July 30, 2010

TRDC Meme: The First Love

This week’s meme from The Red Dress Club is well, MANLY. I don’t know how they come up with the ideas but the week’s theme is writing a fiction about seeing your ex from the man’s point of view. The MANLY part of me, well this is as far he could go.

It was pouring rain in June. Unbelievable. It wasn’t supposed to rain until next week, but may be that is what you get for trusting the weathergirl blindly. She was hot though. The wife wanted to watch ‘The Tropical Winds’ for a long time. And my boss wanted to finish the pending project. Now because the boss had a wife too, it was seldom that he won. Just like me. So, we were on our way to the multiplex. And then this happened. I am talking about the rain. The wife happened 2 years ago.   

She sat there in a satin blue dress and as the lights from the cars fell on her face, she looked beautiful as long as I remember. Our marriage is a funny story but I will tell you about it sometime later. So, as I mentioned, I was stuck in the rain and the traffic, with the wife. We could have been stuck here for hours, we could have had a breakdown, we could have had a baby in the offing, we could have had a tsunami, but we had to have the rain stop, and miraculously, within fifteen minutes, the traffic had to clear up. It is times like these that I believe in Final Destination.

Let’s skip a few minutes. We reached the multiplex, parked the car, entered the movie area, bought the popcorn, and we were about to enter the theatre. And then, the wife gave a dirty look. But you know masochism is perfect in times like these. It gets two minutes if nothing more. The call was from Dumb and Dumber decoded as my boss. Apparently his wife must was out with her friends on a Saturday night, so he needed company. Employee stood the first option for him. My boss was just like everyone else’s.

The next two minutes… I don’t remember much. I know the call was still on, I could see the people around me- there was this guy with a flower, the ticket checker with his machine, the couple with matching dress, the woman with big b***s, the man in leather pants, and the one face that I have been trying to take out of my memory.

There she was, kneeling to some little girl, her hair flowing over her shoulders, and the same little face with the glint in those eyes. She was making silly faces but it was the face that I could never forget. I walked two steps, the call was still on, the woman with big b***s just crossed past me, and the man in the popcorn counter refilled the soda.

She was smiling now as the little girl kissed her. She looked the same, her style, her expressions, her big earrings, and her messy hair. The time that we were together, the roads that we had walked by, the silly jokes that we had shared, the late night calls that we had made, somehow looked like they had just happened. It had been eight years though. Eight years. 

She still hadn’t seen me. And I stood there, wanting her to look at me, thinking about the last time we had spoken and the last time we saw each other. We knew we were best friends, the best team, just perfect for each other, and even today, it does not sound stupid. And yet, we had screwed it up.

The wife was giving me a call for the third time now. I looked at my first love for one last time still wanting that she would see me. They say telepathy works. And it must have, because I felt she saw me as I turned back to go where I belonged now. For the first time in eight years, the burden in my heart melting away. I went back into the theater and in the darkness, I saw the wife as she tried calling me for the fifth time. Man! She must have been pissed off but she looked beautiful even then.

The things are just the way they were in our life. How? Masochism my brothers, is a man’s Savior. And passing the blame on your boss is the next.

That night I kissed the wife as she lay asleep. That very night, I changed the password of my journal.

*Image Source: Google Images      


July 27, 2010

From Inside the Cubicle and on the Toilet Seat

Inside the cubicle, life is different. From outside of it, well! It ought to be different. Else what is the point being in a cubicle?

I work in a cubicle. And most of the times, I dream of coming out, walking among the crowds, an endless walk- with high pointed heels, with my hair tied up, with my reading glasses on, with a newspaper in one hand and coffee in another.

But the hair never sets right. And someone else gets to the newspaper before me, the heels are not my type and for the most part, I am not a multi- tasker.

So inside the cubicle, I sit cross-legged, my hair, the way it decides to settle, my flats cross-legged one over the other, with a coffee cup giving out a dull but stinging smell and the newspaper, lying where it is supposed to be. On the toilet.

From inside the cubicle, the world seems different. You can Google anything, you get to know everything, be it a restaurant that you would want to go on a date, or the perfect evening dress- the dress with a price tag that still hasn’t lost its zeros. From inside the cubicle, the rest of the world looks hot, sweaty, and silly with people running to catch the metros, with winds blowing hairs, and with pigeons pooing on power suits, at the right time.

