I wonder too...
Is it because very few folks in family or friends-acquired not the through the net, actually read me?
*although I always link my posts on my Facebook page so that anyone out of the 400 odd people there can feel free to traverse down the lanes of my mind*
Or is it because on this platform I have made friends with individuals who know me through n through coz they hear/read me speak/rant my guts out about all my issues, which normally no one around me gets to?
*I actually feel no need to vent out my mind to any person once I have done it here to the laptop screen*
Or is it because all*most*of you, dear readers, have no access to my life directly and hence there is no real harm done...so I play a safe n snug game?

Whatever...
I take a long while to trust people with my feelings and opening up before them in actual life...I may do all the hee-haw’s n spend hours in mirth but never really disclose the gory details before them.
The net n blog provides me the breathing space to do so without inhibitions and with a recklessness that sometimes even I speculate on.
Like even I have my Omg moments...
Wtf!!!!!! I am mentioning the frequency of my sex life...or I am accepting that perhaps I may not be inbuilt to be an exemplary mother...or oye hoye, did I just tell the world that I have a big butt, when I could spend hours pondering on how to hide it*not literally hours there btw*!

I also wonder if I had been blogging anonymously, would I be any different.
Well, since I already mentioned the frequency...what worse...mention the poses n positions? Naaaaah...fat chance!
I already enumerated my crushes, my pangs, my desires, my anatomy...
Why the F@#% do I need anonymity when I can do all the damages being myself?

But on second thoughts...imagine the fun being anonymous...
I could mention my devious plans to seduce my object(s) of crush...
I could mention how fantasizing is good for well being...
I could be Agony Aunt...err...Agony Angel to love problems...
I could tell you how I was so good at dates*calendar waale nahi*
I could also be evil and a complete bitch for a change...
I could relate tried n tested formulas on what to do to make a man melt, literally n otherwise, that could save the world...
I could enumerate on the subtle art of evoking compliments from others...
And so much more gyan from my presumably now hypothetical world*eyes glint with devilry*

I spend so much effort n money*yup, the internet does not come for free dude* in trying to convince my dear anonymous blogger buddies to come out of the hiding...It is sometimes very frustrating to be flirting with a faceless person...to think of a blog page and screen words when you try to reminisce about a blogger!

While some have relented...others continue to play games*looking at you Bluntu with squinted eyes and wrath of a woman...okay of a cute woman*

I now enjoy beautiful friendships with a whole lot of my blogger friends on Facebook...
So thank you Pallavini, Amn, Rishi, Ria, Akshay, Achyut, Nico, Tamanna, Rahul, Bhavika, Menkah, Bikram, Hary, Persis, Lincoln, Sobhit, Amit, Ankur, Sulagna, Cathy, Saket, Shayon, Nil, Chandrakala, Vikram, Bishu, Prithwish, Sakshi, Shriti, Sayantan, Tanvi, Malpani, Smrithi and some more people I met on the blogosphere just like that and they now stand witnesses to my life in passing.
These are amazing writers, fashionistas, poets whom I get to know more each day through their statuses n pictures, besides the posts-who opened up their world to me.
*The Bald Guy n Bluntu...you don’t get counted in this list n you know why...but you do get counted in being two of my favourite writers n someday I’d succeed in knowing how u look...haah!*
Imagine my plight of may be someday just walking down your hometowns n passing you guys by...
You’d recognize me n I’ll not know that you were there*ahh...matlab no time to doll up to look delicious or at least act as one!*

I am still pondering upon anonymous blogging and its benefits though...
You can be downright dirty, mad, scheming, outrageous, breaking social norms and no one ever knows...
But then why tell the link to those who might know n judge?
Or better still, let them judge.
This is your space n you chose how to be...if they don’t like it, let them sit on the middle finger n spin!

It is better to reveal as you are instead of letting them live in a supposition of how you think they should discern you.
Imagine the burden of existing in apprehensions of them knowing the reality someday- Juggling between make-belief and the truth that is out there!

And then any sensible person who really knows you or is worth you thinking about his opinion would see through how much blabbering is just for fun, or to generate an opinion instead of the actual state of affairs.
Quoting my example, most people do not really take me seriously...like I’d say I am concerned about the growing ‘heat’ on the planet n they’d think I am making a sexual connotation instead of being genuinely hassled about global warming! Hah! Can you believe that?
Now I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing :-)

I don’t fear judgement... I invite it and that’s my defence!
I am like this only...take it or your loss and go for a toss!

