The teacher

I am looking for an address. An address that I wrote at least a year ago. I am sure I wrote it on a paper and kept in a book that I was reading. I go through anthologies of Wordsworth and Burns. Maybe I kept it in my King Lear. I am not sure. I guess I will have to look through all of them. My old books, my friends. I don't quite touch them the way I used to 15 years ago.
Two decades ago I quit teaching. Two decades ago I stopped being the giver. When I first decided to teach, a lot of people asked an impatient woman with a quick temper why she wanted to get into teaching. Where children would inevitably test my patience. Where I would be alternately hated and  loved. Where the homework exercises would earn me grumbles. Where my strict grading would elicit strong reactions.
Teaching changed me. To knowing words, to knowing their meanings. Creating the magic that I experienced when I first read Paradise lost. I wanted to share my passion.
And then I see it. A card. A hand crafted card, with the crude charm of a fifth grader. Wishing me season's greetings. And on the inside, a handwritten "Happy New Year". I remember her. I remember all of them, in fact. I can at least recollect one incident about them! I smile, my eyes mist over. I am not sure where she is now, where most of them are. But to know that I was appreciated enough to warrant a personal greeting from one person is enough....quite enough.
Oh I remember, I kept the slip of paper in one of my journals. I think I will read my old ones now...I will remember again..

The donor

I sit staring at the blank white walls, when she sits next to me. I do not want to make eye contact, but I do. She holds my hands. Tears flow from her eyes; chest heaving, she makes futile attempts at speaking. She then tightens her hand around my mine.
He was born late in their marriage. Thirteen is an unlucky number. He was born 13 years after their marriage when they had given up hope. He was their little miracle. And their only miracle. To have him in an accident and have a failing heart is just about the worst thing that could happen.
They want my approval.
My daughter has been in a diabetic coma for 12 years now. She was 13. She fainted one day in the kitchen and has not woken up from it. The doctors say it may take days, weeks or years for her to wake up. They also tell me she might never come out of it.
Do I want that chance of having her wake up soon? Yes. What if she doesn't and the boy dies without ever having had a chance? How will my daughter feel about this when she wakes up? Am I that powerful and strong to deny another life when the one that is shouldn't be? Will I be able to live with the guilt either way?
I can hear monitors beeping, nurses walking, vending machines clink. And I sit staring at the blank white walls, waiting for some sign of superior intervention. I get none. I must make a decision.
I nod. I nod furiously now. She can have her son. I will have my daughter's memory. I will forever regret the decision and base it on what if, but at least I can take comfort in the way his eyes would hold mine- with life.

The w's

In tv shows, how are the men's hair neat and trimmed, the mustaches and beards groomed; and the women have sparkling skin and no hair even when they are stranded on an island with no supplies?

These glorious summer days

I wake up at 7. The sun is making it hot and I am excited about today. We have had 15 days of glorious vacation and we have 15 more to go and I am enjoying every minute of it. I make breakfast- Toasted bread with strawberry preserve, carrot juice and a mug of coffee. I leave some out for you. I go for a run. The music pounds in my ears and I wave at the grocer when I pass him by.
The roads wind. The trees are green and there seems to be a harmony in their cries. On the way back I pick up newspapers- all three of them on this small island. You like reading all the comic strips. I enter the house to have the clock chime 9 o'clock. I look at the kitchen table. You are still asleep. I put on some fresh coffee.
I go for a swim in the small lake a few yards away from the patio. The water is cool. I try touching the bottom of the lake- maybe I will tomorrow. I can hear your loud singing now. You can't sing if your life depended on it. I see you get the bicycle ready for a ride. As I near the house I smell the lunch. Eggplant and Parmesan, minestrone soup and strawberry shortcake for dessert.
After lunch we will sit around. I will pretend to paint and you pretend to read a book, the same page everyday. We kiss, we cuddle, we touch...In the evenings, we listen to smooth jazz and dance. I step on your toes and you tap me on the nose. We take out our dinner out to the patio. Watch the shimmering water, the shiny stars and the lazy moon. We sleep to the sound of crickets and the occasional owl.
We do the same thing every day, will do it for the next few days...these glorious summer days.

The W's

# How can a person speak underwater when drowning without any air support whatsoever, in movies and tv shows?

The mask

My face is flushed. My ears are hot. I can not stand in the spot but I swallow all semblances of dignity and nod my head. The customer is extremely unhappy with the food he ordered and  is not mincing any words letting me know what he thinks of the filet mignon he just ate. I agree that everyone should be happy to eat the food for which they paid the moon for. I decide to give him a free meal next time he comes and he seems to appreciate it.
I go out for a smoke. I loosen my tie and lean back on the wall. I get a call from my wife. I smile as   I pick it up;I remember the kiss that she gave me in the morning. She sounds brusque. And tells me she is moving out. She is sorry that this will come as a shock. She will have her attorney contact me with papers. "Her" attorney was "our" attorney. "Her" attorney is also the man she cheated on me with. I stub the cigarette, straighten my tie.
There is a new couple seated in a corner booth. They seem to be wallowing in money. The man has a full head of silver hair. The lady has diamonds twinkling in her ears. Both of their faces showed evidence of their apparent long life. I approach them. They are extremely polite and speak with a smile in their voices. I like them. I charm them. I make small jokes, compliment the lady on her baubles. They consult me when ordering their meal and I also suggest a nicely aged wine to accompany. They finish their meal. I check if they want to order dessert and understand it's their 45th anniversary. I congratulate them and am genuinely happy to see them celebrate it. I bring them their bill and wish them a good night. I get a hefty tip.
All I take back to an empty dark house is a bottle of Jack Daniels.

