Monday Memories 2 – Memories From A Distant Meal Or One Moment In Time (Part 1)


I missed writing my Monday post. Too much to do and too little time. I desperately need a break to someplace quiet but that is not always possible so the next best thing I do is sit back and think of all the happy moments from the past.

Do moments from the past taste the same? Yes, sometimes they do. Moments which were like Pinot Noir grapes  turn into mature, vintage wine with time.

Yesterday I was thinking how certain aromas, textures, mouth feels, tastes, flavors bring back memories of people, places, distant meals and the sense of exhilaration associated with them.  It could be your everyday meal, a childhood special treat, a stopover quick brunch on way to some place, a relaxed evening snack during a laid back holiday or a little surprise created specially for you. There is nothing like quietly slipping out of bed at night and secretly eating your favorite food, often with bare hands.No spoons, no knifes. Eating with fingers has a spiritual , therapeutic benefit to which we can talk about some other time. It is also extremely sensuous at times. :p

I believe that like music food too is highly trasnportive. We are suckers for emotions and amazingly sensitive and even a thought of a kala khatta transports me to an evening at the beach in Mumbai or a tender stuffed steak and Merlot can make me year for that particular night in the hills. Nostalgia is defined by Merriam-Webster as “a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or return of some real or romanticized period or irrecoverable condition or setting in the past” and the best part about it is that it doesn’t discriminate against those dollops of butters, the fiery spices, the oil dripping roadside snacks, the tongue coloring lick lollies and the rest of those magically joyful delights.  Sometimes it is not just about food but it is also about the person or the place and the warmth it that fill you with.

The fondest memory is of my maternal grandmother’s home in Pune. I visited her during summer vacations and the sights and sounds, the aromas and tastes still make me hungry. I can visualize her sitting on a low stool churning white butter with almost devotion as if it was some spiritual ritual. I would linger around in the shadows waiting for the cue and land on her lap before she would call my name. I can still taste the softness fresh dollop of plum size butter dripping through her soft plump wrinkled fingers. A love that spread from her face to mine. There was a kind of an energy that passed between us at that moment. Something that even now makes me find strength in weaker moments. The best part was that none of my cousins were ever part of this luxury of love. It made me feel very special.

Travel can be very nostalgic esp if you are travelling by train or by road. As a kid the train travel revolved around incredible food smells and lip smacking tastes. The milky, sugary chai garam  in  mitti ka kullhar ( terracotta cup) n foggy winter days, the garam bajia wrapped in a piece of local newspaper, the unmistakable mouth watering station ki allu – poori ( boiled potato veggie with deep fried Indian bread) , the chana chor garam, the local ice cream which usually you won’t find anywhere else except on stations, local sweets and snacks, the list is as long as the journeys taken. Distinct  flavors  that change at every 50 Kms, region to region, district to district. You can never forget how wonderful the Agra ka petha or the Shrikhand of Gwaliar tasted on those rail journeys. It is an entire world of  authentic cuisine  waiting to be discovered. Many times I try to bring out the same flavor or texture id a particular dish I ate at some quint station but it just doesn’t happen. I guess it is a lot to do with that moment in time .

Have you ever tasted the udderly delicious colostrum milk preparation called Kharvas. I had it for the firs time as  a small girl and can never forget the taste of it. I was woken up early at dawn and rushed to witness the most amazing experience of my lifetime. My cousin showed me the little calf just three days old sitting near its proud jersey mother and other doting females. It was the first time I had fresh milk warm and rich straight from the udders .. it was an unforgettable experience and though I am not a big fan of Milk I thoroughly enjoyed it. My aunt prepared Kharvas that day and I can tell you there is nothing in the whole world that tastes that yummy. Google it :D

There is a special kind of magic in certain kitchens Some hands dish out the most simple yet unforgettable dishes. Many of them leave you  longing for them even after s many years. Some places have specialties that haunt you to come back  like the neera centers in Lonavala and Pune, the chaat at UPSC in Delhi, the parathas at Murthal and Moolchand flyover (heard the place has shut down), the  idli sambhar of college canteen split 1/2 with bestie, the ripe jackfruit and tangy raw tamarind on a push cart in an old local Pune market, the bun omelette and tea at a roadside stall after a night out, the pot meals cooked with children and their cooking disaster/achievements which were thoroughly enjoyed, mom’s varan bhaaat etc etc..

I knew once I get on to nostalgia food train it will go on forever so the post is in two parts. I still won’t be able to cover all of it I know but will try to share as much as I can.

Though all my travels and time spent in various cities has very fond food memories some of them are special.

Special because of the people who are part of them, special because that time spent together, the fun, laughter and chilled out feeling will never return.

I will take you through that in the next post.

