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March 29, 2007

Life in red and black

Colours have always meant expression for me. There are those that I choose consciously and those that pick me on my Let's Go With The Flow days. Then there are those colours that I just cannot tolerate. These give me physical pain. Like magenta, I like it only on bougainvilleas. On humans and in their surroundings it just looks hideous. Then there is this particular shade of glazed electric blue that simply gets on my nerves. Only acceptable in spandex in movies with superheroes. I used to hate turquoise till I realised it was really versatile on a dusky skin tone. And then there are the colours a tarot reader warned me about -- she said there is too much of those in my life and I need to tone them down -- red and black. Muted bold, cautiously open, borderline tease, subdued power and sensuously dark: red and black together are all that.

I cannot wear red and black on all days; but certain days are just that - red and black - bordering and hinting at Something that is to come and yet shrouded in enough mystery to thrill and terrify me at the same time. What's out there? Is it waiting to engulf me, chew on me and keep regurgitating me into the Cycle of Life for perverse pleasure? Or is it that Expanse where I take my first tentative step and then leap and somersault and stretch and punch and pirouette...because I am going to be boundless? Like that unstoppable boulder, that once pushed off a cliff, just keeps gaining momentum, keeps getting bigger... And who knows if it would crash to the ground or bounce off into an unknown black hole, full of positive possibilities? And fuck it, even if it crashes; it sure damn hell will be spectacular. Yes that is what I love about red and black, they are spectacular. And yet the two colours that give me a boost when I am unsure. The red keeps you from mourning and the black ensures you don't look a Christmas tree.

I don't like waiting - not that I have ever met/heard of anyone who enjoys it - as I really don't know WHAT to do when you are waiting. Anything you start, will remain incomplete because whatever/whoever you are waiting for will happen/turn up. And how can you be expected to stop thinking ahead - because you are now waiting - and start thinking of How Do I Keep Busy now. You can roll only that many. So I am writing and the result is...this, because I don't want to stop writing because then I would have to do the How Do I Keep Busy now. Hmm. But I should stop. I am wearing red and black and heading out. There is Something unknown that I cannot put my finger on; so might as well go out and embrace it. Let's see...

March 28, 2007

Giving credit where it's due

My mom, speaks English (at home) on three occasions -- else we speak Bangla -- when she's highly excited, highly perturbed or proving to Dad that Mrs Pinto (Mamma's kindergarten English teacher) did a good job with the a, e, i, o, u's. When Mamma is excited she says, "Goodness, Gracious, Lord" with such a British accent that it kills us. When its retorting to Dad, her sentence starts with an, "Excuse me please." And then , when Mamma is really perturbed, she'll shock you with a whole sentence in English.
Like when she declared, "I am simple, your father is simple. I don't know how you have been born like this, like some Wild Cat!?" Then Ma proceeded to explain how I should not try and live with anyone as I am difficult to live with. When I argued my case, Ma cursed me saying, "You wait. You will have a daughter JUST LIKE YOU." And that ladies and gentlemen, is bad news. However, I am glad Mamma didn't call me a scarlet woman or something, I was expecting that any minute. Poor things worried that I am going to live by myself again. Ever since I have been on my own (since 2000), I seem to move houses/homes in 6 months. Shrug. I dont know why or how...not ALL situations are my doing!!

Am I tough to live with? Yes. But hey, it's not always me. Sample these: One person found me too clingy and said I had excessive need. Another always had either his tongue sticking down my throat all the time or his crotch hovering in my vicinity always at times when I didn't want it around, like when I was cooking or writing. And no, it's not that he wanted sex in the kitchen either. It was just stupid, unproductive timing with him.

Certain things about me might not be very friendly. Like I like to zone out when I log on. Internet is personal, it's not switching on your TV and watching the daily soap with the family, yeah? And no, I dont enjoy being watched after my bath when I am doing my moisturising etc. It sounds good in girlie magazinse for a How To Seduce Him thing, otherwise it's just intruding on personal space/time on a daily basis. Once in a while though, I'd enjoy giving you a show.
And the fact that I offered a body massage cannot be held against me...not at 3 am when I pooped as well. So I like to cook...but there are days I just dont feel like it. Even if I had priorly announced honey chicken that night! And when I am smoking... and after... either we are on the same trip or basically can manage to reach the same plane... or we stay away, yeah? I really cannot handle people who cannot handle their smoke and start talking too much. And lawrd...I HATE dusting. I just wont do it, so for those who think that I can be reformed, please! Dust yourself.