The W's

# Why do ghosts come out only at night/when the power gets shut off?

# How come haunted houses are dark even during day light?

#  What happens to the henchmen who get killed in the movie- what do they tell their family?

The morning after

I check my shirt once again. No spots, no stains..that's good enough. I comb my hair with wet fingers. I sniff my arm pits. They don't smell. I spray some deodorant on for a good measure. I check the sky outside- blue and bright, like the way I feel. Happy and light.
I check my hair. A bad hair day. I pull it back in a ponytail and look at my dress again. I smooth out the creases and wrinkles and wonder if  I should change my dress. I go back and forth on my accessories and decide that I am fine with what I have on. I look outside. I hum a tune.
The guys are in a huddle...they spot me coming and wolf whistle. They slap me on my backs.
The girls all ooooh me when I sit down. They wink at me and giggle. I feel one coming up myself but restrain it.
She is right in front of me. Her hair is one silky waterfall. Her earrings twinkle in the light. The teacher is talking something about calculus but who is paying attention. I wish hard to get her to turn and she does. A small smile.
He is behind me. I feel shivers on my back. I know he is staring at me. I turn and give him a smile. I feel different and yet the same.
I can't wait for school to be over so we can do it again...maybe recess.
I can't wait for school to be over so I can be with him again..I am going to the prom with him..
She is hot.
I love him!!

Dearest...

I clench the phone tightly. I can hear the rings and dread the second I will hear your voice. You probably are doing the same on the other side. You pick it up. I whisper your name, you sigh. We both stay silent. I take a couple of deep breaths and I can not say anything except your name once again. My eyes are full of tears and I am choking.
When your name popped up on my chat window, I was grinning at the prospect of an awesome talk with my bestie. Instead you tell me you have lost your mom. And what kind of a friend am I to ask your number again and ring you.
I think of the times I was at your place, talking to you and your mom. Thinking of the laughter that we shared in the last visit. The way she put her hand on my head to bless me. Oceans seem trivial in front of the rush that makes me want to be near you.
I say I am sorry. And you ask me not to cry. I ask you to be brave and I promise I am here for you. I wish to heaven there were words that I can speak to tell you what I feel. I mourn your loss. I worry for your future. We repeat the same sentences over and over again and yet it makes perfect sense. I spend a sleepless night and I know your day wouldn't have been any better.
You are the bravest person I know, the prettiest mommy I know and the best friend a girl can have. And this is a promise to be right by your side..

#81

No good can actually come from looking at an old photo. It's either the hair, the weight or a hot sigh about the good old days.

The road not taken...

I look down at my notes again. I lost my thread of thought for a second. I have been explaining the principle of autoclave to you. And all of a sudden you come up with a hilarious incident that happened when you were left alone to use it by yourself. I laughed so hard. And then I see those dimples- deep deep dimples. And those shiny sparkling eyes. I lose my grip on reality and pressure.
We have been classmates for 3 years. I noticed you the first day. I did not speak to you till we were well into the second year. And then I discovered how much I truly liked you as a person. It was a joy to be with you. I spent a lot of time after college with you. I don't quite know how to describe what I felt. I never paused long enough to examine my feelings.
I have heard stories where one feels a way and the other doesn't and the friendship goes bust. I was not sure if I was in love, I was not sure if you felt the same way. I was not that brave. To express what I felt, then meet with rejection and lose your friendship. Call me a coward if you will. No..I was definitely that strong.
I'd rather have you for a friend for a lifetime. Yes, I think a few years from now, I will look back at these moments and wonder if I should have just told you. But for now, I am happy just being in your company and not jeopardizing anything.
I shush you and begin with the autoclave notes again..

Reconciliation

Everyone talks in hushed tones. Its a little hypnotizing like the bees buzzing, but this is not a happy occasion. And yet, I occasionally hear people's quiet laughter. My grandfather was a funny man too. He was a stubborn man, but no one can fault his sense of humor. I have often wondered why his humor never made him forgiving. He always said he believed in 3 chances for a person- the first to recover from his mistake, the second to see where the situation goes in case of deliberate doing and the third would ensure that they never would be in the situation again, because life would drastically change after that. Well this was pretty deep things to tell a 10 yr old that had just stolen a cookie. I always asked him for one after that.
I came to live with him after my parents decided that they wanted to go their separate ways and that I would be a burden. He took me in and brought me up. Saw to it that he never repeated the mistakes he did with my father. I was well fed, well cared for and I lived in a cheerful household.
I don't quite remember what set it off. I was 21 and hot blooded. I thought I knew things that he did not. He did not see it my way. I left in the middle of night. He tried calling me up. 3 times. And left it at that. I did too..
Its been 15 years and I got a call saying my grandfather passed away. After his funeral, I was handed a package by his best friend. He still wore the friendship band my grandpa gave him when they were in first grade. And in the package were stacks of letters. Letters about things he never told me, things that I thought he did not know.
Letters dating from 15 years ago...letters that he never sent.

Death of a dream

My head is heavy. My eyes squint at the light. I look into the mirror and I also see my eyes are bloodshot and that I have a stubble. I splash some cold water on to my face and I pause for a moment with my face inside my hands. How I wish I can just close my eyes and ignore the outside world. I shake my head wanting to wake up from whatever nightmare this is. I only feel the buzz from the heavy alcohol last night.

I walk out into the bedroom and see your side of the bed neat and straight. You did not sleep here last night. We haven't slept in the same bedroom for a long time now. I can not say I did not know this will happen, yet I am truly hurting that it did.

Everyone dreams of a perfect life. A perfect wife, a perfect job and a great package. I put in my 100% to the quest for all of it. I met her at a football game and she was everything I wanted. After a short courtship we married. Maybe it was too short.

I realize that we are not compatible. Maybe my expectations from a marriage was too high. Maybe underneath it all, I was a different person. Maybe we both look at things differently..Maybe we ought to have given it more time. Maybe I did not prove my love often enough. But sometimes as they truly say- Love is not often enough.

In all..the death of a dream. I have woken up.

Starting anew

I sit in the couch and stare at the blank canvas. I lie down and close my eyes for a few minutes, concentrating all my thoughts to a single point. And let me tell you that is hard. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I walk to the patio door, look out and breathe deeply. I look around as far as I can, craning my neck.
No. I don't see it anywhere. Inspiration is a bitch. I have had to look at the empty canvas for a month now. And everyday has been the same. Scouting for a spark that will help me paint a new idea, a new thought onto the blank bit. My thoughts have always been fluid. But now..now it seems like it has all dried up and I can't even paint the walls of my house if I have to. Its been dreary. I have sung, I have danced- even naked in the moonlight, grew a beard, twirled my mustache, drunk a bottle of vodka. Besides understanding that I am easily prone to colds and that I have a bad voice, I haven't discovered anything.
It is hard to see people now. They want to know what is up with me. How do I tell them no, nothing is.  I truly don't know what is wrong. Maybe I should see a shrink too.
I think its maybe time to put those brushed to rest, put it all down and start anew. And then it strikes me...starting anew..
I wake up early next morning and go to the roof. I stand in the early light of dawn and feel the sun's warmth light me up from inside and I paint and paint and paint...