Meanwhile let me tell you there is no such joy as slowly licking chilled a bowlful of smooth delectable saffron freckled shrikhand with your fingers or digging into red juicy watermelons and ripe mangoes , their juices dripping down the corners of your mouth or the insides of your arms. :D

Some fruits need to be eaten with the passion they require. Of course now in a “civilized ” society one needs to learn the “table manners” but What the Heck… sometimes we can give in to the joys of eating .. can’t we?

Watch out for Part 2 with some sizzle stories next Monday. I will go get my bar of dark chocolate.

 

On Being A Woman – Year End Post


It has been over a month now since I wrote anything here. I am not really in right frame of mind. Anger and pain has made me numb. Excuse me for this rambling and just ignore the errors for now.

kuch alfaz ab bhi seene me hain uljhe

kuch girahen abhi bhi khulni hain baki

hain sawal kuch jinke dhoondhne hain jawab

hain jawab jinhe ab bhi hai sawalon ki latash

Sometimes I feel my life is like an exquisitely embroidered shawl. Richly embroidered in vibrant hues which people see and appreciate but it is I who feels the inconvenient knots and tangled threads of its inside.

 When anyone says “I understand how you feel” I say “No you don’t”, you possibly can’t imagine how tough it is to be a woman in this country, to struggle each day, to fight for survival. To live here is an act of bravery and then you see what ultimately happens to the brave hearts who dare to dream of living a life on their terms. What are these terms? you will ask.

The terms are – Dignity, honor , equality in all spheres of life, a right to LIVE as a fellow human being.

” Ha!, you say, don’t talk about these philosophical  terms that feminists quote. You have all that you need -  security, food, shelter, money, a husband to” look after” you, what else do you want? What is this about dignity and crap? Your dignity is within the four walls of this house. It is in your hand to preserve and protect it. Don’t listen to these so-called “committed/progressive women” these “feminists from women’s Organisations” they will try to lead you astray, they will break your home and fill your head with shitty ideas that will only take wrong decisions.  Dress”modestly” . It is because of these “dented, painted disco going women” that all these cases of rape and molestation happen.Stay within your boundaries, follow traditions and norms set by society for their women, know your duties and follow the moral code. If you do all this then only you can give good values to your children. God has been kind to you and given you two boys. Thank God for not burdening you with a daughter. Don’t talk to neighbors, make only a few friends (although we don’t see the need of it) and mind you they should not be men. You are a married woman and your commitment is only towards your husband, children and in-laws. Your parents? Their son will look after them, it is his job not yours. Now you are part of this family and nothing else matters. Remember that silence and patience, tolerance and abiding to the wishes of your husband is the utmost priority in your life even above your own self for that self is also now His and not yours anymore.

Do you get what I am saying ?”

“Well,  yes I do see it. I followed it like an idiot for a major part of my life and screwed it. Now I intend to trash your ” Codes for an Indian Woman” and chart my path make my own rules, take my own decisions, Live My Life.”

“What? Then you are not a good wife, daughter, DIL, and mother, you are not even a good woman. See, this is what happens when women are let loose. When they gain access to public spaces and get exposed to things like Internet. This is what corrupted you. Now your head is filled with all those lofty notions of independent living and all the crap about women’s rights. Mark my words, you will suffer, realize your mistake within no time and come back on your knees.”

***

“If that is what you think, Shame On You.  I do not wish to be labelled as a “Good woman” by Your Standards. I will sell myself if I have to and live under the open sky if push comes to shove but I will not give in now and will not come back to this prison with invisible bars and barbed web of rules designed to keep me in hold all through my life, that’s a promise.”

2011 saw emergence of a new Me.

Many women are not living their dreams because they are living their fears.

