Contentment

I dig. I started with the driest part in my backyard. We had not seen rain in a few months. Autumn just started. The light was bright, the breeze had the slightest moistness to it. I shiver at the word moistness! I hate it. Moist! Moist! Yuck.

Anyway I had watered the area last three nights. The water had soaked right through. Just like my sweat soaks right through my cotton T-shirt. I fan myself with my t-shirt - the momentary ventilation cools my skin but it is still slightly warm when I resume digging. the water had loosened the soil so breaking through the first few inches was easy. Little pebbles and gravel ping against my shoe. I also brush away looser soil with my hands. 

I keep digging. Slamming the shovel into the soil, I also add an extra pressure with my feet and push it a little deeper. More soil, slightly damp. A few more shovelfuls and I hit the wet wet soil. Then I see the squiggles and wiggles. Earthworms!

I love earthworms. The most gentlest of all creatures. Ever since I read about them in high school, I have a soft corner for these creatures. Just after the rains whenever I see them, wherever I see them, I smile. If they are in the path of high foot traffic, I take a stick and move them to the side.

I call out to my daughters - both of them come running. I remove my gloves and gently take my older one's index and guide her to touch it. She squeals and laughs. The younger one moves in and leans on my back and whispers that she wants to touch the gummy worms. I pat her cheek, but don't correct her.

We sit there, looking at the worms.

Tears

 It looks wonderful up there. Hanging beside other works of art, it looks wonderful up there.

A tap on my shoulder; I turn around. "That is a beautiful painting!", exclaims the guest. She is very enthusiastic about the work and very profuse with her compliments. I thank her. I can't stand there any more. As I navigate around the gallery, I see so many other paintings. One particular piece arrests me. I stand in front of it and I can not move. I look deep into the picture. The weave of the color and the depth of the brush strokes are all amazing. I am breathless. 

I immediately turn around and search for mine. It looks amateur and childish. A splotch of colors. I am disgusted by it. I am so angry at myself - I grind my teeth. I am desperate to pull it down, rip it apart. What arrogance did I have displaying it here? What talent did I have? How could I revel in this ability?

I run out of the gallery crying - hot tears spilling on my cheeks. I can almost feel the blood in my lips from squeezing them hard. I lean against the cold stone wall - their iciness provides solace to my fevered body. He comes up to me. "If you feel angry, channel it. If you feel inadequate, get better. If you feel content, that is your triumph. You are allowed to feel all this. You are not an impostor. Learn to work through it." I take his cigarette and let the tears flow; I will get better.

The Photographer

I sit with my laptop in front of me. The multiple coffee cups have left their rings to mark the passage of time. I zoom in to one section of the dark night sky with the milky way in full glory. I adjust the color of a few rocks in the corner. I also spot the flash of another camera in the same corner and Photoshop it out. Death Valley was a beauty and a beast on its own. I enjoyed the beauty and the serenity as much as I loved the experience of taking the pictures.
Photography is my life. My life! From the youngest age, I would take whole rolls of pictures and get them developed. It was an expensive pursuit growing up, putting myself through college learning from the masters. The models that I photographed lived on through my pictures - it was the chameleon that I admired, it was the balloons that I purposefully let float, it was the flowers that bloomed in full colour beautifying the wilderness of Utah. Life was photography and photography was life.
I sit back admiring the photo and I get a call on my phone. Work! For the hours that I spend taking in beauty and life, I grind on reality. "Here is the address.", he says, "Get there quick." I quickly grab my camera and labels and hit the road. The place is swarming. "It is pretty nasty in there", he says, "I don't know how you do it." I shrug and go into the house. A robbery gone wrong is never pretty, but I take those pictures for the police anyway. My art might help catch the beasts that did this. Life is beauty so is death. What they say..beauty in the eyes..

Wait for it!

