July 13, 2013
Through The Looking Glass
March 15, 2011
Fashionably Late
How late should one be to be fashionably late?
I am a stickler for time. It's painful, mostly for me. If I say, "see you in 5", it means I would be at the designated spot precisely in 5 minutes. If I am not, I would apologize for being late even if it's by a few seconds!
Why am I stressed about it?
Because I now suspect that others speculate the motive behind my promptness. Especially men.
Now If I run, trip, hop, skip and jump to keep an appointment with a man (I am not even talking about a date here)just because I like to be on time and hate to keep people waiting, he might think I am eager or worse enormously keen to meet him because I might just arrive at the scene out of breath which may be misinterpreted as being 'breathless' in an infinitely feminine way.
That's what happened when I met Mr.G this morning for breakfast.
Texting-
Mr.G : Good Morning. I'll reach your place at 8. Meet me outside your colony gate.
Moi : Hi. Sure thing. Call me when you are 5 minutes away.
Mr. G : Will do. Wear something bright. There is a lot of fog outside. It would make you and your colony gate easier to spot.
Moi : Strange request. But OK. There is a slight drizzle my side of town. I'll be wearing a fluorescent yellow raincoat. Hope that helps. *wide grin*.
No response to 'that' from Mr.G.
*************************************************************
The Dreaded Call-
Moi : Hey. Are you 5 minutes away?
Mr.G : Actually, I think I am just 2 minutes away from where you live. I am about to take the left from the metro station.
Moi : OK. I'll be down in 2. Bye.
I hung up.
I am a woman. I deserve more notice than that!
-Hadn't brushed my hair. It was still in a wild disarray after the blow dry.
-Hadn't decided which shoes to wear.
I had just enough time to put on my sneakers and dash out of the house.
I walked briskly to reach the main gate before his car pulled up. Needless to say, I was panting when he arrived.
Holy F***in Cow! Absolute zero visibility due to dense fog. His car appeared out of nowhere and screeched to a halt just half an inch from me. He would have surely run me over had I not been wearing my blindingly yellow raincoat!
I was already out of breath and whatever little air I had in my lungs was knocked out because of the close shave.
As soon as I got into the car, I gave him a look...the one that said "you jerk, You almost killed me! I hope I am not making a BIG mistake by going out with you...lets see if you can still redeem yourself."
What I think he must have thought when he met my gaze squarely-
Breathlessness = Anticipation
Fiery Eyes = Desire
Tousled hair = Out of bed and ready to jump right back in
He must have misread the signals I was trying to transmit because he gave me a warm-mush look. His hooded eyes were like diluted honey and the half smile was making a promise of sorts.
I got confused and looked away.
He threw me a curve ball when he said, "You look devastatingly cheerful in fluorescent yellow. I am fully awake now."
I decided it would be foolhardy to dignify that remark with a comment. So I let it slide and feigned interest in the view outside the window.
That didn't last long because of 2 reasons-
1. The fog was still very thick and there was no view!
2. We were driving at the speed of 30 kms per hour and I was at tenterhooks, worrying sick about running over or into another car or worse, a cow.
******************************************
(To Be Continued...)
I am a stickler for time. It's painful, mostly for me. If I say, "see you in 5", it means I would be at the designated spot precisely in 5 minutes. If I am not, I would apologize for being late even if it's by a few seconds!
Why am I stressed about it?
Because I now suspect that others speculate the motive behind my promptness. Especially men.
Now If I run, trip, hop, skip and jump to keep an appointment with a man (I am not even talking about a date here)just because I like to be on time and hate to keep people waiting, he might think I am eager or worse enormously keen to meet him because I might just arrive at the scene out of breath which may be misinterpreted as being 'breathless' in an infinitely feminine way.
That's what happened when I met Mr.G this morning for breakfast.
Texting-
Mr.G : Good Morning. I'll reach your place at 8. Meet me outside your colony gate.
Moi : Hi. Sure thing. Call me when you are 5 minutes away.
Mr. G : Will do. Wear something bright. There is a lot of fog outside. It would make you and your colony gate easier to spot.
