To have Loved and lost...

Dear Love,

Every morning that I wake up without you by my side, I wake up as though in parts, leaving something of me behind on the pillow, on the sheet, that has my curves twisting and turning all through the night. The arms extending to an empty bed, hoping to feel at my finger’s edge, the rush of brushing against your skin, but returning empty, paralyzed in an unknown dread. I wonder if I fear more the absence of you or the absence of myself in all my presence.

The body rises to do its chores while the mind drifts to a weary sleeplessness, a queer numbness to disappointment or elation, although the mouth animates into automated frowns and smiles. It is like walking with a hole in the heart, whose margins threaten to extend on every side, to eventually take the shape of me. My quivering hands hold the pots and pans, till I sit back and clench them in a silent anguish, for they miss your fingers clasped within. I light the fire under my tea, even as my own slowly whimpers dying within me.

I wash my face with cold water, hoping to break the reverie of your thoughts that barge in one after another so seamlessly that I just watch, helpless, letting each one walk all over me. I look up at my face in the mirror and don’t see me no matter how much I scrunch my eyes. I see you, I feel you. And with the trickling droplets perhaps, shed a tear or two. 

Another day, another strife, and the same life but without you!

I pretty up my face, fill color on my lips, I wear the clothes that once froze your gaze to me. I go out, seem brave, show I’ve moved on but waiting within for the mask to become me. I shut tight my eyes at every little thing that reminds me, of you, of being yours ~ the steaming cup of black coffee, the fresh flower on the vase placed near me, the post-it notes on the to-do board, with yours missing conspicuously. I wipe the ketchup edging my mouth with a sorry napkin, missing your lips tasting it off me.

I move through the day knowing not if I am glad it has ended or sad that begins now the night, the returning to an empty house, no welcome smiles, no gentle rub of tired shoulders, no I’ll-join-you-in-the-shower fights. No putting me up on the kitchen shelf while flour scatters in the air so wild. No steaming kisses, no cuddles in bed, no blanket over my sleeping body covering me from the cold night.

Another day, another strife, and the same life but without you!

Yours piningly,

Me.

(I can’t imagine how brave are the souls that move on in life after losing a loved one. I shuddered as I wrote this, thankful in the same breath of whatever’s mine. Also strength and love to those who walk tall in such a life, may love find you again soon.)

From a Friend-zoned Lover

Dear love,

I write to you today in extreme pain-an unnamed ache, a recurring twinge that dreads breaking out in tears, an excruciating spasm running through my body for my insides have been jolted by the throbbing of the heart. Ah, heart! How condescending I have been towards you-mocking all those who allow you to rule the rest of the systems. And now you are all whose presence I feel inside as my blood rushes in frenzy.

Nobody notices but when with you, you are all I notice. It’s like the world relegates to a backdrop as a mumbling sound, emanating from miles away where the traffic honks in the by lanes and men and women of everyday life, yank their way into some bargain.

I see you and I see me. I feel you and I feel life. Every giggle that erupts from your beautiful mouth goes straight to find an echo in my head. Every twinkle in your eyes sparkles through my mind’s vision, when in my own solitude I rest. I can tell even without looking at you how each curve of your body bends. I have watched you from years going in and out of relationships with men who think you are an object of love. I wait for you to see how I deem you as love itself.

How many hours I spend looking at you telling me animatedly about the way your day went while in my psyche-I play with your twirling tresses as you in blissful oblivion vent out the mundane, lying your petite head on my chest; or run my eager fingers over your smooth, unblemished skin hoping to see your lips quiver and hands tremble in nervous excitement! 


How many times when you casually hold my arm as we edge our way through a buzzing market place and suddenly a veil of silence falls all around and hushes! Do you notice me freeze by your mere touch or the goose bumps that reveal what I have perhaps managed to conceal?