I finish my set and go down to the bar. The bar tender knows me and signs for me to sit down. I grab my glass and turn to the side. She is sitting there with a martini glass, nibbling on the olive. I decide to try my luck and start a conversation. I clear my throat to grab her attention. She continues nibbling the olive. The only indication that she heard me is that her head is slightly turned to me...very slightly.
"Hi"
Finishes nibbling the olive, drains the last few drops of the drink, takes a deep breath and faces me with a bright smile, almost forced, "Hi."
"So can I get you another drink?"
"Sure!". She looks at the bartender and twirls her finger in a circle in the air. Not the most encouraging of signs, but I persevere.
"Did you see me perform?"
Sipping the drink, "Yup!".
"I perform here regularly every week. Did you like my set?"
"Yup! You are funny and..". I wait for her to complete. She just looks back at me and doesn't finish the sentence.
I try making some more small talk. She is really beautiful and I am pretty sure well on her way to getting sloshed.
She takes a deep breath and says, "Listen! I appreciate the effort. Honestly!". I am reminded of Eva Mendes in Hitch. She continues, "Honestly! It's been a long night and I have been on a dry spell for a long time. So why not?" I am taken aback at her forthrightness. I stammer, "Really?"
"Sure! Why not? You are funny and well..funny. Nothing stopping us."
"Are you sure?", I still ask disbelievingly.
"Yup! If it's good then we both walk away smiling. In the worst case, I become a joke at your next gig."
A few months later
"Let me tell you the worst I've done so far. I met this girl at a bar once...". I get pinched really hard. "Not the joke you want to say at your wedding rehearsal dinner..", she mutters with a twinkle.
I agree, not a joke!

With Beer on the Fourth of July

I look at the bottle in my hand. I hate beer, the smell, the texture. I hate it. I am definitely a wine guy. But they don't have wine at Fourth of July barbecue do they? No sir. Not according to my father. Fourth of July means a baseball cap, shorts, sleeveless tee and armpit hair in the backyard, grilling chicken and corn sipping on beer from the cooler. "That is what people do, son. It's expected from us and we do that. We must always do what is expected of us, son. That's the easiest way to avoid conflict and live a happy life."
I look at him standing near my mother. She is holding his arm and talking very animatedly. He raises his bent head, looks at me and urges me with an imperceptible nod. He has always been able to sense my hesitancy and nudge me now and then. Of course, given that he is my best friend, we had that bond even before we had words to speak it out.
I head towards my father. He is talking to a neighbor about baseball. He follows it avidly because it is expected of him. It presents the perfect picture. He can talk politics as if he was an analyst, all this because he believed the easiest way to avoid conflict was to become homogeneous with the rest.
I bring him aside. "I have something to tell you." I hesitate. But damn it! It is Independence day. I am not like the rest and I am ok with it. I celebrate it and I am proud of it. Now, more than ever people need to own up to who they really are. If it is not who we are then we become who we are told to be.
I can see his expectant smile. From what I know of him it will be change in the next few minutes. "Dad! I want to tell you this face to face. I am gay. Happy Fourth of July!" He is dumbstruck and blinks his eyes rapidly. I want to give him a few moments. I turn and look back, he is smiling at me. So is my mother. I feel free.

With Champagne in Spring

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, there is music wafting from the speakers at the DJ's bar. Squeals of children splashing in the water and playing drifts through the air. There are dozens of lounge chairs around the pool. Away from the droplets that glitter in the sun spreading more light. These water droplets are like million glass beads wrested away from the chain of light.
The air is perfumed, with the roses. Everyone around the pool has glasses of drink. Colored drinks- pink, orange, green with little yellow, blue and white umbrellas on them. I have a glass of champagne. The flute is glistening with the condensation. The little bubbles dance inside them to the music of mirth.
Ladies around the pool in a riot of color, lazing on the chair, applying sunscreen and adjusting their shades. The men wrestling in the water, joking and swirling their whisky on rocks. It is a great scene. I fill my lungs with the air, my ears with the music and eyes with the beauty. It's a great life..
A lady catches my eye and slightly lifts her hand. I acknowledge with a light nod and walk towards her. She smiles at me when I hand her the glass. "Anything else, madam?", I ask. She shakes her head. I walk back inside. It's a great life..for them! Come the end of this month, I am outta here!