So well, all that a some more things here and there make me hard to live with. And not quite so literally, I am a pain to be with. I exasperate myself at times. Like I can talk about myself. REALLY talk. Like, take the blog and have someone read it out to you...constantly, blog after blog. Sab josh khatam, I tell you. I can be a brag. I am extremely rude, even offensively so, even at the cost of social niceties and in situations that demand I shutup than open my mouth. I am opinionated and not easily convinced of the other's viewpoint (unless I believe I am in love with the person, then I am the biggest believing ass this side of the hemisphere). I can be extremely bitchy. Stupidly, fucking emotional. Too wrapped up in my own self... Too much thinking... Over analytical, even over self-critical. :)

I have an amazing knack of falling for men who just WON'T like me. There are times, when I can get into self0-doubting because my Current Oject of Affection is not responding the way I want him to. So, I'll think that maybe there's something wrong with me, or it was something that I said, or the way I behaved, blah blah blah. And all this while that I censure myself, there will be those who are around. The people who have picked up calls at random hours; people who have called, eerily at times when I am feeling the lowest. People who make me laugh and want to be with me without any agenda. Men and women who take me the way I am (lol, double entendre) ...who let me space out or rant about my Future Plans and then later about How The Plan Failed, who let me have my temper fits and laugh at me and relax with me. Those who land up at my place in the middle of the night to share a toke, those who let me come into their houses and sit quietly in one corner, those who take out half an hour in their schedules to just meet up and ask me how am doing, people who share their time and space without asking what school I have been to...
People -- so many of them -- who are THERE. Those who love me, overwhelm me, becasue they love me. They also take a lot of shit from me. God, I am really grateful.

Post Scrap: And the Princess counted her special marbles and felt very happy that she had so many and in such different, vibrant colours. She decided she was going to party out tonight and chose to wear her most transparent blouse. "I LOVE my booblets," she thought.

(sab josh khatam = all enthusiasm over)

March 26, 2007

Come, squeeze my butt

"At least am not a social embarrassment. Yet." I wrote those words some posts back and hey, I retract them! I am a social embarrassment, particularly for gentlemen who are stuck with me in a situation where I am going hammer and tongs about something. Friday evening, tried out a new bar, plays electronica, stays open late and fairly (enough) priced... I was happily tripping on the music when one of the men, on his way out, squeezed my arse. It was not a pretend-accidental-brush-past. Nor was it a no-space-hence-my-crotch-is-in-your-crack manouevre. It was a proper squeeze. A one-and-two on the left cheek and a one-and-a-two on the right one. So I caught him by the neck, twisted his arm and threatened physical harm, handed him to the management and threatened further harm. Well that was that.

However, my Friend -- who I was with -- said, "You should let it slide and think that maybe you have a nice butt that asks to be squeezed... and you would not have felt bad if he had been good looking." NOW, for the record, I do not like my arse being grabbed by strange men. For the record too, my reaction MIGHT be different -- read positive -- if the said guy does look extremely good or has a good style. I have had my arse grabbed earlier and the guy smiled back, offered to have his head chopped off for such a crime and insisted he'd still do it again. Grin. I could only laugh at that. Another time, after feeling my arse up, this dude promptly offered his arse to be felt up. Why did he get away? He HAD a gorgeous, grabbable butt! You cannot expect to be gauche, ugly and stupid AND expect to get away grabbing me. Like the dude who felt me up Friday night was slinking away like some cheapshot, Delhi-blue-line-bus-commuter. Therefore, treated him the way he was behaving.

Friend said that when guys go out, a fight is the last thing they look for; however, when women go out, they are busy reacting to this-and-that being touched, leched at, etc. Dude, it DOES happen to women. Even we girls like to go out, down some drinks, chill, laugh and have fun; and it would only be too nice if we could do it without bothering about the losers out to spoil a good evening. There are many a times women -- and me -- would let a grabbing, feeling, sidling incident "slide"... but it's not easy. And then there is the bit about the Typical Delhi Man (TDM). There is no "letting it slide" with a TDM. Because he is not grabbing my arse as perhaps playfullness or as a compliment or anything. The TDM does it because he thinks tat a woman who has stepped out is doing so to advertise her goods. She's wearing whatever she is to accentuate her backside for the TDM's viewing pleasure so that he may squeeze it while mentally picturising gang-banging her with friends.

