Sands of time

 


Each day I sit on the beach of tomorrow. Each hour, I write your name upon its sands. Ever so often, tides of today gush onto the shore, and my writing is rendered meaningless again. And yet, I persist; I write again, hoping that this time the waves would a little kinder than the last I could remember. I write again, hoping that this time, my writing is just deep enough to survive beyond the first wave.
I wonder sometimes, if it isn't the waves being evil. Maybe it is just their curiosity. Maybe they come close so that they can read your name, but somehow cannot slow their steps. Today has that one defect that stands out among others - curiosity. It seems curious to know if the name I wrote now is the same as the one I wrote the day before, and the day before that. I wonder if it remembers. It must know, for otherwise, your name written on arid sand wouldn't glow moistly from the tears ‘today’ shed.
Or perhaps, I'm sitting on the wrong sands. For how often has it been (in the last couple of years that you’ve known me), that I've made the right choice? I imagine that there must be other sands that I can write on. Sands that would not bother when your name is written, that would not take the pain to erase it, that would not leave a little salt of memories each time it did. But I do not seek them, my love. For they do not know me. Nor can they comprehend why I persist on this path that is verily breaking me inside. Only tomorrow will know, for it will exact the cost for this persistence when the time is right.
Once more I write your name upon these sands, once more a wave washes my effort clear, I smile with gained wisdom and yet prepare to write your name again..
…

Entwine

 

Each waking moment and each unconscious pattern that manifests itself is a reminder of the beauty we house in ourselves. And where have I found greater beauty than your soul? It is this ephemeral, formless beauty that drives and motivates, loves and angers, cares and hurts, cuddles and violates, gives and makes love with my own soul. Every waking moment is a dream because you're in my life. Every unconscious pattern is a reality because I'm living my dream each day through us. I am unfazed by what another will be or already is in possession of, for nothing can compare to having you. To consume every inch of your body like it were my own, to love each wave of your mind like a turbulent sea, to entwine in your soul like our bodies do, so often in boundless time-spaces. This is my dream, my reality.

…

Smitten – Part 3 : The Intro

 

 

Sam had approached the week with some gusto. A week had passed and he kept hoping that she would turn up at least once. To his ill-fated mornings, she never turned up. At least, not in the same bus ever again.

“Maybe she was visiting the city. You know? Maybe she doesn’t work here after all” said Ranil, hoping to assure him.

“At 8 in the morning, which girl would roam about Bangalore if she didn’t have to go to work?” retorted Sam.

He was right, thought Ranil. He wouldn’t normally expect Sam to work his mind this quickly but here he was, pointing out the flaw in his logic.

“You’re right. Look, it’s a Friday. She might come on a Monday, you can never say. Infinite possibilities…” said Ranil.

“Is that your company’s tagline? Infinite possibilities? Really?” asked Sam, whimsically.

“Ok, forget that. You are coming to the play tonight right. Don’t make excuses like the last time and stay at home. This will be good for you. You might find a new dream girl there, you know?” he said, nudging Sam.

Sam looked up and gave an empty stare. Ranil shook his head and looked out the window non-chalantly.

All of the week, Sam had spent in misery. Love does that, doesn’t it? It eats you up little by little each day, and the more you try to regain a normal state, the more you slip away from what currently was. Normal suddenly doesn’t seem so normal once you’ve seen what you can be. Quicksand - that should have been a synonym for love. Somehow no one else had quite felt this way to call love that, he thought to himself.

That evening, Sam dragged his feet to get to the play. His friends awaited him at the reception. They greeted each other and awaited the usher to let the people enter. Sam behaved as normal as he could be, only Ranil knowing his sordid plight, and only partially.

A burst of giggles was heard a few feet away from where they stood. A group of friends, mostly girls, were sharing an old joke and laughing about it. Sam looked up at the crowd. It’s nice to share a joke in a group, he thought. He quickly surveyed the group. A thin guy in a muscle tee, a girl who constantly kept playing with her hair, a girl in blue rimmed spectacles…

“That’s her!” screamed Sam.

Unmindful of the crowd around him, he had let out a loud, excited yell. Ranil walked upto him. People gave him a quizzical look and went about their business as usual.

“The bus girl? Where is she?” he asked.

“There. In that group. The one wearing the blue specs” he exclaimed, still unable to hold his enthusiasm down.

“Her?” asked Ranil “Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. That’s her alright. Same glasses, same smile, same laughter. It’s her, no doubt” he said.

Ranil smiled. He walked up to the group now. Sam froze as he stood.

“What is he doing? I thought I was the mad one!” he muttered, but stood still, hoping for the least embarrassment this situation could lend.

