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..

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


I walk along the dreary roads. It is dusty and dirty. The sand blows in the air and gets into my mouth. I cough a little. I swipe my hand on my tongue to scrape the granules off. I see a little blood on my fingers. I stare at it for sometime and then shuffle forward.  I look at the buildings and they are empty. The whole street is empty and I am pretty sure the whole town is empty.
Flying over a desert, my plane's fuselage sprang a leak and I crashed on to the sand. I had been walking since then. I had cereal bars, I had peanuts and I had water when I started walking. I had exhausted all of it and I had been searching for some sustenance ever since.
Maybe I should get into one of the buildings and see if the water works. But why is the street empty? Why are no people around? Should I break in? Should I resort to something that I wouldn't have done? Can I excuse myself in these circumstances?
My throat is parched. My vision is blurred. I want water. I want sustenance. I want the cool elixir pouring down my throat. I can imagine water on my face, on my body. I can imagine it on my tongue. I want water. I need water.
I walk to the nearest house. It is desolate. I try the door knob. I peek inside. I rattle the door. I can see the kitchen through the glass on the door.I am so close to water. I rattle the door again. My need for water is exceeding my need for safety. I bunch my fists and break the glass.  My fists are bloody and there are glass bits in there. I open the knob and I run to the kitchen sink. I hesitate for a second.
I turn the faucet. There is empty air and then a rumble and guzzle and out flows the water. I put my face under the faucet and gulp water by mouthfuls. My throat constricts but I don't stop. I remove my shirt as I am drinking the water. Water in my throat, water on my face. Cool cool water.

Thursday, October 16, 2014


You have a lot of friends that you bring over.
 I stand in the corner while they laugh even at the most pathetic excuse for a joke that you crack.
Father hugs you, mom kisses you. You won a silly pageant.
I throw my Academic Olympiad gold medal into the trash. I wear your crown when you aren't there.
You hold hands with a boy and kiss him at the park.
I tell our parents and they want to meet him. I try talking to mother about my feelings for this girl and she reacts with horror.
I catch you with another boy in the bed, when you think no one is at home.
I record it and send that video to all your friend and his girlfriend.
You get a job as a waitress and decide to pursue acting. Father says he has never seen anyone so versatile in acting.
I quote Shakespeare and he asks me not to show off.
You meet a man and get engaged.
I steal the ring and flush it down the toilet. I break up with my girlfriend.
You show me your wedding gown.
I slash it to pieces.
Your fiance consoles you even in your hysteria. he actually seems nice.
I kiss him, although I hate it and tell him that although it is wrong it feels right.
You go ahead with your ceremony and everything is perfect.
I do my damnedest to topple the cake, get drunk and flash my boobs.
You get pregnant and ask me to feel the baby's kick,
Now, if I could just get you to the top of the stairs......

Sunday, September 28, 2014


The room is a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere. My CDs spread out on the table from last night where I was making the most rocking mix ever. There is questionable smell coming from under the bed. It might be the remnants of food from over the last few days. I decide to get up from the bed and I step on my muddy shoes from the late night walk I decided to talk after the CD mix thing! It had rained. Someone was not going to be happy about it.
It's a clear day outside, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, yada yada. I just pull the curtains to a close and decide to go back to bed. I flop back on to the bed. I lay, staring at the ceiling. Simply staring. This is nice. I could get used to this. Thinking nothing about the minutes that pass by. Thinking nothing about the world rushing by, the lady on the street worrying about the bill, that man worrying about his suit, that boy wondering if he could ask his mommy for ice cream, that girl jealous of her sister's boyfriend. Nothing touches me as I simply stare at the ceiling. I hear ambulance and police sirens, nothing touches me.
Then the mother alien screams. She opens my door with a bang and a thud. The thud being a stack of books (including but not limited to LOTR, HP, Asimov, Hawking, Keats, Tagore) that rested against the door. She asks me why I lay there like a zombie. (Zombies don't just lie there, Mom..they eat your brains!) I have been kicked out of my job for the nth time. She wonders if she gave birth to me the wrong time of the day. Maybe my stars are not aligned. Maybe people don;t understand me..all this she does while cleaning my room...
What does she know? I work my ass off for the job so much that it burns me. I must rest a while before moving on to the next one. Even the caterpillar becomes a pupa before turning into a butterfly..yeah right! Enjoy the bliss of laziness..that's me. I go back to staring at the ceiling and everything is good once again.

Thursday, May 29, 2014


         Somewhere in the future 
My purpose burns in my mind. My skin feels feverish. I fiddle with my clothes and shirt collar. I furtively look around. No one seems to have noticed. The man in front of us has their rapt attention. I close my eyes and am still able to recall every single feature. The Chief Commander's face is a familiar one. His face is on the mural in my school. With his Bots, it is legendary how he reclaimed freedom from the  Empire. People in the paintings all seem ecstatic. 
The Empire although detrimental to our lives at least let us choose our life. But the Chief Commander and his Bots ensure that we follow the rules to a t. We have our segregated education, segregated work allocations, work times. There is also a site where we choose our life partners from a pool of carefully selected candidates. Genetic selection of offspring, monogamy and stability. Carefully monitored to ensure no psych mishaps, no perversion. No genetic anomalies, no gray-green eyes with golden flecks.No chance for mistakes. No chance for living a life. It is all laid out for us. From the moment we are born, to the choice of dying. Chemicals that can recreate a heart attack and if you are lucky, the draw of death by old age- my grand father was lucky.
What is my life if it has been planned for me? Why bring me in just to give me a life that a Bot will have no issue with leading? I want to make mistakes. I want to fall in love. The choice of surprise when I see my baby's heart beating, the wonder at the fragility of life when people die of a broken heart. I want to experience joy, sorrow and most importantly anger. How strong am I if I stand for nothing? I stand for my purpose. I want my child to know the dirt and grime of life. To fall down and get up and know it's ok. To see the light and feel its warmth. And if I have to do what I am about to do,I will do it again and again.
I move to the front of the crowd. I raise my pistol. I am angry and it feels good.