Note to self

I love telling stories. Mostly about myself, to myself. They're too long-winded and filled with immense detail with a million little digressions, ones that imperfectly hop from one timeline to another. (Like the three seasons of Arrested Development!) I don't think anybody will ever be that interested in my past life events, including my own life partner! He'd be crazy to, honestly.

I love retelling stories to myself so I don't forget. Some bits of the innocence of childhood, travails of adolescence, trials and tribulations of the 20s. There's a certain mystique to them. Like they happened to somebody else. Did I truly know the story on the other side of the coin, while I thought Heads was all there was? When I repeat my own life events to myself, it's like I'm having an out of body experience, I'm watching myself be 15 again, be 17 again, be 22 again, be 27 again, all at the same time. Would I have lived those moments differently? Would my life have been different had I, let's say, been more considerate, more aware, more aggressive even?

Sometimes the stories are wonderful, of achievements and of personal victories, funny, even twisted, and I'm gleeful while narrating to self. "Yet another one for the grandkids!", not knowing if the grandkids bit is even happening or not, or whether the grandkids will be able to sit through them or not. Maybe times would have changed and my 'crazy' will be their normal.

Sometimes I get forlorn. Sad that it happened, at times sad that it happened and didn't continue any longer. I pity the emotions I wasted in 2009, I empathize with that girl in 2011 and weep for her. Weep because I can't believe she had to have 2 glasses of wine to put herself to sleep each night, or laugh, because well, isn't it a tad bit laughable? Somehow these stories pierce me a little more. Shouldn't those be the ones for the grandkids instead?

I live my personal one-woman-act each day, with its appropriate blocking and hand & eye gestures unrehearsed and done on the fly in my mirror.

At this point...I think I sound like a lunatic.

Most of my stories will live and die with me. Like all your stories live and will die with you. How do you feel about that?

The Purpose

He’s gone

And I can’t remember the last thing I said to him

How long did I not have any words for him?

Besides the vitriol I spewed here in 2012.

I keep telling everybody “He fulfilled his purpose.”

Maybe I’d actually know the purpose he strived for

Had we exchanged real thoughts

If only I tried, not to roll my eyes.  

I wish I could find out-

If he mentally prioritised in his final moments

The agony of pain or

the vacuum of a mute granddaughter. 

You know 

My feelings are just hyperbole at this point 

Weren’t they always?

So am I tearing up because I miss him?

Or is it the guilt

That most days I just don’t have it in me

To be a good person. 

And then one day

I will too just be ashes,

Reduced by the conflagration we call Life,

Flowing down a filthy and incurable “holy” river 

(Perfect for washing away my sins!)

And someone with a fraction of my DNA

Will share their empty words to convey

They can’t remember the last thing they said to me.

Life after 30

It’s true what they say – Age is just a number. The days I feel like life is drowning me in meaningless and unnecessary complications, this 32 year old has a long chat with a 21 year old and realizes she can relate more to her/him (or maybe just reminisce about the simple times, that didn’t seem so simple back in the day!) than to a much-closer 35 year-old.

I wish I had unrestricted access to the young ‘uns (eeee that sounded so paedophilic), but unfortunately, I have to deal with the 30+, and more and more the 60+ on a daily basis.

I wish I could plug my ears with my index fingers, lock myself in a room with loud music and block everything out like I did when I was 14, but alas! That’s a luxury I no longer have. When the entire world around me is throwing tantrums, I can’t be the one adding to the pollution.

Even till about 4 years ago, my only concern was me. *My* heart is broken, *I* need the best job, *I* deserve a great partner and brilliant sex. *I* must make a ton of money and spend it. Now, I find myself thinking about others more than pondering over my own life. And no, this is not me being magnanimous. This is just my mind being cluttered and unorganized. So much for my management education! It may even be partly an effect of getting married and doubling the number of people in my life (this is not me bitching out marriage btw).

And when I do think of myself, it’s almost never about striving towards happiness. When you find me deep in thought, I’m probably thinking about going to a gynaec and a dermat, filing my tax returns (which is what I came to do here at Starbucks at 8 in the morning and I’m writing a blog post instead), being sad about my body and thinking how I need to slim down at least 1 kg before I go for my long-awaited vacation, being pissed at my parents or in-laws, being pissed at my husband for no reason, being pissed at my cook, worried that I might be getting migraine like my mom, worried that I might get diabetes in the future like my mom, worrying that I’ll become a shit person like my father, worrying that my biological clock is ticking and the motherhood hormones haven’t kicked in, being worried that I haven’t taken my cats for their vaccination and questioning whether I love them at all (I’ve turned into a mother after all!). This is somewhat low season in my new career (I have such mixed-feelings about the monsoons now), and I’m spending more time at home these days, worried, irritated, snapping at everyone. I’ve quit singing for good I think, I’ve quit writing. You will not believe how incredibly sad I am at the last two. Seriously, I’m losing my mind! I almost don’t even recognize myself anymore. And that alone is a blog post for another day.

Now everything I do or say has repercussions. The secrets of my friends are no longer on the lines of ‘a crush on that boy’, but more ‘I’m cheating on my wife’, so I need to weigh my words when advising, and absolutely sealing my mouth shut when talking to common friends. When advising, being absolutely unequivocal or completely ambiguous, depending on how much you care about being responsible for a decision taken by another. Calling up vendors who owe me a shit ton of money and trying to maintain a balance between being nice and being harsh. Friends, family, are all of a sudden in failed marriages, failed businesses, failed jobs, failed job-applications, buried in loans, losing loved ones to eventual mortality, and you’ve to understand their grief without ever having been a participant in it. And even when you're not living it, you end up carrying a piece of it with you anyway.

I cannot take on one more friend, one more family member, one more of me. There are days I feel frozen in my place, just staring outside the window, wondering where to begin. If I stop caring, will their problems get solved? How long do I have to be there as a shoulder? Is there someone worrying about my problems? But wait, are my problems as big as theirs? Am I taking my life lightly? Am I taking it too seriously? How did I have more clarity 10 years ago than I do now? Can I please, for one day, not have to care about the ones I love? Because sometimes, I’m not even sure I really love anyone at all.

A few years ago, I purposely disconnected from a close friend of mine. It seemed she consistently created drama in her life, and always called to offload and ask for advice that she never took. I noticed that she almost never asked me how *I* was doing. And I’m not a patient person by any measure but I’m not trying to use that as an excuse. *Now* she is going through some actual shit and I know I should reach out, but I have zero inclination. To add to the guilt, my other friends keep asking me why I’m not there for her. These are the same friends who used to ask me back in the day how I tolerated her! Who all do I need to be answerable to? Sometimes I shock myself with my indifference. 