A few minutes later, Ranil seemed to be making some progress, because they seemed to be talking to him normally. No screaming, no anger, no slaps. Yet.

After a few more minutes, Ranil beckoned to Sam to come to them. Sam tried his best to play cool and waved back, indicating it was alright and he was going to stay right there. Comfortable, and unhurt.

Ranil beckoned a second time, and this time, Sam didn’t see any sense standing and making an ass of himself there. He might as well do it there in front of her. So he mustered his courage and walked up to where they were standing. His eyes were planted firmly on her, but kept shifting focus to avoid looking like a creep. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the group.

“Guys, this is Samarth, also known as Sam. And Sam, this is my friend Nikki and her gang. I’m sorry I can’t remember all your names” he joked, as the whole group smiled at Sam. “Let me try anyway, this is…”

Sam muttered a seemingly warm “Hi” to everyone in the group as Ranil did his best to remember their names and introduce them, albeit in a coarse voice, dry from anticipation.

“And this is Neena. Neena joined work at Bangalore a few days back” he said as he finally introduced the only person in the group that mattered.

“Hello” said Sam, shaking her hands.

“Hi” she said.

A short pause. And the rest, as they say is as history would write it.

…

Dreams, and their weird power of changing us.

Smitten – Part 2 : The Dreamer

 

 

All of yesterday, Sam had spent his time pondering over those few minutes on the bus. He kept wondering when he would see her next and if he would see her at all. He counted the hours into the day, and work suffered as a result. He didn’t care.

It wasn’t surprising though, that the next morning he arrived at the stop much before Ranil did. Impeccably dressed, neatly combed and suave, both in attitude and style. It wasn’t unlike how he dressed every day, but somehow he seemed to be a man on a mission today.

“So, all set to meet her again today, eh?” asked Ranil mischievously, as he arrived at the stop.

“See, this is why I shouldn’t tell you things. You’re the one who says pessimism is overrated. I’m showing some optimism for the first time, is that so wrong?” Sam blurted.

“You still have to work on your mood though” retorted Ranil,”can’t expect to charm her with a tone like that”

“I’m sorry dude. I’m on edge today, really. I know you’ve seen me at my worst, but trust me, today I’m in a different zone. I really hope I see her today” said Sam.

“You plan to approach her and talk to her??” asked a surprised Ranil. He had known Sam for so many years, it seemed very unlikely that Sam would go up to a girl and make conversation.

“I’m hoping I will. But you know I can get” he said.

Ranil smiled. Yep, he knew.

“Here’s the bus now. Good luck buddy boy” said Ranil, walking upto the bus.

Sam took a deep breath and followed suit. He got in at the center door behind Ranil, and hurried up the steps to where Ranil was standing.

For a good minute, Sam looked at everyone in the bus, trying to see if she was there. He kept playing back the memories of the day before, hoping that they aid him remembering her.

“Do you see her?” he asked Ranil.

“See her?” Ranil asked with a quizzical look, “I didn’t even see the girl yesterday. If it wasn’t for your confession on the way back, I’d not have even known about it“

“Utter waste you are!” he muttered to Ranil, moving from side to side, trying to see if she was there. Today his luck had run out on him.

“Maybe she took another bus. It is a public bus. It’s not like she goes by the same bus everyday like we do” reassured Ranil.

“That’s what we’re doing wrong!” exclaimed Sam. “We must start traveling in different buses from now. All in the same direction but different bus numbers. That should do it, I should be able to see her then”

“Whoa Romeo! Relax. You have a better chance of meeting her if you stick to one bus, trust me” said Ranil.

He had a point there. It made more sense once he thought of it. Besides, Ranil was an ace at statistics. It is quite unlikely that he was wrong about these things.

Assured about the plan for the next month or so, Sam still was restless. At every traffic signal, he peeked out the window as any bus pulled up by the side, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of her.

“Would you stop it? They’ll ban us from public buses if you behave like this” mocked Ranil.

“Yes, yes. I just don’t know how I can get through the day without seeing her” sighed Sam.

“You’re nuts! You get through it just like you did the day before you met her. You whine through the day, work your ass off and get back to the room and whine some more. Nothing has changed. Stop making a big deal of it” said Ranil, now getting a little irritated with Sam.

“It’s like a reflection in the water dude. When its calm, it’s all the same, unchanged. But once a pebble falls in, the whole surface is disturbed. Ripple effect, you know?” said Sam, almost philosophically.

Ranil fell silent. He had known Sam for a long time now. Always a dreamer, and always restless, Sam lived in a world that very few others seemed to understand. It was why he always struggled with the commonalities of the world around him. He could never remain bogged down by them. Smiling at his friend, and the understanding that their friendship had brought to each other’s lives, Ranil was silent for the rest of the journey. He knew that Sam had now crossed the point of return.

