Tempest

Monday 26 February 2007

Touch me not

“There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains, the people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch.”

Betty Davis, The Lonely Life, 1962

It shines brighter than anything,
Yet thin wisps of cloud cover it
You can see its yellow radiance,
Yet the winds blow in the cold
Surrounded in trusted comraderie are you,
Yet at every moment honesty eludes you
A wholesome vision shows you the world,
Yet at every corner a shadow draws blinds
Walking with eyes wide open,
Yet you pitch into the blackness
Every moment you trust
Every moment you doubt what you see
Suffocated in familiar crowds
The crux hovers in mysterious orbs
A hand reaching out to believe
A slap in the face for every step in trust
The misty fog you try to blot…
Your every breath screams
'touch me not'.

Posted by Pavitra :: 07:18 :: 7 comments

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Friday 23 February 2007

Ripples in the water

Who do I fool?
Not you...only I.
Why do I try,
tis' I who live in denial.
Today, like every other day
I wake up empty and frightened.
Today, unlike every other day
I stop to listen
the voice, strings of familiarity pull me towards it
not the voice of sloth, nor of lethargy
nor of human exhaustion
just an old voice I once used to trust
don't open the door to the study and begin reading
The voice is mine
why then do I not trust its heed?
Why then do I doubt the wisdom in its deed?
For years I hadn't heard it
for years the study had diminished its sounds
but today, unlike every other day
it bound me in the repetition of its bleed
don't open the door to the study and begin reading,
take down a musical instrument,
take forward a piece of chess in the morrow,
take, build with a brick stone,
let the beauty we love be what we do,
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.


Posted by Pavitra :: 16:47 :: 6 comments

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Tuesday 20 February 2007

Pop a 'T'

Its amazing how this happens only on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Its amazing how this never happens on any other day of the week. I have classes only on these two 'T' days. At about 2 pm for some inexplicable reason I feel immensely and inexorably sleepy. In fact, I literally sleep walk to class. I yawn my way into class and plonk myself on a chair which I strategically place behind the tallest guy in class and settle down in a comfortable position to sleep for the next 3 hours. Eyes half closed I look around at my classmates all in various states of lethargy ranging from sitting and staring ahead with a vacant, blank expression, doodling on the desk, yawning behind a book, yawning openly and loudly looking directly at the professor, leaning forward drowsily almost ready to fall off the chair, sleeping silently with the head on the desk and sleeping while snoring loudly ensconcing the class in a dull, comforting background hum. Everyday I notice just before I fall asleep that the only person bright awake and alert is Zane. She keeps tossing her pretty blonde head this way and that and smiles at our rather shy and abashed professor with an intensity that could hypnotise him into being her puppy right there in class. I don’t think she does it with any ulterior motive but being as pretty and rich as she is (a German media magnate’s one and only daughter), she probably learnt how to do that before she said the words ‘papa’ for the first time. I think or at least I used to think she was ill or had a health problem because routinely she would come to class and have a medicine before our very own ‘Professor Binns’ began with his monotonous rhetoric about leadership and why none of us would ever make good leaders (can’t blame us for feeling sleepy now can you?).

So, as usual today as I settled to plonk myself behind M for the next three hours a very low, sexy husky voice asked me if I was alright. (Hell forget a guy I think I was ready to swoon at her feet to hear the low drawl again!)
Me: I’m fine.
Zane: But you look terribly sleepy.
Me: Yeah I know…just nudge me if he says anything important.
Zane: It doesn’t matter what he says…you have to look alert to be in his good books.
Me: Yes, I know it’s impolite to him. Your right I’ll try to keep my eyes open. Sigh just poke me if he says anything important anyway.
(I hear the crackle of plastic)
Zane: Here pop a ‘T’
Me: A ‘T’?
Zane: ha ha feel more awake
Me: (with a smile) no no I don’t need any pills. Am not sick, just sleepy that’s all.
Zane: (continued charming laughter) exactly you’ll ‘feel more awake’
This time she said the phrase with subtle emphasis and a meaningfull glance at me, whose meaning was obviously lost on me.
Me: ha ha you mean the pills will keep me awake huh? (harmless joke on my part)
Zane: Haven’t you heard of the ‘T’?? Pro Plus tablets? Gosh! Ofcourse they’ll help you stay awake! (stated condescendingly)
Me: Naah think I’ll manage (now am totally awake baby!!)
So, ummm what do the pills contain?
Zane: Tablets not pills. The ‘T’ d’huh. Nothing just 50 mg caffeine.
Me: But you just had coffee.
Zane: Yeah but this is concentrated, more effective.
Me: Hey the work load just sounds crazy…don’t worry you’ll manage it. Why take the tablets?
Zane: Gosh babe! It isn’t drugs! I don’t take it because of the workload. Humph…I don’t even have to perform if I don’t want to.
Me: Why then?
Zane: Well I can’t just afford to look like a sleepy disinterested person!! It adds to the beauty…makes me look fresh and forever bright ha ha (the laugh was getting on my nerves now and so was the voice). And I just hate getting up in the morning. How the hell do you think I manage to get to class, leave alone sit through it?