Isolation, restriction, guilt, humiliation, denial, continuous controlling and criticism and  lack of empathy, love, companionship, shattering of a dream of ” a life long relationship based on mutual respect” breaks them. Emotional, mental tortured is hard to explain due to lack of  ” solid evidence” . 
Emotional Abuse comes silently most of the times camouflaged as “love, betterment, moral duty, guilt, emotional blackmail, and marital rape. Silence helps it breed and dig its claws deeper.
In our country ‘thinking’ for oneself is not encouraged. It’s always conformity & herd mentality. The  moment a woman begins to voice her thoughts she is condemned, ridiculed & told to shut up. If she rebels , her condition is even worse.
Does that mean we keep suffering ?
NO, trust me it is better to raise your voice and make your life worthy than suffer and reinforce the fact that women can be used as objects and treated like an old newspaper.
Two years have passed since I cut those silken chains and  moved out to rediscover myself as a woman , as a person, as a human being. I had to pay the price. I had to leave my boys behind.
“What kind of mother is she? So insensitive and unconcerned, so selfish.”  I still hear it but in hushed voices.
Emergence of new woman who can defy everything that binds her and yet be happy is a painful, uphill task.
Today when I sit and look back I know I was privileged. I had friends who stood by me like a rock, I had patronage to be economically independent in some way after a gap of 22 years. I had a family to go back to.  It is easy to say what took you so long? It is easy to say ” Hang in there, everything will be fine” , it is easy to sympathize but it takes immense courage to hold the hand of someone who is defying and rebelling against the system. I was privileged in more than one ways to have people with such strength.
I owe it to them as much as I owe it to myself .
 If anyone thinks it is selfish to think about oneself , to dream, to have desires then so be it. I am selfish. I can’t deny the love I am supposed to give myself. It would be utterly dishonest to do so and if I am dishonest to myself how will I ever be honest to others?
I believed and hoped my boys understood. They stood by me. They did not have a choice. They said nothing. It is tough to be separated in such manner. The guilt ate into the fiber of my being  day and night. It still does. But I had to make a choice – To live or to exist. I chose the first.
I have a lot to thank for, lot of people to offer my gratitude for helping me be myself but the battle is not won yet. Even after two years I   have one foot in the past and one in present. Sometimes I see myself at the periphery of a void at others I feel absolutely thrilled by what I have achieved in last one year. I have been able to break many mental barriers. It has been a productive year in many ways but still something is amiss. I have not been able to completely shake off the layers that hide the real me stirring and quivering underneath in want of  release. A lot remains entangled and knotted not just due to the rotten system we are part of but also because of my own failing to regain the confidence and courage. I am still a sucker of emotions, still vulnerable to the core, still seeking approval when I shouldn’t.
I took the step in direction of change but it seems like a move from a smaller prison to a larger one. A little more space to breathe and move about but still confined. It makes me question my decision. I lose my footing and begin to slip back. It scares me to venture into a society where every moment women are violated, sometimes so brutally. Physical rape is just one aspect of VAW, the society we live in and are part of  strips  the female of their species  of a dignified life from the time she is conceived. Some live through the horror of it till they cough last and some are spared that trauma by murdering them in the womb itself.  There is only a small percentage which breathes the free air and lives as desire.
As we step into another year my thoughts are with all the women who are facing a challenge to free themselves of the chains that bind them, who are daring to break the silence despite of the risks involved, who are struggling to make a place for themselves  within the culture of violent subjugation and male dominated power structure around which everything revolves and in which women die many times over every day. Most of the times unheard, unsung. There voices stilled. I am thinking about the lack of a support system for those who have the spark to stand up for their rights and fight against the system.
 I am not just thinking of women’s rights and gender violence but also about  gay rights, racism, casteism and coexistence which doesn’t exist in our society. I am thinking of equal opportunities, paid employment for women ( just 14.5 %paid employment as compared to men speaks volumes about the structure of our society. 2 million women lost their jobs in last five years), basic education,  basic hygiene and medical facilities. I am thinking of children and the crimes against them. Earlier too there have been catalyst who have shown harsh light on the stinking rotten interiors of our society. Earlier too there have been movements against every damn issue which is shoved under the carpet, How many more ? ? How many wake up calls, How many lives will be cut short before the change finally occurs?
Will there ever be one single day when a woman will feel safe in this country and breathe easy? When her security and self-respect will not be ground to dust? Will we ever be rid of our sexist culture? Unfortunately when I ask these questions the city that comes to mind is the city in which I have lived for more than forty years - the national capital Delhi.  Not a single moment of my life I have felt secure here. Fear has been a constant companion since I began to move out in public spaces. Fear of those so-called “protectors”. It started when I joined school and continues till now.
As I write this last post of this year I am wondering what lies ahead for the women of India , for me as an individual.  I know it will take a lot of effort and time to completely overhaul the mindset of people to bring some much-needed positive changes but I can begin with myself and my life. It is a rough path that I have chosen but am not giving up. Ever.
Here are two brilliant articles for you to read and ponder upon as I take your leave.
He says among other things,” Men abuse women in every society, but few males do it with as much impunity, violence and regularity as the Indian male.”
(TRUST ME IT IS TRUE)
And
The problem is us  by zigzactly
I have not been regular with my posts but I know you will understand. In a struggle to find my footing I have to sometimes give priority to other important issues that I am dealing with. Thank you for supporting me in all good and bad times and for encouraging me by reading and commenting. I appreciate it very much.
Do something constructive in the coming year.
Have the moral courage to Defy what in Unjust. Don’t be a performer.
You can view all the Previous Entries about being a woman and other social issues HERE 

Would you hold me? Give a real hug?


I like the way you say “we will find a way”. I like the word “we”. It feels like a warm hug even from such a distance. I have lived a life fractured into “You” and “I”.  It never became “we” until you came in it.

It is true that every time I think of you  it is like getting a hug from inside out but sometimes the want for a real hug consumes me like a wild-fire. I wonder if the love we put into words will ever transform into hugs - real hugs not virtual.