Anyways, most writers suffer from hyper exaggeration syndrome or dramatization of descriptions...
They use words more to hide than to reveal...Hence a few writers often have disclaimers on their page.
They are smart enough to convince you of humour, when they are actually being truthful and make you cringe in their pain, when all they really want is sympathy.

So how sad it is when the humanity does not know or love you for who you are but for a phrase of URL that you project.
Is such a silent admiration really worth the effort?
Come out...say as you feel...be as you are...
And the world shall love you still the same...at least those would who are worth keeping would!

P.S. This is not a venture to get anyone out of the hiding...I love all my blogger friends whom I interact with whether they are anonymous or not...It is just a general expression of my bafflement to understand the contentment of an anonymous existence of any kind Vs a less glamorous but honest one!
The blogosphere is known for weird characters n thankfully none that I know here!

What Days they were....

What days they were...
When there were no mobile phones and their fuss...
The sound of the landline ringing was always exciting,
For it created a flutter that someone unknown remembered us.

Booking STD calls and waiting for the call back from BSNL saying, “Madam, call book karaya hain? Baat keejeye!”
And the line would cut off after 3 minutes on its own as was set...
The receptionist having listened to every word that you’d breathed!

What days they were...
When we had no assault of the television channels...
When previewing movie trailers was a privilege,
And the Chitrhaar on Doordarshan was the awaited highlight of the week...
And watching an English movie was a once in a blue moon treat!

What days they were...
When we studied without being harrowed by coaching centres... When getting a first division in Board exams was a dream come true and the cut offs in colleges were not obnoxious 98%.

When teachers taught with interest and learning was fun and not drubbed...
When schools were not clubs!

What days they were....
When we could buy an orange bar from a vendor outside the school for just one buck and not care a damn if it was hygienically prepared or we’d fall sick after gulping it down!
We’d just slurp it off and bask in the glory of orange tongues!

What days they were....
When families went out for picnics like for boating across the Ganges or just spreading out sheets outside The India Gate to enjoy the meals, gardens or waterfalls...
Instead of following the mindless crowds at the heaving malls!

What days they were...
When letters were hand written and not emailed...

When waiting for the postman was in itself as exciting a prospect as the post he would bring...
When we would ponder for hours with a pen in our mouth before writing a few lines, as crumpled discarded papers would fill up the bin!

What days they were...
When time flew while reading a book on the couch and we’d move only when the bums could take it no more or the couch revolted for being squashed beyond redemption!
When the hero’s next move in the written word was more crucial than uploading status on Facebook as a convention!

What days they were...
When holidaying in India was also fun...the temples, forts, architecture, the natural panorama were all fixations we couldn’t get enough of...
Instead of wandering aimlessly in the lanes of Bangkok or looking down at anything lesser than the Swiss Alps’ tops!

What days they were...
When we preferred to wear our mothers’ hand knitted sweaters instead of the Benetton cardigan...When jeans were just jeans...not FCUK or Tommy Hilfiger or more.
When Gucci or Prada adorned just the Hollywood superstars and not reeking in a tasteless display in the manicured hands of the aunty ji next door!

What days they were...
When festivals meant celebrations and not just another holiday,
When watching a smooch scene on screen was still a taboo in front of parents!
When deadlines for outings were still 8 p.m.!
When pocket money was just that- “pocket” n not “packet” money...
When f$@# was not considered a part of the vocabulary!

When touching the elders’ feet was not outdated...
When using “aap” as an address for others was not considered so down market!
When marriages were arranged and there were butterflies about the “suhaag raat” for it really was the first night!

When a samosa was a bigger deal than a burger!
When eating rice with the fingers was just as much fun as handling chopsticks now with panache...
When speaking in Hindi was also cool,
When cars didn’t cost crores...
When helping others was not such a chore!

When diamonds were not the girls only best friends!
When porn was not a part of wallpaper clippings!
When love was still mush and not a physical rush!
When global warming was not our biggest threat,
When guilt of some kind was not there in every chest!

When psychiatrists were not a part of our lives...
When newspapers were not just scandal scribes!
When size zero was not a fixation...
When being modern was not about what clothes we wore
When simplicity was a virtue and children were not in a hurry to grow!

When infants were born without intervention with nature,
When friends were made without consideration of stature!
When mind games were not universal...
When leaders were icons and millionaires uncommon,
When husbands were gods and such gods were human!