The W's

Why is it harder to find something that the guests request when the house is clean and the same thing in a dirty house is literally the first thing you pick off the floor?

#56

Toys seem numerous on the floor than when in the box, especially if you have to pick them up the last thing in a day!

#55

You give the baby fever reducer and you immediately have an active baby who wants to do all the stuff she/he did not when feverish...and this is inversely proportionally to the amount he/she has been sick..

On the day of your wedding

I still haven't decided if I am going to your wedding or not. My bowl of cereal seems sorry too.I scowl at the wedding invite long and hard almost willing it to make up my mind for me. And it stays quiet like the rest of the house. 
We were childhood friends. My father knew your mother; he handled her finances. And we became quick friends the day you defended me from a bully wanting my cycle. You walked me home and I stared at the red ribbons in your hair when you walked away. It slipped easily from friends to becoming sweethearts. I could complete your sentences and you could beat me at beer-pong. All of our firsts were together, with each other and I would not want it any other way.
As we grew up, we also became individuals, individuals who wanted different things in life. It was an unspoken break-up. You just up and moved to a different country and I knew that would be it.
Your e-mails were always friendly, always sweet. And there was an ache in my heart that I did not quite manage to quench. You met someone. I read the mail, re-read it a hundred times and I could still not will it to change.
Now, I stand here in front of the mirror with a shirt in my hand. I look at myself. No matter how much things have changed, I still can not see my first love being married to someone else. No...
I throw the shirt down, dump the cereal and head back to bed.
Happy married life.

#42

Weight never stays away long enough for us to miss it.

Moving on

I should get it out tomorrow. Its been eating at me for 2 months now and I don't think I can carry it on any longer. I have changed drastically- both physically; I can see my rib cage, and emotionally. I can no longer just go to sleep at night with the same light heartedness that I had when we were courting. I don't smile at the day's events in retrospect. I close my eyes willing sleep to come.
The monitors beep. The heart monitor indicates a steady beat. I see the vapors on the mask that is around your nose and mouth. Must be very uncomfortable.Your head wound scar is now only a silver line. It is no longer gushing blood like the first time I brought you here. Your hair is a little long, you are in for a trim tomorrow. You are thinner and I can see the blue of your veins in stark contrast to the pale skin that was once beautifully tanned. And your eyes are closed.
I have been at your bedside since that night of our engagement 5 years ago. you met with a crash after the celebratory dinner. I have been at your bedside every morning and every night. I go to work thinking of you and I come back. I have changed numerous jobs. I have lost numerous wedding, engagements myself. I have lost friends and relatives, some think I am crazy to continue this way. I was able to defend myself until that day. That day when I truly realized what I have been missing. It is not the comfort of a warm body, it is not the comfort of the shelter over my head, and it is most definitely not the wealth.
" It is with this ring, I wed thee." I silently mouth. I slip the band on your hand and on mine. Yours does not fit. I am married now- in sickness and in health. I am comfortable in that huge chair when I read Gone with the wind.

The judge

"That was a classic song and you butchered it." I say into the mike. The overhead lights blind me. I am sweating. The camera pans on me and moves back. I call cut. I mop my sweat, the make-up assistant repowders my face and we go back to shooting. I continue from where I had left off ten minutes earlier. You stand on the stage- a nervous wreck. You already know I hate it and do not like the way it is going. I go on further to strongly prove my point that although the song was great, the music was great and you were pitch perfect you simply had no soul- which was the most essential thing according to me.
The other two judges do not quite agree with me. One thinks that you were courageous even to attempt this and the other things she likes the emotion she heard! I vote a strong no to the two yes-es..you are in through the next round.
Who am I to judge you? Why am I here to judge you? Why should I judge you? I have a career that just recently took off. I am not currently making any albums and I have been the subject of tabloid speculations and scandals. But does that mean I get the right to crush someone's dream? That I be the judge that decides if you should pursue your dream? That you put a brave attempt in front of millions. That this show will help you transition from the bathroom singer to an international voice?
I don't quite want to know the answer for the fear of hurting myself...besides am being paid cool shit!

On a boulevard of broken dreams

I collect the last bit of paper. I switch off the lights and shut the windows. I check to see if the alarm system is in place. I am on my way out when I spot something I had missed. A manuscript about an inch thick. It lies tucked behind a chair outside one of the agents' office. I take it out. It was folded and roughly treated! I smoothed out the creases on the paper. A book named "The apothecary's lament".
I put it in my duffel bag and carry it home. I finish my dinner and sit down with the book and a cup of cocoa. It is raining outside and the light is dim. I prefer it this way. I start with the dedication; it was to the author's mother. I am always happy whenever I read witty and touching dedications such as this. I start to read...
I finish the last page and keep it all in in order. I pause for a second to think of the effort that went in to write this book. Sleepless nights, the fevered typing of the word processor, the hundreds of caffeine shots. The stench of sweat and the brightness of light. The missed social events and the parties and beers. Then comes the search for an agent, countless calls, countless appointments and the blunt rejections. The broken dreams...
It takes a lot of guts to write our thoughts down without bothering about the criticism and the soul is bare for everyone to see and talk. I salute you!
I climb up the stairs to the room and place the manuscript in A rack among similar friends..the room of unpublished magnum opus..I shut the door softly.

Just a few more...