I have forgotten how a  real hug feels like, the warmth of a human body against yours, nothing sexual or romantic but just a need to be held. I can’t remember even if I go back looking through my youth or even my childhood. Just simple hug, that cocaine high , that surge in the blood, that solace of being desired, that shamanistic, trance like feeling of ecstasy which strangely illuminates from within.   I desire you in the simplest way, simpler than you can think of and this desire is constellation of  wants and needs, hopes and dreams exploding inside me yearning for that one hug. The warmth of your arms around me.

I get that warmth from the words you say and write and the yearning increases with each day.

Sometimes I sit and wonder, why do we feel so uncomfortable giving a hug as we grow up? We don’t teach our children importance of non-sexual touch. They grow up without that knowledge and don’t know what to do when someone wants to hug them. They freeze. They feel confused when a sudden voice from inside tells them to go embrace someone. They burn but can’t bring themselves to give a simple hug. It surprises me how my own boys somehow lack in this especially when I instilled it in them. I guess society has a lot to do with this inhibition we have. These simple gestures of holding hands, hugging are lost in the rigid norms society enforces on us. It is surprising that two girls hanging out, hugging , walking hand in hand, giving a friendly peck on the cheek is acceptable but when boys do it becomes a matter of concern and ridicule, something abnormal, out-of-place. What kind of world are we living in? Aren’t we depriving our children of basic human needs? What will they become when they grow up, if not skewed up, frustrated adults fighting with their basic instincts?

We grow up to be icons of romance, fulfil those slush fantasies but so lack in these simple things. It is strange that sometimes those in a relationship/ marriage too lack these simple pleasures just like we, the lonely ones do. It is not gender or age based either.  We connect with each other at many levels but not on this one. There are times when one wants to give a hug and restrains and if one gets a hug one freezes and shrugs it off. Either way we lose, curl up, and go into a shell yearning for a  hug.

Empty hearts give empty hugs, even the pleasure of sex quickly goes cold in cold arms. I have been there so I know. They are just physical motions one goes through, a routine, devoid of love, desire, care or longing empty arms which may feel warm but leave your cold and drained. Slowly that dies too leaving a void, a starved body longing for human touch. Nothing is more bitter than to be forced to submit to the falseness of love. To endure the cage of arms that suck life out of you instead of  nurturing it.

I long for those arms, those arms that can end the growing longing; arms that would wrap me in the comfort of loving energy that matches mine. Arms that would make me feel safe, cared, understood for who I am. Not possessed, owned or used as an object, not holding me as an obligation to dead vows .

I sometimes feel like hugging random people on streets but I notice how suspicious we are of each other. We restrain ourselves and lock ourselves afraid that the floodgates of human emotions may overflow. Unsure if we can handle the deluge. We give virtual hugs freely but a real hug is a herculean task. I have felt the flow of energy even when touched accidently but it just ends in a surprised reaction. Hardly anyone gives a real hug these days. It has been reduced to a social gesture. We hug our animal companions more than we hug our fellow human beings. Isn’t it something to think about? Have you ever wondered “why”? Why is there such a social disconnect?

I sometime ..no, actually all the time … feel the need to put my head in someone’s lap or shoulder and cry or open my arms to someone who needs it, to stroke someone’s hair, to simply hold someone’s hands, simple things that words can never express.

You have to be in this place to feel the emptiness of the feeling of having someone who can change this forever and yet being a distant dream. This feeling is beyond the loneliness of any sort.

To be held in true love is a rare experience these days, be it from children, parents, friends, lovers, be it in any relationship even marriage.

I am looking for those arms, those arms which would hold me and true love, compassion of human heart, comfort and understanding.

Would you hold me? Would you turn those words into real hugs?

Would you?

You know

I would

If you choose so

Till then I will just desire. Feel your words wrap me in their warmth and make my fragmented state of ordinary life a little coherent. No longer scattered like autumn leaves through  time and space but contained at one place. In You.

When was the last time you gave or got a real hug?

If it makes you think, I feel for you.

Here is one  for you

Unexpected :GBE2 Week #63


Looking back at life I kept reflecting on how I undertook many journeys, often those that I never planned to take and how they took me to unexpected destinations. Some of them were exactly what I wanted, others not so.

Even now there are decisions to make and surprises in store. The future is never set in stone.

Sometimes we come at the crossroads and need to make some life changing decisions, take some stands and these shift the entire universe around us and then unexpected and unpredictable things happen, which take us out of an uncomfortable situation but also take us over and change our lives forever.

For me, freedom came in strange forms and from unexpected directions.

Unexpected!  My living itself was unexpected.

How?

Read here : The day I was Born 

Life made me chart my paths in an unknown territory.

Most of the time the ground beneath my feet shifted unexpectedly and it took me immense effort to keep my balance and stand firm to move ahead with the flow.

Some dreams died an unexpected death, such as:

My rendezvous with Spanish Language and desire for further studies in Latin America, a dream to live there

A love affair which had everything but ‘love’ and ended in a disastrous and life altering decision

My marriage, which I thought would bring me the companionship and love I was yearning for

At every step, life felt like shifting sand dunes beneath my feet.