"Letting it slide" depends so much on the guy, because it's he who makes all the difference between it being a case of a guy-being-a-guy and a guy-being-a-jackass. There are women too, who adverrise their arse-sets to be grabbed; and then either create a scene for attention or whatever-fuck-else reason. I am not advertising; and when I do to Whoever, I would rather enjoy the Whoever grabbing my bum. Till then.... dekho, magar pyar se, aur door se.

March 25, 2007

I really don't like singers.

I dont think I like women who sing. The more I cannot sing, the more I meet women who can... in situations I'd rather they weren't around. Basically, this is Bad Luck month where men and me are concerned. Or my Man Sense is completely off (to self, sweetly: when was it on?). Each time I seem to like a guy, there is another chick on the scene. And they sing! :(

And writing this blog has created a strange situation. After harping about how men only want sex when they meet yadayada, it seems some men -- even the one(s) I like -- are getting extremely cagey around me; and I don't blame them. What is happening is that there are men -- or a certain man -- you would only be too happy if he made the move; but he does not... And I think the blog is to blame for it. Ufff!! So HOW do I tell someone I like, that, you know... And so damn embarrassing if the person does not like you back. And while I am already in this situation where I dont know what to do about someone I like, these bloody singing women seem all over the place. (wry smile)

So irritated. And also the whole thing about writing-what-I-want to write. Suddenly, writing about shagging is somewhat different... like someone wrote in saying, "Can I see your clit?" So, there are those who know me. Have met me. Will meet me... and they read about me shagging eight times a day. What kind of a mental picture does that create? And what kind of a mental picture does it create when they meet me? Of course, all dont think, visualise etc that way. But what if five people at a party - who have read me -- SEE me, lying on the couch, with my hand under my jeans waistband?!! Ore baba!

I think am going to give up on meeting people (read men)... for a while. No point liking someone and then getting a dhiss.... Chee. Kela ho gaya yaar.

March 22, 2007

Bang for your buck: Part 1

She sat and played with her drink... the shamiana and the hem of her skirt fluttering in the winter chill. It was a strange atmosphere: the wood charcoal smoke mingled ith the burning wed and chicken tikka, little wedding lights lined the entire wall, twinkling in invitation. On the table across, sat a family of four, bedecked in Punjabi wedding finery -- basically enough bling to blind -- polishing their food without a damn about anything or anyone else. The 'anyone else' included her and the three men on another table; two of them with dreadlocks and another in a short-sleeved tee over toned biceps, a sturdy neck and invitingly broad shoulders...the kind you see and want to piggy-back ride on. Yes, she wanted to piggy-back ride him and bite his arms, she thought and laughed out loud. Incongrous! Dirty thoughts, Punjabi family and the DJ spinning some obscure psytrance inside the restaurant to go with the newly installed lazer lights.

Having watched the Family of Four diligently devour their chicken wings for quite some time, she took her rum and cola and moved inside hoping the break beats would provide a break from an extremely boring evening. As she stood next to the speakers -- more to drown out the peripheral noises rather than any real appreciation for the DJ's (lack of) talent -- someone pushed past her. She turned and found herself looking into Broad Shoulder's eyes. Green ones and a gorgeous face to go with them too, she noticed. HE seemed to notice her too, for as he passed her by, he turned and gave her a thorough up-down look. For the next hour, they looked at each other from across the room.

Sometime later, they found each other standing with the same group of people. Introductions out of the way, they talked, jumping across random topics randomly.
"Should we move to the terrace?" he suggested, looking down her cleavage that sent a thrill down her spine and up her thighs.
They talked on the terrace, elbows casually touching as they sipped their drinks, fingers lingering just that little longer while exchanging cigarettes and a gradually building awareness that they were alone on the terrace.
"May I kiss you?" he asked.

To be continued...

