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.

I read and I live...

How do you satiate hungry eyes searching to quench a thirst?

How does one fill a void when one does not know what is needed for its redemption?

Such is life that it necessitates the delving into an escape route-to mingle into mindless relations derived out of so-called friendships or love, to drift into the unrealistic madness of cinema or devour the coming to life of words in books.

Reading, yes, I admit-I miss you. Let me confess today how I went wanton by turning to the blogosphere single-mindedly that it would make up for my erstwhile fixation of holding an actual book running into pages in my clasp. I haven’t returned to embrace you in many-a-years now. Would that explain my tossing restlessly in bed some days?

Should I blame the gradually reclining attention span or the steadily ebbing drama in my own life? A one page blog post reading of someone I admire, has been serving as a capsule perhaps to screen the symptoms though provides no cure. Or the witty one-liners on twitter that impress me no end perhaps ignite enough to ignore the larger picture! It gives me the hallucination of having “read”. Reading thus now doles out to fill some empty specks of my mind with a momentary realization of having travelled to some far-off domain, lived a reckless or meticulous life and sauntered back to my reality.

Reading is still serving me although I look not at it with the same eye.

I get magnetically pulled to any iota I see of the Victorian Ages or Romanticism symbolized by those peacefully resting in their graves now-any contemporary voices strong enough to stand at par with the Byrons, Wordsworths and Keats. Imagine the exquisiteness of ageless expressions like wandering lonely as a cloud or walking in beauty....

For such was the web they spun that getting entangled was the mind’s way of showing what a true orgasm is to the rest of the body. Such were the unadulterated emotions and expressions, as though the writers stood blind to all voices around and were enslaved to the voices in their heads.

Picking up classics or true Literature can at times have a therapeutic effect (just as much as a regular pacey best-seller). You walk down the wondering lane-what constitutes such a frame that manages to give you lines holding the grain of the ultimate truth, hand-picked from a solitary life but withstanding the test of times to reach the eternity? What immortal fountains they create and how? What triggers the unstoppable breeze that cools even the most burning of surfaces with their tender flap? Goes to prove that you can often create magic without movement or sound-magic by the gentle tap of your fingers and mind!

I read and I lived....in the days gone by when I would curl up on a sofa in a corner with a book. An illicit relation perhaps for I cared a damn how anyone looked at us-my transfixed gaze, my coy smiles, the scrunching of anxious eyes, the pleasure of reading love being made on page-me and my book, palming each other and then looking at the walls for a while, in reflection of letting sink in what the books showed me. I would move my body rarely and only when it fringed on getting numb while the mind travelled in frenzy and sometimes even that would be stationary, performing the arduous task of creating mind pictures for me-moving, pulsating images or just giving me the goose bumps with vividness painted there.

Did I become the protagonist in all I read? Yes, I experienced the greed for money, the lust for sex, the spine chilling edging in a mystery, the ache of soul for love, the crushing of entrails by a heart break, the malicious scheming for murder, the infinite search for truth. Did I come out unscarred from all I read? No, remnants of these got transfixed to me like second skin, shaping my mind, preferences and beliefs. They unwittingly went and formed a layer in my subconscious that made me think, opine and pine.

I carried the weight of whom I read for a while till fresh love began to reverberate within and another pristine crispness came between my nimble fingers, too eager to grasp the new.

Yes, Mark Twain, I agree with you when you say, "The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." But perhaps reading became too taxing for me-the way I wear my heart on my sleeves, I found it difficult to stop it from becoming a bookmark trapped permanently within some sheets of a book closed and done with. The pain of returning to a life less ordinary began to be weighed against the pleasure of dipping into ecstasy. Or perhaps I have just become too lazy using the garbs of responsibilities to disguise the change in me, looking for books in faces of people? I need to find myself again and I need to find a book that can find me? -A voice that sounds like the voices in my head and calms them down. 

P.S. Sorry a severe writer's block in progress here...hopefully would find my funny bone soon!

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

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.