Thursday, July 16, 2015

Broad strokes

I look around my kitchen. It looks clean. Everything has been put away after lunch, washed and dried. The leftovers packed away in boxes for tonight's dinner.The house is empty save for the sound of the grandfather clock. There is a gentle breeze that stirs the blinds and light plays hide and seek. I fall into the haze of the afternoon magic.
Not wanting to fall asleep, I walk out of the house into the backyard into the outhouse. That room has been locked for many years. As a newly wed bride, I stocked up on the usual supplies hoping to unleash my inner Saraswathi- paints, dyes, colors, brushes, canvases, oils. I became the Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva instead, of my own little world. My family grew, thrived and went away leaving me alone.
I tentatively step into the room. Dust has not gathered because I would periodically come in and clean everything up. I find the easel and the colors. My hand affectionately brushes the palette. My life has been a myriad of colors, from the warmest blue to the brightest yellow to joyous green and mournful black.
I hesitate before choosing my color. Red. Vibrant red. Life goes on. I start with small strokes, with an unsure hand. Then my instinct takes over. Broad strokes, broader strokes. Life goes on. The white vanishes from the canvas and is a mosaic of reds. I see myself in the red and the woman in the red is dancing. Life goes on.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

What am I?

I have no opinions. Let me change that, I have no strong opinions.
I see the lady next to me talking passionately about nuclear disarmament and she goes on to expound at length what each country's stance is and what it should be. She seems to have a strong opinion.Me, I don't care. As long as they do not drop a bomb where I live I am fine. So what am I?
There is the lesbian and a fiercely conservative and orthodox man engaged in an argument about marriage, procreation and sin. The lady passionately explains how she is also human and is it not God's ultimate lesson that everyone be treated just the same. Me, I believe in equal love. But I do know the religious misgivings people have about homosexuality so I understand why their belief is bigger . I know God created us equal but he also gave us our uniqueness,so what am I?
There was a feminist that I met in the tube the other day. She spoke about gender equality and how we are equal to them. I wholeheartedly agreed. Yet, my 6-inch heels were killing me and I caught a man's eye and made him guilty enough with my winces and grimaces to give his seat up for me. I manipulated that man by pretending to be the weaker sex. So what am I?
I shed my opinions like a dog sheds hair. Here today, gone tomorrow. I have no fierce beliefs, no strong opinions. I am just as likely to side with an opponent in an argument if they have a stronger point of view. I shift loyalties and have no strong opinions. I only have three strong opinions that I will not change no matter what. I will hold my breath and close my eyes if anyone says something otherwise. There is no sense in killing. There is no truth in deception. The Mummy is an awesome movie. So what am I?

Wednesday, June 3, 2015


I sit  on my usual bench, talking to my colleague next to me. He brings up an excellent point abut existential crises being a way to weed out the strong. It all goes back to Darwin's theory of fittest, he says. I disagree. Everyone goes through the crisis as a part of their life as a philosophical aspect, I think. Another colleague chimes in and says that the whole point of life is to think about the crisis and find out an answer. I ask him, "What answer? There is no question. We simply live and simply die."
The conversation heats up. A couple of passing gentlemen pause near my bench. They smile at me while making no move to participate in the conversation. I also see a couple of doctors from the institution walking down the pathway. I invite them to join our discussion, they politely disagree and walk away. I turn back to my colleagues. They have started using words that no lady should hear, which is good, as no lady is near. I join the fun, adding in a few choice and ripe words. Now the two gentlemen are animated as well. This has become a contest to see who can swear the most. All of us are going at it with gusto. I could always persuade a crowd. And I scream the words now to attract more attention.
The doctors come back. They hold me down and sedate me. I tell them to be careful with my colleagues and the other two gentlemen. They look at me and ask, "Who?".