March 21, 2007


And there she danced, the life of the party, the energy of the evening, watching the eyes on her, herself watching a certain pair of eyes that had been following her for a while. With a swirl of her locks, she jumped, twirled and swirled to the loops and the breakbeats and took the floor by storm. He looked on, directly, surreptitiously, came closer, danced with her even. Then she moved away and he was almost crestfallen; and even as she talked to a zillion others, she sought His eyes out. The music played on and bodies rocked on and in a quiet corner the two shared thoughts on this and that...

Chemistry at times, is undeniably visible.
And the She was not me ... and the He? That was Could-Be-Trouble who won't be trouble anymore. He likes someone else! Sigh. Shrug. C'est la vie!

Yes, yes, I can get moody and I write when am moody too. For those who wrote in, instant messaged, sms-ed and called, worried that Golu Dog and moi were about to conk it (the reference to suicide), here's the truth: both of us are NOT the suicidal type. Murderous, but not suicidal. And there's far too much spunk -- for my own good at times -- to snuff it out like that. And then of course, there's the theory I subscribe to -- if I am going down ..or have to... will take a few (and then some) down with me. It' s going to be spectacular. So that is that.

The home-scene is still dismal, the south part of my city does not want me and Golu Dog. So it's across the river that we shall shift and rule and yes when we have the housewarming, those around and interested...and of course those invited! ... are most welcome to come and drink, smoke up, eat the food I cook, piss out and pass out. Yes, that's a promise. A Clit.Chatting Night is on the agenda. There is news though for those who care: along with the house, might be changing a lot of other things too. :) Secret, secret, will reveal soon.

Last evening (tuesday) was a whole lot of fun and a little not-so-fun as well. Realised that Age has a strange way of making itself felt. Like a casual acquaintance you only meet at parties announcing that you have known each other for 10 years. TEN fucking years!!!! Or you realising that while earlier you were the one dancing right infront of the DJ console -- alone even and not bothering about who is watching and who's not -- there are suddenly Other People (read women!) doing that. And these women are 21-22 years old.... the last I was that was, le'see... 6 years back. And how your rhythm changes and the way you respond to music and the way you move changes as you 'grow'. Unless the music is hardcore energy and unless am on acid (or mdma), I really cannot do the hoppy-jumpy dancing anymore. I'd rather be the let-loose-and-groove mover than the lets-leap-across-the-dance-floor variety.

So I looked on and wondered how times change. And realised that 28 is fucking no different from 18. Back then too, one felt neither young enough to be in a certain group nor old enough to be in another...and hey! It's still the fucking same. Half the world is either married, with children and looking at either-or....while the rest of the world is made of 22-year-olds. And hell if I am going to compete with a 22-year-old nubile, young thing for attention. I know my limitations! :) The vagaries of old age I tell you.... ;) Oh heartbreak, heartbreak... better look elsewhere for who or what else could be trouble....
Heard some really kickarse music though, Shaa'ir and Funk and my all-time fav, rock-me-anytime-DJ Jayant.

March 19, 2007

Craving, Seriously.

This might sound desperate, but fuck it.
Need to be held close.
Need to be cuddled.
Need to feel wanted.
Need to not feel used.
Need to feel more than just-another-pussy to fuck.
Need reassurance.
Need to stop needing.
Just hold me.
But then, He who can hold can hurt too. And so badly that it's back to square one again.
What shit am I writing....

Countdown to Breakdown... Eve*?

Life loves me, for I see no other reason why she should find so much time to devote to fucking my happiness. Does it happen to any of you that the moment you have a lump some of money -- to be devoted elsewhere -- something happens that will force you to put that money fucking elsewhere. Each time, EACH TIME, I have a little more than basic bare enough in my bank, I start feeling jittery. I KNOW that something's coming... This time around, the dough was for the laptop...which now perhaps wont happen for a VERY long time. Less blogging! :( My landlord asked me to either let my dog go or vacate the place. So I have been looking around for the last three days and there’s nothing that I like and the places are so bad that Golu Dog and me are contemplating either selling off everything and living out of cheap hotels, or suicide.