I stand outside the restroom, fiddling with my sleeve. I pause to hear the toilet flush. And you come out with a smile on your face. I ask you if you flushed, you nod your head. And when I ask if you washed your hands, you bring them up to my nose; I can smell the aloe in the liquid. Your eyes sparkle as if you have accomplished a herculean task.
I did not expect this. I was absolutely blindsided by this. Even this morning, I made a smiley face pancake that you love. You went at it with gusto. You wanted your chocolate milk and even a cookie- right in the morning! Of course, I refused and you gave me the silent treatment for all of five minutes. That's new in itself. I should have guessed.
When we went up to put on your school clothes, you walked right past the bed where I had laid your clothes out and you picked a yellow dress with daisies. I was stunned. Not happened so far. I tied your hair in pigtails. It was then this happened. You wanted to go to the loo.
I walked in with you as usual. You stood there watching me with hands crossed, legs crossed too. I ask you to go. And you say- "Not with you in here, ma..Go out!"
I stand outside the door. I anticipate your cry anytime. But even this normal task is just another reminder, that you are growing up. My baby is growing. To be a wonderful individual, to her own self, with her own preference and mind. You might even like death metal...
Here's hoping to the innocence of childhood even when grown up. You stand on tiptoes, kiss me and run to the bus!

The wait

I didn't say thanks to the lady next to me in the bus for scooting over. I always say thanks. And today at the office, I did not wish anyone good morning. Neither did I feel like sharing my lunch with my colleagues. It was an Indian dish, a particular favorite among my colleagues. In fact, I did not even go to the lunch room, just shoved the tasteless mash into my mouth. My work was very precise today; my mails too.
And I blame it all on the call. That one call that changed my life and just flipped it. I checked the mirror this morning if my grays were showing, or if my teeth were stained. I just wanted to presentable. Very presentable. I can not wait for the clock to strike 5.30. I am out like a gunshot, everyone just glances at me in surprise. But today is important.
I cleaned the house twice yesterday and vacuumed once last night. There are fresh flowers everywhere. I am totally breathless. I am breathing but my heart is so still and yet beating. My hands are cold and I pump them. I don't want to drop anything or anyone.
I have faced numerous taunts about a broken belly for years. The tears were hot. And that call changed my life.There were moments when I doubted if I was upto the task, if I deserved it. It felt really weird to childproof an apartment that had- for the exception of spare furniture- laid barren. I was making lists; there was actually green stuff in my refrigerator and not just cans and cartons. It was a great feeling. It was a home.
I hear the bell ring. I am going to meet my son. I am going to be a mother..The wait is over.

#100

No matter how short the word, people will find a way of saying it with a bigger but useless word! Case in point- Yes becomes Uh-huh!! No becomes Na-uh! Fine becomes whatever!!

#29

Love is- watching someone sleep with drool coming out of their mouth and thinking- "How cute."

The w's

In a slasher thriller, why do people still get out of the car in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere and persist in trying to call from a stranger's house? Haven't they learnt from the movies that have already come and gone?

The W's

# Why is flossing the most easiest thing to do and yet it is such a nag spending 2 minutes pressed against the basin contorting in front of the mirror?

Excuses

Your eyes slowly flutter shut. I look at your serene sleeping face for a few minutes. I then heave a huge sigh, touch your forehead and touch my lips. It is bliss to see a young one sleep. But this sleep does not come easy. every night, you cry. Every night, I console. Every night...for the last 6 months.
One of the greatest sorrows in life is to bury a dear one. I lost half my heart and soul when I buried my husband. The other half, I buried with my son. For my daughter-in-law, I did not even have tears to give, so great was my pain and emptiness. I had to be strong for you, smile when you brought me shells from the sea-shore. Laugh when you came home dirty with that mongrel you call pet. And cry every night, after you go to sleep. I tell you they have gone to the doctor, they have gone to the shop. I tell you they are sleeping , sometimes they are ill. You have not understood it all, you have so many questions and I am running out of words. When will I be able to stop? Will I make you grow up when you are too young? I close my eyes..
I think am dreaming. I see father and mother holding hands facing the sun..it is a beautiful meadow. I run towards them shouting. They turn to me. I am not able to see their faces clearly. I am not able to remember..but I will ask them why they left me to get ice cream. I will ask this when I see them tomorrow.

#49

It is fashionable to show your underwear in public but when celebrities unknowingly flash their underwear it becomes deliberate/publicity/wardrobe malfunction.

Don't come back..please!

"I am out of cigarettes." I tell you. You don't turn. " I am going to the mart to get them. Don't get up." You still don't turn. I move out of the house and get into the car. I roll down the windows and take a deep breath. I still don't seem to get air into my lungs- the air that you punched out when you told me you were pregnant.
We have been together for 8 months. I have enjoyed my time in this town so far. It has been fun and carefree. No one to ask, no one to scold and no one to complain. But this, this I don't need. I am too young to get married, too young to have children and am not going to take on something I know I don't want. I think about what I have in the house. Although I have been living in your house, I do have my money and clothes in my car. I look at the house, the nightlight in the hallway and I turn on the ignition..Goodbye.
I can hear the car leave. I can still smell you in the room. When you showed up 8 months ago, I was not the person I am now. I preferred my solitude, my time and my life uncomplicated. Even with you around it was still the same simple game. And then I got pregnant. I sat on the toilet thinking if I should visit the doctor to abort the baby and then I realized this was the only chance for me to make roots. I had been alone for too long. I wanted this. And I did not want you. You were fun but definitely not father material. I will bet my entire life savings that you will leave and not come back. Goodbye.

The promise

My heart is so loud...I can't quite hear what the priest is saying. I wonder if everyone can hear it too- but they are smiling. All around people are smiling, but I can't think of one reason why they are. My dress feels too tight; I can't breathe. I look around to see if there is any way that I can run out. Run away and never turn back.
Never again will things be the same. Never again will I be the same. Never again can I get up in the middle of night, drink coffee and watch a movie marathon. Never again can I dance in the kitchen in the middle of cooking. Never again will I sit alone in the rain and close my eyes and hum. I should have thought about all this before I said yes. I should have thought for a year before I said yes. I should have never said yes. Why? Now why are you smiling?
I can literally see the gears whirring in your brain. You took all of a week to say yes. Although you know me for a decade and I courted you for a year. You think too much about the decisions you already made. You have a tendency to think about what you are missing even when you aren't actually missing anything. You will never be the same again, neither will I. In fact there is no you and me, only us. I will let you sleep the noon after your movie marathon- shut the blinds to keep the light out. I will clap after your impromptu weird dance while you cook, bang on vessels to make music if I can. I will be there waiting with a towel when you come in from the rain....Will be there for you no matter the time, no matter the situation..This, this is my promise.