This was a roller coaster which was speeding on a rail that had no fixed destination but had all the usual ups and downs, twists and turns.  As it plunged into unknown or shot up like a rocket heading into space, I waited breathlessly for the unexpected to reveal. Not knowing if I would be thrown over and succumb or come out a winner and live.

Even the mundane seemed like an unfamiliar territory marked by unpredictable.  People, places, and turn of events that took me by unawares and hurled me into some totally new situation to deal with.

This broken road with pitfalls and sharp turns and unexpected traverses brought me joy and adventure too. Sometimes out of chaos emerge the most unexpected and beautiful delights. It took me over an invisible wall and life again changed in least expected ways, demolishing all old things in its path.

Sometimes I feel that the word “unexpected” has lost its meaning in my life due to its continuity and yet  it surprises me by springing up at unexpected places from unexpected directions.

Love for instance. Friendships spread over the globe, virtual and yet so real. People connected through some unknown energy. Bonds woven together like colourful wondrous threads of a tapestry. I began to realize that some things made sense only in reverse and one needed to trust in advance and surrender to it with that knowledge.

I have seen that it is in times of struggle that I found the best parts of myself – courage, loyalty, love, an unexpected peace within, poise and joy. Somehow I always discovered what I needed to break through or break away from to go on with life.

Today, universe is helping me realize some of my dreams and I can say that I expect the unexpected with a lot more conviction and strength than before.

True love and friendship unexpectedly transforms lives. Empty spaces get filled, pieces begin to fall into places and life opens up with a newness unseen before.

It gives a reason to live, to push through the fear.

I am at a point where life has taken a completely new direction and each day is a new discovery but unlike before even with an intuitive knowledge of impending uncertainty I am prepared to ride the storm.

Now that we are talking about the unexpected let me share something more.

I want my death to be unexpected.

Sudden.

Whoosh !

Gone.

This post is written for GBE 2 WEEK #63 (7-29-12 to 8-4-12): Unexpected

Breathless – GBE 2 Week #62


Little rivulets streamed down the nape of her neck as she stepped out of shower and reached for the fresh lavender fragrant bathrobe. Usually she would hurriedly pat dry herself, get into some clothes and start her usual routine but today something made her linger. Absently she ran her slender fingers over the soft plush fabric smoothing out the nonexistent creases and remembering how he had looked at her the other day. His eyes pools of longing.

Friction of her wet thighs started a fire that exploded in her body like a rocker flare. She shifted uncomfortably, surprised by her hunger and as she turned she caught sight of herself in the long mirror and then, she saw herself  from his eyes.

It was long since she had really seen herself  in nude. Little prisms of water quivering on her smooth flesh, her prominent collar bones and the taut angular muscular neck, ripe full breasts, the curve of her belly, the supple soft folds of her body now glowing in the sunset colours of her beauty, she felt the heart of her desire throb with longing between her legs.

She was at an age where she had begun to regret staying faithful to a man who had never really loved her. For years her soul dwelled in an unknown body of  a woman she did not associate with, an empty bottle thrown in a corner by some drunkard.

But now, as she stood there gazing at herself,  inflamed by the urgency of a choice between a last hope of an exotic experience or a final resignation. Drenched in a blend of magic and mayhem, need and disruption, she began to question the course her life had chosen long ago. For the first time in her solitary, confined life she saw in herself a possibility and a potential of corruption that left her breathless.

This post is written for WEEK #62 (7-22-12 to 7-28-12): Breathless

You and I – Corazon


Heart 

helium filled balloon

there is goes 

floating into unknown

chasing dreams

mine but not really 

who is it seeking ?

who knows? 

whose calling ?

Only the heart knows

I am flawed, fractured,scared and I know am living an impossible dream Love is a long haul and am ready to brave the tides and the whirlpools, storms and crushing waves.  I call it impossible not because I fear of losing it but because you are afraid to push though your fears. Nothing kills love more brutally than our own incapability to hold it together.

we talk more say less

think more act less

hear more listen less 

forget more remember less

empty more fill less 

conceal more reveal less 

take more give little

we leave a lot unsaid undone 

we do everything wrong 

just about everything

we turn love into a mental illness 

we pretend

we deny

and then we regret

we suffer

we live a heartache

.

 .

.

I wrote a letter to you last night. I wrote it on a white paper. With a pencil. I did not just write it to fill the nightmarish hours, or to make it seem as close to reality as possible, nor did I write it so I could trace my fingers over it and feel the throb of each word. I did not write it to bring it to my lips and kiss the way I would have loved to kiss you – gently or to inhale your imagined warmth from it.

 I wrote it for a simple reason that I missed you in the most desperate human way. Raw naked want. Just that. Simple hunger. No , not the one that consumes the body and makes it burn over the cool white sheets. Not that. A want , a hunger of togetherness. Of being with each other.

