We're all Eleanor Rigbies aren't we? Essentially...

Scene I:
Huge floor cushions, clothed in bright reds and yellows. A computer casting its iridescent glow on the face that is intent on tap tapping the key board. World Space playing soulful Jazz. The balcony door open, a gusty, cool, rainy wind blowing, caressing the hot cheek of the writer. Writer churning out the following in a frenzy, lest the words stop forming the sentences that are so desperately seeking the stage.

Act I
Piece of a conversation:
A - "That's what I wanted - to go to an office, like regular people and see the chicks. My friend and I were just discussing the other day and he asked, "so are you seeing someone?" and I go, "no", and he says, "that's why you need to go to work."

B - "So why don't you get yourself a job? Don't you want to just step out and meet some people? Don't you crave for company?"

A- "That's why I call you up."
Pause, just crackling silence.

A - "I call you up because I want to." (Yeah, right, just after inadvertently admitting that you call because a la Eleanor Rigby, lonely, and craving for company, a hurried statement trying to make amends doesn't work here.)

Act II
A lazy Sunday seems on the anvil on a late Saturday night. Sunight streams in and announces the dawn of the lazy Sunday. After an early morning (10.00 am is early morning for some ok?) call from a friend, and coming alive to the Sunday, glance rests on a piece of information scribbled by the elder - 'Have made breakfast. Gone out for a 'marriage meet' (whoa! up goes the eyebrow of the reader and a resigned shake of the head later, continues to read the rest), please make something for lunch, don't know when will be back." Hmmm! Hrmph! Aaaargh! Ok ok ok. Lazy Sunday here I come.

Act III
In between stirring of some heavenly smelling dish and mentally listing out the 'to do' list on a lazy Sunday (hrmph!!!), writer reads the paper - The STOI (Sunday Times of India) and the magazine section of The Hindu. Suddenly convulsed with sobs, gloom sets in. The snippets of what's going on in the world (there's much and there's a lot that's wrong) and the article on the writer's favourite animal, the elephant and its imminent extinction makes her sob more - Oh God!

Questions galore
Where are we heading? What am I doing? What are we doing? Is this what life is all about? Why are Bipasha Basu and John Abraham on the front page? Are they so newsworthy or have we become so shallow and vicarious that we need only celeb spiel? Why is prostitution called the 'oldest profession' and why are prostitutes treated like they were diseased? India may have the highest number of AIDS afflicted, but not all of those are prostitutes (in fact they are at risk from those who are the carriers). What if one was a prostitute, wonder how it'd feel to be on the fringes of society that pushed me into the 'oldest but discredited profession'? Why does everything including 'still life' by Cezanne or Rembrandt or Renoir have to be discussed threadbare? Why does everything have to be asked, dissected, analyzed, queried, and torn to shreds? Can't we just let some things of beauty be - film or song or painting or music or apparel?
Sigh! Depression looms large.

Snippets of Happy Home and another NGO make it all seem worthwhile. There is HOPE. It's not all hopeless.

Act IV
Humming the tunes of an old Beatle song:
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?

A tune that seeps into the brain leaving one with the thought:

Why are we all so lonely?

End of Scene I, Act IV

Scene II:
Preparation to sit/lounge/lie down and watch FIFA. Hooo boy!

And life goes on...

Once Upon A Time In Mexico!

"What do you want in life?"

"To be free..."

"Simple."


N.B.: Dialogue between Salma Hayek and Antonio Banderas in a movie called 'Once Upon A Time In Mexico'.

A Convenience Aka God!

Life as we all know it, takes us on a ride - you can choose the ride - a ferris wheel, a roller coaster or a merry-go-round or it could even be the breathtaking rafting (down the Ganges near Rishikesh or for the more adventurous, the rapids of the Zanskar) - take your pick, but a ride it surely will be one that will go with you to the grave and beyond.