Moi : Strange request. But OK. There is a slight drizzle my side of town. I'll be wearing a fluorescent yellow raincoat. Hope that helps. *wide grin*.
No response to 'that' from Mr.G.
*************************************************************
The Dreaded Call-
Moi : Hey. Are you 5 minutes away?
Mr.G : Actually, I think I am just 2 minutes away from where you live. I am about to take the left from the metro station.
Moi : OK. I'll be down in 2. Bye.
I hung up.
I am a woman. I deserve more notice than that!
-Hadn't brushed my hair. It was still in a wild disarray after the blow dry.
-Hadn't decided which shoes to wear.
I had just enough time to put on my sneakers and dash out of the house.
I walked briskly to reach the main gate before his car pulled up. Needless to say, I was panting when he arrived.
Holy F***in Cow! Absolute zero visibility due to dense fog. His car appeared out of nowhere and screeched to a halt just half an inch from me. He would have surely run me over had I not been wearing my blindingly yellow raincoat!
I was already out of breath and whatever little air I had in my lungs was knocked out because of the close shave.
As soon as I got into the car, I gave him a look...the one that said "you jerk, You almost killed me! I hope I am not making a BIG mistake by going out with you...lets see if you can still redeem yourself."
What I think he must have thought when he met my gaze squarely-
Breathlessness = Anticipation
Fiery Eyes = Desire
Tousled hair = Out of bed and ready to jump right back in
He must have misread the signals I was trying to transmit because he gave me a warm-mush look. His hooded eyes were like diluted honey and the half smile was making a promise of sorts.
I got confused and looked away.
He threw me a curve ball when he said, "You look devastatingly cheerful in fluorescent yellow. I am fully awake now."
I decided it would be foolhardy to dignify that remark with a comment. So I let it slide and feigned interest in the view outside the window.
That didn't last long because of 2 reasons-
1. The fog was still very thick and there was no view!
2. We were driving at the speed of 30 kms per hour and I was at tenterhooks, worrying sick about running over or into another car or worse, a cow.
******************************************
(To Be Continued...)
November 18, 2008
Asking Out
There is a technology called Instant Messaging. It's a non-committal medium of interaction. It's less embarrassing too, especially when one gets a cold shoulder.The best part is, you can't hear the spine chilling coldness in the voice when someone is being nasty. Though I am vary of the emoticons. But I think I'll take my chances. She can always 'not' respond in case I am encroaching.
GulatiM: “Care for some coffee?”
KapadiaD: “Hmmm…just around the corner?”
GulatiM: “Would you like to go a little farther than that?”
KapadiaD: “How far?”
GulatiM: “South Delhi. Ever been to Café Turtle?”
KapadiaD: “Yes.”
GulatiM: “I’ll pick you up then?”
KapadiaD: “I haven’t said yes yet!”
GulatiM: “You just did.”
KapadiaD: That was in response to “Ever been to Café Turtle.”
GulatiM: “Oh Ok. Well…how is Saturday for you?”
KapadiaD: “What time?”
GulatiM: “Nine?”
KapadiaD: “It shuts at 6.”
GulatiM: “No. It opens at 9.”
KapadiaD: “Ah! Breakfast with coffee…I like I like…”
GulatiM: “Hmmm. My # is 9811******. Text me your address.”
KapadiaD: “K.”
My back deserves a pat. I think I managed it just fine. I may have come across as a little pushy, but it’s a man's prerogative to be pushy. He is taken more seriously then, I think.
I am quite pleased with myself… :)
___________________________________________
(To be continued...)
GulatiM: “Care for some coffee?”
KapadiaD: “Hmmm…just around the corner?”
GulatiM: “Would you like to go a little farther than that?”
KapadiaD: “How far?”
GulatiM: “South Delhi. Ever been to Café Turtle?”
KapadiaD: “Yes.”
GulatiM: “I’ll pick you up then?”
KapadiaD: “I haven’t said yes yet!”
GulatiM: “You just did.”