It is something very private. Something that you may not even feel or may clothe it with your perfectly woven wordrobe so that it loses bits of its reality but I, I miss you more than you can imagine, more that I can  believe and I was prepared to miss you a great deal you see. This missingness is a deluge.

How do you miss someone whom you haven’t met in flesh and blood?

Why?

Let us not debate that. This is not a courtroom. This is not a trial of love .

It just is . Period.

It is a wait.

A wait that maybe you may realize and accept  that you too want me with the same intensity after all.

If not , maybe you will gather strength to say it otherwise, to put love to trial, to hold court, and the verdict will be given and love will lead us to our separate graves.

Have you walked through empty corridors? There is an intimacy there. Like love. It fills you.  A fusion of light and dark. Shadow and light.

Sometimes I feel you brush past against me , a presence, just as you in my mind, in my heart, sending a tingling sensation down the nape of my neck all the way to the small of my back.  It gets under my skin, circulates, and takes residence at various places I had forgotten they existed.

I wrote to you with a pencil .. why ? you will ask.

I never liked pens. I like the black on white. I like the fragility and fluidity of writing with a pencil. I like the way it softly moves, like foreplay.  Pens are crude in my opinion. violent.

There is a movement in words written with pencil.. I watch them lazily curl up on your pillow or slide beneath your nightshirt clinging to your chest, I watch them nestle in your hair as my fingers would. I watch them trace patterns on your body like kisses.  They are secrets, sensuous syllables cuddled under the supple  folds of your skin. Taking your shape, spooning . Only words written with pencil can do this. This perfect merger of hard lead and soft smooth delicate paper. Only they come with so many more possibilities.

Only they can map the topography of your body without leaving a tell-tale sign, silently like a tendril wrapped around a stem. With thousand miles between us I let them make what we can not. Love

So I wrote a letter to you last night, like every night . I can not keep away from you.

Go buy a pencil. Run your fingers over its spine. Hold it gently. Let its soft tip move on a white paper. Let the heart do the rest.

I wrote to you a letter like I do each night  and tied it to my heart .. there it goes .. it will find you … if you chose so.

Read all the YOU AND I posts here.

If I had my life to live over – GBE2 Week#56


If I had my life to do over then would it really be Me ? It would certainly be some other person. doing other things, living other life and to me seems a bit scary. Life gave me a choice to make my choices and I did -  good or bad. I am a better person by learning from all that went wrong and by making the best of  all that was beautiful.

There was a time when I felt that I wish I could live my life all over again and make it better than what I am living but then it would be a new beginning and in no way I will be able to compare it to this one.  I won’t even have any memory of this life. It will have its own challenges, pains, joys, mistakes, sacrifices.   It will be a new roller coaster ride.

Certainly there are things I wish were different. Some of them I can change now and am doing it as best I can.

Sometimes one rides the roller coaster and in the end gets off to find the treasure. I feel I have been given a chance to live my life again.  Start afresh.

However, I do sometimes feel that IF I had my life to do over I would love to be the leather clad, tattooed, biker chic who hangs out with tough guys and gals, is carefree and takes no crap from no one. :D Single, self-willed, independent woman who lives for herself and does what she wants. Not afraid to try anything new. Not afraid at all.

I think I miss out on adventure, travel and all that now. Someone not chained by anything . Yes, one thing is for sure , even with this tough adventurous life I would never trade my heart for anything :) I guess I would be just as loving and caring, just as much in love with life, an incurable romantic as I am now.  This is what makes me who I am and  I still have a life ahead to do at least some of the things I wish for.

So, here’s to present , to the woman I am today and to life.

This post is written for  GBE 2 WEEK #56 (6-10-12 to 6-16-12): If I Had My Life to Live Over #GBE2

You and I – Unrequited Love


Days and nights have suddenly turned cold in the middle of summer. Cold and Hard like last year’s loaf of bread. I slice them with blunt knives and chew on them without appetite.  Indifferent messages do little to bridge the aching distance or break the deafening  silence that has occupied every fiber of life nor does an occasional assemble of  affectionate words give any comfort. Even though the heart longs, it knows it will never get more than that.

I wonder if this pitiless indifference is subterfuge for hiding the torments of love or it is  the opposite of love. Love has denied rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes. I have begun to dread the approaching night. It deepens the loneliness and hurt as I stare into the vast emptiness of the dark sky. A lonesome moon sometimes glides past the window and lying on my bed, fatigued by days of sleeplessness, I watch it disappear from sight.

Words that I wrote for you float like pipe dreams, adding fuel to the slow fire consuming me from within. It is funny how presence makes itself felt more poignant through absence. Stray memories come to haunt , it is amazing how darkness brings things to life, gives them a form, a voice.

I lie as still as possible , least I disturb your silence and it moves away just as you have. I don’t even dare to breathe.

Mind is a fucking manipulating control freak and in those moments of vulnerability , it leaves no chance to whiplash.

