Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Better left unsaid.

How does one deal with those “Sita Mayya” moments…You know what I mean?? Moments when you want the earth to just rip open and swallow you right away!

Moments when someone hits you “bannnnnnnnng”….just on target and “The Argumentative You” who loves to convince people otherwise, avoids a debate.

The following remark from someone today, left me helplessly churning my teeth to dust!

XYZ: "You know what? Sometimes the chirpiness in your voice only seems to accentuate the sadness inside. So, don’t laugh”

And all I could manage was saying aloud to myself "Goddammit! Let it go…just breath easy"

XYZ, I didn’t ask you then, but now I want to, really, even if I am not allowed to, “What do you expect me to do?”

Feel morose about the slow, gradual decline of my health?

Or look around my empty house and think how easy it was for some people to lay claim on all the memories, commodify them and just walk out of my life? Or continue to feel sad about others who are still doing pretty much the same and are thinking that Iam stupid enough not to notice.

Or cry over the fact that everyday I kill myself working for someone who doesn’t pay me an ounce of respect for that?

Or get mad at the fact that no amount of planning helps me because I am stuck up with a plain dumb luck!

Or brood over things that shouldn’t have happened but happened anyhow or those which should have happened but didn’t or never will.

Or lament over today’s conversation, where I had to give up arguing even with a dimwit-weirdo like you, beacuse for a change, he picked on the right wounds.

We all and even I may have a definite set of reasons to complain, but does it actually help even a bit to improve the situation? And this very thought, outweighs the grieving action, each time.

I am not cheating, stealing, lying or hurting anyone. I am just not telling everything. Even if I am in pain or I am sad, I don’t admit it. And it’s almost always as simple as that.

I don’t want to unveil my feelings for public consideration, where I face the prospect of being judged and possibly afflicted. When people whom I trusted and poured out even the "ugly me" didn’t abstain from persecuting me because of my weakness, I would rather choose to maintain my integrity by leaving certain things unsaid and unexpressed.

I know the logic sounds a bit screwed up and the fa├žade doesn’t really help in making you feel any stronger inside, every time. But all that chirpiness does add some survival value :)

I guess you will have to agree with me now, unless you have something else to challenge my arguments, tomorrow ?? ;)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As on 1.10.2009 :

I find this post highly stupid now!!
I said it all.
But won't delete or modify it for the simple reason that it was still ME, even if it isn't how I want myself to be, today or thereafter.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

The fleeting glimpse

The Best Thing happening to you in a day:

Neighbour’s two year old kid peeps at you, hiding his face behind the door.

You turn back, unwarranted. You smile.

He breaks into a shy smile and a tiny, croaking “hello” and disappears.

As I unlock my door, I adore his world of oblivion and mourn the death of my innocence.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Bong Gluttony


I am a Delhi-Bong cross. And the thing of utmost interest to me is the food part of it.

While I can kill for the aloo tikkis, papdi chaat and gol gappe , I equally adore my jhal muri, beguni and mishti doi :)

Over the years Ma had to modulate her cooking to suit Papa’s North Indian palate and cater the sisters (“hopeless” as Ma calls them) who have inherited dad’s tangri-kebab taste buds.

So the only one who would pig out on her “bangla ranna” in the house was Me. And till date simple home cooked Bengali food is my comfort food.

One thing that I absolutely drool over is my Ma’s Palong shaker chorchori (Spinach with Mix veggies; and sister says it smells exactly like “pocha” (mop for cleaning floor!!!)

Alright..let me cut it short. I am basically sick of eating pseudo dinners. So after promising myself some good (Bengali) food today,I dashed down the grocery store, picked up the insipid frozen spinach, fresh looking yet tasteless vegetables, compromise "Indische" spices and dished up all in to a “fake-chorchori”, which tasted..welll...okieeee.

I wonder what was missing?
1. Was it Ma’s bangles clinking on the shil (stone grinder) while making the aada-dhone-launka bata (ginger-coriander-green chilly paste)?

2. Was it the mild frangrance of panch phoron ( a typical bengali fusion spice with five ingredients) mellowing down the pungency of mustard oil?

3.Ma?

4. Or the fact that only both of us would eat it and enjoy it ?(Big-fat thenga to the sisters!!)

Never mind...

Now the only question other than why one can never emulate mums, is who’s gonna finish the jumbo, langar type portion size I have cooked????

Saturday, September 19, 2009

We are addicted. Me and the "Desperate Housefly"

So,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Let me introduce you to my latest obsession ----->>


I have been hooked on to it and I guess so is Mr. Bzzzzzzz, my pet pest.

He (considering his unconditional affection for me , I am sure "it" is a "he" and that is how he shall be addressed) is a housefly, who is been keeping me some good company since the last few days, especially during the nights ;)

After the initial attempts of swatting him away from fluttering all over me, I gave in.

With his undaunted "zzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin", I think he adds on to the melody.

Awwwwww....We are such a musical twosome...no ??

Monday, September 14, 2009

A man of many desires.

Blind seeks eyes
Limp chases a step
Mute craves to break the silence
And deaf wishes to follow the harmony of the chimes.

Thirsty awaits the rain
Empty stomach aches for food
Wealthy is pinned on to the riches
And poor dreams of the filthy shekels.

Innocent beseeches justice
Slave wrenches freedom
Helpless is ravenous for power
And the strong hunts the weak.

Nomad wanders for a home
Lost scours for a destination
Solitary calls for another soul
And unrequited love seeks consent.

Virgin yearns for communion
Spinster desires a companion
Widowed pines for a spouse
And an empty womb longs to bear the fruit.

Dreamless is in search of sleep
Honesty twinges for truth
Broken strings twitch for a melody.
And the dying prays for life.

In search of the unsearchable,
Running behind what’s beyond our chase,
Asking for what’s always denied
Is Man.
“A man of many desires...”

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Thank You

I always persuaded myself not to harbor any non-realistic anticipations from people.
To foist others with a set of expectations, that one or none out of million people may be able to reach, is not an optimistic statistics.
But strange as it may sound, sometimes people you have hardly known or you least expected reach out to you so deeply, that you face difficulty in even expressing how thankful you are to them.

There was a note on my work bench today. I think I know who kept it.

“The road is hard and love softens it.
Love yourself.
Know yourself and understand your value.

Be good to yourself, please.”


P.S.More than what you did, I will always acknowledge when and how you did it.
It was still painful, but for a change, I was "happily in pain" today :)
Thank You.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Can't get it out of my head!

I guess the only functional key on my iPod these days is <<back<<

I have listened to this song, non-stop, for roughly 100 times . And I'm sure I will play it a gazillion times more!

Call that usual, if not normal with me. I listen to a song. Get hooked on to something. And then listen to it endlessly in a row, until I get tired of it!

I have been singing in my sleep. Got to find something else, soon :)