Life loves me and life is also a jealous lover. Each time I get fond of something or fall in love with it, Life snatches it back. Yup, the more I love it, the more drastic the snatching. And it’s FREAKING me out. I love my dog, please, please, please Life… do not take Golu. I need little Golu, he is my life, my child, my baby… And the landlady says, “Why do you need a dog? It’s a liability for you!” How do I explain that he senses my moods, when he forces me to hug him, pet him and play with him; it’s as much for his benefit as it’s for mine. How do I explain that Golu Dog LOVES me… even when my eyes are swollen because I have been crying like a whatever-cries-a-lot. He doesn’t give “you should be strong”, he just sits and watches, trying to paw my face or at times just looking with a comical what-the-fuck’s-wrong-with-you-now version of the Puppy Look. No matter how much men try that look, they can never beat a pup at it.

If I don’t find a flat or a neighbourhood that allows a dog; I don’t know what I will do. However, I KNOW I cannot; just cannot give up my dog. I can’t. Not again. Not something else I love. I loved my cats – Felia and Hash – and had to give them away due to the marriage. Tried keeping Simba the Black, but he died in a week. Wanderlust (another kitty, Lusty) for short, again had to be given away to a friend. Then Shmokie… who was my soul cat, but never my cat because he belonged to someone else. Then the Rottweiler had to go as well. Then I lost my baby… and I got Golu Dog. He has been with me for 4 months now and I have never been happier coming back home, because he is so happy to see me that it makes everything worth it. When I lived with my parents, I had 14 dogs at one point of time. But in the real sense of the word, Golu Dog is my FIRST dog. And now Life seems to be plotting again. Or loving me! My back has been acting up, there’s a constant discomfort lately, not to mention the strange numbness in the left upper arm region. And the back was really fucked last night. Now house hunting again. I can feel my bones creak, or maybe it’s my spirit. Financially, moving house and solo would FUCK me. But there’s no other way. No godfather, maybe an angel somewhere? Perhaps, or perhaps not? I am so tired at times. I don’t know if I am going to be able to carry it through this time.
I so want to come home; there is no home.

Post Scrap: The Princess sat with her fingers entwined, tears flowing down her face, moistening her cleavage as two streams merged under her plunging neckline. Her eyes closed, she prayed, “Don’t let my will break, anything but my will…” and as an after thought the Princess added, “Love me, love my dog.”
On a different note: Two is company, three is a couple?!

Feedback from http://www.myspace.com/mollymozart:
''Multiple soulmates is another possibility; no one is capable of satisfying every need : be it spiritual mental or sexual, writes not british adam phillips : two is comapny three is a couple in his thought provoking book monogamy."
monogamy fidelity cheating love lust respect space: what's happening!!!

March 14, 2007

Just a bad dream?

Argh. Woke up this morning with a bad vision. That I was found dead and no body came to claim the body. When they walked into my bedroom, there were pictures of me obviously posing with people, but no people in the pictures. And journals with names of places that don’t exist and letters written to people that have been returned to the sender.

It’s only my confused little pup who’s sitting by me and looking at my supine cadaver. They send my body to the medical college to be studied later separately in formaldehyde. And they cut me open… first the cranial cavity by sawing off the top of my skull, then an incision starting at the base of my belly button and up till my chin, one neat slit, they penetrate the pleura…and realize that the heart is missing.

And someone says, “What a wasted life…no heart inside. Probably broken” and they all laughed and threw me, the corpse, mutilated into the waste bin.

Post scrap: And building something new on dead remains will only rot the edifice faster. So much for Quick Fuck etc. Chicken, me.

March 13, 2007

Quick Fuck, Long and Lasting or Could-Be-Trouble?

Hello! The little yellow box that you see on the right hand side of the page (under the green one!) is for everyone to leave your names (assumed or otherwise!) and if possible and willing, your website or blog addresses. Would love to write back! So take a second more to drop in a link...that works. :)