At this point ‘Professor Binns’ began talking and blend into the background music made by R’s snoring. I spent the rest of the afternoon in a kind of shock. Shock isn’t the correct word. I felt strangely thrown off, flabbergasted and confused and disgusted and amazed by what she’d told me. Its not like I haven’t had friends who got into drugs. And it wasn’t like I had not heard of students taking pills to do well. But those were medical students or students studying law or another such daunting subject which would require constant hard work and dedicated slavery. She was in no way hard pressed for money. She lived life in style and luxury and did not have to worry about how to live it. She did not have to worry about the nitty gritties of grocery shopping, of cooking, of paying bills no such domestic burdens. She was not a creature over worked and starved for rest and time. But, she believed in the concept of a ‘T’ being her motivator, her alarm clock, her beautician and her popularity agent. It was as simple as that for her. It was as if she just needed to spend her money on something. She drinks regularly and she doesn’t use anti depressants or any other drugs because the ‘T’ wouldn’t work otherwise. She does not consider the ‘T’ a drug. It’s as normal and mundanely a part of her life as brushing her teeth and eating papaya in the morning is. She is neither a highly stressed student who needed to stay awake in order to do or die, nor is she a kid who was drunk 24/7 and needed the tablet to stay alive during class. She is just another rich mans daughter who needs a ‘T’ to get through a normal day.

I am still in a kind of shock. No its isn't shock. It is disgust and pity at the way the meaning of life has changed for kids today. They don't need to make an effort to live it, taste the freshness of it. They just need to pop a 'T' and that will keep them fresh all day. This happens every 'T' day. I now stay awake in class no matter how drearily dragging 'Professor Binns' becomes. I feel sorry for Zane every 'T' day.

Posted by Pavitra :: 12:40 :: 15 comments

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Sunday 18 February 2007

Tis funny

I agree tis a tempest
Tis all but self created...
tis funny how we wish upon a star
and wonder what we are
tis the truth we all know
tis the truth we hide from
Tis funny as we know what we are
Tis funny how we never remember
that we knew all along.

Tis funny how we slowly cave,
tilt and become slave
Tis funny how we know right from the start
tis wasn't for us, tis wasn't really our crave
Tis funny how always we then
try to our souls save.
Tis funny how we let it happen
Tis funny how we never remember
that we knew all along.

Tis not the end of the world
tis no big deal either...
tis just another minute chip to your armour
Tis you'll take in stride
Tis unnecessary, the self inflicted hurt
Tis funny to not feel regret yet
And dare youself to recoup
Tis to smile inspite, tis a self bet
Tis funny how we never remember
that we knew all along.

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:40 :: 5 comments

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Wednesday 14 February 2007

Together forever...

She woke up groggy. The sun had not come up yet but early morn had spread a faint light. She could see it through the open window. It oddly looked like dusk. Dawn looks like dusk in Delhi. Had it not been for the chirping of the birds and the tingling freshness of dew and daybreak she would have been disoriented. She yawned and stretched out her hand to feel the other side of the bed. Empty…only rumpled sheets…like always. She had stopped expecting to find him there, beside her to say good morning, a long time ago. Yet she spread her hands to check if he was there every morning. It had become a habit. She always woke up early like today around 6 am. Yet he always seemed to get up much earlier. The same thoughts ran through her mind like everyday as she slowly got out of bed, went to the bathroom and got ready for the day.
‘Is it so necessary?’
‘He isn’t young anymore, why the obsession to go everyday?’
‘Why can’t he go at a reasonable hour like 6 am?’
‘Can’t he wait to say good morning to me?’
‘Crazy old stubborn fool!’