There is no feeling worse than knowing you weren’t worthy of truth, of love, of sharing, of  togetherness, of complete oneness, not even an incomplete one. Unrequited love curls itself in some secret crevice , wounded and bleeding. It doesn’t die.

There is always a part of me that hopes for more, and so there is a part of me that is always a fool. Love does that.

Am facing a silence so cold, so sharp you could cut yourself on it.  There is nothing so hurtful, nothing so bare and forlorn as the silence that falls like swords on two people who no longer know what to say to one another, and it is the kind of silence that tells you that you are no longer of any importance to that person, who really is no longer even there; it is a silence that renders you invisible.

It has rendered me invisible. Some days ago I wrote , sometimes one knows one’s place – outside the periphery.. The words come out so powerfully now. It is all good to talk of giving space etc, of trust and understanding and being comfortable even in silence of a loved one but this is not that silence.. this is a silence that cripples.

It’s a marvel that even with such agony the longing doesn’t diminish , it continues to feed on the loneliness and gain strength. It grows stronger , so does love- even the unrequited one, for it has its own rainbows.

“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”-Sarah Cross

but the other part holds true too. We are creatures of desire and desire needs to be respected.

Love needs to be fed. Nurtured. Nourished. It needs to be deeply felt.

It needs to be reciprocated.  Replenished.

It needs to be expressed. In actions as well as words

Especially when words are the only medium.

Unrequited love is an orphan of silence.

Abandoned to fend for itself  during the endless days and never-ending nights.

Read all YOU AND ME  posts here 

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell…


The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
~Rumi
There is such a beautiful message in this 13th century poem of  Rumi. Sometimes it needs a special person to connect the dots and awaken you to realize the true essence of what you read. I have done affirmation and healing techniques like EFT etc since some time now. Doing daily affirmations has changed me from within. I am not saying that I don not go into low mood swings or do not get emotionally upset over things but I am able to get over them and move on quicker than before.  We all know that there is an energy source within but rarely do we pay attention to it or focus on it.
Rarely we communicate with our inner child, rarely we look within and look at. We find it hard to forgive, hard to appreciate others and harder to forgive and appreciate ourselves.
This post isn’t a discourse on positive thinking or healing and transformation nor am I pushing you to go do what I am doing but simple little things sometime are life changing. Reviewing life, changing thought patterns, writing a new story, letting go of anger, hurt, pain directed towards people has helped me get out of negative weak fields and given me courage and clarity to make conscious choices which are rid of guilt. I have been able to make that shift in my priorities and consciousness and feel the improvement.
Forgiveness has helped me raise my awareness towards myself and others. It wasn’t easy, still at some point of time I slip back but the moment I do I realize and make an effort to rise again. I have not been consistent in re-balancing my energies and it showed greatly on my physical and emotional health.  But, they say, when you ask for it , you are given. Something changed dramatically the moment I got connected with this thought.  Everything began to fall into places. The process has begun. What I desire is on its way and I very strongly believe universe will guild and help me get it.
Sometimes change happens gradually , over a period of time. Nothing is a waste, we have our rooting years and then we bloom but at other times it is sudden. It is essential too to release the blocked or interrupted energy and make it flow.  I have seen how effective it is in body healing.
To some it may seem silly but I have seen that when faced with something I have no answer to , I just surrender it to the universe and the solutions come on their own. May be not at that moment but they come when it is time t act on them. The problems dissolve naturally if we don not make a fuss about them.
I also feel that if you are passionate about somethings, you are propelled towards it. That great feeling of doing what you want to and doing it right becomes the motivational force. I am not quoting any of my teachers here, it is something I have experienced since sometime. Nothing can stand in front of a passionate desire to achieve something. People cooperate, co create , door begin to open, It works if you direct your energy towards what you want so much.
Someone asked me , if that is so Why did it took you so long to take a step in that direction ? I said, I did not want it so badly I guess.
Everything has its time and it happens in that time frame, you just can not hurry the process. It is something we never learn from nature, maybe because we never look.
When I heard Dr. Wayne Dyer’s  recording of  ‘Inspiration‘ among many others I realized how my desire to connect was manifested. How I was shown the path by a friend.  How I discovered one link after the other. There is nothing more blissful than friends who connect to show you the light. Sometimes you know them, sometimes  you don’t but they appear out of no where and change the scenario, they help you set the stage , to chart your path.  One is suddenly more aware and able to grab the opportunities , to see the signals and use them.
I am  immensely grateful to all those who helped me and are still helping me in my journey of life. Do listen to the recording of Dr. Dyer’s  Inspiration- your ultimate calling by clicking at the above link.
The fact that I wrote this and you are reading it confirms the belief that somewhere the universe wants us to connect and find our calling. Each of us is just a tool. For those who think this is all a gimmick and money-raising activity by motivational teachers or metaphysical healers , all I say is Never judge . You never know who opens the window for you to reach out to the real  “You”. It is all about Believing  and rising above the ego.
Rumi’s poem came as an answer to a question I was pondering on since last few months. Why do I always wake up between 3AM to 4 AM  most of the nights , sometimes half an hour ahead or before too ? We call it “Brahma Muhurat”  , a time best suited for meditation and connecting with self and the source energy from where it all began. Usually I would say some affirmations and try to go back to sleep in vain. So, I would toss and turn and log into internet or read. It just did not strike me as a calling to step out and meditate on oneself. To recognize this body clock and body rhythm and know what it’s telling.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell, do not go to bed .. 
 