What days they were...
What days are now!
Have we moved forward or pushed back somehow!
What we have gained and what we have lost,
Or are we too busy to give it a thought?
Things which weave our fabric, are they too dearly bought?
Or ten years from now, would even this be lost?

Why on earth are men scared of being called Cute?

Girl...err...hot gurl: “Hey you are so cute!”
Boy’s reaction: “Huh? NAHHHHIIIIIIN” (Don’t look up my friend...the roof has not collapsed on his head...neither has his izzat been loot-oed)...Blasphemy of a different kind at work here. A horrified expression follows on the chocolaty face, as though a 440 volts shock was given. He rolls up his sleeves to show his muscles, runs fingers through his hair to show he’s unkempt and rugged, smiles mischievously to prove he can be wild n notorious...anything to remove the cute tag...for according to latest researches (done by me only....but pssst...at least let me sound grim n meaning business here)...cute isn’t sexy for boys anymore!

They’ll accept it with restrained emotions but they secretly pine to hear that they are delicious, appetizing, scrumptious, luscious, delectable, succulent....alright, I am getting carried away again....Suruchi, it is NOT the time for food yet!

Right, right...the modern guy or for that matter...even those in their third or fourth or fifth decade...for boys would always be just boys...want to be hunks. Six packs ho na ho...they want you to refer to them as only and downright sex symbols...mentally stimulating and physically irresistible. Cute almost means non-bed-able or something close or rather not so close or...whatever!
They want your mind to create a picture of them getting down a Harley Davidson with a shiny black leather jacket, long boots, loads of chains, huge sunshades with a cow boy hat, (never mind if they are wearing a helmet over it), etc.

And as they take off that helmet...they sway their heads from side to side (not like Mandakini with wet hair after she bathed in that waterfall) as though repositioning the scrambled hair and walk in slow motion towards you...kat, kat, kat...the sound of their shoes...going like the beating of an excited heart....and you can imagine some hard rock being played in the background for they would die if they were found to be hearing mushy tones! Hey, should we give this guy some stubble and a toothpick in the mouth too? Acha...I guess you get the picture anyways!

Before I begin (yes, I have not actually begun yet) I have to see the dictionary meaning of this...
Cute: 1. Pretty and attractive
2. Sexually attractive...ahem, ahem!
3. Clever, sometimes in an annoying way because the person is trying to get an advantage for him or herself!
N my computer ji’s thesaurus says: attractive, pretty, delightful, charming, appealing, endearing, adorable and sweet.
Now why can’t you bloody demanding species of men be happy with so many positive sounding adjectives?

Why on earth would cute guys just not accept that they are cute...period? Cute, cute, cute...as I say it in an echo and I can almost feel some guys cringing within and wriggling outside, with their palms cupping their ear lobes as though to prevent a jarring, ear-splitting noise from reaching their inner cores. Like I remember Superman’s powers would be sucked in by that blue liquid thingy in that flick...looks like I’ve got a similar eureka-portion with the label of ‘cute’ to deal with the modern super man! “Mere pass na aana dusht-paapi nahi to mein yeh bottle khol ke chidak donge...” Hehe...looks like the new pack to keep in women’s purse instead of red chilli powder! Imagine Ranjeet coming towards you with letchy eyes and wavering fingers and you tell him you are finding that “cute” ....screeeeeeeeeech...halt dead in tracks... kya yaar...Ranjeet ka saara mood kharab kar diya!



I once called a dear friend of mine cute for he would come up with brilliant laughable comments in every repartee I had with him. But the next moment he turned around, with offended gesticulations and said, “Naah, not cute yaar...puppies and doggies are cute and I haven’t even developed that kind of a tail yet!”

Another one of a kind brilliant duo of my dear blogger friends...Rishi and Amn are staunch comrades of Anti-Cute Boys Campaign. On Facebook I saw these guys indulge in some mad banter and termed them “cute”...Rishi preferred to be discovered as rugged, dirty and not bathed from a while instead and Amn protested that it’s almost an insult for a boy to call him THAT for it implies he’s like a brother....LMAO!! How bloody cute is that now!

Wow...that must make at least a 100 ‘so-called’ siblings for me walking about the planet as we speak, for I normally cling to guys who are cute and often end up reinstating that to them till they are bloody convinced. And sadly the cute variety of guys is the kind that you DON’T want as brothers. Cuteness in brothers is such a waste! They are the ones who can actually make you laugh...with them and not at them! So god ji give this syndrome in abundance to normal boys and men treading about on mother earth with whom there can be a possibility of a different connotation!