She walked into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for her special light tea. The kettle was boiling; she added milk while her mind of its own accord drifted back to the early days. She would get up in the morning, all fresh and sprightly, efficiently make the right mix of cardamom tea and eagerly wait for him to get back from his game of squash. Then he would walk in, the sunshine of her life. The manly stench of sweat never bothered her in those years. Everything about him was perfect. He would pick up the newspaper, lounge himself on a sofa, take deep sips of his tea and ponder over the issues of the world. She had always been a hygiene freak. She was born that way. To allow him to sit on that couch in those sweaty clothes, without much nagging was a great sacrifice for her. He always used to rumple the paper after reading it and this annoyed her a little. She’d complain about it and he would awkwardly make a small effort to put the pages right, but the paper would still look shabby. She used to find him so endearing.

‘Ah time flies’ she thought, while making tea for herself. She now made his tea only when he had returned, had taken a shower and had asked for his tea. She couldn’t understand why after all these years he couldn’t remember anything. She couldn’t understand why he would insist on sitting on that chair after his morning walk every single morning. She couldn’t understand how he could leave his wet towel lying on the bed after bath everyday. She couldn’t understand why he never told her something was delicious when he liked it. She couldn’t understand how after reminding him a zillion times he would never put water in his plate when he left it in the sink. She couldn’t understand why after explaining to him over and over again he would invite people for dinner without consulting with her. She couldn’t understand why he never told her she looked beautiful. He would only care about his electronic children, his TV, his computer, his radio, his car. He would clean them and howl like a wounded child if even a scratch fell upon them. She couldn’t understand why he never felt that way about other things in the house, why he could never put away a crystal decorative item in its place if it had been displaced. How did these things miss his sight? He couldn’t understand why she was always grumbling and ranting about the same things everyday.

She remembered as a college student how she had dreamed of marrying a suave, sophisticated man like Amitabh Bachchan in Silsila after a whirpool romance. She remembered her father telling her of this man in the Army who he thought would be a good match for her. She remembered meeting him for the first time…she remembered an almost forgotten excitement as she had looked at him covertly through beneath her lashes. She remembered his cheerful smile. It was open and friendly and did not have a bit of sophisticated mystery like her hero from Silsila had. She remembered agreeing to marry him. She remembered him telling her that they would have a good life together. She remembered him taking out a cigarette and smoking the first day after marriage. Even in disgusted shock she had found him endearing. She remembered him being a strong man. She remembered him throwing the cigarette down and even after all these years she did not remember him having touched another one thereafter. He had never said that he had done it for her; he didn’t know how to say these things. But, then she had found him endearing and the missing words she overlooked. There were only missing words now and their life had become a routine. She looked out of window and thought ‘he’ll be here in a bit and then rush to work…sigh.’

She had had romantic dreams of candlelight and flowers. She loved the hint of luxury. But, he never had that kind of class. He never took her for those romantic dinners and hand held walks by the river. He never said mushy words in her ear in soft melody. He never brought her flowers. He was a practical man. But she remembered how he had laughed and always shyly appreciated her every piece of art. She remembered how he used to take her on the bike to a neighbouring town to watch a movie in dingy theatres and then eat samosa channa. She remembered how he would tell his friends that she was the best cook in the world. She remembered how he would once in a rare blue moon buy her some jewellery and brusquely shove it in her hands. She remembered how she had never liked his taste but would smile at his show of affection.

‘I wonder what is taking him so long. Not like it matters he loves his walks, dumbbells and golf course more than me,’ she said to herself as she stretched her aching legs out on the chair before her. She had suffered from arthritis for over ten years. He asked her how her foot was everyday but she felt like it was more like a tape recorded question. He never appreciated what she did…how she ran the house, kept his entire life in order, hosted his friends and worked in spite of her foot. They had been through umpteen number of house shifts, lived in dramatically dangerous conditions having to put up with leaking roofs, seeping walls, fungus, snakes, leeches and things she had never even dreamed of. She had lived alone in separated accommodations for stretches of two to three years and never told him that this was new and difficult for her. The man had never appreciated her sacrifice and adjustments. But she also remembered how he had taught her to drive, had never raised his voice and had always had the immensity of self respect in himself as a human being to accede that she was a better driver than him. She remembered playing badminton with him, the thrill of competition and being treated as an equal. She remembered solving crosswords together and laughing over the easy deceptive hints. She remembered how he had encouraged her to follow her every ambition in life. He had not been mushy but he had been fair and fun and stimulating.