 A time for cosmic connect. Time for inspirations to flow in. Its been three days since I have started to get myself out of bed  the moment my eyes open ( it’s always around the same time between 3 to 4 am) and stand in the balcony. I haven’t ventured out of the house yet.  There is something miraculous in spreading your arms to the early morning sky , breathing deep and relaxing the mind ,. body and soul in that tranquility of pre dawn.  It is a feeling to experience for it may bring a new meaning to each of us.  I never felt so at one with myself , so calm and serene within. There is this magical hue in the sky, a deep silence and immediately one closes the eyes and is inward bound.  I really felt closest to the source energy. Many thoughts kept floating in my head and with them came many solutions. I was able to let go of many of people and things , accumulated hurts and regrets from the past. The first morning I felt tears roll down my cheeks but I was not in pain. I knew it was a cleansing process.
The breeze does have secrets to tell.. only we have to be receptive to listen to them. I think this is what a fully awakened state of mind means. Each day is a different experience. It comes on its own. I have had such moments during nights, when I get this sudden drive to write something. It is a compelling force from within. The reason I keep a pencil and notebook next to my bed. These thoughts never return.
I have made this a routine now.  What ever time I wake up between 3 to 4:30 I just let go of myself and surrender myself to the universal energies. It really is helping me to have a much calmer and peaceful time with myself and others.

Don’t need no memories hangin’ round


I want to offload. Offload all the clutter from my head. Offload the memories. Who wants to remember  anyway?  Spit, gargle, scrub, wash .. I did everything to clean the scars that my life got when it touched yours but the scars settled in the corridors full of memories won’t fade. They take monstrous shapes and explode inside my head. Isolated snippets that becomes larger than life , uglier, gruesome as they flash past inside my head like lightning.  Wounds that cut themselves and come alive in flesh and blood only to drag me down the past I want to run away from. There is no healing with memories lurking inside oneself. They appear out of nothing, damage and vanish. Just like that. 

What wouldn’t I give to forget these memories, wipe them off. I am tired of  tossing and turning each night, I want to get back my sleep? I would give it all up even if it means losing the good memories from another time , another place , of some other people. Yes, I would, if it means I won’t have to remember all the crap that scalds my inner, which gags and chocks my heart.

With my life going the way it, the things I have known and those I come to know whether I want it or not, the images that I am unable to shake however I may try, the mental trauma and heartache that wears me out on daily basis, the words that resonate inside my head however I may try to shut them up, the good memories too are slowly turning rancid.

Actually there isn’t anything good about your memories to be frank.  They are nothing but poison ivy clinging to my brain and sapping life out of me.  In fact I shouldn’t have let you in.  I pay the price with loss of face, faith and everything. I left the house that once I called home ( I wonder why coz it was never my home ) but the memories tagged along. I remember it all. Every bit of it. And that is the part I hate most.  You encroached my space then and  won’t let me have it now. 

I want to  gladly clear it all.  Give up , the good, the bad, the ugly.  Just don’t need no memories hangin’ round. What am I going to do with memories? Am done with sob story memoirs. I don’t wish to dig up the graves. Am done with all that. Am done with wanting to remember. Done with you. Please Leave. I do not need a fucking rotting fungal infested tumor of memories in my brain that is You. 

I want my mind spot clean.  I want space for new beginnings to flourish. I want  peace.  I do not want an inner tumult to wreak havoc in my outer world. I don’t want memories of old hurt, anger, loss, love anything  influencing my judgement and making me read the signals incorrectly. 

So you ask,  what about “happy memories” ? Memories that warm you on winter nights and give you company in loneliness? The beautiful sunsets and the walks in pathless woods?  Well, there is nothing happy about them, they hurt big time. These attention seeking narcissists. They bring a sense of loss, a void. Some people may have them, I am not denying that but for me , I can do without them. This cocktail of bitter-sweet nostalgia and pain. I don’t wish to go on vacillating between past and present with the noose of memories tightening on my neck. The events that were , were happy , full of warmth but as memories I can do without them. I will have many sunsets and many such walks in woods in present to fill the empty spaces.

I want to “die to the past” and ” live to the present”. 

Maybe I will find a stability later sometime in life to not let mind take over but right now, Oh man! I need an escape route.  

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.

~Emily Dickinson, “Time and Eternity”