 

…

(To be contd.)

Smitten – Part 1

 

 

“Here we are again” he muttered to himself, waiting at the bus stop.

Another day, another morning in this city. Samarth was in his usual blues, inside and outside.

“Why do they call it Monday blues anyway?” he asked Ranil, who patiently waited for his ride. “It’s not like it gets any better on a Wednesday!”

“OK, firstly calm down. It’s just a bunch of people waiting for a bus. And why are you so grumpy so early in the day?” asked Ranil, in his trademark calm manner.

“Why?? Are you really asking me why I’m grumpy?” blurted Samarth. “The same reason all of these people are. The same sick jobs, the same routines, the same bus routes. Everyone is sick of it. A bus comes in, and a chasm opens in a squeal and dozens of people get off. And a dozen more get in. And it squeals and gets moving again, a hundred times each and every day. They all hate it.”

“No Sam, I think you’re speaking about yourself. Relax, the bus is here” Ranil says, as he walks towards it.

Sam follows suit after a shrug. There’s not much one can do about it anyway. It seems to be the same everywhere, he assured himself. The bus starts to move before Sam could get on board. To avoid missing it, he gets in through the front door instead of the center like Ranil did.

“Late again, Sir?” the driver quipped.

“Yes Uncle”, he smiled weakly and headed towards when Ranil was standing. The driver smirked, not taking the ‘Uncle’ comment too well.

“He knows I’m usually late? The bus driver? Of a public bus? How routine has my life become?” he muttered, and stumbled towards the center.

As he walks through, a light perfume titillated his senses. He couldn’t look at the face, but he managed to see that she was wearing an orange chudidar.

“You’ll never change, will you?” smiled Ranil, as he placed a hand over Sam’s shoulder.

Sam wasn’t listening. He was trying to see the girl that he had just passed.

“Orange, orange… Orange!” he exclaimed as he saw her.

Dressed in a simple orange hued chudidar, she was holding the overhead handle grip that all buses seem to have. A maroon-watch strap adorned an adequately fair hand, that was partly covering her face. She was wearing glasses, not very thick rimmed but enough to notice that they were a regular pair. Light blue and quite unlike any frame he had seen before. Unique design, he thought. Her eyes lit up now and then as she spoke, and he could see her eyes smile when her companion said something funny. Even from across this space and despite his morning blues, he could have argued that they were the most gorgeous pair of eyes he’d seen in a long time.

She lowered her hand to gesture to her friend about something. Sam gasped in awe as he saw her now. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had seen. But there is a charm that some women exude that is quite incomparable to any beauty, ever. She was that and more. Simple, classy, exuberant and charming, he could go on in his rant describing her in his head. Ranil was talking to Sam all this while but not one word had gone through.

“In the most unlikely of places, one finds inspiration” he said out loud, forgetting where he was.

“Sam, what’s the matter with you?” said Ranil as he tugged at his hand.

“What?”

“You’re weirder than usual today dude. Is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. They just got better” he said, and smiled at Ranil.

“Ok, good. Our stop is the next one. Stop daydreaming for some time”

“I’m getting down this early?” he thought in a mix of surprise and anxiety. Every morning, he would spend the drabbest 30 mins of his day on this journey to the office. And yet today, it seemed to have gone by in a flash.

A train of thoughts ran through his head now. How will I remember her when I see her the next time? Her glasses, never seen anything like it. Her smile; and that laughter that seemed to have been sponsored by the who’s-who of the Indian Dental Association, perfect in every way. He knew he couldn’t forget her for quite some time.

‘Will she remember me? Has she even seen me?’ he wondered.

But the time for questions was done. The bus screeched to a halt. Ranil tugged at his arm to get down as Sam reluctantly alighted the bus. He kept looking through the large, lightly-tinted windows to see her again. She was still busy in conversation with her friend.

 

…

(To be contd.)

Insight,Love; Incite,Loathe

 

It is amazing how Ekta Kapoor (Sorry if I missed an extra ‘k’ or ‘a’ or ‘o’) is able to churn episode after episode of Saas-Bahu drama and people take it all in. They may forget to ask their spouses day  at work but will not forget to discuss that last juicy bit that happened on a TV soap. BTW, have you ever wondered why it is called a ‘soap’?

Why these soaps run well should be no mystery. I mean, C’mon- Rebirth, Plastic surgery (read: Multiple), Bhagvaan’s miracles, the filmi song stuffed with bad TV actors; it is everything that James Cameron can show on a ‘Punarjanmaavataar’ movie and actually win an Oscar this time :D. However, this article is not about TV soaps, it’s something else entirely. Read on.