As I age, so does everyone around me – getting loaded with their unique set of issues. As they offload on me, I offload on you, dear reader. The wrinkles on my face are now more frown lines than smile lines. They’re not proof of the richness of my life, but the frustrations of the daily. And there’s no FIFO (once an engineer, always an engineer) happening with the problems either. The pile is growing and I’ve to be selective of the stresses I take on my fragile little brain. I’m the person who couldn’t even handle the pressures of the corporate rigmarole, and EVERYBODY does it. I need to know if I’ll ever be capable of and be responsible enough for other human beings.

Kids, enjoy that Post Graduation abroad, your boyfriend dumping you, being the office minion, high metabolism, hangovers, a head full of thick hair, skin glowing like the full moon, body like gravity never touched you and everyone around you with their frothy problems.

And elders, could I live in oblivion a little longer? Yes you. You who is laughing at me from a distance with a “You think *this* is difficult? Wait till you turn 40!”. Maybe one day I will laugh at the 32 year-old me. Maybe 42 won’t be as difficult because I’d have developed a much thicker skin by then! And maybe I’ll understand why 62 isn’t ‘senility’…but just the new normal.

Maybe age is not just a number, it's a proportion. Or a variable depending on how you're feeling in that moment.

MY GOD, my vacation can’t come any sooner. :) 

Accidental Christ

Is life supposed to feel this empty

You make a sound and it echoes back to you

Fill up the tank lest your mind goes awry

But my limbs can’t move and my thoughts are frozen

An extra pill to ease the pain tonight

Could go the extra mile or could go the other way

A long-time love lost for reasons unknown

The keys are getting dusty and the melody is gone

Endless rounds of coffee to keep me awake

I can’t even differentiate between 3 pm and 3 am

Days turn into nights and nights turn into days

And this circle makes me dizzy in a thousand ways

A leap of faith to hit a new milestone

For the sake of simply shaking off the boredom

There is no passion left, the ache to go on

And the leap turns into a great last fall

What’s to celebrate for the tiny sphere of energy in my gut

Toast me when I’ve moved on but don’t let me know

A black and white existence turns to a technicolor lie

My paranoia is your genius, my slurs are your eccentricity

When will I recover, do I even have the will?

Or is it best to perish and go up in smoke

I don’t love life to feel that our time is short

Life is too long, my friend

Give me my moment to quit

Of course there is no sexism at my workplace!

The other day I read a post about a woman who faced crippling sexism at ALL of her workplaces (http://bit.ly/29vmMPa), bringing her to a crossroads in her life. It was quite shocking and felt unreal because I’ve been lucky to only face “light/generic sexism”. Haha!

My understanding of sexism might be limited by my own experiences but I’m not here to cry. I just want to see how the whole thing works with men and women at the workplace.

From my understanding - Gender diversity is not in numbers, it is in the intent. I believe it is ok to hire more women because it motivates men to come to work, I believe it is ok to hire women in sales roles because they might make better inroads with male leaders. But only from the perspective of landing the opportunity. (I don’t support using sex as a weapon or a means to get anywhere in your career). And then if you do hire these women, giving them their due and not making them feel like you’re doing them a favor is an integral part of it. Hiring is a two-way street.

I’ve been very lucky to work for organizations such as Infosys, Hero MotoCorp and Viacom, where sometimes being a woman might even be an advantage! Never have I felt  that I’m lesser, not valued, or any different from a male colleague. Not to say that work politics don’t exist, but at least it isn’t gender motivated and honestly, that’s a bit of a relief! One less bridge to cross.

I've always claimed to be only above-average at my work (and it doesn’t always come from a humble place!) But I’ve been given credit where it’s due more often than not. I also have more pride than most and don’t take crap from people, so I do give it back when I’m treated like a doormat. This I say as a person, not just as a woman.

With respect to my observations at the workplace – I have seen that men are patient, better organized, negotiate with tact, have the ability put across a conflicting point without ruffling feathers and definitely give saner career advice.

And we women have our work cut out for us. We need to acknowledge that, the same way some of our boyfriends, brothers and husbands try their best to help us with household work/parenting, we too have just scratched the surface at our offices and as much as instant equality seems obvious, a lot of it will still happen with becoming the best employee we can. When 8 out of every 10 women overperform, only then the men will recognize it’s not just an exception. And men at workplaces need to understand that we women do not receive an unspoken professional training all our lives. We’ve been taught how to be good students, but not bosses. We work hard, men work smart thus they lead. So, we are also burning our fingers and learning along the way. We can't apologize for that. We can’t be men but we can complement you. We are passionate, driven, don’t take any opportunity for granted and genuinely want to put in the extra hours to get noticed. Accept that and help us. Don’t not use swear words when we’re in the room, we swear too! Invite us for a drink with the boys from work, even if we don’t drink. Don’t take credit for our work, don’t undermine us during meetings, don’t mock our suggestions. Don't make fun of us behind our backs and call us weak because we cried at work. There’s no harm in correcting us, we will swallow our pride and learn. Lastly, don’t assume things about us, give us a chance. Trust us, it’ll help you. For the one woman in your team who has taken 6 months off work to take care of her newborn, there’s a woman in your life who did or will do the same and make your life easier. It’s not an opportunity to slack off, it may just be a sacrifice! For all the times your female colleague leaves work early to do some urgent house work, she is furiously typing on her laptop at midnight while you’re blissfully asleep after a glass of whiskey. Women in India get paid close to 30% lesser than men for the same role (according to a recent research conducted by Monster.com) and you wouldn’t believe the number of women I know who have been on the verge of a nervous breakdown with the amount of work they do. Women who are terrified of taking sabbaticals for the fear of being judged and left behind in the race dominated by men.

Also, allow me to digress.

A few years ago, I was working at this one dream organization of mine. It seemed very cool and chilled out and when I quit, I decided some day I will return there in a better job role. A few months later a close friend and colleague from there was sexually harrassed by my former reporting manager and she promptly reported it. At first the organization protected her and tried to conduct whatever inquiry they could, despite not having a sexual harassment policy. But eventually, she was made to feel like she was creating a nuisance by dragging out the issue and pulling down company morale by constantly urging the seniors to take stern/legal action. They simply did not want to be bothered. This is a friend who worked 24X7 and would’ve seen herself working there probably all her life. But because on the other side was a senior sales guy who brought in the much needed moolah, he was practically shielded and the issue brushed off after he denied the allegations. (He removed me from his Facebook soon thereafter, which doesn't exact make him look like an innocent party) After trying to put up a good solo fight, and being told by her female reporting manager that she probably should take some therapy because it was affecting her work (!), and months of trying to put her head down and waiting for some sort of justice, she decided to quit and put the ordeal behind her. I think the company’s reaction shook her up more than the harassment itself.  One of my favorite places to work shocked me with a vulgar display of how hollow their diversity is and how male hierarchy always supersedes something as serious as sexual harassment. I would like to see their reaction if a female senior were to harass a junior male. (Though I hope it never happens) Needless to say, I never recommend that company to anyone now.