She looked up at the wall and happened to see the old frame of theirs with their wedding snaps and familiar words printed across.. Something inside her shifted and she smiled as she finished her tea. She decided to break the routine. She decided to again make him tea and wait for him to come in...Just as she had mixed the right concoction of cardamom and tea leaves, he walked in. The sunshine of her life…with greying hair but still cheerful and bright and fit and practical. He smiled and took the tea cup from her hands like it was not something that had been done after years and casually picked up the newspaper. ‘I was hoping you would make it for me today,’ he said while he skirted the sofa, pulled out a garden chair and sat down on it. He smiled and said, ‘see I didn’t forget.’ He had smiled the smile that had melted her heart those twenty years ago…that had always made him so endearing.

She looked up at the frame and read those familiar words once again with tears in her eyes.

'A part of you has grown in me…
And so you see…Its you and me…
Together forever…and never apart…
Maybe in distance…but never in heart!'

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:20 :: 12 comments

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Monday 12 February 2007

I breathed

I took a deep breath
I planned to hold it for as long as I could...
could feel my heartbeat
louder, each beat pronounced.
seconds passed
it felt like eternity
the thudding grew harder
it was as if my entire being consisted of nothing but the heart
it slammed against my chest
the urge to give in
to take a breath was immense
I could feel the blood drain from my limbs
feet, hands all clammy
my body begged for release...
unknown, tears seeped down my cheeks
The massive internal struggle
almost made me forget...
one breath was what would be my only saviour
drumming in my ears, my temples
thud Thud THUD
i dind't even feel my knees begin to buckle, to give way
my body engulfed in weakness
everything was clogged
black and spashes of red were all i could see
I couldn't take it anymore...
everything was begginnig to fade,
grey....black...blank
nothing.

suddenly a flash of blinding light...
my eyes seared under its harsh bite
my mouth on its own accord opened
gasp...choke...splutter...
it rushed in
great amounts of it
water not air...
i drank tons of it,
it tasted like some salty anti-septic...
it was disgusting...
it was manna from heaven!
I took deep gasping breaths
I couldn't get enough of it
I felt free, i felt liberated
I felt like it was my first breath.
And it was...

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I am terrified of heights. I have always been a little wary of water as well. This is what those 30 seconds felt like when I jumped off a 3 metre board for the first time. It felt like I was never going to re-surface. He made me do it. He made me walk onto the board and told me to jump. I made it worse for myself. I kept staring at the water and the fear kept building. I don't know how I jumped. Its just that I couldn't have climbed down the ladder, he wouldn't have let me. I hated him at that moment. I think the wind forced me, it pushed me. 30 seconds later I felt the head rush....the exhilaration...the gratitude. I never thanked him. I do now.

I miss swimming.

Posted by Pavitra :: 17:47 :: 3 comments

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Saturday 10 February 2007

Wonder years

'Do you have siblings?', has always been the most popular question to ask a child in social gatherings.
'No. I am the only child.' I'd reply with a polite smile mentally wishing I could record it as it was possibly the umpteenth time I'd been asked that question in one night.
'Oh so you are a single kid?', would respond a middle aged, semi drunk gentleman thinking he'd made the most imaginative comeback!
'No. I am an only child. I've never felt single,' I'd quip with another polite laugh.
'hmmm so you must be very pampared?' he'd continue oblivious to my obvious boredom.
'ha ha no not really,' would come my prompt indignant and embarrassed reply.