From inside the cubicle, we yearn. We yearn for the drops of rain falling on the window panes, for sounds more than that from the air conditioner, for a breeze cooling off the tired eyes, the pleasure of walking thousand times a day, and the little sessions of uncontrolled laughter.

Because, everyone is either a b****, or a jerk, or too busy to share a thought other than food, or thinks the other one is a b****, or something just something, that keeps a cubicle, a cubicle, from its beginning to its end.

The toilet, on the contrary, is where you sit better, not because you have to answer, but for a moment of some inexplicable wonderment that comes with it. You see the pigeons discussing about their targets, the flowing hairs, the busy heads walking the pleasure walk, the little sudden breeze waiting for appreciation, and the raindrops hitting the grounds.

From the toilet seat, the world looks better. People look like people.

And you get to read the newspaper too. 

*Image Source: Google Images


July 22, 2010

3, 5, 7, 10- The Story

This post is for the weekly challenge in The Redress Club.

My Story elements:
Character: A recent high school graduate(3)
Setting: Mall(5)
Time: Summer(7)
Situation: Someone had just gone to the doctor(10)

Someone had just gone to the doctor. Someone sat mindlessly in a meeting. Someone had just begun with their shift. And someone else passed a smile at the someone as she entered her office.

Sarah texted her husband Sam while waiting outside the doctor’s room. Sam was mindlessly clicking his pen in the board room when he saw his i-phone light up. Troy punched his card again in the attendance machine. Megan finished washing her hands after examining her patient.

In the winter of 2007, it was a unique day, with cold, moist winds making the bulbous clouds dance over the city…… Backspace

Bulbous cloud! I need a better word. Bulbous… Bulbous… Bulbous…

Jess sat in front of her Mac clicking her pen just like Sam… She smoothed her tattered blanket and covered herself like she had been doing for the past nine years. Bulbous… Bulbous… it was a dry, summer day when Jess looked out of her window. The winds blew with a strange friction hurting everything coming in their way. The trees had willingly yielded to the summer only to be fooled by its intensity.

Troy was late that day. Late as always. He entered his bay rushing past eyes of all colours. Blue, brown, green, black. Some eyes formed a grin, some formed annoyance, and some mocking Troy as he panted past them.

Sam looked at his i-phone. Sarah’s texts were always his highlights, even on the busiest of his days. He saw a little smiley J on the screen. He wished to be with her. For the tenth time, in the last hour, he sighed. Damn the meeting.

Megan smiled as Sarah entered her room. The youngest doctor at the hospital, she had already delivered 323 babies, excluding the two that morning. And Sarah was hoping, nervous, smiling, missing, pounding, all emotions running down her spine with due credit to her hormones. Her... Blinking cursor

Jess looked around in her room. Her graduation hat lay at the same place where she had thrown it four days back. She hated the sight of it. It reminded her of the fight she had with her mother, of the Princeton’s acceptance letter, of her argument with Matt, and of the hundreds of stories tucked up in shoe boxes.

She had always wanted to be a writer. She had got the brains of her mother but she had the creative vision of her estranged father. Everything around her seemed pointless except for her words and the strange little voice ringing in her head. She closed the laptop and dashed into her bed. Her cell phone made a tiny jump. Her mind was working fast and typing a rough draft...

2:00 pm Sam leaves the meeting. Gets into his car. Troy leaves for lunch. Roams on the streets of Manhattan. Sam calls Sarah.

She let out a small frustrated scream, took out her jacket and headed to the mall.

Sarah tells Sam about her visit confirming that they were going to have a baby. Sam couldn’t believe. Sighs for the eleventh time. Happy tears. Fumbles for Sarah’s photo that he kept in his wallet. Split second. Misses the red light. Troy crosses the same signal. Gets hit by Sam… Bulbous… Bulbous…

The mall had been Jess’s favourite place. The energy of the place had for the millionth swept her away. She found her characters from the faces in the mall. The smell of coffee and the sounds of laughter filled her heart with a yearn to live better. She looked for Matt in those familiar faces. He would usually stand behind the counter, with his shy eyes dancing with some joy, some joy she never understood. The joy to love her. The joy she could never understand.