We are not “feminists” because the word sounds cool. We are feminists because we just want to be treated like you, like ourselves, faultless because of the things handed to us by nature and nurture. 

Are you living to live? - Part 4 (Now, Today)

Since I was 14, Music has been the only thing I *know* I’m good at. But it’s funny how I’ve tried to make a career in everything that I’ve been mediocre!

Anyway, my husband didn’t take no for an answer ‘cause he saw how much all this was killing me. And a few months in, I’m closer to getting broke, but so much happier. I wake up with a purpose, workout regularly, am back to my verbose extrovert self, more aware of the world around us and much more patient and cordial. 

I’ll be honest. One of the things that prevented me from taking this step was in the interest of feminism. Having grown up around women who’ve been working all their lives, I have been conditioned to be independent and never think of relying on the husband for financial security. I’ve been one of those women in the past who have judged others’ decision to become homemakers, and thus, I was (and am) still sceptical about how people might perceive my step. There is no doubt about the fact that I will be dependent for quite a while, but I know that my husband will not let me turn into a homemaker, and will keep pushing me till I’m back on my feet again! 

Being on your own is hard work. Because the biggest part of the freelance job is to land work, not the actual doing part of it. Of course there are days when I do not believe in my skill and think that this might’ve been the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. More often than not, I tend to get lazy, till I remind myself that I’m my own Sales, Marketing and Creative teams and there's no minute's rest. Some days I feel like I’m begging to people, some days I wake up motivated with complete faith in myself.

I still get miserable every now and then. This is not an ideal job. Ideal would be me having a manager and I swoop in, do my work and get out. That would be awesome. Maybe in a few years.

I also have a band now - Ashmore. Himanshu, Sandeep and I are working on tons of new music and jam once a week. My singing voice has started to come back, songwriting getting polished and I’m so thankful to these two boys for being active, eager to make original music and just being my Doolally buddies. You bring me joy. :)

Check back with me in a few months, perhaps a year. I might be stuck at the same place, I might’ve done fantastic for a newbie. Perhaps you can help me get there. I would love love love some help :)

Are you living to live? - Part 3 (The Lows)

Sometimes all you need is to get to that breaking point, that lowest of the lows, for you to start making some real changes to your life. Those have happened to me after getting my heart broken and multiple times now because of jobs.

Great things have come out of them in the past. Singing, for one, because my parents were fighting too much. Getting through to a B-school of my choice, because my IT job felt like an everyday nervous breakdown. 2009, the most creative year of my life, because I had to do everything in my power to keep my mind from obsessing over this one person. And even meeting my now husband, just at the time I lost all faith in men. 

What I’m most thankful for is that I’ve always been able to channelize my anger or sadness to create something beautiful. I don’t hate my bosses that they were terrible leaders at a time when I needed their professional help the most (and vocally so). Eventually, they got me to a point where I stopped questioning their competence but started questioning why I was so miserable. Why was only *I* miserable? Everybody else seemed to be dealing with it just fine, including the guy who was humiliated in every single team meeting. Is it ME? I was working against my wishes for someone else’s financial gain, while my own dreams were untouched. If I *have* to feel discomfort every single day, shouldn’t I rather be doing it for my own self? Should I be thanking them for this self-realisation?

Now, it’s not like I *never* enjoyed working. Marketing allowed me to be creative and analytical at the same time. It took me close to ad films, music festivals, content, fun colleagues and things that kept my interest up for most parts. 

Thus, I gave my last job more than a few chances. I even waited till appraisal time to see if the bonus, increment and promotion could compensate for my unhappiness. 

And when that beautiful text came, crediting my account with unfathomable amount of money, my only happiness came from the fact that I could finally pay off my education loan. And be free. Free to risk, for the first time in my life.

The only question was - what was I going to do now? Heh, I was 17 again. 

I had to start from scratch. Music probably only pays Vishal Dadlani’s bills, and that too because he makes Bollywood music. (My aunty is right in a way) And I’m not special. You’re not special, Archita. The universe owes you nothing.

So when my husband suggested Voice Overs, it was almost like “Hey, why didn’t *I* think of that?”. (I have to admit, it seemed a lot easier than it turned out to be.) Took me half a dozen phone calls with people in the field to decide that that might be what I could do. 

The first thing everyone told me that being on your own is tough. One has to be mentally prepared to make very little money, constantly network and have a partner who will always support you no matter what. At least 2 years to get anywhere, everyone said.

I thought I had made up my mind, but this was very difficult to digest. For the first time since I was 21, I started to make money that I considered more than enough and I was gonna quit *now*? I did nothing else for 2-3 weeks but cry and kill myself with anxiety. Start from the bottom, all over again?!

And always raised to be risk-averse, I changed my mind yet again and started looking at job openings. There were at least two opportunities I could’ve grabbed and I probably would’ve even been happy there, but for how long? 6 months tops? Then what, back to square one. I've already had 30 years of putting things off. 

NO! YOU’RE NOT DOING THIS! GIVE YOURSELF A CHANCE! How long will you run? 

Are you living to live? - Part 2 (Rewind)

I was 12 when I first went to a recording studio, that belonged to a relative of mine. I asked him what they did there. He said his employees did regional language dubbing of films and Hindi character voices for kids channels. I was fascinated. Having thoroughly enjoyed singing along to TV and radio jingles all through childhood, I remember thinking “This sounds like so much fun!”. 

At 15, I had made the decision to become a singer. I started dreaming of auditioning for musicals, because the acting bug had bit me bad post a couple of theatre stints in school. One afternoon, a relative with a longstanding career in Bollywood asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up.

“She wants to be a singer!”, Dad declared.

“Oh, that’s great beta. Where’s your interest - Indi-Pop or playback?”, she asked.

I was confused; I didn’t realise those were my only two options.

“No aunty, I sing in English. No Hindi music for me!”

“Beta, then you can only maintain it as a hobby because English music will never work in India. Playback is a must. You must try for playback. Try singing in Hindi!”