"Do you even want to be with anyone?" she asked me, as we left the cafe after an impromptu coffee call, just to enjoy the mid-March, rain-sun-cloud play. "With all the problems you keep developing or discovering with each new and old man...how will you ever be happy with anyone?"
Well, I wont be and so I don't want a defined association with anyone; no labels of being a girlfriend etc. Perhaps it's a part of growing up, perhap's it's me; but as the years go by, it's getting tiring. The entire exercise of getting to know someone, adjusting things -- your daily time table, the movies you watch, the people you meet, your life and your priorities -- according to someone who promises a vision, for a little while; and then you find yourself, well, by yourself. Loneliness is not about, "Damn, there's no one to go to a party with, or watch movies with, etc" It's more about not knowing who to share your latest professional achievement or heartburn with...the someone who would understand or understand things as much as you.
That someone to turn to or reach out for on nights you wake up suddenly, from an unremembered bad dream. Or on nights when the blanket falls off and you are cold...and instead of pulling up the blanket, you pull yourself closer to the one lying next to you. And despite your body being cold, the other pulls you closer too, letting you share his warmth.
Oh well. Now I am getting better at tucking the blanket properly on all sides so that the damn thing does not fall off and I am never cold. And I also have a nightlight now for whatever it is that disturbs my subconscious but has not revealed itself yet.
I would have continued in the above strain or train of thoughts had it not been for a phone call.
"You woman! Who was so-and-so last night?"
"A Friend."
"You arrived with him!"
"It was raining and I couldn't walk it to Waters, so asked the gentlemen to pick me up."
"You were flirting with..."
"It was harmless and I went to bed alone."
"My pup, but no human puppy. No one I was interested in, was around that night."
"So who are you interested in?"
And well, thinking about my interests did my spirits some real good. So here goes!

Amazingly embarrasing I can be, I tell you. But since mostly I embarrass only myself, am not a social hazard (yet). Well... Confession Time! I really dig someone. Actually, SomeoneS! For name' sake, there's Quick Fuck, Long & Lasting and Could-Be-Trouble... and I don't mean in bed, I haven't slept with them. Or at least not two of them (evil grin)
Quick Fuck would be someone I might have a short, short-term, extremely physical association with. I dont see it going beyond that. He is too physical (I can so 'sense' it) and so am I. He has a reputation and so do, erm, I have a reputation to uphold. He has a roving eye and since he is much younger, I'd rather unleash his youth on to the world than leash him! Long & Lasting has the potential to be just that. And not 'lasting' or 'long' in any thinking-of-the-future-together way; but as someone you can have a logical, mutually aceptable and mutually pleasurable association with. And Long & Lasting has proven that over time as well.

Now, Could-Be-Trouble. Hmmm, he is interesting. I haven't felt instant intrigue in a long while... and from the time I set sights on him, warning bells went off in my head and stomach like nobody's business. The first instance of laying my eyes on him and my subconscious went, "Aha!" much before I decided to wear my spectacles and have a closer look. I am short-sighted you see. A couple of times before, I've made a complete jackass of myself by doing the staring-across-the-bar thing with someone and on closer inspection they've turned out not quite what I thought they looked like from afar! Yes, yes, I do appreciate good (looking) things in life, though my understanding of that can be quite cliched or quite only-appealing-to-me. So, if I think I am liking the sight of things, I wear my specs and reconfirm to avoid later disappointment.

I reconfirmed and found an even stronger affirmation of my earlier reaction to him. He is N.I.C.E. And despite the fact that I have been quite wanting to have a good look at his mouth -- quite a smile, killer! -- I refuse to stare at him. In fact the more I wanted to look at him, the more I looked away. He checks me out for sure... I saw from the corner of my eyes. Yes, yes, I said my eyes were not on him, but the corner of my eyes were! :) And I lurve his arms! GRIN.
And... DAMN. Apart from technical reasons that might not let anything happen, am too lazy for doing the chasing. And what if after the chase is over it turns out to be a big yawn? And well, what if he does not like me?! I am modest enough to at least consider that possibility. But BOY, does he do physical things to me; I am aware of his presence when he is in the vicinity. Why He, Could-Be-Trouble is that if i DO get interested beyond just writing about it... Shrug. One of my new year resolutions was to be a good girl. Correction: one of my new resolutions IS to (still) be a good girl. :) But Could-Be-Trouble looks so promising and full of trouble that... I like trouble! Got to do something about it; going to do something about it... write some more that is! (sly grin)
Post Scrap: And the Princess adjusted her breast plate, zipped her leather knee-length boots and let out a howl, her Hunting Howl.

March 10, 2007

Eve*, going a while and the unholi mess

Well, been silent for a while, some of it voluntary -- too much to say and too little as well -- and some of it, not by choice.