KapadiaD: That was in response to “Ever been to Café Turtle.”
GulatiM: “Oh Ok. Well…how is Saturday for you?”
KapadiaD: “What time?”
GulatiM: “Nine?”
KapadiaD: “It shuts at 6.”
GulatiM: “No. It opens at 9.”
KapadiaD: “Ah! Breakfast with coffee…I like I like…”
GulatiM: “Hmmm. My # is 9811******. Text me your address.”
KapadiaD: “K.”
My back deserves a pat. I think I managed it just fine. I may have come across as a little pushy, but it’s a man's prerogative to be pushy. He is taken more seriously then, I think.
I am quite pleased with myself… :)
___________________________________________
(To be continued...)
October 2, 2008
Dreamz
It must be very late at night. I wander in the school corridors looking for someone or something. There is not a soul in sight. A solitary bulb illuminates the long, narrowing corridor. I walk on. Mrs. Kaul, the biology teacher calls out to me from far away. I turn to look at “the terror” approaching fast with fisted hands swinging furiously by her side. To my trepidation, Mrs. Kaul's voice is a high pitched screech attracting the attention of the fast appearing faces, “Your skirt is too short! Your shoes are all wrong! What were you thinking you little creep? I swear I’ll have you barred from school for this!”
The faces start to close in. They laugh at me. I collapse on the hard cold marble floor trying to evade the faces that keep appearing and then fading. I sit huddled on the ground for a long time humming “Daffodils” under my breath.
“I Wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”
I am alone in the dark dreary corridor again. I sniff hard and wipe my tear-streaked face with the back of my shirtsleeve. I get up with difficulty, still feeling weak in the knees. I shuffle along the corridor to turn into the hallway.
The sun shines through the big glass doors that have been secured with a lock. I am trapped. I sit on the beige leather couch nearby in the waiting lounge. I tuck my knees under my chin and wrap my arms around my legs to keep myself from shuddering. I drift into oblivion.
--------------------------------------------------
My body hurts allover. I try to sit up but there is a shooting pain in my ankle. I must have twisted it when I fell on the hard mattress that broke my fall.
I fall back on the mattress and cry out in pain. The P.T teacher was right, being a gymnast isn’t my calling. I have failed myself yet again.
I shield my eyes to block the stadium lights, which surely are putting me in a spot of shame. I take a peek at the deserted stands and the bare field. I am relieved by my solitariness.
-----------------------------------------------
I’ve got the sneezing fit again. I feel heady and my vision is blurred.
“Hi! You all right?” inquires someone from across the corridor.
I can barely see and I have trouble recognizing his voice. Another sneeze. Loud one, it shakes the ground I stand on.
He is standing very close to me now. I bury my face in the pink hand towel. He taps me on my shoulder and inquires, “You’ll blow your brain out if you continue to sneeze like that.”
I turn around to find TNM. I have had a crush on him for the longest time. Even before I can muster a smile, another sneeze carries a jet of spray and wets his face a bit. Eeeeeks!
He glares at me and stomps off.
----------------------------------------------
I chew the end of my pencil while waiting for the invigilator to give the question paper.
Mr.Jha, the tall scrawny-wrinkled mathematics teacher walks over to my desk and gives me the question paper along with the blank answer sheet. I take them both with a nervous grin.
To my horror, right at the top of the paper it reads, “Social Studies – SET C”. I look around to find everyone writing on his or her answer sheet at a furious pace. No one looks hassled, as if they expected to appear for the ‘social studies’ exam. I clearly remember the date sheet and it said ‘English’.
Holy f***in’ cow!
-----------------------------------------------
I sit right at the back of the class with some of my classmates waiting for my parents turn to speak to Mrs. Chitnus, my class teacher. My parents look like they anticipate good news.
Mrs. Chitnus looks animated. She signals my folks to take the front desk, which is directly opposite hers. She smiles warmly at them and starts talking. It can’t be all that bad!
Dad looks back and waves at me. I walk up to where my folks are seated and stand behind them.