How do I just TRY singing in Hindi? I hardly ever think in Hindi. You sing what you feel, and you feel what you think, right? (Till date, I might've written close to 200 songs in English, but perhaps only 1 in Hindi)

I guess that was the day I mentally stopped dreaming to be a singer. It wasn’t a viable career option, and people aren’t really wrong when they say that. I come from a highly educated, middle class family. Who'd here support a struggling-something to make things happen in an area they don’t understand, all the while cementing my role as a hopeless case.

Suddenly, I was left ambition-less, at a very wrong age. I didn’t know anything else besides music. Some idea of engineering had “struck” me like every other person around me. But later, convinced I wasn’t made for it, I contemplated studying the German Language and Law, but who was going to help this confused teenager get clarity. Forced into engineering, and embarrassingly so, I performed stellar in an otherwise awful college. Ah those 4 years of my life worth erasing, barring a few beautiful friends and my band. To make matters worse, I unwittingly came across the “fact” that a fairly pretty, talented, no-nonsense and intelligent Delhi girl in Faridabad *had* to be a slut. One 2-month rebound-fling with a loser didn’t help things either. 

I was surrounded by people who were neither rich in their existence nor brought up with ideals, ideas and thoughts that matched mine. The dream of MBA from a great college seemed to be the only way to kept afloat. If it wasn’t my engineering text books, I was buried in novels or CAT prep. Unsurprisingly, MBA entrances tanked just the way engineering entrances had. 

The thing about under-confidence is - it never allows you to get anywhere.

Are you living to live? - Part 1 (The seed)

Nine months ago, I encountered quite possibly the biggest existential crisis of my life. The problem was, I got too much time to think and reflect, being on my wedding leave for a month, and basking during my honeymoon in sunny South Africa. I watched people enjoy their lives, make merry every day, focus more on family and friends than money and I asked myself “Is it possible to live this way? Am I just running because everybody else is?” 

It took me a few days to figure out that I needed to dig deep to find what really makes me happy. I decided that I would love to teach kids music - singing, songwriting, maybe even the piano.

The more I thought and talked about it with my husband, the more it made me happy and sure. But I knew I was living in a bubble; I was, like everyone else, going to get back to my job and get absorbed, only to have these thoughts again at the next international vacation money can buy.

Except when I did get back, I found myself more helpless and frustrated than ever before. I woke up depressed, cried every evening and slept cribbing. “Sure this can’t be the way you’re gonna live for the rest of your life, yes?”, I asked myself. I was (am) newly married and I couldn’t start a relationship on a bad note. I couldn’t imagine being a 40 year old mother to talented kids, bitter and unfulfilled. What example am I going to set for them - kids, please don’t live your dreams because mommy didn’t and it’ll hurt her too much to see you happy doing yours? That’s classic Low-Self Esteem. 

At work, I felt invisible and challenged in an area that was neither in my zone of interest, nor in sync with my skill sets. You can even say I was trying to *become invisible* - maybe I could continue to make money while nobody cared whether I was working or not. (There are tons of people like that, I fooled myself into thinking I could happily be one of them.)

Teaching wasn’t going to work out. I had no idea how to design classes. I had been out of music for too long myself. What were my creds? Some washed up, has-been, singing-to-my-bedroom-wall musician? I couldn’t even hit notes I could 3 years ago. I quit piano lessons because my highly-accomplished teacher was pushing me too hard! Like hell I was going to convince parents to send their kids to an under-confident musician with only a Berklee College free course as a “degree”! I almost grudgingly accepted to be part of a band, hoping that my love for music might be tickled, hoping it hadn’t left me completely.   

If this was not the time to make some major changes, I might as well just have considered euthanasia at 30. I would’ve been the first case of “Kill-me-because-I’m-already-dead”.

In this bad bad world, be that something good

I was about a share on FB yet another article on rape/rape culture blah, blah and blah. I'm wondering if anything we do or say (scream) makes any sort of difference at all. Every day we have articles, pages and pages filled with feminist views; movies, songs on women empowerment and equality. Is it making any difference at all? Terrorism, genocide, religious fanaticism.. just so we could appeal to the humanity in every human being. Yet there are people who blame the woman...blame a country that suffered insurmountable loss...blame a religion...point the finger because it's the easiest thing to do. 

Sometimes I feel so useless, here I am being an armchair critic, watching world movies and taking pride in the little knowledge I gain, proudly bringing it up in a comfortable house party conversations every now and then. But these are people who are already sensitized, aware and know better. I wish I could say that I could affect a change by penning down my opinions as well, but I'm always too scared to be politically incorrect; there are wolves and trolls just waiting to prove you wrong, incapable, too extreme/coy or less knowledgeable than them. Maybe it's just something I've concocted in my head. As a result, I'm just a reader of convenience, hiding behind words of the limited authors who pen the most interesting headline.

It breaks my heart to read about violence, which is why I stopped reading the newspaper many years ago. Growing up in Delhi, TOI page 3 was always filled with rape and Vasant Kunj murder cases. Can't the news ever be positive?, I asked myself. And unfortunately, the news isn't getting any better with the years that have passed.

I wish there was a way I could help sensitize people who don't have access to rational thinking, people who believe war is never the answer because it only harms the innocent, people who believe reform must be considered and implemented before you announce a death sentence, (however heinous the crime), people who understand how ironical it is to suggest bombing a country to bring about peace, people who would rise up from popular belief and stop blaming the victim.

Support people who try to help, don't dismiss them. #Illridewithyou and #IndiaWithPakistan are making positive conversations and helping out people as we speak - in person or in spirit. It's easy to poke fun, call people attention-whores or follower-whores, but look beyond it.

And some people might not be as knowledgeable as you or share your opinion. Don't dismiss them either - teach them, try to reason with them. Maybe they will change YOUR mind. Pause, breathe and think.

Midnight thoughts in my head

I can hear the thoughts in my head.

The head that constantly worries about me being too old to be in a band, trying to enter a scene that thrives on energetic, finicky kids with ephemeral tastes. I was old 3 years ago, now I’m even older. But I don’t wanna be one of them 40 year olds being told their best years are behind them, but knowing that their best years never really happened. That’ll kill me. No amount of other happiness in the world will be able to compensate for the loss, the void I feel every single day I don’t pursue music. The truth is, I’m not even as driven about it as I was a few years ago; but that doesn’t stop this feeling of ready regret. Even if we crash and burn in 6 months, having performed to public just twice (if we’re lucky), I’ll know I tried. So, I hope I try.

I can hear the thoughts in my head.