I have never been pampered. I have never been given everything I ever asked for at the drop of a pin. I have never been allowed night after night of going out and having fun. I have never been allowed to laze around in bed and get 5 extra hours of sleep. I have never been allowed to order around the helpers we had at home. I have always walked the one or two extra kilometers to school or college. I have never bought things impulsively swayed by whims. I have always had a bath before going to school no matter how cold, no matter how dark. I have always finished whatever was put on my plate whether I liked it or not. I have never been allowed to use sickness as an excuse to miss an exam or even classes. I have never been allowed to go back on my word. I would always have to go meet a friend even when I didn't want to if I had promised I would. Such were the laws that governed my life as a kid. I would always get indignant and embarrassed when asked if I were pampered.

When I was in class 2 my dad very religiously would look at my time-table and pack my bag for me every morning. Routinely, once a week I'd admonish him for forgetting a vital notebook. Today, on some days when I get up late and run for class I occassionally forget a book or my access card in my urgency. I can't simply call up home and ask mom to get it for me, I walk back home just to retrieve what I forgot. All my life most of the larger than life writings and drawings on charts (which means basically the entire chart) were always done by my mom. Today, by some stroke of luck I end up designing all the charts in group presentations. Whenever I used to forget to take my towel with me to bath, one shout and my mom would magically apparate from anywhere with one. Now, my room has to regularly suffer a few uncomfortable puddles. When I'd come back home after a day in college I'd try to convince mom that noodles is a much more wholesome meal than dal chawal and sabzi. Now when I come back home from another unproductive day, I have to motivate myself to make the same dal chawal....and it does taste yummy. The house was always stocked, never had to stop and think about it twice...I wonder how and when my parents found the time to make sure we never ran out of basic commodities which in those days included special moisturiser and night cream as well. Now at the blink of an eye I seem to run out of necessary wares and have to go grocery shopping almost every two days! When I had fever I'd be made to sleep comfortably and given vegetable soup. Now I not only have to make the soup myself I also have to get up and check whos at the door at at the sound of a knock because nobody else is there to do it. When chocolate pastry was bought, I'd always be given the biggest and maximum number of pieces in spite of the fact that my dad loves them equally and probably has a much bigger appetite. he'd walk me to school sometimes and we'd talk about what I wanted to do next in life. I'd frown throughout a rare day of shopping for household goods with mom and she'd still be interested and smiling through my often, painfully long and indecisive sprees for clothes shopping. They'd remember every little detail of what my preferences are and I would by default almost always forget little requests like turn off the lights when you leave the room. Every movie we'd watch would be of my choice. Every night I'd listen to music at the highest volume and sing loudly ignorant of my parents who would patiently try to listen to their soap over my defeaning sounds.

An only child I am, but not single. Loved, adored, indulged have I been since as far as I can remember.

'Lend me old years and I'll sing you songs....I will try not to sing out aloud.'

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Now, I can't wait for someone to ask me whether I was pampered. No wait... someone did ask me a few days ago...

'Absolutely and thoroughly', was my reply.

Posted by Pavitra :: 11:12 :: 9 comments

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Wednesday 7 February 2007

Is she?

Twinkle, sprinkle, sparkle
A silvery haze
A dazzling daze
A tickle, a poke, a wink
A tantalising tease
she tugged at your heart strings
and brought you to the brink...
her eyes lit up with mischevious magic
'they love me' she knew with devious logic!

'Sigh, the naughty minx!'
said the hazelnut who was
smiles, laughs, quirks
coloured in hazy hues
not at all a sparkly muse...
hot or cold, mostly warm
she was to most asunder,
could not even tantalise a dunder
was scared of thunder!
enchanted was she by all she saw
with magic she'd only flounder...
loved silvery hazes and dazzling dazes,
but only to live in mazes!

In her head lived the sparkly tease...
while she flocked, one among the geese.
Tis' the truth, she knew content
the urge to ticke lay latent
Oh she is Wendy, what the hell!
Never to be Tinker Bell.

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:09 :: 8 comments

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Monday 5 February 2007

Beyond Newton's laws?

'Nobody is indispensable'

This reaction from my father I found extremely unnecessary when I was excitedly regaling to him a moment of appreciation from my boss, my first boss. I still remember the statement. I don't exactly remember the context for its utterance but I do remember the words and the tone. No, it was not admonishing in nature and his voice held a hint of pride in it. A hint but, I nonetheless remember it. But there was something more, something subtle in its deliverance. It had gravity to it. The underlying tone of these softly spoken measured words was 'remember this’. In my tiny insignificant moment of triumph, I did not stop and ponder over the words and took them as another set of sermons from a father. In obvious oblivion I missed their import.