It is terrible! My class teacher complains incessantly about me to my parents. She is suddenly withdrawn and aloof too. She tells my parents I need to work on my inter-personal skills. She praises the fact that I write and speak well, but is upset about the fact that I frequently get into fistfights with the boys in my class. Most of the girls in my class find me snobbish and they don’t want to sit next to me.
My parents are told categorically to take me out of this school and are advised to start home education instead. Mrs. Chitnus is convinced that’s the best option for someone as anti-social as me.
-------------------------------------------------
I wake up with a start. It is freezing cold and the quilt has fallen off the bed. I look at the bedside clock to check the time. The bold blinking digits show ‘5:45’. I can’t help but snort in disgust. I feel like I haven’t slept a wink and its already morning. I gather the quilt up and snuggle under it to laze for another 15 minutes before I switch on the geezer. A quick snooze never hurt anyone!
Considering the day began even before last night could end properly, I am in a dark, cloudy and thunderous mood. I am definitely in the mood to have all things rich, starting with coffee, progressing to chocolates and ending with a man. If only…
Once at work, I hop over to ‘Coffee in a Corner’ and get a steaming hot Latte in a takeaway glass. I carry that over to my little ‘C&C’ corner… (Coffee and Cigarettes). The cold wind is freezing the living daylights out of me! The scalding liquid mercifully warms my throat and definitely thaws my mood and makes it faintly sunny. The whole inhalation process is extremely therapeutic. I still stand by the fact that the best thing in the world is smoking. Sex comes a close second.
The object of my interest and the obvious conclusion to my current chain of thoughts appears out of thick misty morning air. I am even better now.
Mr. Gulati: “Sorry about disappearing without a trace the other day.”
I can’t resist a jibe; “Ah! You mean from the work luncheon almost ten days ago? You are forgiven. There were a lot of other people you know, so you didn’t really leave me standing.”
Mr. Gulati: “Hmmm.”
Now that was a little gruff.
I am surprised I am even thinking coldly when it comes to my femininity being hurt. From Manav Gulati to simply Mr. Gulati. Is his position elevated or am I turned off? I can’t be sure.
Another peace pipe of sorts, on another cold winter morning and I am still none the wiser.
F*** it!
*****************************
(to be continued...)
The faces start to close in. They laugh at me. I collapse on the hard cold marble floor trying to evade the faces that keep appearing and then fading. I sit huddled on the ground for a long time humming “Daffodils” under my breath.
“I Wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”
I am alone in the dark dreary corridor again. I sniff hard and wipe my tear-streaked face with the back of my shirtsleeve. I get up with difficulty, still feeling weak in the knees. I shuffle along the corridor to turn into the hallway.
The sun shines through the big glass doors that have been secured with a lock. I am trapped. I sit on the beige leather couch nearby in the waiting lounge. I tuck my knees under my chin and wrap my arms around my legs to keep myself from shuddering. I drift into oblivion.
--------------------------------------------------
My body hurts allover. I try to sit up but there is a shooting pain in my ankle. I must have twisted it when I fell on the hard mattress that broke my fall.
I fall back on the mattress and cry out in pain. The P.T teacher was right, being a gymnast isn’t my calling. I have failed myself yet again.
I shield my eyes to block the stadium lights, which surely are putting me in a spot of shame. I take a peek at the deserted stands and the bare field. I am relieved by my solitariness.
-----------------------------------------------
I’ve got the sneezing fit again. I feel heady and my vision is blurred.
“Hi! You all right?” inquires someone from across the corridor.
I can barely see and I have trouble recognizing his voice. Another sneeze. Loud one, it shakes the ground I stand on.
He is standing very close to me now. I bury my face in the pink hand towel. He taps me on my shoulder and inquires, “You’ll blow your brain out if you continue to sneeze like that.”
I turn around to find TNM. I have had a crush on him for the longest time. Even before I can muster a smile, another sneeze carries a jet of spray and wets his face a bit. Eeeeeks!
He glares at me and stomps off.
----------------------------------------------
I chew the end of my pencil while waiting for the invigilator to give the question paper.