About a year ago, I met a (sort of) ex after a long long time at an event my team was organizing. You can say I was a little nervous, a little apprehensive about how I’m gonna feel, what I’m gonna say. We’ve all been there, right? I was actually shocked at how little I felt and cared when I met him. This is the person I left my long-term relationship for. The person who stole 2 years of my precious youth, making me wish every day that by some dumb luck he’ll realize he made a mistake by not choosing me and will come running into my arms. The person who inadvertently kept me chaste for a year and a half! The person who’s responsible for the first 3 years of this blog. And he’s standing there in front of me, reminiscing about the great times we had, and I could only think about the number of tears I wasted. In that moment, I was angry and, at the same time, wanted to laugh in his face. In that moment, I was also thankful he made the difficult decision for me, for I wouldn’t have known this great life otherwise.

I dreamt about him a couple of months post that. It was the first time I walked away from him, and not the other way round, like I had been dreaming all the years before that. That morning has been one of my most freeing experiences of my life. To know that your subconscious has finally let go of someone you thought would haunt you for the rest of your life. This evening I dreamt of him again, again being devoid of any feelings. I’ve had other exes too, but none I cared enough to feel this indifferent towards.

I can hear the thoughts in my head.

I’m on the brink of making one of the biggest decisions of my life and surprisingly I’m not too scared. I’m being told I should be, so I’m doing my little rethinking bit. I’ve been in situations before that I’ve hurt the person I’ve committed myself to, so I’m wondering if I’m in for a repeat performance. “Once a cheater, always a cheater”, they say. There’s a certain thrill in doing the wrong thing, but boy oh boy did I pay dearly for it. There’s also a certain kind of thrill in knowing someone loves you as much as they do, that they help you reconsider your feelings about relationships and, when you’re almost 30, marriage as an institution. I’ve never been the kind that has dreamed of a wedding and children, so you’ll understand the slight apprehension. And then there’s the “I’ll never be with another person again” and I tell myself who are you fooling, there’s nobody lining up for you! Hehe. But it sure feels awesome around him, I’ll tell you that. Let’s see how it goes.

I can hear the thoughts in my head.

I’m constantly plagued by how unhealthy I am and putting on weight for reasons I can and cannot explain. The funny part is, I have solutions to both the situations but I think I’m just not taking it too seriously right now. The world is gymming, marathon-ing, yoga-ing and here I am scoffing at one 15 minute jog at Lokhandwala joggers park. Even the junk food doesn’t taste as great as it did, but do I stop? Women’s Health magazine gives me fancy headlines and then gives a rather difficult solution – one which involves not being completely sedentary. Oh well.

I can hear the thoughts in my head.

For now, I think I can do away with making friends or keeping everyone happy around me by keeping things inside of me. I feel I’m getting that little aggression back and it’s making me feel alive like I haven’t in years. I wake up every morning wanting to kick the world in its butt – in a vengeance sort of way, to prove a point, perhaps a different point each day. I think I’ve stopped making sense now.

And I think I’ll give this head a rest now. Ciao ciao! (Oh, how I miss Berlin!) 

Unsuccessfully deconstructing 'Cool' and other digressions

The other day I was having a discussion on websites with a colleague and I used the term "Hipster colors". I paused for a second to 1) applaud myself for coining a new phrase (not sure if it'll ever pick up) 2) question myself on what I really meant by 'Hipster colors'. After thinking for a nano-second, I came to the conclusion that, because I wanted cool/hip colors, I referred to Pastels as Hipsters. 

For a few years now I've had this major Cool complex. Where, on one hand, I feel I'm superior than a lot of people I meet, I constantly put unnecessary pressure on myself to become 'cooler'. I have this vague idea of what a cool person is, though if I ever tried to explain it to you, I'd either spectacularly fail or be at the risk of sounding like a snob. 

Only a few years ago, I was a loud mouth, belligerent, hopeful, rebel-wannabe who was also at times the life of the party, the "shining star" (I was called that once, I kid you not), the most adorable person around. I slowly feel that person fade away, for reasons I can't put my finger on. (age? appropriateness? professionalism?) I liked that girl, she was fierce and tons of fun. She fought for what she thought was in her best interest, still not stepping on other people's toes. That person didn't even care so much about acceptance by others. Now I'm agreeable, watch my words a lot more, bear very visible unfairness, bow out too soon...all in all, a very weak shadow of my old self. That "spark" seems to have left me, the joie de vivre that I always prided myself on. I see it in my brother, in some kids around me. So much hope, so much to look forward to, so much to live for, so much to prove. By becoming more accommodating, less selfish (?), seeing-things-from-other-people's-perspective might have made me more mature on the outside, but I constantly don't feel like myself. I don't like what I wear, my hair, what I look like. Sometimes I even hate the tone of my voice. I end my monologues abruptly myself, because I get tired of my own opinions! I feel like I've taken my own soul and caged it. I find everyone boring because I've become boring. I miss that weird talkative girl. Where's the wit, the silly humor? Gone with the wind it seems.

I'm so uninspired every single day of my life that I can't even make music anymore. I've become conservative and less adventurous in thought and action. Hell, it's taken me months to write a blog post. I know that person is still there somewhere inside, but I have no idea how to release it. I have so many excuses for not doing the things that I've always loved, there seems to have become this big concrete wall that I cannot bring down anymore. I've even stopped asking myself "For what purpose were you put on this earth?". Sometimes I wish to disappear in a circumstance that hurts no one. Where is that person who questioned everything? The one who knew the answer still hunted for a better question?

I digress. 

I'm confused. As I've grown and met more and more people, I hear all sorts of ideas of what a 'cool' person is. A person who drinks every night after work and socializes with the world. A person who started smoking at age 15, is hardcore into drugs now, and still manage to kick ass at work. A person who sleeps with a different person every night and is more emotionally disconnected with every new lay. (Man, I have a full blog post on that!) A person who listens to a certain kind of music - mostly niche and uncommercial - and turns up their nose at every one else. A secretive person who strikes when the iron is hot. Conniving, shrewd, sly, non-inclusive, fake. Paradoxes paradoxes! 

Then there are others who I'd rather idolize. The ones leaving their jobs to travel. The ones who risk everything, to do what they really love and work their asses off to make it happen. But increasingly, I feel like I'm capable of none of those above. It's so easy to make excuses, so difficult to put thought to real action. I'm so tired of being apologetic for who I am and who I've become. I was never the crazy, nutty one who threw caution to the wind but I was never the one who hoped to be anyone but myself.

