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