Mr.Jha, the tall scrawny-wrinkled mathematics teacher walks over to my desk and gives me the question paper along with the blank answer sheet. I take them both with a nervous grin.
To my horror, right at the top of the paper it reads, “Social Studies – SET C”. I look around to find everyone writing on his or her answer sheet at a furious pace. No one looks hassled, as if they expected to appear for the ‘social studies’ exam. I clearly remember the date sheet and it said ‘English’.
Holy f***in’ cow!
-----------------------------------------------
I sit right at the back of the class with some of my classmates waiting for my parents turn to speak to Mrs. Chitnus, my class teacher. My parents look like they anticipate good news.
Mrs. Chitnus looks animated. She signals my folks to take the front desk, which is directly opposite hers. She smiles warmly at them and starts talking. It can’t be all that bad!
Dad looks back and waves at me. I walk up to where my folks are seated and stand behind them.
It is terrible! My class teacher complains incessantly about me to my parents. She is suddenly withdrawn and aloof too. She tells my parents I need to work on my inter-personal skills. She praises the fact that I write and speak well, but is upset about the fact that I frequently get into fistfights with the boys in my class. Most of the girls in my class find me snobbish and they don’t want to sit next to me.
My parents are told categorically to take me out of this school and are advised to start home education instead. Mrs. Chitnus is convinced that’s the best option for someone as anti-social as me.
-------------------------------------------------
I wake up with a start. It is freezing cold and the quilt has fallen off the bed. I look at the bedside clock to check the time. The bold blinking digits show ‘5:45’. I can’t help but snort in disgust. I feel like I haven’t slept a wink and its already morning. I gather the quilt up and snuggle under it to laze for another 15 minutes before I switch on the geezer. A quick snooze never hurt anyone!
Considering the day began even before last night could end properly, I am in a dark, cloudy and thunderous mood. I am definitely in the mood to have all things rich, starting with coffee, progressing to chocolates and ending with a man. If only…
Once at work, I hop over to ‘Coffee in a Corner’ and get a steaming hot Latte in a takeaway glass. I carry that over to my little ‘C&C’ corner… (Coffee and Cigarettes). The cold wind is freezing the living daylights out of me! The scalding liquid mercifully warms my throat and definitely thaws my mood and makes it faintly sunny. The whole inhalation process is extremely therapeutic. I still stand by the fact that the best thing in the world is smoking. Sex comes a close second.
The object of my interest and the obvious conclusion to my current chain of thoughts appears out of thick misty morning air. I am even better now.
Mr. Gulati: “Sorry about disappearing without a trace the other day.”
I can’t resist a jibe; “Ah! You mean from the work luncheon almost ten days ago? You are forgiven. There were a lot of other people you know, so you didn’t really leave me standing.”
Mr. Gulati: “Hmmm.”
Now that was a little gruff.
I am surprised I am even thinking coldly when it comes to my femininity being hurt. From Manav Gulati to simply Mr. Gulati. Is his position elevated or am I turned off? I can’t be sure.
Another peace pipe of sorts, on another cold winter morning and I am still none the wiser.
F*** it!
*****************************
(to be continued...)