Monday, May 25, 2015

Life and Death

Life and Death stood side by side.
The room was crowded. All of them were excited about the impending arrival. There was a constant buzz among the nurses. There was chatter and noise. Constant conversations about the arrival, name, gender and how that would change the parents life. There was anxiety and doubts but most of all of joy and forty weeks of waiting. A gift worth the wait. The baby came amidst loud cries and whoops of joy from the father and then silent tears from the mother. Life turned to Death, "What is more precious than the arrival of a new life?"
The room was crowded. All those in room were silent. The air was heavy. People were holding each other for support. He had battled the disease for a long time. He was a survivor. The battle had gone on long enough. The disease had won some, the man had won loads. He was tired and it was time to let go. He smiled at his wife, his children and kissed his newborn grandchild. He had lived a full life and paid his dues. He was ready to go and thus he breathed his last. Death turned to Life, "What is more precious than the departure of a man who has lived, fought and deserves to rest easy afterwards?"

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Today is not Valentines Day

Today is not Valentines Day. It is just another day. I am dropping you off at work and then leaving to mine. You are on a call with a client. The voice carries over to my side. You look at me and wrinkle your nose.
Today is not Valentines Day. I struggle to remember if I ever felt like my heart was going to burst with ache for you. I don't ever remember having butterflies when I was with you. My ears have never buzzed when you were around.
Today is not Valentines Day. I will never have the first kiss again. Furtive glances to my phone to check for messages from you, never happened. My heart will not pound anticipating our meeting.
Today is not Valentines Day. I do not need to wait to hold your fingers at the end of the day. I do not need to worry that you will not kiss me if I have onions in my sandwich. I do not worry that I wear my shorts to drop and pick you up from formal parties.
Today is not Valentines Day. I do not worry that I fart, I don't care if I have a particularly spicy meal and I am in the bathroom for a long time.
Today is not Valentines Day, I will drop you in the morning and pick you up in the evening. I like the routine and  I don't have to anticipate any surprises in our relationship.
Today is not Valentines Day. I know who you are, you know who I am. I speak the truth, you speak the truth. I love you. You love me.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Win me an Oscar

You are a sucky person.
There, I said it. With the vocabulary of a teen, I said it. You are truly a sucky person.  You are late to the sets, you give excuses about the time. You keep us all waiting for hours together for you to put up an appearance on readings. You drink and party and are hungover on set. You delay make up while you snort in your trailer. Make up a is a nightmare with those teeth and sallow skin that you have developed as a result of those binges. You put on airs and talk down to everyone on the set. You don't take kindly to someone else taking the spotlight off of you. You want to be waited hand and foot. I remember the time when you had to have Deep Dish Pizza in the middle of the night, when all we wanted was to finish the shot and go home and sleep. We did not start shooting until we woke up a famous chef, listened to his curses, owed him a thousand favors for that one frigging pizza. When it came, you smelled it, said it smelled cheesy and threw it into garbage. You are sucky.
Yet you transform. When you get into the shot, the individual that was a collective pain in our asses ceases to exist. You are what the story says you are. You disappear beneath the sometimes subtle sometime flashy character. If we were to do retakes that was probably because your co-stars weren't expecting that greatness from a sucky individual. You are simply a delight with your improvisations and timing your dialogues.I begin to recollect why we buzzed around you and signed you.
This story is going to make those Academy members cry. Win me an Oscar,you sucky person

Sunday, December 14, 2014

The greatest love story

I look at you. You are beautiful. You are funny. Graceful and charming. Your clothes are dazzling under the flashlights. You joke with your co-stars. You are so awesome.
You talk about your perfect man. How he should be smart and funny and caring. There is wistfulness in your voice when you talk of how you like listening to the sound of rain in the morning from your bed. I totally agree, that is the most beautiful sound. I have listened to it many times, ruminating on the mysteries of life. I am philosophical but I enjoy Lewis Black as well.
I hear you talking about your favorite books. You say Nicholas Sparks makes you cry. I agree, I wipe my tears in solitude when I think of his books.
You are nominated for an Oscar for a moving performance as a cancer patient. You say you are moved by the pain of the patients you visited. I hear you, my grandmother had throat cancer. I saw her suffer the last few months and every single moment was rough on all of the family.
You love gardening. Totally random co-incidence here. I have one pot of daisies that grew from a packet of seeds I found on the road. How weird is that!
I know we will have a lovely life together. We will have no dearth of topics to talk about. Even our silence will be companionable. Our kids will be beautiful like you, maybe goofy like me. We will grow old together and breathe our last with the assurance that we will miss each other.
Ours is the greatest love story.
But you don't know it yet. You don't know me yet, neither will you. But, ours could be the greatest love story..