And at many chilling moments on this ride, when you're probably 800 ft. from the ground and strapped in an open chair car, the power supply breaks down and you're at the mercy of the Gods, prayers come in handy. Suddenly you want to believe in the Supreme Power/Being or whathaveyou, whether deeply religious, or an agnostic. Dear God, O Powerful One, O Unseen Hero, O Omnipotent One, O Neo, O Mother, O Father, O Holy Spirit, O Jesus, Hey Bhagwan, O Great Guru Nanak, O Allah, Jesus H Christ and what have you (I don't know all the Gods, not having been fortunate enough to meet them and lest this be ascribed as a religious diatribe taking potshots at the Almighty or suppose my blog is pelted with stones and smashed to smithereens in the name of religious righteousness, I shall stop calling names, O Lord) comes in handy.

Till such time when we're enjoying the ride and feel we're in control, we're ok. Then something goes amiss. And the sudden realization of the helplessness of us mere mortals hits us between the solar plexus and then suddenly all Hell breaks loose. The fancy Nokias and Sonys and Motorolas are whipped out in a frenzy (fastest fingers first, it's a race out there so that you don't have to listen to a pre-recorded, nasal voice saying, 'aap kataar main hain' meaning you are in queue), SOS's are desperately SMSed to HIM, rosaries are chanted, bodies lie prostrate in abject surrender, promises of penance for repentance and we seek HIM. He is conveniently called for when needed, the 14th man in the squad, necessary only when a new bat, a new set of pads or a helmet is needed to ward off those blessed bouncers. Sometimes if he's stubborn and refuses to listen to our beleaguered entreaties, we bribe Him. Anything to get our way. But our way get we must! Hook or crook!

Is it human nature to use, use, use, use all the time? And throw when done? Did He really make us in His mould and would that mean He too is a 'use and throw' entity? Questions of course abound and answers that are conveniently obtuse, or conveniently simple come to mind.Recently something was niggling away at my insides and slowly consuming me with worry. So much so that my daily prayer/dialogue with God wasn't enough. I had to plead with Him to smoothen my worry lines and I was willing to give up some of the 'good things of life' for life to hum along on Route 66 in a Mustang.

My worry lines have been smoothened, the bribe worked and all's well with the world. Now I have to live with the consequences of what I gave up. Not impossible, but not easy either. Talk about being caught betwixt the Devil and a very angry Poseidon. Mind you I could very blithely forget about my pact with Him and not really bother about keeping my side of the bargain. But I have a conscience as I'm sure He does. So I will stick with the decision to give up, however sticky.

And will continue in the meantime, to wordlessly pontificate about the convenience of God. There when you need Him, there when you want to abuse Him, there when you want to rant and rave, there when you want to kill, plunder, loot, beg, bleed, tear asunder or simply live. And if you think His attention's not completely focused, just bare your fangs, or be a smooth talker and bribe the Hell out of Him and voila - it feels like Heaven eh? (You think he'd be a 'hit' in this market if he was brilliantly marketed and available in a gorgeous curvy bottle at the local superstore especially at discounted rates?)

By the way is God a male, female or neither? Just noticed I've addressed God as Him everywhere. Should I get gender bias in here too and spoil the party? Pray, I'm human and fallible. I don't have to tend to broken hearts and minds and hideous souls, nor do I have to feed hungry bellies nor keep everyone in clover. I can be a party pooper, I don't have to be perfection personified.

Thank God!
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R's recommendation to R for the weekend:Read some of the archives on http:\\idiosyncrazies.blogspot.com - discover some great stuff there.

Get a massage at the gym. Mmmm...sounds Heavenly!

Dammit!

The hurt. Dammit!
The pain. Dammit!
The careless, flippant remark. Dammit!
The familiar pattern of impending twilight (ere the onset of complete gloom). Dammit!
The incessant clamour of the heart to hear familiar, comforting, exciting expressions of that bluuuudy four letter word that doth make the world go round. Dammit dammit dammit!
The craving to believe that 'this could be it' is like a junkie's withdrawal symptom. You want it so bad that when you actually give in (to believing) you realize that there never was any truth. Dammit!

No theories, no analyses, no 'letting go', no isms.

A deep chasm. Ever widening.

Will I ever emerge whole again?

Dammit!

(This blog has now re-opened as you can well see and it's the fault of all that hurt and pain and all that shebang. Dammit!)

Blog.Closed. Indefinitely.

Closed. For. Repairs.

Nursing. Insecurities.

Licking. Scars.