September 17, 2008
Being Disha
I am Disha Kapadia, a 29-year-old single woman. I have a large frame and a chubby face. The overall package is appealing for my chubby cheeks are dimpled and my large frame is generously endowed (I am full in all the right places!). I hail from Amritsar, live in Delhi and work with ‘Xellence’ BPO. I have my own 2-bedroom apartment in a decent residential colony in Dwarka (curtsey papa Kapadia). My father is an Income Tax Commissioner in Amritsar. He got the flat that I live in as a ‘gift’ from someone he extended a favour to (you get the drift?). I am doing pretty well for myself. I am one of the managers in an Austrailian process. I spend almost as much as I earn. Buying shoes, handbags and designer wear is quintessential for a single woman. My single status is a cause of constant worry for papa and mama Kapadia. Being the only child of the Kapadias isn’t helping my case. I have 3 dearest friends in this whole wide world: Alvira, Yuveer and Sakshim. We meet every Wednesday and Friday for ‘drinks and dinner’ at some of the finest pubs in and around Delhi. We thoroughly enjoy the ‘regulars’ status at these dimly lit lounge bars. Saturdays are for ‘me’, my alone time. It has taken papa and mama Kapadia ages to accept the fact that I don’t like intrusion of any form, shape or size on Saturdays. My mobile phone, doorbell, mailbox and inbox go unanswered on this particular day of the week. My friends too have resigned to ‘my’ time and now respect my privacy and let me be. No, I don’t have a secret lover who sneaks in and spends sinfully hot afternoons, evenings or nights at my apartment. That doesn’t mean I am not looking for one. In fact both Alvira and I are totally on the lookout for eligible bachelors to fill our respective lives with Orchids, diamond jewels, well behaved kids, red brick houses with white picket fences in a nice suburb. Alvira and I would love to be neighbors (Remember the lives of the housewives on Wisteria lane?) though we are quite positive our lives wont be desperate. This pretty much sums me, my life and my dreams up.
The latest update:
I have found a rather interesting specimen at work. I have discussed him at length with my friends and they are all of the opinion that I must take matters into my own hands and literally dangle myself in front of his blinkered eyes.
His name is Manav Gulati. He looks like a well bred South Delhi Punju. He must be in his early thirties. He doesn't wear a wedding band, drives a Scoda and works as a Service Delivery Leader at 'Xcellence'.
The gang advises me to move in fast and gather as much information about him as possible. One of the most important rules of man hunting states that a single woman in desperate need of a husband must be vary of married men who are frustrated, bored out of their wits and looking for a brush with excitement. Women don’t get wiser with age; they just get desperate, hence more susceptible to the charm of married men.
Mission Manav:
1. Visit the nail bar, spa and beauty salon more frequently
2. Cut down on carb, fat and sugar intake
3. Go back to the Gym (Its paid for anyway!)and lose 5 pounds at least
4. Spruce up the wardrobe
5. Take more smoke breaks to increase the frequency of 'chance meetings'with Mr.G
6. Have a lot of water and orange juice to detoxify the body
7. Quit coffee (cigarettes are bad enough for the system and skin)
8. Switch to white wine from scotch (less calories and great for the skin)
I am all geared up to follow the 8 simple steps to a life full of happiness...
********************************
(To be continued...)
The latest update:
I have found a rather interesting specimen at work. I have discussed him at length with my friends and they are all of the opinion that I must take matters into my own hands and literally dangle myself in front of his blinkered eyes.
His name is Manav Gulati. He looks like a well bred South Delhi Punju. He must be in his early thirties. He doesn't wear a wedding band, drives a Scoda and works as a Service Delivery Leader at 'Xcellence'.
The gang advises me to move in fast and gather as much information about him as possible. One of the most important rules of man hunting states that a single woman in desperate need of a husband must be vary of married men who are frustrated, bored out of their wits and looking for a brush with excitement. Women don’t get wiser with age; they just get desperate, hence more susceptible to the charm of married men.
Mission Manav:
1. Visit the nail bar, spa and beauty salon more frequently
2. Cut down on carb, fat and sugar intake
3. Go back to the Gym (Its paid for anyway!)and lose 5 pounds at least
4. Spruce up the wardrobe
5. Take more smoke breaks to increase the frequency of 'chance meetings'with Mr.G
6. Have a lot of water and orange juice to detoxify the body
7. Quit coffee (cigarettes are bad enough for the system and skin)
8. Switch to white wine from scotch (less calories and great for the skin)
I am all geared up to follow the 8 simple steps to a life full of happiness...
********************************
(To be continued...)
September 12, 2008
Manav meets Disha
I sit in my car a while longer wishing I didn't have to go through this social obligation. Blissfully warm sun rays filter through the glass. I pull the window down and am hit by the nip in the air. I light a cigarette and take deep puffs to relax myself. Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale...I am reminded of the bill board advertisement of 'smoking kills'.