I have loved you from years now-from the day I met you and when we were seeing different people. From the day we broke up with them and each other were the first ones we saw again. I have desired you every time you called to cry those deep eyes out because foolish boys cause them to blur when they deserve to open up like blooms in spring time. I have hungered for you even when you kept falling in love again and again and I sat there a cruel witness to your enthusiasm, wishing with every atom in my body that it were me that had you so stirred.

Silly girl, can’t you see these men love you for your body? Don’t you get immune to the same kind of tricks of the smooth talkers who walk into your heart with base praise to walk all over you eventually? How random can a woman’s heart be to flutter with such inconsistency? I gave you time for that’s all you wanted from me perhaps. I gazed with bated breath for any signs that would tell I would be next and also may be the last one. I yearned for you to see how unconditional came the love I bottled in my frame and corked it up with permanence so that every drop can quench your insatiable thirst to be cherished with unrivalled passion.

You know how I feel. You know we are not joking when we indulge in mock pretending to be a couple for we are weary of finding the perfect ones. Yet you turn an indifferent eye every time we are so close that I can hear you breathe and feel you take my breath away. You don't want me to go like it pleases you...you don't allow me to stay like it pleases me. And when you embrace my body with such casualty, it cuts across whatever of me is left after being in your arms even so momentarily.

I want you now, not for a while, not to come and go but to stay. You leave me like the parched land that sees the sight of a frothy black, rain cloud but some wanton wind drives it away. I don’t want to be the shoulder you cry on but the chest that feels your heartbeat when you press into it with wild abandon. I am no longer going to be your daddy that you run to with your problems. 

And since you feel you can’t see me THAT way, I guess you should not see me in any way at all. Let me walk away while there is still hope for salvaging of whatever’s left of me. Let me go, while I still have to capacity to love again, someone who would have the audacity to love me back like I deserve to. This is the last good bye. I hope you find the love that your heart aspires for and I hope I find the strength to never turn back again.

In love with you always though not in you anymore,

The Friend-zoned Me.   

P.S. I have kinda lost it for writing and a little weary of the blogosphere. Forget reading you wonderful people, I haven't even been able to reply back to comments. I guess, I would drop in here whenever and if I have something really worthwhile to say or vent. I would understand if you do not comment. This post is also dedicated to a special friend who has been lovingly, generously poking me to write ever since I stopped. Thank you (.)

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.

Dear Mothers-in-law

Epilogue: I sometimes wonder what happens to girls when they become women. I mean I am yet to discover how the metamorphosis materializes for I still yearn to feel like a complete woman and give up on the crazy girl in me. But then I can’t even begin to fathom what transpires within the entire female specie when they turn into monsters-in-law...er...mothers-in-law. Damn you Hollywood movie titles playing on my mind and mouth/fingers.

Dear Mothers-in-law (yes, all of you all over, unsparingly),

Really, what genetic alteration occurs during the seven rounds of the holy fire taken by your doting sons that upshots your ghastly malfunction? You have to explain me that. It can’t be insecurities-for how can anyone even deem to stand in any competition with someone who beds a man every day at least initially and often several times in the same day. Maybe she is prettier and younger than thou, but then your aren’t a sex object for anyone anyways now and least of all for your own khoon-your son? So quit making life difficult for all of us and let your pseudo-beauty ego go for a hike.

I think the onset of wrinkles occurs in women post their promotion to this unenviable position. So much constraining of nerves to show ‘Who’s the boss!’ naturally could lead to some lines forming somewhere! And as if those obnoxious pressing of lips and scrunching of eyes and inflating of an already fat nose are not enough, you soon discover-why there’s even a tongue that can wag with unending zeal to utter some of the choicest of taunts, to put even sarcasm to shame. Aww....nobody allowed you to participate in the school debates and so in the second childhood read that as your darn old age you decided to refresh the latent skills. How charming!