Fixing. Teetering. Hinges. Of. Sanity.

Clutching. Straws. Of. Hope.

(She sees the words like raindrops falling on the windshield of the mind, forming, and then being wiped out, a pattern that is the DNA of all her relationships - no clean slates, just his-story repeating itself. )

(She wishes to thank the few fellow travellers who docked at her station and sometimes sipped coffee while she had hers cold and commented on this and that. She wants them to continue on their path to find the elusive nirvana.)

Inconvenience. Regretted.

(She's delusional, thinking that the peddling of her wares helped create a need. She's always loved to play grandstanding. Sigh!)

Closed. Definitely. Indefinitely.

Disillusioned!

I believe short posts are in.

Yet again sex it seems is the only commodity that he might be interested in. Her soul is incidental. (What's that some might ask!). Caught in the vortex of her own needs and secret desires, she knows she has nothing to look forward to but disullusionment and pain. The transition from mate to sex mate was pre-ordained it seems and so natural and oh so pleasurable. It's always the aftermath (and the morning after) that is always so anti-climatic and brings the pain of disillusionment.

Until the night approaches and it's time to don the cloak of desire and prowl the mind for the orgasm it so desperately seeks.

Reality sucks!

R's List

There's some pheonomenon in the world of blogs that's going on - tags - don't know how it works, and not particularly interested either. However, since I want to be part of the herd and yet face the other way (Escher like), then am starting my list of recommendations.

Here's the first one of many more to come -

For the ears:

OST of Message in a Bottle - Drive in your car, preferably with the world outside lazily ambling past, rains blurring your vision heading towards coffee with a good friend. Mmmmm!

The Conditional 'Unconditional'

Ere I begin this post of mine - just wanted to express that the experience of having a bath enveloped in candlelight is always a uniquely 'revealing' experience.

I had bath by 'candlelight' today. There was no power. Thank God for small mercies! That's where a lot of my posts are born. In the confines of my bathroom where my emotions and thoughts are naked for me to feel, touch, smile, grimace sometimes at the rawness of it all. The 'naked' truth as it were.

The truth in question this time being - is there anything 'unconditional' at all?

Come to think of it, unconditional love, adoration, loyalty, hate, respect, admiration, jealousy, competitiveness, is really not so unconditional after all.

There is a fine print with 'terms and conditions' attached. Read it. You might be horrified at what you find. I wasn't. I was just deeply unhappy (that's a malaise I need to quickly get rid of - pronto pronto pronto).

We're all hypocrites. Genuinely nice, lovely, decent hypocrites. Because yes...because...that's the culprit. There's always a 'because'.

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Skin

So I went and had a hair cut. I spent an obscene amount of money trying to get a 'make over' - anything to look different, exciting, sexy, younger, 'hot' - actually anything to look beguilingly ehtereal. Hah! The hair looks nice. Do I? Now that's another question based on a whole lot of conditions.

Once done, with a confidence that was all 'made up' I checked out the latest 'Nautica' store - a supposed super-premium brand that is the world's largest Nautica store (trivia that the super gracious, friendly and courteous staff let me in on). Trendy, uber casual, urban and for the young and brimming with youth-kind-of persona. But then aspirations are like that last piece of your favourite chocolate, which you just can't resist even though you know it's sinful - so I go about feeling, looking, admiring, wishing, aspiring, listening, chatting and sighing (inwardly) - then I make a bold move - I ask to try on a halter (something that is just so not 'me' but I couldn't resist that one) - nervously I try on two - both look awesome - up front - then I turn my back and see what I've tried to be blind to - skin. I hate my skin. I look at myself in the beautiful full length extremely flattering mirror and shrug my shoulders and say, 'Nah! not you...' and keep that piece of raiment back where it belongs - on a hanger - for someone full of confidence, attitude and a great body to try on - someone, anyone, but not me.

I'm conditioned. To believe. Only if 'it's creamy, alabaster like, freckle-less, hairless, acneless, wartless' is it perfect. Preferably a certain colour tending towards fair - don't know what the CMYK percentages would be. (Who cares! Fair is it).