I crush the last of my cigarette in the ash tray on the dashboard and get out of the car. I enter the smoke filled room and look for the table with familiar faces. I spot a few managers from another LOB waving at me. I approach the table with a smile plastered on my face. I can feel my mouth muscles strain with the effort. A place towards the farthest end of the table is found for me to park myself. I am back slapped a little, someone decides to order a chilled beer for me, someone pushes a plate laden with savory delights under my nose...the strong smell of spices leaves me nauseated.
After several minutes of undivided attention from all quarters I am left in peace to nurse my drink and just observe all the stiff arses from work loosen up a bit. The people around me talk, laugh and drink with such gusto that I am dumbfounded at this outright display of camaraderie between the same people who cant stand each other at work. I feel disgusted and start looking for something or someone more genuine and heartwarming.
I don't have to wait long for I see her exit the ladies room and saunter towards our table. She looks straight at me, forcing me to meet and hold her gaze. She walks up to where I sit and gives me a ghost of a smile. Its hard to tell whether she remembers me or not. I push my chair back and stand up. I am a foot taller, which makes her look up at me with defiance. Before I can get the words out and help her recollect our incidental meeting over a smoke break a few weeks ago, she says, "Hello stranger."
So she remembers me after all.
She offers me her hand while she introduces herself,"Disha...and you are?"
"Manav...fancy meeting you here Disha." I remark pleasantly.
She leans into me and brings her face closer to mine. I feel her breath tingle my ear when she says, "I am sleeping with your boss."
A chill runs down my spine. Her perfume is wild and tangy. I haven't been close to a woman since Reia walked out on our marriage. A year is a long time.
I try to keep the spirit of the conversation alive by feigning disappointment, "Pity you are gay." I smile while I say it.
She doesn't find anything amiss and laughs sheepishly while she says, "Oops! Pays me right for typecasting the org structure."
We both laugh and I offer her the seat I was in and signal a passing waitress to get me another one.
I am conscious of several things at the same time:
1. I haven't had sex in over a year
2. Disha is an attractive woman
3. Correction. She is a very attractive woman
5. Her perfume is doing wonderful things to my senses
6. Her face is flushed and her skin is gleaming
7. She has a perfect set of pearl white teeth. She maintains dental hygiene
8. Her eyes look bigger and even better with Kohl
9. She looks super sexy when she moves her hands while talking
10. Thank God she is not wearing trinkets on her wrists today
11. She is wearing a gold bracelet instead
12. Red is definitely her color. She can't look hotter in any other color
13. She talks a lot and I think I have lost track of what she is saying
"So what do you think? Should we?" She asks earnestly.
"Sure. So when do you want to do it?" I have not the faintest idea of what I've just got myself into.
She promptly gets up and says, "Now. Lets step out. I can't stand the heat."
I follow her out into broad daylight. Its hard to keep my eyes open. I bask in the sun for a few seconds before opening my eyes and looking for/at her. I find her right next to me, squinting at the sun.
"So what are we doing?" I ask nonchalantly.
"Smoking a peace pipe." She generously offers me a cigarette off her pack.
"Lets make love, not war..." I remark for no reason at all. I am just reminded of the statement and blurt it.
She doesn't even consider it worth acknowledging and carries on smoking.
We finish smoking our cigarettes in companionable silence and gear up to go back inside.
Just then my phone rings.
I nudge her elbow a bit and say, "Why don't you go on inside. I'll take this call and come."
She smiles congenially, nods in agreement and steps into the foyer of the crowded bar.
I see the call is from an unidentified number. "Manav."
No one speaks, I just hear traffic in the background.
I try again, "Hello? Who is this?"
"Manav? Can I see you just once?" It's Reia.
I disconnect the call without responding to her query. I walk briskly to the car park, get into my car and drive...
**************************************
(To be continued...)
July 12, 2008
Manav Speaks
I stand alone in the shadows behind the office building. A lit cigarette between my lips, I fiddle with my phone. I delete all the messages sent by Reia. She has been sending pathetically desperate texts, begging me to at least speak to her on the phone even if I don’t see her. I haven’t responded to any of her messages. I can’t go through the emotionally draining session that conversation promises to be. I don't have a death wish. I think I should change my number and give it a clean break. If I am reachable, she will always give in to the temptation to call or message.