But really, you need a refresher’s course in reality check. These stupid soaps you watch all day on the idiot box yes, even the damn re-runs for apparently one sob/crap watch ain’t enough for your sadistic tendencies show techniques that are long given up even by Ekta Kapoor. I mean the idea of tampering with my door closer, just so that the door remains ajar and you can overhear when I bitch about you is so lame; I have decided to do it in bed when we are tugged in a blanket together and just before sex. It ensures not only you being in your bed too by that time but also I would get an attentive hearing because of His anticipation for what may follow thereafter.

And please, please stop asking him if he wants water when you see me getting him a glass on a tray or suggest he should measure his temperature after you sly watch me washing the thermometer. Ah, the genuine concern just prior to the wife’s is so touching, it makes me weep. Please don’t force on me that he would eat the bitter gourd in dinner when I insist he won’t, just because he did when you eyed him in his days of virginity. He has better taste now, metaphorically speaking. And when he refuses like I anticipated, please shorten the always ready-to-brim-over sermon of how children these days don’t listen to their parents-yours grew up along with his manhood.

And also explain to me dearie, how on earth can he be spoilt if we go out three times a week and not spoilt if you serve him the third bowl of halwa just because it was made by you? It is so amazing that you remember to ask me such concerned questions about my health and well being only when I sit with him on the dining table or do all sort of cootchie-cooing with our baby just as his daddy returns home and ensures he gets a private viewing of this trailer that never materializes into an actual movie otherwise.

And so enlightening are your discourses on responsibility-aah, talk about how the daughter-in-law ignores the house, after you stay out of it for most of your waking hours. Talk about how you don’t get enough money to spend after you ordered a brand new pair of fat diamond studded bangles. Talk about how “we” waste money, when the clothes you got stitched in the year’s beginning are adorning the frame of the maid’s by new years. And before you find fault with the way in which I am raising my child, please don’t even let me start with the faults so glaringly apparent in the ones you did. ‘Appreciation’ I know is the toughest word to grasp in your dictionary just as ‘expectations’ is the easiest.

So now that we are sailing in the same boat, let’s stop rocking it before we both fall. Please come to terms with it that it is not YOUR age to dress up and gallivant around town and instead give us, the lesser mortals a chance too. And also let me bring to light that there are more gadgets in the house which you can use like dishwasher, washing machine and iron so that you think beyond the television and mobile phones!

How amazingly nice it would be if you would just stop staring at my “Pepsi” glass at social dos and not wonder why that glass or its refills were in my hand all night long! And when we get you gifts, kindly don’t judge them by the price but by the sentiment behind it before we lose all our sentiments to do so. While I know I suck at cooking, you aren’t doing a good job of it either by the drama you churn out instead*sniff, sniff*

I guess this is enough “bonding” for this time. Until next time then...please be good and if you can’t be, please be human!

Yours almost lovingly,

Daughters-in-law the world (India) over.

Disclaimer: This is based on a one hour chat I just had with a suffering female friend who painted a picture of her mom-in-law thus, after breaking her monologue with sobs and expletives simultaneously yes, we are weird in our sources of getting inspired. So much she cribbed and moaned that I almost felt for her poor hubby-not in THAT way of course. Any similarities to my own mother-in-law are coincidental and purely unintentional. She’s a darling-of her husband of course. Please take this in good humour or else if I get burnt with kerosene in my kitchen soon hereafter, you’ll be blamed for lightening the fire. 

To The Girl at 27!

My Dearest,

Ah the pleasure of writing on a paper again, almost matching with the pleasure of having you. ‘Having’ yes, I did but to say I “have” you though would be a blasphemy. And before you allow that frown saying there I go again and bring tiny anxious lines on your lustrous visage, let me just ask you-Who can have the rays of sunshine trapped in his fingers no matter how strong be his grip? Who can box the fragrance one senses standing in the midst of sandal trees?

For such are you-flowing like the river, warming like the rays, enticing like the scent of a rose, mysterious like the dark night, glorious like the white moon and out of reach like the stars that shine beyond. You sprinkled some of your sheen on me and made me bask in its sensation forgetting that I am trying to own the fabric of the infinite galaxy. The galaxy that I am going to fade into with my end and the galaxy that you have to tread on, leaving your nimble footsteps on everything untouched yet!