Yes, I exaggerate. Yes, I'm cynical and overly critical. Yes, I have my own strong personal biases. Yes, I let it categorize things in black and white for me. What person doesn't? Didn't you judge me when I said I'd rather watch a movie alone at home every night of the month than go clubbing even once? You've drowned yourself in a potent mix of cocaine and alcohol, dancing in the middle of the bar, being loud and obnoxious and feel like the king of the world. Rave, rinse and repeat. You're not a bad person, I just pity you. I choose to not retaliate to your comments about how uncool I am. Because deep inside, I only wish you well and hope that your lifestyle doesn't take a toll on your health. I hope that it's not some deep-rooted mental problem that is driving you to this. This is really no way to unwind. But if I try to tell you that, I'd be criticised. I'm not your mother and I don't wish to be called one. Apparently, I'm not "living in the moment", can't let go of my inhibitions. And for those reasons alone sometimes I wish I was one of you. For all the fun and popularity. For all the people who'd recognize me in the streets and say Hi to me. For living a life where age is only physical. It's the easiest way to be cool. And yet, so difficult for me.

I'm the kind of person who saves their breath for people who matter, who add any value to my life. Sometimes I save my breath because I don't want to waste their time by interacting with me. I can't be the socialite who tries to kiss people's asses (I use the word 'ass' a lot, pardon monsieur) just to be in their good books. I've never wanted to be popular for people I don't care about, even if I 'should' care about them. I can't constantly publicize how awesome I am at everything. I'm easy to show boredom, indifference and even disinterest when need be. It's my natural way of rebellion. My way of not including them. But where's the choice? You're asking me fake everything I have ever been. Do you even know how exhausting it is?

I'm not upset with you, I'm upset with me. I've let you convince me that you're right, because guess who has stopped questioning everything! This person is not me. This person I believe I should be was never me. As a result, I've become distrustful of everyone I meet. Neither am I changing into this person that might take me places, nor am I getting back to who I was. Everyday is an escape in one form or the other. An opportunity to pass the days without accountability to myself, Going With The Motions as they say, to save myself the guilt.

That said, I have some ridiculously awesome people in my life that make me feel like my existence still has some meaning. They don't need to, but they still egg me on to be more courageous and help me realize nothing is as difficult as it seems. The last thing I want is to be a 40 year old with a whole list of What-Ifs, mental and physical problems that I might not be able to avert, an unfulfilling career to people around me I cannot love fully. These days I'm wishing to hit rock bottom only to compel myself to get up again!

But mostly I just want to love myself again. I don't even remember what that was like.

P.S: I'm not fishing for compliments here, nor do I intend to worry you. I wouldn't mind an advice though :)

The Thing About Dating or The Nothing-At-All aka Sex

This post has taken me two months on top of the two months that I wasn't sure if this post was even worth writing. The first two months were the first two months of me dating someone new and you never really know where it will go, so why run the risk of itching to delete a post? You understand my hesitation.

As a person who has in the past been in just one long term relationship (6 years to be precise), this (former) 5-year single person has learnt a lot and is still very confused about the dating thing. See, I approach relationships in a very high school way. You like the way a certain person looks, smiles, talks and bam! you want to be in a relationship with them. Most likely, you'll like them enough when you get to know them better. Conversely, if someone were to "propose" to me, I wouldn't really hang if I know chances are it's not gonna go anywhere. And once you're hooked, lined and sinkered, in either scenario, you do everything in your power to keep it together.

But when I was freshly back in the market, I realized the world around me had changed. One night stands were unapologetically all-pervasive. People were dating for a few weeks and parting ways. People were sleeping with one another and not developing any feelings for each other. Suddenly having regular sex with someone did not mean that you were dating, much less in a relationship. (And, oh, apparently Dating and Relationship are two very different things). Tell me this - you have sex with someone you're attracted to, right? So how is it that you wouldn't eventually want something more?

I did come to a conclusion - for better, for worse or for neutrality. Most of these "encounters" are a result of drunken stupors. Of desperation. Or convenience. Most of the times, a permutation-combination of the three. Initially you're a little embarrassed, with repeated incidents you become more accepting of your behavior and in the end, it's just another story to fuel yet another Saturday night gossip session with your friends. "Ha ha ha, he is adorable but he really had no clue what he was doing!", I said last June.

The way I seamlessly shifted attitudes from one para to the next, the same happened in real life as well. One day I wanted a relationship, the next it was only recreation. An excuse for distraction maybe. Sexual fulfilment surely. Way to raise self-esteem given weight gain? So many reasons to not fall in love.

You want to believe love is good and it exists but it's just not "cool enough". What will people say? They'll call you lame and just-like-everyone-else. Sleeping with older women, married men, famous people is really the way to go. Make a checklist of the people you need to sleep with. Count the number of people you've slept with. What are you if not infamous for being a Twitter playboy? What's your identity if not a respectable slut? There is so much peer pressure to be promiscuous, god forbid you should ask anyone if they wanted more than a Sex On The Beach with a side of sex. Let's keep this easy, hassle-free, baggage-less, shall we?

I'd judge such people but end up finding myself to be a mini prototype of the same. I realized I needed to stop being a hypocrite and ask myself what I really wanted. I can't be on the fence for all of eternity - want a relationship but fill my days with meaningless, orgasmless coitus. I'd been numb and furthermore, immune for way too long. "You get the love you think you deserve", they say. Could they be right?

There. I put my pride on the line and made it very clear to a certain person that a casual relationship is not what I wanted. And I was glad what I got in return was a respectful, direct rejection. I understood his stand, but moreover, I understood mine. Girlfriends told me to wait. My patience was running out, but what choice did I have?

I can't say that what I have now is not a result of alcohol, desperation, loneliness and convenience. But when I decided to make up my mind once and for all, I knew I had already crossed that bridge. This time I was the one being asked if I wanted something more. "Isn't that something girls generally ask?", I said, proving I wasn't quite the feminist I thought I was. And for the first two months I wasn't sure if it was a joke or not. I had to let the walls be where they were till I knew I wasn't being played.

I guess it's still too soon to say whether this will last or not. Quite frankly, I don't even find myself pondering over it. It's easy, hassle-free, baggage-less and meaningful. Waking up to find a beautiful person softly snoring besides you is the real joy I missed in my single years. Take all my casual sexual encounters, add it up and it still won't amount to the happiness I feel with this man on any given day.

Whatever happens, I'd like to be spared this dating game. Take your nothingness and shove it.

Casper the happy ghost

I turn 29 next month.

I said that out loud to myself just a few minutes ago while staring at the ceiling. Why did I do that? What significance does it have? Was it my way of telling myself that hey, do you even know what it means to be 29? Moreover, why can’t I believe it?

Oft I think about the time when I was 13-15. I narrate incidents from then as if they just happened, a few weeks ago. Fresh as they are in my memory, should really they be? Am I living too much in the past?