Okay lemme see who are the guys among the celebrities whom we could term cute: Hey, Shahrukh is cute...sometimes, when he is not pompous or seething with romance. Shahid Kapoor, Ranbir Kapoor (actually he oscillates between being downright sexy more and adorably cute less) and....errr...mmm...why can’t I bloody think of names now? Why in god’s name are the cute ones...at least those who started as cute...converting to mean machines...Aamir, Saif, Akshay and the likes? Oh hell and the only names that are coming to my mind right now for cute then are Govinda, Arshad Warsi, Sharman Joshi, uffffff never mind. Bollywood anyways sucks when it comes to cuteness quotient.

Let’s go Hollywooding...Leonardo de Caprio (actually he’s turned into a hunk too since the Titanic sank and was gone), Hugh Grant, Jude Law and Mathew Mc conaughey- why couldn’t this latter hot dude have a simpler pronounceable n spell able surname (they arouse the sexy senses more that the cuddly ones), Steve Martin, Billy Crystal, Danny de Vito....ALRIGHT I get it...cute guys are like puppies or at least look like one!

So lemme now end on a like you cute poem for lack of any inferences that I had hoped to reach here:
Cutie cutie why do u shy?
A new tag worth a try...
You talk so fine and look divine...
Don’t make us pine...
Sometimes sexy sometimes cute...
Why whine...when we are ready to boot!

P.S. I googled for pictures of “cute men” to upload here for images...guess what it showed me...Puppies! ;-)

Men n Libidos and Women n Head-aches!

The eternal combo of wrangle off the shelf...Men have been inseparable from the carnal sin and women have been too attached to their head ache woes or so they project! Just as men would continue to feel horny, women would continue to find that corny!
And so they live spitefully ever after!

It’s amazing how differently as species or kinds, we are programmed. Take a man anywhere and he’d turn and return to sex. You tell him the weather is awesome and he’d snap back with...ya, the perfect setting for mad, wild sex! Tell him you feel hot and pat would come the reply...you need to shed off your clothes darling and release that heat in the sack. Tell him that you feel dull today and the solution would be exciting in-the-sheet activities to get the adrenalin pumping and pepping you up. A woman needs to just get close...a simple embrace is not so simple and a touch of a woman is not just that- a touch...it has “far reaching” consequences. For men the world begins and ends at sex. Yes, it does...no point in denying that wise guy and no point in defending him about it dear lady!

A wise dear friend of mine says...sex for an average Indian guy takes about 7 minutes, including the car park time and that of shedding the garbs! Hmm...Very profound must say! So just for this seven minute sprint and maybe a minute of orgasmic pleasure...they spend their lives fantasising and conspiring to get laid and keep getting there. Women, it’s no rocket science, are constituted a bit differently. While a miniscule section may differ, the majority cannot have it every day or at the drop of a hat, they can’t drop it all...unless they feel a kinda connection and arousing yearning.

So since the other general excuses are not perennial...like it’s the those-four-days time, I had a long day at office and I am tired, you’ve eaten too much and hence too heavy to come on top...I’ve eaten too much and hence spare me the drill...I was busy doing your mother’s errands all day, etc, etc...The best option left ultimately is of headache, for it can come out anytime and anywhere, to timely rescue...But just check dear ladies that he may be toying with the idea of taking you for shopping after the hot session...So this path should be carefully trodden!

The head aches vs. sex stories have been infamous through history....here are some such topical jokes that commit to my memory, despite me being pathetic at conniving them on short notice...

(1) A husband one night, just before they were going to sleep, brought a glass of water and a tablet of Aspirin to his wife and told her to have it...She was utterly puzzled and said, “But why? I don’t have a head-ache!” With a wicked smile on his face he retorted, “Ok then, since it’s confirmed, take off your clothes and let’s have hot wild sex”.

(2) Man to friend: After years of marriage finally my wife and I have become sexually compatible. Now we both get head-aches at the same time!

(3) Santa was sucking his fingers and kissing his palms...when asked why, he said, “My wife has a head ache, so this is foreplay before self-help”.