Godspeak

I am so screwed. I should have known better than to take the 5th shot of vodka. You know how you think you can drink all you want and wake up happy an carefree the next day- you are wrong! A major hangover is what you get. And with a major hangover add on spilled hot coffee, flat tires. What you get a is disaster. And today is my performance appraisal.
God please please please don't let me get fired. God please let the manager be in a good mood. Please please let him not notice my being late to work. I know I have not been the greatest employee throughout this year, but  I need this raise. So please let him be considerate. God I beg of you.
It is interesting how people plead to me at the smallest of things. They have their life, they also have their own mind. All they have to do is use it and they don't quite need me. I am just a symbol- for their faith, for their belief. When things get tough, they can count on one shoulder to lean on- to get support. You should have thought of your work the next day before yo got stone-drunk with that chick at the bar. You should have thought of the raise during the days you wasted surfing the net for porn. It is your performance appraisal. Not mine. And yet you beg me to correct all your mistakes...A teacher can teach but can not write the exam for the student. Good luck searching for the next job.

Good luck

I will show you. You  think I am good for nothing. You were bemused when I first told you about the competition. You did not ask many details, nor did you ask what I was going to do. You just grunted and said OK. You did not ask the date.
My friends have been pestering me for details about my costume. I was broken that they wanted to know more than you did. I have endlessly discussed my choices with them and every time we come up with a new song. Finally we land on one. I only wish you would ask something. Anything.
You did not encourage. You were not there when I practiced. I had practiced for 22 years. You never bothered then and I knew you would not bother now. I have seen so many people and I have sung till my voice was hoarse. You never appreciated what I did. But this..this is my chance. My chance to make it big. And I am going to grab it with both my hands. Just you wait.
My little girl will win. I have seen her practice her heart out for 22 years. I have been humbled by her talent. Not that I know much about it, I was never the right one to talk to her- I never had the right words or the right tone. I know she has a lot of exposure to the music world. And I believe in her talent. I threw the ad for the competition in her laundry deliberately. I have memorized the route to the venue. And my seat is right in the front. It is my little one's day and I know it.

Listen well

I see you walking into the house. It is a time that even the Gods rest but your pupils are dilated that your amber eyes seem black. This is not the first time I see you doped. But this is the first time I see you walk without even the slightest fear. Your mom usually keeps the window open so that I don't see you when you come. Rest her soul, she tried straightening you out.
I am beyond angry. I am sad. This loosens my tightly held tongue and lets out my sorrow. And my heart bleeds at the thought that you might not live to see thirty at the rate you have been. The money that I have put aside would probably run out out with hospital and medicine bills once you become sick. Who will take care of you if I die? And from what I have seen you don't seem to exhibit any responsibility. Your principal has spoken to me about your truancy and your grades are bad too. How you will get a job is beyond me.
You look at me. You look though me. You nod. Maybe I am getting to you. Maybe I will get my son back.
Yeah right!!!! Blah blah blah blah. Who cares?! 

The customer and the salesgirl

I hate these situations. You know, when you have too many good things and you have to choose. And me..I will choose one, go home and think that I should have taken the other. And I come back to the shop and find its gone and I pine for it. Although I look good in the other one. So I hate making a choice.
I look at the salesgirl. She smiles encouragingly. She has been so helpful. She helped me choose 10 and has been there when I came out of the fitting room trying out all of them. She has been so effusive and enthusiastic about my selection but at the same time she has offered comparative insight. She helped me narrow it down to 3. And then I am stuck. I wear them all. Once the first time and upon her insistence I wear it once more. I twirl in front of the mirror. My butt seems smaller and my waist thinner. The second dress makes me look taller and my legs longer. The third dress I love for the print and it makes me feel so alive. I come out. She tells me I look great.
I am not sure which to pick. Then I look at the prices. And then a woman comes in and asks me if I will be taking all the three because she would like to try them on if I don't like it.I make up my mind. I ask the salesgirl to ring it up.
 I knew the minute she walked in she was that kind that needed a lot of talking to. I was going to attend only one customer that day and this was her. She needed to feel valued. She also had a heavy purse but needed a little persuasion opening it. I narrowed it down to 3 of the most expensive dresses. And I knew if I made even one sale I would get the   "Employee of the month" bonus. I bring in my trump card- my cousin. I make her pretend she is interested. That usually does it. Oh yes..it did. Kaching!!
And by the way- she looks like a truck in all the 3 of them!

#43

Alien are diabolical. First we think they don't exist. Then we think that they do. Then because we have a fertile imagination, we believe that although they exist they probably won't reveal themselves. Finally we think that because we think they exist and they don't they actually do but we think they don't!! 

Those red heels

I walked past the display window. And in the passing a streak of red hits the corner of my eye. I walk back and see an awesome pair of red heeled pumps. They were brilliant. Shining in the midst of other shoes. It was as if fires had been condensed and given shape.  It just pulls me in. I go into the shop and ask for it in my size. The last pair. Mine and mine only.
I wear it to the party that night. Everyone asks me about it. Compliments me about it. They tell me how gorgeous my legs look. They tell me I seem more confident. Then you come up and tell me they are horrible. You make fun of it all night long. I am disgusted. I have never seen you this cruel in all of the 10 years I have known you. I don't like this side of you. Nor do I like these pumps anymore.
I return it to the shop the next day. They refuse to pay me the entire amount. I come back with half of what I spent. Those words still ring in my ears. I take a breath and smile at the man with coffee sitting next to me. The day goes on.
Those red shoes are incredible. They are fantastic. They make me follow you the entire evening and night. I can not think of anything but them. When you walk by I look at your legs. I want them. I taunt you, I tease you. I make you angry.It may even break our friendship. I want those pumps. You tell me you returned them. That afternoon I go to the shop. It is half price. I grab the box pay the money and come to the office. Nestled in tissue paper next to my computer are those red heeled pumps.

The W's

# How does the hair of a model endorsing the same product I use look way more shinier than mine? Does she use a different product in real life?

My lucky day

You know those people you see on TV winning a lot of money. You read about those lucky fellows winning a luxury cruise, a new house or a new car. I often wonder how true they really are.  I have never been that lucky. I have dreamed of it, yes. But no I have never been that lucky.