With Eggnog at Christmas

I stand with my mug of eggnog. I have been working at this company for three years. I am an island. I do not have to talk to anyone. My superiors are in China. I do not know anyone at the party. Normally, I would have declined the invite as I have done for the past three years to every single office party. Today, I changed my mind partly on a whim and partly because I did not feel like reheating leftovers from Sunday night's dinner.
Everyone seems to know everyone at the party. Everyone is having a great time. Mariah Carey is crooning in the background. Someone remembered to spray air freshener that smells like snow forests and pine. They begin playing White Elephant. I got coffee shop gift cards. I sit patiently and steal a thermos mug from someone in the HR department. This is the longest that I have spoken to anyone in this office. I am elated and nervous. Too much! I go out the doors that lead to the balcony. I look at empty walls of the adjacent building. The air is bracing and brisk and my breath forms white clouds. I dump the eggnog into the trash can nearby and head back in.
I stand for a second on the threshold before shutting the doors. Someone kisses me on the cheek. I am shocked and surprised and oh, angry! He smiles gently and points up. Mistletoe.
I smile back and take his extended hand.

The girl with snow white hair

I see her at the park everyday.She sits on the bench by the swings and is usually alone. She always has a smile and always has a word for any child whose ball rolls near her feet. She smiles at the parents of the tots with bigger smiles at the grandparents who carry infants around. She smiles.
She has snow white hair. I have never seen her walk. Usually she is seated in the bench by the time I come and is still seated there when I leave. She does not have a phone in her hand. She probably lives in one of the many condos nearby.
I am curious. I let my twins play by themselves. I keep an eye on them and go over to her bench. I start a conversation with her. Her face becomes a map when she smiles, so many wrinkles. So much beauty in her years. She tells me how she moved from Poland when she was a little girl. How she fell in love with an Irish immigrant. How her children moved away from home and found their own lives. She tells me that she would have celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary with her husband if he had not passed away a couple of years ago. Her life has been so fascinating; her views are not disillusioned by passage of time. She still marvels at technology and the joy of life.
Time flies on. My wife takes the twins home and I stay back talking, enjoying her company. It is now dark and the park has very few people. The overhead light emits an orange glow. My stomach grumbles and she hears it. She smiles and asks me to go home. I leave reluctantly.
As I walk, I look back. She takes small steps to the swing. Very gingerly, she settles into the seat. In the dark of the evening, she swings slowly. Like a leaf fluttering in gentle wind. She swings slowly, the girl with snow white hair.

Selfie

The award function is in a couple of hours. I am all dressed for it. I check with my assistant if she has taken the outfit for the after party. I go stand in front of the mirror. I twirl around. I check the curve of my butt on the mirror and make a mental note-  more squats on Monday. I tug the bodice of the gown a little higher. My make up seems dewy enough without the sweat. I make sure she has all make up touch up kit as well. She tells me it is time to go. I walk back a few paces from the full length mirror give myself a once over and smile. I ask her to take pictures with her mobile and figure out the right angle to pose with one arm on my waist. I also notice the amount of smile just enough to look pleased and happy without looking maniacal. Again one last look and we are off.
We arrive at the red carpet. There is a huge crowd on the sidelines already. I look out of the car. My assistant spritzes some perfume on me before I get down. I tug the bodice of the gown a little lower. I get down and wave. They clamor for me to pose for pictures. I feel wonderful. I have fun with the photographers, giving them impulsive poses and glamorous poses; one of everything. I also notice the crowd wanting a few pictures with me. I ask my assistant to take a few pictures with the crowd with my phone. I stand in front of them untouched with my practiced smile and arm at waist. My assistant then signals me to take pictures with them. Some have their phones out and begin taking pictures with me in the background. Some take selfies with me..I smile for it all. The light is wrong, the angle wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!! Then I pluck a phone out of the many extended, turn around and take a selfie. Then while handing it over I delete the picture. I thank them all and wave goodbye. I feel horrible.
That night, #crosseyedspaniel #whysoserious #supwithhereyes #notimpressed #countherteeth start trending with my face plastered all over it.

