'Cause I am...

What makes a woman go wild? What makes her heart fill with desire? What makes her swoon with delight? What puts those stars in her eyes and a mysterious smile on her face? What makes her giggle like a school girl? What makes her sing? What makes her laugh out loud with joy at the slightest provocation, when others don't find that conversation funny in the least?

Is it a man? Or is it the promise of something that may come to pass in the future that brings a spring in her step...?

I am a woman...
Sometimes childlike, sometimes evil, sometimes brave, sometimes feeble, sometimes creative, sometimes reactive, sometimes wild, sometimes trying...

I have my moments...both ugly and nice...

Today was a particularly pleasant day. I was ecstatic. Without splashing my personal life on the world Wide Web let me discreetly mention, it had something to do with the way Mr.Me and I spent last evening. I am still quite heady with the after effects of our frolic yesterday.

*I sang to myself while working on dreary reports and a presentation of the kind that usually leaves me high strung and in black humour.

*I couldn't wipe that grin off my face even when people observed and commented on my rather delighted state of being. I had nothing to say except continuing to smile foolishly!

*I made pleasant conversation with almost everyone I ran into at work.

*I went over some very happy memories I had shared with a coworker I have practically known half a decade.

* I had an uncontrollable urge to buy something for Mr.Me. I took time off work and picked up a few surprise gifts for him. I am not about to disclose what I bought for him until I give them to him and he is pleasantly surprised. Wouldn't dream of ruining his surprise in case someone stumbles upon my post tonight and promptly texts, mails or calls him to ask him if he likes ...etc etc etc...

*I had the most divine pasta ever and literally wiped the bowl clean.

*I couldn't stop thinking about our forthcoming trip to Neemrana...which is in 2 days...I had several brainwaves...I considered and rejected several ideas of making the trip absolutely gratifying (pun intended).

Just a girl, just an ordinary girl
Just a boy, just an ordinary boy
Just a dream, just an ordinary dream...

Life's like that...Our past and the promise of what might happen affects our present.
We take life too seriously. Its the imagined gravity of every situation that keeps us grounded. The angles on the other hand fly, for they take themselves lightly.

Laugh...for you don't know how long you'll have something to be glad about.
Smile...for you don't know how long you'll find something amusing.
Talk...for you don't know how long you'll have someone to share your joy with.
Walk...for you don't know how long your legs will support you.
Drive with the windows down sometime...for the wind in the hair is like a lovers playful touch.
Hold hands...for you don't know how long the love of your life will stay by your side.
Go on vacations regularly...for you need a break every now and then!

Tempus

The worst is parking yourself on your cushiony rear which is getting even more coagulated by the day because you keep it parked for endless lengths of time waiting for an inopportune moment when you would be called upon for something that would require you to mobilize your inert bottom. It’s the wait that is killing. The comfort of being relinquished, of staying in the dark corner where no one’s razor sharp eyes zero in on you, doesn’t last long. Someone somewhere up the ladder takes a quick peek down below…notices you wasting yourself and decides to entrust you with a responsibility which is entirely inconsequential according to you…and ‘pop goes the weasel’.

Now this phrase has been used after much deliberation. This obscure slang has a cryptic reference. Without getting into too much detail let me just make a passing mention that it is a darkly humorous chronicle of the cycle of poverty among the underbelly of East London.

The weasel particularly in my case is 'time'. Pop it goes without warning. I see it sitting straight backed…waiting patiently for the underground. The express train stops… the automatic doors slide open…time of my life demurely lifts one shapely leg snug in pointed red high heels…then the other…tantalizing creamy skin playing havoc with my senses…I know now that it was only to stall me that it had clad itself such…before I know it, the door shuts. It sees me standing stunned in silence…it gives me a delectable smile and has the nerve to wave covertly. I stand on the platform in the underground tunnel with big posters splashed with obscenely bright colors. They are frozen in time…mocking me. A throng of people mill around me…they push and shove…I know I was the only one who saw it leave.

‘This too shall pass’. And it does. Even when you wish it wouldn’t. Time plays such juvenile games. It hides like a child, it steals like a thief, it returns like a lover, it haunts like a ghost, it runs like a deer, it flows like a stream, it lies like beauty...