Her head swirled around… a wave of people went across her, shaking her, tossing her, but she still couldn’t find Matt. She sat on her regular seat.

Where are you Matt? Where are you?

She wanted to talk to him. He was her best friend after all throughout kindergarten, throughout high school, throughout the prom. It seemed he was always there.

Troy crosses the same signal. Gets hit by Sam… Troy must die. What could be a better ending. Oh! He must die. Bulbous… Bulbous… Death… Troy crosses the same signal. Gets hit by Sam… Yes! That is better. Where are you Matt? Where are you?

Tears clouded her eyes and her brain. She had never felt this lonely even when her father left her or when she fought with her mother or when her dog died. And today, sitting by her favourite seat, in her favourite place, she felt lonely. Sipping her coffee, she let her tears slip down. She re-played her life in front as a rough draft.

Father No.
Mother Yes/No.
Best Friend. Yes/No.
Graduate. Yes.
College. No.
Writing. Yes.
Love. Yes/No.

Scheming through the Nos, she saw Matt coming towards her with the same shy eyes dancing with some joy, the joy she understood now. Tears continued to roll down as she re-played her life again.

Father No.
Mother Yes/No.
Best Friend. Yes.
Graduate. Yes.
College. No.
Writing. Yes.
Love. Yes.

Later that evening…

Sarah tells Sam about her visit confirming that they were going to have a baby. Sam couldn’t believe. Sighs for the eleventh time. Happy tears. Fumbles for Sarah’s photo that he kept in his wallet. Split second… Crosses Troy just before the red light…  

Character of Megan: Dr. Megan from Father of the Bride 2. I love her character


July 20, 2010

The Silent Spectator

In the summer of some year, we were playing ball in our balcony.

It was a two- roomed, sober house, holding the elements of a family of four. Silence was predominant with the kids at school, the father at work, and the mother busy with her chores. It was a calm house.

But evenings changed the whole household. There was a mother running behind the kids with their toothbrushes, there was a police officer on a dangerous mission, and there was a super thief who just broke out of a jail. 

And that day, the kids were playing ball. The famous Cosco ball with its lush fluorescent green, was the favourite dream of every kid, unless it landed them in trouble. It was the biggest culprit for shattered windows and of torn-out climbers among other unregistered crimes. And in this case, it was the dent on the house refrigerator.

The winds stopped and the kids froze. The ball overcame the resilient flexibility of the super player and hit the door of the fridge. There was hardly a sound. The kids stood in front of their scolding mother, the shouting mother anticipating the future in fear of the father, and the father who was about to enter with a bad mood from work.

And that was how the journey began. The father, mother, kids and the refrigerator. It was a long journey, the one in which the protagonist was a silent spectator. A spectator of the mischiefs of the kids, a spectator of a proud, hard working father, and a spectator of a regular workaholic housewife. In all, it grew old with the parents, got mocked up by the kids, and yet remained a silent spectator, without a word except the occasional hums which made the kids feel better on dark nights.

Today, the kids had grown into beautiful young ladies, and the parents have become as old as the refrigerator. Silently moving into different homes, moulding into the wall colours, humming with its full potential, struggling to stand, and wobbling everytime it was opened.

New things look better, old things feel better. Standing there near the doorway, it wasn’t humming anymore, it wasn’t wobbling anymore, it wasn’t leaking anymore but the dent was still there. It was more like its birthmark, a deep, profound feeling of childhood innocence and growing up.

Before the young ladies woke up, it was gone. On its way to somewhere. Without any complaints, without any noise. Just like it had been. Just like it will be.  

The Silent Spectator, only now it had an audience.

*Image Source: My Sister 


July 12, 2010

The Mona Lisa

There is the TV which is the voice of the house, there are tear- stained pillows, there are graduation caps without due respect, there is work which is the excuse to stay away, there is the lost innocence struggling to seek love, there is the fake smile for the people of the world, there are lessons which are learnt too early in life, there is the wait that never ends, and then there is the silence when the TV is switched off.

Someone asked her, ‘What happened to you?’

Nothing had happened that day. Nothing that could not have happened to someone else. But it had only happened again. Like the last time. Like, the last to last time. And she knew, this would happen again.