This morning I had a feeling. That I was going to be lucky. Truly and genuinely lucky. It is unshakable. It is after all our wedding anniversary- the one day I actually got lucky. To marry my love. And somehow the day is brighter, the birds sing sweeter. I wear the shirt that I got married in. She is in the bath. I shout through the bathroom door and blow kisses. I leave whistling. 

I go to a shop.I buy a ticket. I scratch it. My anticipation builds when I scratch the last number. No. I did not win. Maybe next time. I buy a locket- a silver one for my wife. The feeling is still there though.

In the evening, I tell her of my day.I give her the locket. She seems thoughtful. And then she smiles-"Maybe it is your lucky day."

How could he do this? After all these years, he ditched me. He ditched me for his wife! How did I trust him. I should have let him go when I got married. I should have just made do with who I married. All those years of slinking and stealth and he ditches me for his wife. And my husband- he got me a silver locket. For crying out loud!! And babbling about some feeling of his... I married him because I thought I was pregnant and turns out I was just late. Oh well, the neighbor does seem hot. Let us see how that goes..

#52

When moving houses, never use the same kind of bag to tie up the needed items and trash. This saves a trip to the dumpster to check if the needed items have been trashed!

#107

Elves maybe Santa's little helpers, but with kids around, there are more clothes on the floor and more junk in the suitcase.

The W's

# What happens when you meet another person who's wearing the same dress as you in the same shop you bought it?

# What happens when you see a person of the opposite gender wear the same outfit as you and it suits them much better?

Angry mother

My mother is angry. I think she is angry with me. Because of something I did? I do not know. But I know she is angry.

She was smiling when she sent me off to school. She had also packed dessert today. It was a surprise and I did not share it with anyone else. It was a regular day at school. I got a "star" for my homework. I did not even stay back to play with my friends. My shirt was clean and my tie was in my bag. My shoes were only a little dusty.

She did not smile when I came back. She took my bag and asked me about the test. I got a B in it. She asked me why I made a silly mistake. Did I not know the difference between the addition and multiplication symbol?

She did not sing when making my dinner. And when she took me from the front patio, her hands dug a little into my arms. It hurt a little. But I did not cry.

She did not sing the fuzzy-wuzzy song while feeding me dinner. She kept slapping the food into my mouth and did not let me talk either. She constantly kept looking at the clock. It was not even nine.

She told me to go to sleep. She did not tuck me either. She did not shoo away the monsters under the bed. She told me to shut my eyes and go to sleep. I felt like crying, I did not know what I did wrong. I wanted to hug her and kiss her but she switched the night light on and left.

I shut my eyes tight. I sleep.

I walk into his room. I have been angry today. Some people should mind their business and not mine. I love my son and that should be enough. I can make him the man he should be. He will study well.He will get all that I can afford, short of giving up my life. I love him.

I peep into his room. He has tears flowing from his eyes. They have wet the pillow. My heart breaks. Never again...I go in. Brush his hair, tuck his sheet and look under the bed for any monsters. I kiss his forehead. Sweet dreams, I whisper.

I close the door gently on my way back.

The belief

I see a few boys torturing a chameleon. I just fly into a rage. I can not stand by looking at this atrocity. I go over and give them a piece of my mind. They have tied the poor creature to a string and have been dangling it about. I let it go. For a few seconds it just sits there trying to collect its wits. And then it runs away as fast its short legs can carry it. The boys kick a few stones in anger. They eye a stray dog and glance furtively at me. I shake my fist at them. I know the dog is in for a hard time.
I have always had a soft spot for animals. I always fed the strays that came home. I named the dogs alphabetically. The cats were numbers. My mother always ran out of biscuits and milk for guests because of this. I got thrashed by my father. And I always thought I would grow up to be a veterinarian. Or at least a worker in care of animals.
I reach my office. It is a huge building. I see workers scurrying about. I go to my locker. Get my scrubs out. My employer insists on hygiene. They are almost fanatic about it. You see, the least discrepancy will get them locked out. I put it on. My gloves are clean. I change them every four hours. And I go to work.
I work in the meat and chicken factory. My job involves checking the meat and chicken is free of skin and feathers. I worked earlier in the de-feathering department. Dousing the birds in hot water to remove their feathers. I asked for a transfer after a few weeks. It was this department or getting the sack.
Beliefs are nice. I believe that everyone should be treated kindly. But when my father is dead, my mother ailing with cancer- treatment so expensive that I take loans, the wife and I have to work with whatever we find to make ends meet for our children too.
I only hope the dog was not stoned too badly.

A lazy afternoon

I decided to contemplate on the mysteries of the universe. I had nothing better to do. The sun was scorching so bright, that it seemed to soak up any underwater reserve that we had unknowingly left behind.
There was no school for another 2 months. My friends had left to their grandparents' places for their vacation. Those that did not go enrolled in special classes. I chose not to go to the same classes and instead decided to contribute to the betterment of mankind and waste something useful- time.
So here I was embarking on a mission that could change the face of mankind. I picked the guava tree with its multitude of branches for this task. There were also a lot of fruits close at hand and I would not go hungry. And I lay on the branch which bore my weight without the least protest.
Thus I began...My first contemplation was on the sun. How would people have treated their first sunset? They would have been surprised that the light they had throughout suddenly dimmed. How would they have treated snow and rain throwing their regular lives into panic? Did they make a sport of ice-skating? How did they deal with mosquitoes and flies? Did they have a special weapon against them? Do mosquitoes sleep? Can we kill them all when they sleep? What alternative did they have for paper towels in the early days? Was hygiene even a point to consider?
Were the name of the nine planets the same on all the planets? If there was life on them were we ever portrayed as infectious beings out to take their world? Have we ever been the good guys? Did they have Men in Black on the moon and mars?
I paused to take a few bites of the guava. Continue... Aren't the pipes these days astonishing? When did they invent pots..is it patented?
I could have gone on. I felt I could think better with my eyes closed. Hmmm..yes indeed. It was better. The light was not as bright and I could concentrate better. Now where were we..
How many guavas did I eat? I think I ate one..no two..no  no three?!! I...ate..
......
......
.....
.......
10 guavas. And I open my eyes with a startle. Oh no! I dozed. And the mysteries are still intact. It is almost sunset with the smell of jasmines wafting in the air. I decide I will continue tomorrow. After all noone is going to really find the answers....are they? 

