All my bags are packed ,Im ready to go

I hope to see you,
I hope to hear the magic words,
Instead I see boxes everywhere,
Brown, straight, tilted, overweight, half full and half empty
Interesting how these boxes are filled every time something else is emptied,
Like life in a city much loved and lived in
or life beyond a relationship much longed for
The last time I put stuff inside boxes, I boxed other stuff out of my head
Stuff like 'one needs a professional identity for sustenance' or that 'indefinite sabbaticals are hazardous to the body and soul'
This time as I stuff them
I wonder if my insides have been emptied out already and I can feel nothing no more

Apologies to the Hindi stalwarts- my vain attempt using the Hindi typewriter...

प्रेम कहानी में 'twist'

गुबली ने बोली एक सच्ची बात
गुली ने घुमाया उल्टा हाथ
कहता है ;यह बात कोई नयी नही’
जो तुम करते हो वोःसही नही
आख़िर दिल मेरा तोड़ोगे कितनी बार
हो चुका यह कमबख्त कब का तार-तार
कब तक सहता रहूँ मैं वार
क्यों मान लूँ करते हो तुम मुझ से प्यार

सोचा था हमने हमशा रहेंगे साथ
हमेशा में नही थी कोई 'टाइम लिमिट' की बात
फिर भी जब हुआ कोई तकरार
तुम ने किया मानने से इनकार
कहते रहे कोई बड़ी बात नही
तुम हो वही और मैं भी हूँ वहीँ
प्यार कर देता है हर मुश्किल को सही
पर चलते चलते बिछड़ गए हमारे रस्ते कहीं
तुम बढ़ चले और हम रह गए वहीँ
अब तुम हो कहीं और हम कहीं

उम्मीद है यह रास्ते अलग होने से पहले दोबारा मीलेन्गे
चाहत के यह सूखे फूल फिर से खिलेंगे...

On life and love

Hate does not destroy love
Love does
love of different things at the same time
love for oneself more than love for the other
love of thoughts that take us to the end of our tether
and love not expressed for each other

Come hither, once more, my love,
let us go back to the days of sweet yearnings
the days of joy in ice creams and holding quivering hands
the days of simpler desires
such as a stolen hour spent on the phone
or a good bargain at the end of a frugal month
or days that made life worth celebratng..simply becaue life was there
Mostly, the days when the only tears that arose were on account of too much laughter!

An Inspired Post

Ever since I read a similar post by someone else (sorry, can't locate the link now), I have been wondering about the responses to the same in my head. Im finally ready with all of them today and want to share it wih you.

I am : a wanderer, wonderer, drifter, reader
I think : therefore I am
That I should feel more, think less
I know: that there is no such thing as the ‘absolute truth’
I want : pleasures to be pure, thoughts to be free
I have: had myriad experiences that make me who I am, let my guard down too often , a closet full of bags and earrings
I wish : there were no man made boundaries in the world
I hate : when people have two faces and I can see only one
I hear: music even when nothing is playing
I smell: happiness in coffee
I crave: coffee shops in unknown places
I search: for magic to happen in my relationships
I wonder : if some things will ever change, if its ok to have more than 6 cups of coffee everyday
If men will ever respect women for who they are
I regret : letting reason get the better of emotions sometimes and the other way round at the wrong times, taking poeple and things at face value all the time
I love: that I can be me , more often than not, a good Sunday lunch
I ache: to cuddle on rainy afternoons
I care: for those who care for me, for abandoned poor kids on the roads ,the freedom of women
I am not :a Believer
I Believe: in the good in people
That women should rule the world
I Dance: like no one is looking, to jazz and Amore
I sing: when I am alone, when I cant cry
I cry: always at the movies, and often in real life but would love to cry out laughing!
I don’t always: behave well , behave like an adult
I fight: when I feel ignored, and about what to watch on the telly
I write:(now) this blog, comments to other blogs, status messages on FB and gtalk..

I win: all the arguments in my head
I lose: all the arguments with THE HUSBAND
I never: say NEVER, not judge people (???)
I always: like to chat, with friends and strangers, remember phone numbers of those I call regularly
I confuse: roads, directions, non- Indian names
I listen: to the music in my head, and the voice in my heart (well, mostly)
I can usually be found :on Facebook, in the nearest coffee shop or bookstore, or any shop with pretty looking stuff
I am scared of : losing the ability to fly the wild flag
I need: love, coffee, music and in that order
I am happy about: being here, being hopeful

The Big and Small

The big ones go first
the presents become smaller or maybe much bigger
dates that meant something become figures on the calendar
the air is loaded with the absence of carefree laughter
conversations cease to be more than chatter
Then the smaller ones follow
reluctant touches, pregnant pauses
silences heavier than words
coz once the unspoken is spoken
there isnt much else to speak about
All the 'Im sorry's' and 'I din't mean its'
Do not mend a broken heart

Rambling on a Sunday afternoon

Of late (as late as say,yesterday?), I think that I have started thinking of everything that happens in my 'not- so-remarkable' life in terms of posts.

• Ate something delicious? How do I make the post delectable?
• Saw a spectacular sight? Hell, no, THE HUSBAND forgot the lovely DSLR at home- so nothing in terms of visual treat for the blog- no, no, why did we even see this lovely thing today?
• An interesting anecdote? Must note down the entire chronology of events that made it interesting- hm mm, now that I have dissected it completely, it doesn't seem so interesting after all!
• What good is a film if it can't be reviewed well on the blog?

My friend, in her blog uncovering mysteries of her own convoluted mind and nothing else (Am I right, sweetie?), wrote a rather delightful post on this.

Here's to mirroring your thoughts( and with this , I replace all cruel notions of plagiarism- there will be one sweet word from now on- 'mirroring')

'' I think a lot,

I think I'll blog,

in the car, on the skytrain,

when it shines, or (like in Vancouver, usually)it rains,

by the time I get to it,

I don't feel as 'writing- fit'

So I think more

Feel the memory grow faint and then sore (by now the memory is angry that it did not get blogged about)

I tell myself aloud

Someday , when I don't think, maybe I will blog?''

(images courtesy Stockxpert)