Past Present Future

I cry for the life I  had. I cry for the life I have. I cry for the life I will have.
I smile for the people that came. I smile for the people that are. I smile for the people that will come.

I cry for the roads I never took. I cry for the roads I never take. I cry for the roads I will never take.
I smile for the people I have loved. I smile for the people I love. I smile for the people I will love.

I cry for all the things I have said. I cry for all the things I say. I cry for all the things I will say.
I smile for the things I have done. I smile for the things I am doing. I smile for the things I will do.

I cry for all the joys I had. I cry for all the joys I have. I cry for all the joys I will have.
I smile for all the sorrow I had. I smile for all the sorrow I have. I smile for all the sorrow I will have.

Will work for food

The heat. I can feel the asphalt's heat despite my thick soled shoes, which is probably why I am feeling it way too much. I don't have a choice. The nights get cold, real cold. I'd rather brave the heat than the cold. My tongue is parched and my t-shirt sticks to my back.If I could see it, it would be drenched in sweat. I am murmuring to myself holding the placard in my hand. "God bless you. Help a needy soul".
I look at her by my side. She has been with me three years consecutively growing thinner. I can see her bones. She doesn't judge me. She looks good to me, but I like her plumper and well-fed than the starving bare bones look. I reach to touch her when a car pulls up. He drops a dollar. I thank them and smile. I know how I look to him. Broken decaying teeth, shaggy hair, dirty nails with the musty smell I seem to have developed.
I see the golden arches beckoning me. They have a meal for a dollar you know. Should I wait or should I buy a meal now? Another car pulls up, she drops a fiver. She wants to know our names, "Daisy" I point to the one beside me, "Duke", I point to myself. "Daisy Duke", I wink. The names change- they have been Bonnie and Clyde, Sonny and Cher, Marie and Pierre, Romeo and Juliet. Both of them look at each other, with amusement I think.
I walk across to the arches. I order two meals and two cups of water. I bring them out sit in the shade. I hold her  and look deep into her eyes and thank her for being my rock. She wolfs down the burger with the patty and spills the water out of the cup.
I borrow a pen from the girl at the counter and write on the back of the placard. I am not hopeful but you never know. "Will work for food for me and my dog".

The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Dear Diary
You are such a treasure box to me. I read through the stuff in you almost once a week and look at the rewards I reap.
When J dropped me yesterday, I simply said "I know" and gave him a sweet smile and today he took me to the mall and got me the cutest pair of Jimmy Choos. I am looking at them now, maybe I should wrangle a nice little dress to go with it as well.
I saw the bus driver kiss the R from the cafeteria behind the gym.R should have been in class but guess she bunked it somehow. I would not have been there if not for the sounds.Boy! It was disgusting to look at. Although I waited for sometime before I let them know I was there. And I smiled that sweet smile. Now they know I KNOW!!
I saw my mom take some pills a few days back. If indeed she is trying to get pregnant with my stepfathers baby she shouldn't be taking those right! I went through her stuff and put the pill box on the drawer. She walked in on me and I smiled at her as well. Lets now see how I don't go on the Eurotrip everyone else is going.
Stepdad was watching some stuff on his laptop he shouldn't have been watching at ALL. Gross alert!! But now he knows I know..I haven't decided what I want yet out of that information but its good to have security! See I was paying attention to the class as well as the stuff that K was writing her about her brother. That is something I can use as well.
I can not wait for the stuff people do! Information is such power..I love it..I love you and I love me! Maybe I should give myself a cool name. How is this?
Yours...The girl who knew too much! XOXO