There’s nothing quite like meeting new people and them being your mirror; the one you don’t wish to take seriously but the one you can’t really deny. Somehow, there are things that are so glaring to them but you haven’t even noticed in your daily rigmarole or perhaps understood how much it has seeped in your system. There have been two such people in my life lately, the first being B and second Soozee.

What these two have in common is immense patience, patience to handle me particularly. (Do you even know how much I talk and in what tangents?!). I don’t know what scares me more, the fact that they’ve figured me out way too soon or that they’ve made me aware of my problems and now I must make amends.

A few years ago (see, I referred to my past again), a guy I was dating told me that I plan too far ahead, that I should try to live in the present. Now I’m seeing someone who tells me that I live too much in the past and is surprised by how clueless I am about my future. Clearly I’m doing the “living in the moment” wrong! I guess I would’ve been ok with all these comments if I were, say, 26. But it’s the being 29 thing that bothers me.

Am I really holding myself back from thinking ahead because of being caged in my past? Am I really living a “delayed adolescence” as B likes to point out? (Do I think too much? Do I ask too many questions? Is that really wrong?) What if I am really unsure? I’m not making an effort in music as much I should’ve been. I love my job but I’m not sure if I see myself doing that for all of eternity. I don’t even know what’s the next step if I were to continue in the same direction.

Is this what you call “being at crossroads in life”? I guess I’d have to really sit down with myself and jot down the things I’d like to do. If I am ambitious at all, and if so where should my energies go. If I ever want to get married or should ever have children. It’s funny that I genuinely cannot see more than a week ahead. A one off dream such as “I’d like to buy a house one day” or “I’d wanna compose music for the biggies in this country” seem aimless and lofty, moreso because what the fuck am I doing about it.

Everyone is moving on. I feel like I’m stuck at one place, jogging hard but not shifting from my place (and not losing weight!). Am I the only one that feels this way? I’m not even sure if I want to see myself in my 30s or 40s. What’s the point really? I’ll earn, I’ll eat, I’ll feel insecure about my body. I’ll love, I’ll get hurt and feel like I would’ve been happier if I had more money. Maybe one day I’ll stop stalking my exes online to remind myself that I’m still indifferent, yet talking about them all the time. Even if I don’t, how will that make me any more happy than all the wretched people who quite likely have more problems than I do.

The funny thing is, I’m quite happy right now! I have very little to complain about. I enjoy everything around me. People, work, the city, my house. I made amends with a few people and reconciled with a few situations the last few months, after having spoken to B. But what do you see that I can’t? In the absence of clarity about the future, isn’t the past what you naturally turn towards? Isn’t that supposed to make your future? If I AM happy right now, is my past really hampering anything at all? I seem to just laugh about it all. Is there pain hidden somewhere? Are all ghosts evil?

Happy New Year J

Gotta get up and try try try

I first really really wanted to blog when, back in 2008, I chanced upon Girl With A One Track Mind and just could NOT stop reading it (go through the archives!). It was blocked in my office so had to go through proxies to read it. Hehe. Imagine licking clean the whole blog in your one month notice period, and gulping as you go. Also, stumbled upon Meenakshi Reddy's blog and it's really no surprise that my blog url has been heavily influenced by it.

What really captured my attention was with how much liberation these women were writing - about their careers, their sexual escapades, their families & friends, and as a limited 23 year old, I would vicariously live their lives, hoping some day I would have stories of my own as interesting or exciting.  

"Interesting" came fairly late, but did come nonetheless and maybe I should've just been anonymous to be able to discuss them here. Heehee. But with all the talks of feminism these days, I can't help but wonder if it's a privilege to be able to write that way or a necessity. Why should I be anonymous to be able to write freely? Why the mudslinging and the slut-shaming if one were to talk about their life? Maybe there are more female blogs out there (on such topics) because we feel the need to rebel against the current social structure. Sometimes we go out of our way to claim the rightful spot in this world, even if it means being ridiculed because you know someday your tiny step will lead to a larger change. Do you get me, dear reader?

Through a YouTube discussion on something as trivial as girls moshing to a metal cover of a pop song, I realized there are young, educated men out there who have no sense of the concept of equality. Let me correct myself because Joss Whedon said "Equality is not a concept, it's a necessity" and that makes total frikkin sense. Those men believe women have no right to "mosh" and doing so, they're making the metal fans out there feel ashamed. This is ludicrous! And I refuse to rant more over it. They've probably never heard that Music is Universal. They sound like those 10 year old boys from Hollywood movies who claim to have formed a ClubHouse where girls are not allowed because they're evil. 

Freedom. I figured we don't NEED freedom on a url or on a YouTube video. What we need is freedom in real life. And though my parents have been anal about this and that all my life (majorly because I lived in Delhi), they never made me feel like I can't achieve something because I'm not male or there are designated activities/careers for men and women, never made me feel like my freedom to express myself should be curbed because "what will people say!" or "this is not how girls should behave" and for that I will forever be indebted to them. And, funnily, because of the same thing, I don't understand when my fellow gender sharers are mousy and appreciate (or even ridicule) how "liberated" my mind and actions are, because that's the way I've been brought up. That's inherent in my nature; I genuinely don't understand when people compartmentalize everything into brackets of male and female. That's inherent in my brother's nature; in all my life, I've never heard him discriminate against women, and that makes me so proud of my family.

I once dated a guy who said to me "Don't get me wrong but I'm not sure how to handle a female personality as strong as yours". For a second I felt offended. But then I realized, perhaps he wasn't brought up that way. But he was making the effort to work around it. 

That's all we ask. For you to make an effort. Women and men alike. Me too, in some ways. Please keep an open mind. A mind without filters and prejudices. It's so much more easier than you think. Trust me.

Where is my mind

I'm not quite sure what to say or where to begin. There are days I love putting unedited thoughts here, without a care about who's reading and what you, the reader, interpret about my psyche or my personality, and then there are days I feel like I'm a prisoner to my own expression. Sometimes I wish to vent about certain people that affect me but they're all on my social network and I wonder if a public personal diary hung out to dry was really worth it.

Most times I feel even my friends don't understand me or find this funny and pull my leg or worry when they read something untoward and I know it's all in my best interest or jest but I find myself more and more vulnerable with each passing day. I've been told vulnerability is a sign of weakness, so I compensate for it in my non-virtual world. Not sure if this blog has done me any good by giving my passive aggression an outlet or changed the way people look at me and perceive me (for the good or for the worse). Sometimes it's just nicer when they acknowledge having read it with a 'Like' on Facebook (or not, no pressure) and don't bring it up in a regular conversation (unless to really discuss the subject matter at hand, to agree or disagree with what they've read). The discomfort of it all makes my non-corny side cringe. But, having confessed to this blog for over 4 1/2 years, to think of life without it, without an unrestrained and not-imposed-upon monologue, is a little difficult. Call it addiction, call it the voice that refuses to quit, I don't know.