The solitary steel trashcan I stand next to has an ashtray top. I hear footsteps approaching on the graveled path. I turn around, curious to see who could be invading my private space. I have always considered this specific spot as my own. People hardly come down here to smoke. It’s not very well lit, hence is mostly deserted.
I can’t see clearly, just a silhouette. It has to be of a woman. She seems tall, has long hair and is wearing a salwaar kameez. She is just a few steps away, so i take a good look at her face. She is probably in her mid twenties. Her long tresses dance around her face in the sultry breeze.
“Hey. You have a light?” She inquires. Her left eyebrow shoots up questioningly.
“Yes.” I respond grudgingly and offer her my treasured Zippo.
She takes it, lights her cigarette and takes a long deep puff. She returns the lighter with a polite nod.
We stand there in companionable silence and smoke. Every time she dabs the cigarette in the ashtray, her bracelet makes a tinkling sound.
I am involuntarily reminded of Reia. She loves wearing bracelets. She has plenty of them, with different trinkets that hang and make a tinkling sound.
I finish my smoke and stub the cigarette in the ashtray. I stand there a while, waiting for her to finish hers. She nods appreciatively, acknowledging my politeness I guess.
She finishes her cigarette, stubs it and looks at me squarely for the first time. I give her a non-committal smile. She responds with a polite smile of her own and a nod.
We walk back together towards the entrance of the building. I wait for the lift in the foyer. She takes the stairs up.
(To be continued...)
The solitary steel trashcan I stand next to has an ashtray top. I hear footsteps approaching on the graveled path. I turn around, curious to see who could be invading my private space. I have always considered this specific spot as my own. People hardly come down here to smoke. It’s not very well lit, hence is mostly deserted.
I can’t see clearly, just a silhouette. It has to be of a woman. She seems tall, has long hair and is wearing a salwaar kameez. She is just a few steps away, so i take a good look at her face. She is probably in her mid twenties. Her long tresses dance around her face in the sultry breeze.
“Hey. You have a light?” She inquires. Her left eyebrow shoots up questioningly.
“Yes.” I respond grudgingly and offer her my treasured Zippo.
She takes it, lights her cigarette and takes a long deep puff. She returns the lighter with a polite nod.
We stand there in companionable silence and smoke. Every time she dabs the cigarette in the ashtray, her bracelet makes a tinkling sound.
I am involuntarily reminded of Reia. She loves wearing bracelets. She has plenty of them, with different trinkets that hang and make a tinkling sound.
I finish my smoke and stub the cigarette in the ashtray. I stand there a while, waiting for her to finish hers. She nods appreciatively, acknowledging my politeness I guess.
She finishes her cigarette, stubs it and looks at me squarely for the first time. I give her a non-committal smile. She responds with a polite smile of her own and a nod.
We walk back together towards the entrance of the building. I wait for the lift in the foyer. She takes the stairs up.
(To be continued...)
April 14, 2008
'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!
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!
April 12, 2008
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...
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...
January 3, 2008
toodle-oo
How about some security and enjoyment of knowing that the people you care about most also care about you. How about your love returned; not in a sexual sense, but in a sisterly or brotherly sense. Where there is no feeling of sibling rivalry. Instead, there is a chance for your needs to be met and your heart fulfilled.
It's a great blessing when times as uncomplicated as these happen. Even though the moment may be brief, cherish the memory; if you can, write it in your journal before it fades. Preserve this reminder and keep it available so you remember the times in your life when everything was working well.
A salute to the times of common interest, shared views and companionable silences…
It's a great blessing when times as uncomplicated as these happen. Even though the moment may be brief, cherish the memory; if you can, write it in your journal before it fades. Preserve this reminder and keep it available so you remember the times in your life when everything was working well.
A salute to the times of common interest, shared views and companionable silences…
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