I want to tell you how much I love you, but for that I would have to assume that you are a separable part of me although so infused are you now that if I say, loving you is like self-love, it would not be digressing from the established truth I live with every day.

You know what debates ran in my mind between the good and the evil voices: “She is only 27, so what...he was also, once upon a time! He is 59, so what...won’t she be too someday? And he would love her the same. Ah, they would grimace....won’t he be tumbling in his grave by then?” But my time to go has come sooner than I wanted, sooner than I cared and sooner than allowing me to dare. I realize now that being with me would take too much from you and selfish that I am for you, I would hate to see you hate me ever.

My dearest, I want to remain an exultant reminiscence for you, not a dilapidated, old man shrivelling to ruins eventually too soon, wiping all joyous memories-of bearing you with all my strength, of making you shed your over-mature thoughts more than shedding what you wore, of turning many a sighs into heaving, of mingling two bodies in such an intoxicating fusion that it turns me giddy by just imagining the taste of it. It was not only a flight of fantasy, it was like the developing of wings of a young twittering brood that jumps off the cliff and realises soon that it can fly...high!

It was how you held me for hours and how I held you in those moments. It was how just a look of you gave me the adrenalin rush that I haven’t felt with one from your gender before, although my age justifies my calling me experienced. In all your vulnerable innocence, you have no realization how insane your after-effects can be! I would burn with desire just watching you move around the kitchen counter...seeing you untie the cascading hair and then brush them free with your slender fingers...how you ran your own palms over your arms when cold winds played truant or how your eyes lighted with fire and the edge of the lower lip was bitten with the teeth on the thought of new mischief contriving within. I would wonder how something so strongly physical could be just as enduringly emotional? See how you became the wonder woman for me.

But I leave you deserted now for such must be your eventual fate. I won’t be able to face you facing me as I would have to face or see you justifying to one and all that age is just a number. But I do want you to play against the world, face them as my dear girl who would fight all her battles and seek happiness even without me. Let me go while there is still redemption for you.

There would be many who would come your way. Your aura would ensure that a discerning eye would not let you flash past. Be careful my little one, but don’t build walls to protect yourself. Be on a watch but let not the watches watch you. There is no right time to fall in love and no right person-there is only the right feeling. Let not your ignorance or arrogance come in the way of testing those who might be your test. Love is worth a few adjustments, love is worth a few pains....but spending alone the rains, crumbling every time the cold breeze harshly jolts you, with no arms to wrap you snug in guard, is definitely not.

Let your heart be open and the mind not closed. Let the comparing eye be shut with force. Lower expectations but not your standards! Let doubts surface but also allow the soft waves of emotions to calm them down. Men are not perfect but that does not qualify them to be jerks either. Just don’t weigh too much like you do, before feelings also begin to take the pendulum way.

Be not afraid to express how you feel, it is always better to know where exactly you stand than to wriggle within in a hypothetical see-saw. You are very fragile my love and like the hesitant bud that knows not how splendid it looks when blooms. Allow yourself to take chances. It took me years to come close to you like I did, don’t try the patience of any other man. All are not me and with you just about any can’t be.

Laugh more and like there’s no tomorrow, let those little lines of sorrow evaporate in your mirth or the semblance of it. Be open to experiments for they eventually culminate into experiences. Allow men of mettle to first see your soul and then your body for it would pain me to see someone handle you without care. Let those who touch you, touch you! And make sure when you close the eye for his first kiss, you leave my moist imprints in some far away allay, never to be trudged there again.

No man can bear his woman closing on him for someone else. So don’t try to share me, bear me in your mind if you must, for even if you don’t, I won’t rust.

