Unisex to One Sex.

Alright, once upon a time I used to go to a gymnasium-a regular not much shoo-sha, sasta-tikau affair kinda space and daybreak was the best time to do so before my body could fully awaken and dawned on with what was happening to it and revolt. Since mornings it were, I was glad to have the much appreciated company of fellow sex-no, we were not having sex here per se simply referring to the presence of the ‘superior’ gender-the men, the boys and even those somewhere in between these two horizons.

And it would be fun to go there with playful, shampooed hair and hook them up in a semi messy but sexy and ruffled butterfly clipped look and let them cascade down post the work out, giving the head a shake as though you just de-boarded in leather skimpies after a long bike ride on a Harley Davidson and removed the helmet to sway the released tresses from left to right in slow motion. Girls, by the way, this NEVER fails and guys, please continue to fall for this one and save us from racking our brains with actual opening lines to draw your attention.

So, that unisex gym was fun. There would be men of all shapes and sizes strictly speaking in physiques, dressed in all colours and clothing, also wearing the weirdest of expressions and mouthing the horniest of moans though just made to dumbbells and also stopping after each set for almost a five minutes gap to “catch a breather”. I often had to physically stop myself from announcing to them that we as a species are called ‘women’ and not ‘breather’ sought to be caught.

It would be fun to gaze at someone eyeing you from some corner that got unwittingly reflected in the mirrors or watching how sometimes men would herd around the area where women were doing the jumps too often so that they could get an up close look of how it feels to go up and down. Fun to notice how often some cute ones attempted to pick up more weights on their rods than their poor frames could handle just because there was a hot chick there to impress non metaphorically speaking.

Fun how some very middle aged man would try to strike a conversation by asking, “Aapka kaisa chal raha hain?” and you reply, “Chal raha hain” and watch the million dollar expression of his face as though I didn’t say it to him but threw it on his face. And also super entertaining if by chance some sexy-smoking hot kitten would get lost in that desi gym and what a stir she would cause as I have enumerated before in a post: The Ultimate Seductress or the Ultimate Bitch?

But then putting on 4 kgs in the six months in this gym was like a shock jolting my senses and screeching in my ears that perhaps I was having way too much fun for my bloody body’s good. Tried as much as I could with the toughest of routines, I was just not sweating-I justified it by saying that I may have an IDDM-Inbuilt Default Defence Mechanism that prevents me from looking grimy in front of hot bloodied men but then how long can you hold a candle in the wind. The tightening jeans finally ripped the truth.

It was time to change. So I looked into the track record of some other gyms flourishing sadistically on the malfunctioning of food loving lazy bums like me and hand-picked one. The only drawback-it was an ‘Only for women’ workout space. What? Are there still places like that except Convent schools, which served the purpose but dished out to the society specimens like me? And there wasn’t even a male instructor? Crap! Who would give me those, divine back and leg stretches after the workout that sent some of the eyebrows up and some jaws to drop?  

Happiest at the prospect was dearly beloved who had mocked and queried if I really went to the gym in those early hours every day for I had inches on my sides to prove an otherwise story. I would pout and talk in a deeply husky, breathing whisper to fan some insecurity that would get my leg pulled even more.

Anyway, so came my first day at this new so-called gym for I’d rather call it 'one giant step back for mykind' and a development of a new sort of claustrophobia, may be. So many women under one roof-I can’t breathe....OH MYYY GAAAWD yes, in Janice style from F.R.I.E.N.D.S my friends. I can barely bear my girlfriends at social get-togethers and find myself magnetically inching towards the male corners and here I was almost tethered in a room full of in-the-heat women: some jabbering, making it an extended kitty party circuit, some exercising as though how far they came in life depended on how far they had panted on the treadmill and some admiring themselves only in the mirrors with god knows what tendencies surfacing along with their curves.

Don’t get me wrong-there were women in my earlier gym too, but they were either so busy in trying to appear presentable while doing their jobs, or too old to bother about how their flab dangled from under their arms how else do you think I got so much attention there? Besides, most women in small towns generally still chicken out from appearing at the male timings for obvious reasons and that would explain the near population explosion at this new one.

So although used to of being scrutinized, this is a new ball game altogether, like I have said somewhere before-women dress less for men than for other women-as in not less in quantity but as an act in its number.

Competition has been taken to a new level as brands galore and ‘how did she get on the treadmill before me?’ look with the envious twinge gets rampant. Good old days, when I would stand next to the cross trainer and some nice guy who’d almost stepped on it, would get down and say “Pehle aap kar leejeye” as though I’d become happy and agree to a twosome someday-on the cross trainer of course.   

Also when my t-shirt gets a little inched up while doing the bending stretch, I perceive more vixen vibes here than foxy ones as of the erstwhile space. Good old days again when conversations occurred aankhon he aankhon mein- He: *you look hot* Me: *you do not*. Cut to now-the polite conversations on treadmills and mother-in-law and the television serial recitals would definitely kill me some day, if the trainer madam ji does not. She is women’s answer to Sunny by the way-not Sunny Leone, stupid-Sunny Deol. I know lame and over-abused joke, but could not resist. She almost makes it a sophisticated akhhada.