It’s funny how some of us are just not meant for stability in life; or at least the prescribed definitions of it. Or maybe it's just me. Prescribed Definitions of Stability are those that have a certain set of criterion that every human being, at a certain age and given a certain background, is supposed to have achieved. The “by such and such age you should have done such and such things, given ideal conditions”. However, self-help books will tell you that winners are made of people who do things despite the conditions not being ideal.

So according to the Definitions, I am faring pretty badly. I am paid peanuts or maybe even less (am too embarrassed to reconfirm), I don’t own a single tech item (other than a fridge and an iron) – not an airconditioner, computer or CD/DVD player. Even the walkman I use – or used before my speakers died on me – is borrowed. The last I bought tapes – yes, I still listen to tapes – was four months back and now I cannot find my ‘new’ tape. Oh, I am not looking to be married and don’t have a boyfriend; and don’t think am capable of one either. I don’t even seem to be learning how to hold on to them, so much for being older and wiser. No bank balance, nothing even to show tax savings – there are none – so am losing a hell of a lot of money. Sigh. Drums fingers on keyboard. Should I go on? Nope. My shit.

Holi was a day full of moments I missed my camera bloody bad. And full of such emotional dramatics at play that even the colours could not mask the feelings on some faces. A mixed couple; she sitting in shades of pink, silver and yellow, wearing a knee-length dress. Him, a kaatil wet dude with long hair, magenta from head to end of his plait and wishing he had some of her silver as well. Both sitting together laughing, with the sun playing on their faces and their eyes squinting a bit, and he takes some yellow colour and starts applying it…like some magic powder, on her two feet. She watched, mesmerized. "Haldi laga raha hai,” said someone, all laughed. Another moment, a pretty 6-year-old with the wildest curls…standing under a heavy bough of purple bougainvillea, throwing some red colour into the air…and as the colour falls around her in a scented cloud, she starts dancing. Damn. I wanted my camera so bad.

I also realized that I can perhaps learn to do a number of things, but I cannot sing; not even if a gun were put to my head. And like I cannot learn how to sing, there might be others who cannot learn how to dance, or how to read out stories… Basically, I don’t think it is going to be possible to get everything you want in one person. At other times, you might just get it but the timing is wrong. And maybe I am too demanding… and my wants and wishes too contradictory for me to find happiness with a particular person.

I cannot be with someone who cannot control me; and yet I cannot be with someone who controls me. I have to know I belong and I have and yet there has to be the thrill of the chase. I don’t want personal space to be threatened and yet I don’t want personal space to start threatening. I seek confidence and enough of it to be able to handle my extreme confidence. And the moments and times when I can doubt every shred of my own being. Of course he has to be physically appealing. I have to be able to go “Fuck, he is so hot I could eat him n.o.w.”; most times when I see my man. Else, well, it’s not just men who have a roving eye. And good at word play, and interested in sports, and traveling and eating good food and cooking and gardening and should absolutely LOVE pets and …

And then I think: what if there is a man who has an exact same list as mine…down to loving your scalp being gently massaged when falling asleep… and he also has “should be able to sing” on his list? There. I wont qualify. Because if I am so stringent about what I want…what if He is stringent too and then we will never meet and I will always be alone. That’s what I realized about Holi…so many couples around. It scared me. Or maybe it was the bhang. I saw myself at 50… well-maintained, badly creased face, smoking the last of my lungs, looking at young women and hating them and looking at young men and wanting them. Hmmm. It was the bhang, bad picture, bad bhang!

At 50, I might be single and gracefully wrinkled, but I might have given up smoking because the clean fresh air of the mountains or the sea I live by gives me reason to breathe, and I enjoy the clean smell around my lovely house. The view from my bedroom will be fantastic, an entire glass window facing out into the horizon or perhaps the mountains or the tree tops. I am going to enjoy taking my dogs for a walk or go swimming. Damn. And I am going to have a world class cook and personally hold feasts for friends where of course I cook. I could go on; but I will need to work for that and earn. So be it. A man might figure or not figure… for now I shall consult a doctor and see if perhaps if I gave up smoking, maybe I could learn to sing?

Also read: The Truth About Somethings