I leave now, to go I don’t know where. Our paths wouldn’t cross and even if they do, please pretend that you don’t know me, no matter how you see my pining in my mute appearance. Only you are blessed enough to look through me. Show me that this would all be worthwhile eventually. Walk away showing pity, for I was not man enough to say I would take care of you even if life took me away.

They say love stories are best which are left unended...some feelings-unattended...some gestures-unreturned...some laughters-unreciprocated...some tears-unvalued...and some couples-unbonded! We were not the usual love story, were we? So how could we have a usual end? Sometimes the lack of “happily ever after” is how ever after not so happily begins.

Not expecting you to understand, but accepting nevertheless,

Yours only.

Dear Salman(Khan of course)

Dear Salman,

This is my second letter to you and since you answered to my first one some twenty years ago, when I was a teenager and in love with you post Maine Pyar kiya, I am assuming you would oblige me again I still have that letter btw tugged away for a personal moment now and then. Though this time do not send me an autographed photograph and a printed response of your forthcoming movies for I have kinda sworn off them for a while as well as stopped talking to your three feet long posters transfixed on my wall and on my mind then. So you see I would need more to shut me up now.

Last week I had a traumatic experience and as a fan I am sure, you’d be interested in knowing what badgers my little brain. Bodyguard was a movie that I went to after one month of no movie-watching in the theatre which is a catastrophe in my case and surviving. But your latest seems to be the greatest-in terms of deterring movie goers from ever treading upon the theatre route again. I mean what are you thinking these days I would really like to know? In your defence, I know the promos were not very promising but in my defence, you know how we fans are-hoping for some last minute miracle to salvage a sinking Titanic, but finding ourselves gasping for breath on not much, when we are thrown rudely overboard the sinking ship. To be literal in case sarcasm is too much to expect stars to understand-more like thrown overboard by a loud, cheap gag in between our pleasurable sleep during the movie.

‘Wanted’ was good after the sad mess of Veer and Mr n Mrs Khanna...or did they come after-ah, who cares! The mature yet vulnerable and sleek Salman magic was woven with dhaanso dialogues and an almost believable story line or whatever is possible in the Bollywood limitations anyways. That was followed by Dabbang and a hint that you were beginning to lose it. Vanity thy new name was Salman Khan and those obnoxious narcissist mannerisms garnered many an applause in the theatre and I thought, well, maybe my movie tastes have become a little too contemporary.

And then came Ready! Omg, did the story writer revisit his kindergarten to write this narration? And you are hitting 45 for crying out loud, some seven years younger than my father who is a grandfather now. You still expect us to buy the flight of fantasy that you are hanging around the house in the entire two hours plus frame like a college going dude, pampered by the elders for he is someday going to sambhalo the baag-duad of the khaandan ka business? They must later realize that there are only Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday in Salman’s week-there’s no place for a Someday!

I also assume that perhaps your choice of movies is being influenced by your erstwhile friend and hitherto bitter enemy Shahrukh’s selection. Shahrukh managed to horrify me in that remake of Karz, god help that movie because I have even forgotten its name-it was hopelessly predictable. Devadas, Omkara, Maqbool and the likes reaffirmed faith in remakes and Shahrukh shattered my love even for the original Karz. And then he murdered me alive when I saw him in that ‘Haule-Haule’ flick with those terrible moustaches and then terrible-er hamming as the colourful, so-called hipper version and superbly far-fetched story line again-I forget its name too I am not getting old-you guys are fucking my mind with movies that remain horror stories etched so firmly even in just a two hours ordeal in the theatre. These from the “Kings” of Bollywood-an outsider may shudder then to see what the minions and subjects are up to!

Anyways, I guess you thought when Shahrukh can pick up crappy, crass, children’s book themes and still retain his fan base, let me show that I would pick up crappier, crasser, blockheads of films and prove they still gather more millions in the first week than any other films in history. This however does not prove the awesomeness of your movies sir, but the awesomeness of your self-selling which is becoming larger with every passing ad campaign, every PT class dance step, every amusing word that is super accented and every super vain walk that you manage to enthral the shutterbugs with.