Happy Birthday

There is a cake in front of me. White and round with pink flowers on it. Candles on top..a lot of them. It almost looks like the sun has descended to the earth. And in the darkness it illuminates the smiles of those around me. My  family, my friends and a few strangers..

There a hundred candles. They sing the happy birthday song and clap. They tell me to make a wish and blow the candles. I do not know what to wish for. And I am not able to quite blow out all the candles. They help me do it. Then they cut the cake and give everyone a piece. I get a piece with a pink flower and a letter on it. 

I don't feel the hundred. I feel normal. I try to think of a few previous birthdays..I can not. So this is how 100 feels like. I try recollecting a few incidents and I draw a blank. Most of my memories are from the recent years. I panic, my breathing grows shallower. What about the other years of my life?

Slowly they come to me in snatches. My mother cradling me on her lap when I was in the clutches of fever. My father taking me for a walk along the beach. My brother stuffing his socks on my nose. Playing on the streets with my cousins. Side way glimpses of my husband during our wedding. My daughter opening her eyes for the first time. Decorating our new home and falling down the ladder trying to make the awkwardly-hung picture straight. Running to meet our new puppy. My daughter crying because the boy she had a crush on did not even know she existed. My son walking his first of many steps. The school runs, the graduations... The happy happy weddings of both my children. The trivial detail of dropping my dinner plate on a new carpet. The paper-pressed roses from the bouquet my husband gave me for our first anniversary.The arrival of my grandchildren; the pride I felt on being a granny. The memories of those grandchildren bring a smile on to my face. Their stick drawing of granny with black hair and a red smile.

I don't feel a hundred.I feel normal.Yes, my eyesight is a little blurred; yes, you have to speak louder in my presence; yes, you have to walk a little slower. But I feel normal. And my years are intact with me.

I finally wish- for a strong memory- to hold on to the tiny little synapses, as long as I live.

Happy birthday to me.

The acceptance speech

My mind kept thinking about the time. At the corner there was a chant- Faster, faster, faster! The words came out in a rush. I thought the sentences were clear, but to my own ears they sounded a foreign tongue.
My heart swelled with gratitude at this life. My mind was finally accepting the truth and that made this all the more special.
"I think of the times that I spent rehearsing this speech. Now I finally get to thank all of the wonderful people who have been a part of my life and made it beautiful. I thank my parents- mom and dad for bringing me into this world, for showing me life is viewed with two pairs of eyes and one heart. For the courage they taught me. I thank my wife- so beautiful and strong. The most feminine woman in the world who taught me love. I thank my twin daughters, they have been my light ever since I knew they would come in 9 months. It been 4 yrs and I love them more everyday. They taught me to enjoy the smallest of things. I thank my friends, who have been there for me even before this journey began, who have been with me each step of the way and when my relatives could not take the brunt of my obsession over this, they were the light and oil to guide my path. To the strangers who have smiled at me when I was at the lowest. To all the ships that sailed past me at night, I saw you and I was glad for your company. To my Maker, thanks for the prosperous and rich life that I have had so far..
And finally to the unknown..here I come! "

Fond farewell

My cell phone is now switched off. I could not tolerate any more calls asking me why I had made this decision. I had made it spontaneously in the press conference.I am never going to sing again.There were a lot of questions about the reason. One of those spur-of-the-moment things. But the more I think of it, the more I like it.

My manager is banging on my door. My housekeeper had to let him in after he threatened physical damage! I refused to talk to him after the press conference. He has been my friend throughout the years, I owe him an explanation. I take a deep breath and open the door. I see anger, disappointment and betrayal.

I tell him to sit down. " I can not sing anymore. I can't write.I can not sing anymore."

A spark of understanding. I go on. "When I was a child, I wanted to please my parents. When I was a teen, I wanted to please my friends. When I got married at 20, I wanted to please my husband. I drank, I got high, I got arrested, I served time. I did all this. I craved attention and care constantly. I was a child even at 25. I was never content or secure. And I was depressed on top of all this. And this made me write. This made me sing. I could write when I was at the depths of despair. People loved me. I was their picture of a lost soul.The more adulation I got, the more I went down. I kept spiralling out of control.It was a vicious and dangerous cycle. Last week, I woke up and decided not to drink. Just like that. Everyone appreciates a good story. I had no story. And I sat down to write a song. Nothing. Blank.Nix. And I thought it was temporary. But a few moments at the press conference yesterday was all I needed to know. I am never going to sing again. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the coke. I am never going to sing again."

He understands. He hugs me tight. "There are so many shows that want to sign you on a judge. Everything will be great", he reassures me. He leaves planning his commission and thinking of the lights he will want for his new home that he will build with the money.

I look at the mirror. I never want to drink again. I never want to be someone else again.
I am never going to sing again.

I open the drawer. I see the gun. Just one of those spur-of-the moment decisions. I press it against my temple. I exhale slowly and squeeze gently. I am never going to sing again.

Elusive dream

You know of me, I am a myth.Yet I am reality. The elusive dream.
You get up in the morning with a vaguely satisfied feeling and a feeling of content. You can barely remember the complete details. There are a few ideas though. You first think that your best friend was in it, then you think it was maybe your bitchy colleague. Or was it the next door neighbor? Maybe they were all in it, or maybe no one was in it.
You wake up fresh from your sleep. You know there were a few incidents that happened. However as time passes you forget them and are confused. Did they really happen? How was it that you were one minute talking to a dog and the next minute you are floating in the sea. Maybe you have the sequence wrong. Or maybe your brain does not quite know what to make of illogical things connected by barely sane consciousness.
I am the elusive dream. You know of me, you have dreamt of me many many times. Yet when they question you about me you are left stuttering. A few have a grip on me, lingering and slippery it becomes.
You have a deja-vu when your girlfriend is wearing a dress that you have seen somewhere. You feel it when you utter words that you already have spoken. You know you have done it all somewhere and you think of me.
I am the elusive dream. I come once, I come at all times. You know me, sometimes you choose to ignore me. I exist and that is the joke.
I am the elusive dream...