Exams are about performance. The joy behind every game played is to have the spirit to win and give the opponent their toughest fight. The exhilaration that comes with fighting fair and square…the justice of both players knowing it and being in it for the same reason; to play, to give it their best for the moment and know that they tried, inevitably to be followed by the sweet sweep of satisfaction. It is healthy this urge to compete. A job is about loving the tasks facing you and knowing you will endeavour to rise to the situation. Failure and success are only the corollaries. Competition is basic to survival. It makes you feel alive. It is supposed to be your most potent aphrodisiac. It makes each day worth living.

Side effects. Every thought, every phenomenon, every action has side effects. This according to me is the most important translation of Newton’s third law of motion. The most major one is human insecurity. Can I? Will I? How will I be able to? Could I do it better? Should I even try (I mean he is so good)? I do not think we were born with these insecurities. A baby moves forward from crawling, to baby steps and baby totters to baby walk and baby talk, all with a smile. We gather and store these insecurities as we grow older and see other babies of our size doing cart wheels (imagine that!) and other such brilliant feats. We underestimate the value and beauty of some of our own little feats and learn to question our abilities at all stages all our lives. In a way self doubt is good. It eggs you on and makes you want to do better and fly higher and give yourself one more chance. But bigger doses of it lead to malfunctioning of sorts.

Fear. Different people relate to the term differently. I do not want to sound drastic, but I perceive it in every mind that walks past me, its stench in every breath I take. Insecurities do not just hit when faced with a new task anymore. They are a constant. Everyone seems to be living with them today. The competition to do well, to succeed, to earn money or to just exist is extreme. Man faces it in each of his waking moments. You cannot be having a low day anymore, a day when you just aren’t feeling as bright as usual. There are thousands waiting to grab your job. Thousands who do not believe in playing fair, thousands whose circumstances have forced them into forgetting the rules of ethos, thousands with probably better ideas than you. What if I cannot think of something different and brilliant tomorrow? What if I am not as efficient tomorrow and my work is slightly shoddy? What if my colleague understands this new software recently installed more easily and effectively than me? One cannot rest. One cannot believe in a secure world because there is none. One cannot hope to rely on past laurels.

The law of constant performance prevails.

There is talent everywhere. People find their calling and excel in various different fields. You need to be good to be on top, to get anywhere. But what happens to those who are not naturally gifted?

‘Nothing comes to me naturally’, has forever been my woe. I can never just touch something, learn it and then be able to do magic with it. There isn’t one thing that people can blindly turn and say ‘oh ask Prude she’ll know’ or ‘oh ask Prude she does it amazingly’. It makes you wonder if you’ll ever measure up and be somebody markedly different.

Then you realise that you cannot waste the precious little time you have on the insignificant disaster that took place at the time of your birth when God forgot to give you the gift of some special ability. You need to understand that nobody can push you forward if you do not wish to move. You need to look beneath the few rocks and try to understand your relative strengths.

‘There is no substitute for hard work’.
I realised that my sincerity and hard work is all that I have to offer. One needs to understand one’s own limitations, while at the same time pushing one’s limits. Talent is something to be proud of and envied yes. But the small acquired abilities attained through hard work are to be cherished and loved fiercely and kept on the mantelpiece of one’s life as symbols of great pride. Self encouragement - it eggs you on more. Am not talking optimism here but careful evaluation of one’s abilities, dealing with what does not come naturally and trying hard to spend each moment in productively learning as much as possible.

I call it fortifying oneself.
It is like carving a statue out of stone i.e. carving your own self slowly and painstakingly. With each little thing learnt, you chip away at the stone and shape it. It is about looking up, stumbling, applying some ointment, learning from those who do not stumble and from those others who do and shaping yourself the best way you can. It isn't about how perfect the statue is in the end. Hell, it may not look remotely like a stutue, but it was made by you. Your efforts went into it. Learn to appreciate them. It is about investment. It is about the satisfaction of toil and acceptance.