And what’s with the super smug attitude these days? I thought those looks were the sole copyright of Mr. Abhishekh Bachchan in those Idea ads where he manages to give that stance despite the string of flops. I guess he has your girl and that would explain the perpetual I-am-better-than-thou grin transfixed on his face for life; or wait, is it because he was infected with her coldness during courtship and those features are hence frozen since the day of his marriage? Never mind if the emotions have changed thereafter.

Back to you dear, sorry for these other actors sometimes make me digress. Now look at these youngsters only, how foolish of them to try newer scripts and themes when they should learn from you that muscles-shuscles and some heavy dialogue-shialogue mouthed with anger is the new mantra to ensure box office thronging of masses, at least on the first day. And once you acquire the mass on the right body parts, acquire also a designer who stitches shirts with barely there thread work-so that they furl open at the slightest hint of touch-of the wind, of the water pipe, of the rub against a heroine’s chest or even if she blows a flying kiss. Watching bare chests or being in anticipation of it was never so much fun even in the days of a Choli ki peeche or a Ram tere Ganga Maili.

Now script ka kya karna hain-throw in some chartbuster songs, get an arm candy girlfriend who is ever ready to bestow you with item numbers, use lots of people in the movie to generate cheap laughter like little kids pissing on the villains from the first storey of a building or the goons falling on a hot tawa by the road side-I mean come on, the fall on hot tawa for generating guffaws act must have been around since ages and apparently is still working. But these youngsters, naah, they never learn and want to experiment! Bah!

I recently visited a school friend’s house and her daughter who is eleven years old, now has a three feet long poster of you on her wall. Made me feel a bit nostalgic-you are a demi god to rule over three generations of women apparently my mother too had a crush on you when you first came around but didn’t confess it then thinking it would be a bad example for her teenage daughter. I wish you’d give us more of acting than acting to act. I wish you would play less with your belt and trouser pockets or collars of your shirts or scratch your bum over the trouser of course and instead show us a bit of more innocent you as we loved you then. And flying across two running trains in a tremendous leap does not suit you at all-we should leave that for Rajnikant or else how would the sms companies survive without making Rajnikant the butt of their jokes and circulating him so obnoxiously.

And would you please get married also now that we are onto it, for it is not good for the health of 99.999% of the rest of the Indian men population who see just one man having all the fun with the best of chicks. By the way, do these girls ever manage to hold a considerably sensible conversation or do you never let them open their mouths at all wise choice therein again? Katrina can not-act-the pants-off anybody and I guess the ‘off pants’ is the sole reason, she is still rocking the pants...er...the fans. I mean I saw her in a recent Pantene ad and my gawd she has managed to bring in more expressions in that one minute than in all her movies to date! She is progressing, perhaps learning from you!

Being human is also great if the human here is Salman Khan and being a blue bracelet is greater if it adorns your wrist. Being a Salman fan is the greatest...please see to it that it does not relegate to past tense. You’ve ruled the masses and the classes and with the new hair job and still a fabulous face and of course not to forget the million dollar body that ensures publicity by itself than any Rakhi Sawant’s assets ever could-we want you back and front too, but that’s for another lust dipped day.

   

Ran...er...fan forever,

Me:-)

P.S. The author is suffering from serious stress due to lack of straining of vocal cords since morning-koi mila nahi pakaane ko..so bechaara Sallu phas gaya. 

The justification is made keeping in mind 4 valid points:

1. Maybe my fan base(LOL) circulates this letter a million times like the Madrasan's and I would have to explain my stand in the next post, so doing so now very smart you see

2. Maybe someday I do bump into Salman and he falls in love with me and this letter should not spoil my chances-I definitely want a Bodyguard who looks like Salman although not acts like him.
3. Maybe I get threat calls from some Bhai-abhi to mere khelne koodne ke din hain na...

4. Oho, mein bhool gaye...next time!:-)