What started off as a relentless quest to package my love in sweetness and in anger towards a particular person seamlessly became a platform for me to put out something silly, something I feel strongly about or an attempt Neruda. There have been tons of bouquets, few detractors and for them I'm thankful. Some views I still stand by, some views turned out to be more malleable, but over the last 4 year timeline of my life, I've had plenty conversations with complete strangers and that's a thrill hard to shake off.

I do, however, face a dilemma every time I write. Sometimes a post takes days or weeks for it to be ok in my head to be published. There's a fine line between narrating an incident involving certain people close to you, revealing things about them or about their lives they might not wish to and running the risk of offending them, because obviously it's my life too, my blog and I shall write the way I see things. My intention may not be malign anybody but it might come out that way. And that's why, even though I might have only about 10 people reading a given post, I'm not quite assured that the person it concerns will not read it, perhaps ignore it or be pragmatic about it.

So that's the reason why I blog, but don't blog as often as I did. I felt this was necessary just as a future and past disclaimer. And that's why songwriting and poetry can be such an ambiguous outlet :)

Dude, we don't need rescuing. Aight?

Are men naturally inclined towards rescuing damsels in distress, even when they're not asking to be rescued? Can't we sit here and revel in our sorrow for a bit? (We all get off on it in various capacities, you know) Is that too much to ask for? Did I concern myself with your business so much as to fake concern for you after a particular point, that you thought it appropriate to encroach my space? Is the concept of boundaries not understood by men or people or this nation or this world? If you think you know me so well, don't you think I would've asked for help if I wanted it, replete with ways to fix this broken soul, to stitch up this big torn bag & baggage? Do I look like a woman-child to you? That concept does not apply to females, oh irreverent male. We fuck up, we lick our wounds, we clean, we weep to heal, not to hang a sword over your heads, and we amend. And look at our glorious selves today! Your nineteenth century mouths still only look dubious. They say something but they want quite something else. But thanks for being there at our beck and call. Arrive on time when we call you. Oh, and don't come around without an invitation.

Palate

Truth is -
I try to romanticize one
but none of you is quite adequate
So, my love poem is a combination
of the five of you
to paint the entire palate

I Love You

This is perhaps one of the most difficult posts I've ever had to write. No, nobody's put a gun to my head! But like all posts, I want this to mirror my feelings and help me understand them better.

On Saturday, I met this 4 year old at a friend's place. The moment I entered the door, he wrapped himself around my knees and I was startled - like fuck dude, who's this kid?!?! Over the course of the day, I kept observing him and envied how freely he was able to express himself - whether it was affection or grumpiness or the simple and hysterical joy he found in frolicking around in the greens. His behaviour was infectious and I found myself multiplying in this happy cancer. Last night he even said "No! You're my mommy!" while I tried to rid him from my arms, at the same time feeling love in his smother.

This post is not about a kid or having motherly feelings. It's about expressing yourself and why, as we grow older, we put up our steely-tough guard and let our feelings grow as only a lump in the throat, fearing its release. Why can't we break this convention?

Now, who says Love Is Forever? I don't believe that for a second. We're humans, not factory-made toy robots, made to perform the same function with ever-growing predictability. Discard that notion, challenge it. Love can be transient, temporary, fleeting, boring, exhilarating, maddening, dirty, pure, even non-existing, because that's the nature of life itself.

Love is a simple emotion, but we've made those three words our ultimate source of joy and the perfect reason to escape. It's not required only at the end of a long romantic phone call. Or in the throes of an orgasm. Or while trying to keep your lover from leaving you.

Remember the time,
when I was crying about poor scores in Mock CATs (!)
and you ignored all your work to teach me your tricks
at 2 am?
I loved you then, my little life raft.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

That moment is gone and it won't be fair to bring it up now. I wouldn't express it the same way, and we'd both be sheepish, laugh about it (and it doesn't deserve that) and the moment would be forgotten as soon as there's a knock on the door.

Remember the time,
we were standing in your college courtyard
and we feared our "relationship" will be seen
yet you put your arm around me
when Comfortably Numb played
I looked around to catch your friends' eyes
but you didn't care
I loved you then, my one big sin.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

Now you're reduced to pleasantries on birthdays and a remark and a chuckle a year on reminiscence and innocence. You told me you loved me, in an ambiguous and lengthy poem, when it had lost all its meaning; you weren't so significant to me any more, for I suffered another heartbreak after the ordeal I call You. And that made me so angry. I knew I saw it in your eyes, why couldn't you say it when I needed to hear it the most? Did you think it was enough to let your eyes do the talking and not put it into actual concrete words, when words are what you let define you and you still strive to make a living out of? What did you fear, that my heart would break after you couldn't fulfil the promise that came with those words? My heart still broke, you know, so what difference would those words have made? I could write a book on you (I already wrote most of this blog on you), but you deserve to be unwritten. Still, I hope we can be unspoken friends, because through it all, we always were.

Remember the time,
I cringed when you held my hand
because Look! It's a public space!
but you didn't let go 
while we walked and walked the Delhi elite
you squeezed my butt in front of the President's House
and whispered
"Do you realize you've been holding my hand for the last one hour?"
I loved you then, my skinny love.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

This. That's it. I'm exhausted.

Remember the time,
you played the guitar for all my friends?
and they all loved you
like I loved you in that moment
and I didn't love anything more
who knows if I ever did in the traditional sense of the word!
But I should've told you.

I don't know, I'm still undecided on that.

I'm not going to be embarrassed for a feeling that lasted a few minutes to a few days to a few months. I still loved with a crazy kind of intensity, and just because that feeling did not last a lifetime doesn't make it any less of love. Why does the word carry with it so much baggage? Why does it echo in our brain, building fear by the nanosecond, like energy in a cyclotron? 

I want to tell you I Love You when I feel love for you, not as a formality or as a given. I want to tell you I Love You when your penis is inside of me and I can't wrap my brain around the overwhelming bond I feel with your skin, your smell, your hands, your teeth, your eyes, and my/those words in your ear is the glue that finally fuses us together. But don't hold me ransom for my confession.

And I won't let you tell me that you love me if I don't see it. I will run away from those words only when I know it's not coming from the right place. 

So, say it! Throw away the guilt and the fear. Do away with your apprehensions! Walk away from someone who doesn't respect it. They're the one at loss here, don't you see? Forget to be cynical, we weren't born to be that way. The day you stop feeling and expressing, you might as well be dead.