Casual Pedestrian

I am the casual pedestrian.
When you are in a hurry to catch the last bus home and you walk hurriedly while looking into your purse for change not wanting to miss the bus, you bump into me. I am he, the casual pedestrian. When you are indignant and angry, I look at you as if it is your mistake. Of course, I was just loitering around, of course I saw you, of course I recognized your haste and of course I did not move. And so it is your mistake.
I love window shopping. I love moving slowly along the shop windows admiring my reflection on the glass and matching my reflection to the dress makes me think I almost bought those clothes. So even if you want to enter a shop you will have to go around me since I am window shopping. I am that casual pedestrian.
I am also the one who takes the leisurely stroll around the shop..I am going to buy nothing. I know it, you know it and the sales girl knows it. But I still insist on being in your way of reaching  the thing you most definitely are going to buy. I take pleasure in it.
I am the casual pedestrian.Not content with standing in one place and finishing a phone call, I choose to walk up and down the walkway to the restroom. I walk in the center so you will have to wait for me to move to one side or you can choose to go somewhere else.
I do not care for anyone but me. I do not indulge any other requests. The roads are made for me, I pay the taxes and I walk on the road.
Hate me..I am the casual pedestrian.

Love

Love don't cost a thing! JLo sure had it wrong.
The scene at the courtroom was sombre. There was a buzz in the air. Although everyone was silent, I could hear the thought loud and clear. The media was silently capturing the expression on each and everyone's face. I knew they would milk it for all its worth and at this point I truly did not care. My mind was on something higher.
Your mother was holding my right hand. How I love her. She has been so generous to me over the years and treated me like another son. Your father- never the one to really show his emotions has given me his class ring for the day; he thinks its going to be lucky for me.  Your ex-wife constantly smiles at me from the front row. I can understand how you fell in love with her.
Your brother stares at me from across the aisle. His face reads hate. Pure and unadulterated hate. I have seen it on many faces in the past few months. This battle  between him and us has a nation wide impact and people have been divided and I understand it too..I think.
When you died, I automatically resumed the work you were doing. The management also turned to me. Your home- that we lived in for decades became my home too. To me it seemed natural to continue in your path but apparently what I did was illegal. Negotiations with your brother failed. He wanted total control. Not having children was our greatest regret, yours till your last breath and mine every minute!
"The state recognizes the work the defendant has done in the name of the deceased and acknowledges the goodwill they have generated. But the law does not recognize the union."
The judge smiles benevolently. The media is in a frenzy. Flashes strike constantly. Their darling son has lost. Your brother is gloating and is addressing the media. Me..I am being hugged by your mother. Your father pats my back and your wife- she just flipped your brother off. Again media captures it all.
I am enlightened. I am surrounded by love. And it feels wonderful. While I will miss the comfort that I had the work that we did will speak for itself and I stand tall.
I miss you everyday and I love you more.

Humor

Have I told you how much I hate your humor? I do..a lot. I hate it more because you are my mirror image. Where you find laughter, I find the hearty guffaws annoying. Not that I don't like it, but I hate it. Does it make sense? I suppose not.
Am sure you will find a kick out of making a joke of what happened. To me it is the most horrifying thing I have ever done. It even tops that excuse of a practical joke you pulled on me on my graduation day.
I have been a cautious driver. You even call me a bicycle with four wheels when I drive. And to think I crashed head on to the car in the front merely because you faked a heart attack. I should have known better.   You were just talking about how your girlfriend's parents were going away for the weekend. Your heart would refuse to beat only if you forgo the opportunity!
And I screamed even more when I saw you bleeding. And then there was blackness.
I woke up a few minutes ago. I was planning my best strategy to avoid looking at you, talking to you. I couldn't forever pretend to not hear your flirting with the nurse who had originally come in to check on me and has been holding my hand checking for my pulse. I wonder how she is able to find it with the amount of laughing she is doing.
No way out! I fake pretend moving my legs and arms like you do when you don't want our mom to scold you for getting up late. I flutter my eyes like I have seen in movies. I see you. My mirror image.
"You scream like a girl you know!". I knew it. You heartless swine. I should have tried something when we were in the womb together and you hogged up all the space.
I hate your humor.

Wonder

What lies behind this, I have wondered. And right now seemed the opportune moment to think about it.

I will start with the chair. This chair with the beautiful finish. I remember my grandfather sitting on it in our ancestral home, with a glass of tea and a newspaper in hand. Looking at us from the chair while we played. It is still so smooth so glossy. It must be a hundred years old because I remember him telling us that his father made it for him to be rocked in. An antique, that's what this was. And the chair was still shiny and smooth. I felt it with my cheeks. Yep..Smooth!

I saw the clock. With its carved hands showing us why time never waits for none. The dial was quartz and the finish was wooden. It matched the chair. The numeral shone brightly. And the bell that dangled from it chimed well enough for me to hear no creaks.

And what a lot of photos..Smiling constantly at all of us in the room. The backgrounds maybe different, but they were all happy faces, smiling faces. I did not know all of them, I have no idea how I was related to any of them, but they made me smile too.

The lights in the room were my only misgiving. Very bright. Too bright. Sometimes in night I was not able to sleep properly because of them. Maybe I should just remove them. I looked about- I saw a tall stand on which they were assorted instruments- probably collected by my father over a period of visits to exotic countries. I shoved them away.

And stood on the stand reaching for the lights.

And she came in. One look at me and she started screaming. Drew the wrong conclusion no doubt. I tried telling her that I was just removing one bulb. She wouldn't listen. She called a couple more of her friends. And they wrestled me down to the floor and then it was darkness.

I woke the next morning. My phone had about 80 missed calls. And 265 messages and was blinking real fast with messages coming in. I went down to get my coffee. There my friend was laughing so hard at something on the computer. My sister spotted me and was smirking. My mom shook her head and went to get coffee. My father was reading the paper appearing nonchalant but furtively watching all of it.

A youtube clip. I watched in horror.It was me being gassed at the dentist. Left alone for a couple of minutes, I was rubbing my face along the white chair. I was doing it back and forth, almost manically. I then moved hoppity hop to the clock on the wall- a digital one with just one display and tried catching the imaginary dangling bells.

Finally me shoving the dentist tool tray off and standing on it. The nurse drew the right conclusion and me trying to explain the bulb.All the while laughing like a fool.

Like a fool..