Reconnecting

There is a private message on my Facebook page. I am curious as to who is sending me a message at this time of the night. It is her. She is not on my friends list, but managed to find me through mutual friends. My profile picture is my high school yearbook picture. That is when I felt at the highest.
I messaged immediately. She was the love of my life. We had four intense years together and after high school it became clear that we were meant for different purposes. I had grand schemes of opening my own business, she wanted a family, a house and a dog. Dead weight.
She wants to know if we can meet for breakfast. She will be passing through the town, our town, now my town. I say yes. She was a stunner back then. I had no way of verifying since her profile picture was some shot of a mountain and sun. I can't sleep. It has been two decades. Does this mean something?
In the morning, I get up and quickly wear my blue jeans and grey t-shirt. The t-shirt is one of many with Captain America's shield on it. I comb whatever is left of my hair and holler to my mom through the door on the way out.
There is a shiny Tesla parked near old trucks. I pull up my bicycle next to it. I walk in and  run out of breath. I see her brunette hair shining in the bleak morning light. I go behind her and say hi. She turns and I run out of breath again. She is still a stunner. She smiles but there is something in her eyes. I think, disappointment maybe. I sit down.
She asks me what I do. What happened to my plans? I still have grand schemes. I just like planning and dreaming better than actual implementation. She is married, no kids. A high paying salary. We hit a lot of awkward pauses. A lot. How are my parents, she asks. I live with my parents still, I say. Awkward pause. I scratch my belly absentmindedly. How long is she staying? She had originally planned on staying the day, but now she is just passing through. We sigh and look out of the diner. My mind is full of memories, the love, the intensity, the cooling. I'm kind of sure she is looking at me but is really seeing me as that teenager. That is when I felt the best.
She hasn't touched her breakfast, but asks for a refill of her mug. I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I look at myself in the mirror and see myself- balding, paunchy, ageing. I was best when I was a teenager.
I come back, the Tesla is gone. The steam in her coffee mug is still rising.

Anonymity

Anonymous, January 15, 2010
I would never ever step out in such a bizarre outfit. Why is she called a fashion blogger again?
Anonymous, March 21, 2011
What? Is this for real? We are supposed to believe you baked this with 3 children running about the house and one on the way? Y'all she is definitely lying.
Anonymous, June 24, 2014
Yikes. Go back into the house. That is no part of your body you should be showing the public! Disgusting, where do you learn your culture and traditions from? That is such a jelly belly and what ugly scars. Dont even think of coming out in that outfit for running, who wants to see all that shaking.
Anonymous, December 17, 2013
That is some disgusting painting. YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO TALENT. Stop burning our eyeballs with those eyesores.
Anonymous, July 15, 2012
This is voice cloud not noise-cloud. You should not sing if you do not know how to sing. All orrible singing, off-key and tonedeaf. If you audition for American Idol, it will be nice to see the judges reaction to your horrible singing!!
Anonymous, September, 2010
This is such a shame. Dressing up a baby boy as a girl with wings and stuff, that boy is going to be messed up. This is why perversion is on the rise, because we encourage it to be.
Anonymous....
..............

That one!

We all have that one girl in our life who apparently seems to have it all.
The girl is super fun, smart and sassy.  She can do things with ease. New things she does easily and old things, she is an expert. She has no qualms about speaking her mind and people adore her for it. She is just as quick to apologize if she is wrong and people quickly forgive her. She is always full of positive things to say about you and even the negative ones seem constructive!
She can sing ,she can dance, she can play the piano and she can play the banjo. And she can make you dance and have fun. She is open minded about a lot of things and very traditional in a few. She knows the world affairs, she even knows who's the President of Fiji and can name all the moons of Saturn.
She is funny but her sarcasm is sharp. She is fit and she can run a marathon. She does Yoga everyday and watches Project Runway. She is good at math and can calculate discounts in a flash. She can bake, cook and barbecue without breaking a sweat.
We all have that one girl in our life who apparently seems to have it all. I hate this girl. I should hate this girl, but I love her, she is my best friend.

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.

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?

Sanity

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?".

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?"

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.