I'm conditioned. Skin comes with its own terms and conditions. It may be mine. But I don't love it unconditionally. I should. It's who I am. It's what you see. What I see everyday. It's my ally, my best friend, my best cover-up, my most important disguise.

So?

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I love 'because'
I like 'only if'
I want 'if it will'
I respect 'since'
I need 'because (again) I think'
I give 'as it can'
I expect 'only because'
I touch 'as I think it may'


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I think therefore I am.

I express, therefore I am.

Therefore... always a therefore. (Here a therefore, there a therefore, everywhere a therefore.)

Only if....

High on vodka low on life!

The dejected, utterly pitiable moan emanating from the cavernous and befuddled mind of a renegade retrograde (if that's senseless then excusez moi s'il vous plait, after all one is high on vodka).

Am hurting. Have been for a while now.

Hell and damnation!

Do you lead life

or does life lead you?

I wish I knew the answer to that one. The day I'll unearth the answer, I know it'll be too late. Because life would have sped by without so much as a by-your-leave.

Why are words, those important words pregnant with meaning, simple and essential in everyone's life all 4-letter words?

Love, luck, good, suck, meet, seat, grin, lean, pair, seer, mere, tear, dear, leer, gear, muck, mean, lean and the 4-letter bandwagon carries on.

Fuck!

Sneak Peek!

Been blogging for more than a year now - just an insipid, matter-of-fact statement and observation.

As insipid and matter-of-fact as my blogs.

As insipid, uninspired and boring as my life itself.

I wish I could get a sneak peek at Future and find out if life for me would always be insipid, matter-of-fact and extremely mundane and banal.

At least then I could resign myself to that fact. Accept it unconditionally. Because in acceptance sometimes lies release.

But then Fear raises its ugly many-horned head. Fear that Life will actually be insipid. Ugh! Now that would be the ultimate Moment of Truth. Fear that all Hope is lost. Fear that Life just is.

I wonder at which point in my life was I faced with Sliding Doors - I'd like to know if I have a parallel life and if there's another 'me' living in a parallel universe. If I was 'I' in that universe and had the same thought processes and fears and emotions and well, basically If I was me but facing different conundrums and solving them differently. If I was actually living in a parallel universe, I'd like to talk to me and share with me and listen to me. Why? Because I'm narcissistic? No, that'd be untrue (well partially) but, because it'd be interesting to get a sneak peek into 'me' and ascertain if I had an ally in myself. I'd have a friend in me, a soul mate, from whom I could gain succour (sucker! snicker, snicker!). A parallel universe seems like an interesting idea.

This is the umpteenth lousy blog that I've written and I think probably my worst. Forgive me. I think I'll go look for 'me'.

Thank you Lady!

Dear Invisible Blog Reader/Follower/Casual Visitor/Friend/Cyber Mate

One day you suddenly appeared out of nowhere and left a lovely fragrance behind. For some reason, that seems to me to have been a watershed for my blog. From the cloak of anonyomity, I suddenly find that my blog has visitors and cyber mates hitherto unknown. It's a nice feeling.
I like my 30 seconds of fame (sorry Warhol, I cannot match up to your fifteen minutes) and somehow the fear of being read doesn't cause me panic. For some time now I'd restricted myself to only reading 2 blogs. But today, thanks to you, I read a lot more and I'm the richer for it.

I hope I do not get used to my 30 seconds and get greedy for the 15 minutes.

Cheers!

PS - For R - 'Remember to bash on, regardless the matters of consequence' - Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery &
'I'm afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning' - Andy Warhol

Do the first and don't be afraid of the 2nd when it happens.

I could blog all night....

... don't have to get up to go to work...yes!!!
... don't have to stand in front of the wardrobe looking like a dumbass bimbette wondering what the hell do I wear to work?
... don't have to put up with the bunch of losers at work who'd go 'dahling, I need that jpeg and working drawing today' and the next moment, 'listen you f&^$er I need it now'
... don't have to put up with a neurotic and delusional boss (he thought he was God, er...don't they all actually think that...strange how come I didn't... perhaps that's why I got the earrings because I was a good actress and I knew I was God and just let the reverence grow...grin)
... don't have to worry about scoring brownie points and ...

... don't have to worry period!

Now isn't that a nice peaceful easy feeling?