I am what I am.
I cannot be you who sings amazingly well, writes splendidly, has brilliant mathematical processes, orates like a God, creates magic with photographs and pictures and engineers beautiful craft. But I can work with what I have, add determination and hard work to my being and try to be good at all those things. It might be harder for me, but that will not deter me from trying.

Daddy says, ‘Nobody is indispensable’ but his tone says, ‘for the time that you have you can make yourself invaluable’.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 04:31 :: 8 comments

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Saturday 3 February 2007

Night breeze

In still moments it happens...
out of the window...
leaves just out of reach rustle,
wafts of wind softly swirl around you,
play with your tresses
earthy aromas assail your consciousness
in the stillness you hear a faint song
it beckons.
dreams deep within leap and play with the breeze
the coolness blends with the heat of your skin,
you lean towards the tantalising teasing...
a tingling warmth spreads through your being
every fleeting touch of the warm draft,
every whisper of life,
every scent of the earth
hightens your senses.
The song more familiar now
comes from far away over some hills
it catches a symphony burried deep
unhesitant your soul dances
you smile within you
awaiting the hand
whose caress lighter than the breeze
whose whisper a kiss
whose scent an intoxication
just then the night air whispers a little secret
a secret you believe hypnotised, seduced
you smile within you
your heart tells you
your kiss, your whisper, your intoxication
will be waiting...
the next time you open the window.
in still moments it happens...
you smile within you
in defiant yet inevitable surrender
you embrace the promise of the night.

Posted by Pavitra :: 10:51 :: 6 comments

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Friday 2 February 2007

Internet Interludes

The courting ritual is as old as the sands of time.
All living beings danced to its tunes.
The apes did it, we followed suit.
It used to be love across the salt desert,
it still is except now it is across another crystalline expanse..
The digital expanse.
They never did listen, but
he said, she said.
They still don't listen because
he typed, she typed.
They said love is blind...
it still is...damn the band width!!
The effects she had on him,
She used to make him colour blind!
She still does…
‘Hi’, he typed.
‘Hi’, she replied…and he began to see purple hues.
I wonder why?
The chase still continues…
It used to be a game of cat and mouse,
Now it’s a ‘mousey’ power struggle…oh how they clicked!
She used to gauge his interest by the number of times he came by,
The barter system vanished, money appeared, she then gauged by what he could buy.
But the intellectuals created this forum where minds could meet and flourish...
His interest she now measures by the frequency of his mails…sigh.
His love was expressed when he ran full speed to meet her, hold her.
His love he now expresses by the fury with which he types, sends her ‘smileys’.
Behind every successful man used to be his woman.
The tradition still continues…
All the furious typing made him 30 seconds faster than anyone else at work!
The pain of separation still plagues the lovers…
Had she not met him, hugged him, kissed him, smelt him for even a day,
She would pine away and build her love sickness to the level of a small pox…
Now, if she doesn’t see the typed words ‘hugs’, ‘love you’, ‘:)’ for a day…
She sacrifices her hours on the net and ignores her inbox!
Like tidal waves, all relationships have highs and lows.
Few last forever, most die with the season, with the pull of the moon.
And now, his mails no longer flood the inbox.
With a sigh she puts the episode aside,
And nurses a broken heart and keyboard, wanders into the chat room and waits for her next ‘surfer’ to come along.
Looks were never important to lovers. They still aren't...
Now the senses don’t matter either. ‘I don’t really need to know what he feels like, what he smells like, what his voice sounds like'.
It is an intellectual world. Yes it is. The minds must connect, tis’ the most important of all. And what a ‘connection’ it was!
Men are from mars and women from Venus it was claimed.
They never could understand each others minds,
They still don’t. She assumed she was net-dating superman’s great grandson…
In reality he was just another ordinary guy working for a bank.
Nope nothing drastic.
Not like he was Jack the Ripper or the Nut-cracker…
But that’s not the point…
The point is that in this world, identities cannot be pin-pointed
The world used to be full of heart breaks and cheats…
It still is…
He lies, she lies…
Maybe they don’t.
But how will they ever know?
Trust used to be the basis of every relationship…
It still is…except now they can never start trusting.
And thus dudes,
Goes the story of the internet interludes.

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Disclaimer: The author is not a complete cynic and does know of some very dear friends who did make it out of the virtual world and are now living happily ever after.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 02:20 :: 8 comments

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