Some relationships are hard to explain, like the blessed miracle of God... You do not start them. They just happen on unplanned terms and unknown logic. Someone else chooses you. You are just a part of it, from the beginning and till the end.

Out of the blue nights and into the bright days, things look just fine. She wanted to leave on a midnight train to a new city. Set up her life all over again. See what she had missed to see, feel what should have been felt long before. There was every element on her side, every reason to support her logic.

And yet, she sat on her chair after the storm had passed. Her hands clasped on her laps, she tried to put on a serene face. She was not the age of maturity; she was not the symbol of silence. She was not the face of a broken heart. She was not the face struggling to speak. She was the face which you would most definitely miss. 


Unless someone captured it. Like the Mona Lisa.

*Image Source: Google Images 


July 11, 2010

It Was Raining Men for Sometime Now... Not Anymore

Alright now! Laziness is such a bitch. Unless otherwise if it was a man! Which I believe it is.

So, over the past few weeks, things have been happening and happening all over the blog world. And I have just been under cover watching them with my myopic eyes.

Apparently people still love me in spite of the boring saga of nonsense that I write down.

What matters is that they still love me and think of me when they get awards. So here is my lot. And frankly, I still enjoy getting them. I just wished we have a typical red carpet and glittery ceremony. A girl’s got her dreams. So maybe I will never walk down the roads of Hollywood, unless of course Mr. Clooney spots me. And for the time being, I am going to write about it here and make you read.

Now, the thing is, I have lost track of my recent awards. Age does that.

So, although slack and full of flab, here I am, with my recent awards, which I could only bring up due credit to anti- ‘Oh! You Are Not Forgetting- You Do Not Have a Brain’ pills:

The ‘Your Blog Sparkles Award’ from my runner friend Jenna. Now that’s what I call BLING. Thanks lovely friend. If I am stuck in a law case (touch wood), I am coming to you. 

Oh! And she also gave me the ‘Beautiful Blogger Award’.

The ‘A Blog with Substance Award’ and the ‘Sweet Blog’ award from my Filipino friend Mish, whom I promised I would dedicate a whole post and still haven’t obliged. Well, I guess, friends are supposed to understand and besides she is working into the night, and would worry more about sleeping better! So, we can forget about the post for a while.

And apparently, these Filipino ladies have a thing for spoiling their friends. So, after giggling about the awards from Mish, I went over to Jan’s blog to find, You BET! the ‘Sweet Blog Award’.

My Curly- Hair Sisterhood friend Rachel gave me the ‘Super Comments Award’. Well hugs Sister. We curly headed girls have a lot more than just bad hair days. And now because, Rachel and Rebecca are buddies and I am their mutual buddy, Rebecca also gave this lovely award saying this- ‘She always leaves me great comments that make me feel great!’ Am I just not awesome? I mean, she is awesome. Hehe. Thanks lovelie.

Deeps, who wishes Mosquitoes sucked fat instead of blood, gave me the ‘The Master of Karate & Friendship Award’, and as a friend, I wish her luck on that mosquito thing.

So, there I go. You remember the times when it was raining men, apparently it is raining awards now. Thankyou guys! I am just SO over the top.

You can never do this Mr. Clooney, can you? 

Well, you are better at doing that!  

*Image Source: Google Images


July 7, 2010

Once More & Again

It is raining.
Raining all along the day and into the night.
Not like it should rain.
But close to it.
For rain follows no standard protocol.
Rain is not like us.
Bound by rules and limited by time.
Rain is raining beating the past records, setting future norms.
I stand in the thunderstorm.
Waiting to wash by, it only touches me like a mother touches a child.
I love the rain.
Not more than the sun but no less either.
It keeps me pure, it keeps me afloat.
It tells me to walk and to let go.
Standing in the rain.
I feel like I am crying.
Not for some broken past.
But to see myself better.
Giving a voice to my thoughts.
Just like wiping your reading glasses, you see better.
Same is with the rain.
I will wait for the rain again.
Like a fool looking at a cloudless sky.
The next year and the next.
I will wait like I am waiting now.
For my wait this time rained rain.
I wish for once more and again.

*Image Source: Google Images