And worst of all are their diet plans-eat 8 rasugullas along with milk in a day and nothing else??????? What, balls to you-I feel like saying. They are worse than horny nuns in the school I went to-although they do say no to bananas. Or just a bowlful of papaya in dinner-really? Do they know how hyper active I get at night and thereby the need for more energy and food? Bah! Let’s just hope I knock down some 20 kgs and be such a head turner soon that the pain of being sandwiched without men gets replaced by being flocked by them-the desirable ones though of course. Till then I keep telling myself I am more important than a bloody number on the weighing scale and the number of grey cells and niceness within count too as I keep waiting for my stupid fat to cry and release in the form of sweat.

But just to vent out my frustration, here’s my parting letter to:

Dear Diet,

It’s not me, it is you. Let me tell you, no matter how much important you feel by coming into my life every now and then, you suck, literally and otherwise and I care a flying fuck about you. You are the bitch who laughs when I fail although you tempt me in the first place even when I decide not to cheat on you. Please be gentle with me this time and let me complete the drill so that you get rid of me once and for all.

Thank you,

Not yours sincerely ever,

Pleasantly Plump Me.

P.S. Someday soon I would be looking like this-more clothed though of course:

Some dreams are worth living in!

One of my biggest dreams is to have a house of my own someday, a living space with me as the mistress-a house that I could look at with my eyes and feel with my heart and every nook and corner would speak of a little bit of me-well, may be even yack...

Let me take you on a tour of a dream world that lives in me from eternity yet I manage to stumble upon it every now and then through some pictures I see...

Would you like to know where I would spend my lazy days?

Can anything be better than this?

Surrounded by books personifying writers and their eternal thoughts, fringed with French windows, overlooking a beautiful serene river sparkling outside as the criss cross of sunshine plays on the quivering surface-I can so see myself lost in here till someone would come and shake me from my trance. I reckon inhaling the muffled smell of books and exhaling peace with every breathe I take...

Shake me but only to take me to a living room like this, that I could adorn with pictures of all I have loved-people and moments. Let creativity leave its nimble footsteps on every wall. Let it be my vision of blessings to count on. Can you feel the warmth disseminating? Can you see a glow that does not exude from the exotic light bulbs but my beaming countenance when I watch this tree bloom with the promise of everlasting spring in life? 

And then take me out into the world but let me brace myself to face it with the panache of a lady and zest of a girl. Let me indulge here every once in a while so that I am more of a woman in all her shades. Come, let’s walk into my closet and watch in impeccable alignment all that I have tenderly gathered here, hand-picked with love, often just gazed at dotingly like a loved one. Yes, at times I need my celebrity moments.

How about a dip before we venture out? Let’s peer at the horizon as we bathe in its beauty. Let’s merge with nature in our most natural of forms. Let me be one with water and more water around and beyond....Do I see myself spending hours with arms crossed over my bosom heaving at the breathtaking spectacle lavishly laid out for my hungry eyes? Yes, I do.

But then who wants to go outdoors when the house becomes a home-your very own Utopia brought to life and the man you love becomes the one who clasps his fingers in between yours and sits with you on a little bench like here below or tries to catch you while you run like a mischievous imp over an enchanting red bridge or hop over the stones to amass pebbles and hurl them in the little pond to make a wish-the wish: Let me live in this dream forever! 

The dusk sets in and it’s time to wait for the stars to appear and adorn the beautiful shaded sky. It is time to gaze at the sun slowly sinking and telling you to hang in there-the darkness is commencing but he would rise again. It is time to watch the heat gradually give way to a soothing coolness. Let’s lounge up here with little candles around as we sip a little wine, have loved ones to dine and for dirty minds to go 69....

Somewhere here only in the laps of luscious and gracious trees, would also be the time when we’ll sit with the little ones to be like them. A cosy tree house where I think my baby would go less and me more. Always wanted to have one-a world of my own in the world of the world! Little lanterns would bring in just about enough light that would guide and not blind and little wind chimes would play a rhythm of their own. Bliss? Well not really, till the gentle flaps of a cool breeze blows-scattering the little perfection. Let me sleep in here for bedrooms are so not me.

And when we wake up, of course there would be some place to lounge again-an old fan overboard and the grace of pale or white curtains, I can so see myself loving yet another corner that could soak me in like an embrace, whether I sprawl with the newspaper or call you for a rendezvous or just fold my legs and rest my thinking head over a soft cushion, allowing the next blog post to filter in. 

And like this my fairy tale would be one that culminates in a happily ever after. I don't need the riches that are aspired by bitches. Give me love that seems sent from the heaven above. Give me peace and conversations that make me smile-yes, that's all I seek. And while I have realized it is high time I come out of my fairy tales, please let this one magical dream be.

P.S. I have been struggling with a blank mind that does not know what to write, every time I open my poor Microsoft Word. And yet I manage to churn out something that has lesser and lesser meaning for me with each post. I yearn to find my funny bone and write stuff that I truly love and am proud of. A weird weariness has set in whereby I not only don't want to write anything here but also I almost push myself to read the thoroughfares of bloggers I have loved. I think it is time for hibernation...a little disappearing to beckon an eventual appearing that makes more sense to me. I hope to come back soon....

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.