 

This article would probably make more sense to men, though I am hoping for some feedback from the women. Before I continue ranting, let me break this article up in the phases of the title itself.

 

Phase I : Insight

As infants, we spend a lot of time with our mothers. We begin our lives being ‘physically suggestible’, quite simply meaning we learn in these stages by touching, tasting, biting, and in my case, tearing apart things. We tend to model our behavior and patterns based on our mothers. All of us, gender unbiased. Eventually, we choose other similar role models – father, teachers, seniors, elder siblings. With increasing independence, boys tend to look upon our fathers with more respect and grant them more authority. Though boys go through a stage of disliking/hating their fathers at some point in their teens, till that stage we look upto them for insight, and likewise with other role models.

 

Phase II : Love

We almost always get here at some stage or another. School, college, parties, pre-marriage, post- marriage – irrespective of the location and the Eastman color song sequence, we get there. More often than not, we tend to pick a person quite unlike us- the old ‘Opposites attract’ theory. If you’re timid, you try to pick a confident person. Overly talkative-Quiet Listener. Free spirit-studious Class topper. And so on. Similarities exist, but cores are opposite. Psychologists have termed it as our ‘sexual personalities’. Try it on the time-tested couples around you – parents, relatives, friends.

At this phase of life, your male role model forms your viewpoint in your inexplicable attraction to a particular girl. If your model is your Dad, you will tend to be attracted to women with personalities similar to your mother.

 

Phase III: Incite

I just used this because it sounded similar to Insight and made the title much cooler. Anyway here goes. If by some weird stroke of luck, you end up marrying the woman you chose, and happen to live with your parents under the same roof, things are going to get pretty hot. Two women under the same roof with similar natures will cause a ruckus, no matter what you try to avert it. Again, the old ‘Likes repel’ theory. Each one will inadvertently incite you by presenting a viewpoint that seems logical and correct, and you end up confused. 

 

Phase IV: Loathe

The growing cracks get bigger and bigger, till Saas-Bahu are at it all the time. Meanwhile, you are turning hairless from all the tension and hair clutching!

 

 

 

 

So you see, we men are responsible for the Saas-Bahu fights in households. It may not be as common today in split households, but still holds good elsewhere. Wake up men. Before you fall in to something you can’t crawl out of, analyze the ‘would-be’ with the ‘has-been’. The ‘what-can-be' may not be all that pleasant. Fair warning aside, you will still fall there. So might as well toughen up. :D

Cheers. Or not.

 

…

V.

  

 

Well, it’s that time of the year again. When some extremist Hindu factions indulge in “slapgate” occurrences into the love lives of hundreds of ‘innocent’ lovebirds. Pink chaddis, police protection, exorbitant rose prices, card shops recovering losses incurred in the past year, hotels and clubs offering special parties for jodi-birdies (stags sit and brood), and so on. You get the idea.

 

I’m not going into a detailed description of the history and evolution of Valentine’s day. (Phew!) It is ironical to me though, that one day every year, people queue up at hundreds of thousands of places around the world to express their love. What sets it apart from the other days, excluding the fact that it’s probably marked in pink on Rama Sena’s party calendar.

 

The whole idea of greeting cards has probably evaded my understanding. Why oh why would you spend so much time, (and so much money) on a card that expresses something you can probably say yourself? It isn’t that difficult, really. You can probably write something on a note with your choicest of words, make it rhyme and make it sentimental as well. Point being, if you take a note  with a poem on it to you gal/guy and say “Happy valentine’s day, honey”, I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to be a pretty sight. I guess that’s why we play safe, and get a mushy card anyway.

 

Secondly, we arrive at roses. Even St.Valentine wasn’t much of a rose giver, so why did this tradition begin anyway? What would stop someone from getting a bunch of lilies, daisies or gerberas instead of a bunch of roses? Would the fear of being a non-conformist make you buy roses instead?

 

I personally love valentine’s day. All said and done, it boils down to love for your ‘loved’ ones. Each year, some special plan cocoons in my head as well. I just want to ask all of you to be a non-conformist this year. Try it, there’s a weird fun in involving in a little rebellion, indicative of our once glorious teenage. Go beyond the cliché symbols and the mushy tag types. A day for declaration of love? Nah, make it the first day of a year for declaration of love. (No, that doesn’t mean you declare love to a new person everyday of the year!) Write a corny song and sing it in your besura voice. Shun cards, share notes. Not just one day, but whenever possible. Go crazy!

And to all fellow hopeless romantics out there, Happy Valentine’s day!

Marital Rating??

I found some interesting images on the net, on the marital rating scales from 1939. Funny readup I thought. Here it is--

 

 

 

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