And many more that I’ve heard down the ages, read in messages on mobile and mails... and thus the infamous tangle continues! Men would continue to be fixated and women continue to be frustrated about running out of excuses to dodge. We continue to wonder why men are so imaginative and skilled before and during the act...not realizing that they are plugged into a genius- that’s we the women kind! If only we women learn to crib less and be just as creative! If only the men also realize to be just as inspired in related areas and give romance a thumbs-up over lust!

Just as the fairer sex releases her latent tangles by talking, the superior sex gets de-stressed by taking out “things” to their beloved. So instead of the bicker and battle...let’s understand and rattle the bed...to bring a rocking calm and climax to both ends....of the mind I mean and the body would comply too. For most normal men, sex at most normal times, is a necessity and not just need. For most normal women at most normal times, sex is a desire and not just a drive. We don’t need to compromise...we need to adapt and empathise...so that we don’t live spitefully ever after...but happily ever after! Amen!

My Date with my Stalker....

Little moments of fun extracted from everyday life, are what I live for, don’t we all?
Some moments of laughter or amusement even if they are at our expense, as long as they spread smiles...
And when I look back into the recent times many such epiphanies stand out more menacingly than the rest, bringing a dubious grin on my face and so I thought I’d share here one...

Hmm...No news here that I loooove my evening walks...a sojourn into ultimate peace and oneness with myself and my surroundings...
However, of late I had a stalker...
I mean if he was worth any mettle he would have been glorified here for having the guts and good taste to do so...but since he was not...I thought let me slaughter him here with my words at least...

So this guy for two days kind of followed me in his white Santro car with an outstation number and outlandishly tinted glasses of the windows...He would stop the car on the left side of the road just a few steps ahead of me (I would have told you precisely how many yards or metres or whatever ahead...but I have more than once established my affinity with numbers...so I’d let it pass lest it baffles you more than I already do). Ok so where were we...right, he would halt his car and wait for me to cross over and then within minutes repeat the drill, much to my annoyance...Matlab ki I know I have a pretty face why waste time on the rear view phir...I knew it then and there that the guy was dumb...!

Still, I thought why to take pangas and let it pass...I crossed over to the right side of the street to avoid him but it did not deter the nut-head and after 5-6 times of doing this obnoxious act, I guess better things called on him and he decided to let go...Wonder if he read my earlier blog on ‘let go’ and hence got motivated...Anyways, the next day too he re-acted the audacity.

So I did what most sensible and coy housewives would do after returning home...told my dearly beloved. And he did what most senseless and lazy husbands would do...told me stop going for the walks...Thankfully he added there- ‘till I return from my tour’ or else he would have not been able to go to that one getting me all volcanic. I reflected upon his brilliant solution... should I wait for his return? I mean in all probability he would not be tearing his shirt, with a Sunny Deol yell of ‘kutte kamine’ and next tear the entrails of that poor soul...
Hmm...So I thought it was time for some girl power to surface...ok, ok...some woman power to be stirred into me!
Enough of ‘abla’ naari syndrome...it had to be the ‘able’ naari now...

So a feisty me on last Sunday evening decided to adorn the garbs of Jhansi ke raani...well, not literally of course...more like Kanpur ke raani...and started off with all my grit to teach the bugger a lesson. I decided to take my umbrella along just in case I might desire to get wild and violent...not like you think, so please rest your naughty minds.

So in one hand I had my iPod with earphones plugged in, in the second I had my mobile phone and please don’t ask me how I managed to hold on to the umbrella...some things are so complicated that they are better left unsaid...

And I walked...
And walked...
And walked...
Chidwaane waale log tayyar the but cheedne waale he nahi aaye....

Hmm...Very anti climax-tic I know...
But the guy just went whoosh...
And I with my army of weapons and freshly rehearsed and improvised stock of abuses had no choice but to return with a long face...Imagine how kings felt when they returned empty handed from the battle fields...bina maar dhad ke...!
I so wanted to show some beauty, brains and brawns to him...maybe even maaro that dialogue... “Aapke ghar mein ma behen nahi hain kya?”...just to see if it really works in real life...
But alas! Dil ke armaan aansoon mein beh gaye....!
Probably he realized that third time/day is not lucky or the cosmos conspired to let my malicious vibrations reach to him and made him quit Kanpur ke dharti...

Whatever...no stunts and actions transpired, so I all perspired and returned home completely fired....Bad rhymes, good sentiment expression! So the able naari was told to settle down and wait for another opportune moment...
Until she is back again...happy and safe stalking and being stalked to all of you!