Isolation

Zapped me alright.

I have been like this for 8 and a half months. And haven't shown any sign of improvement. I choose to laugha nd enjoy myself whenever I want to. But I have given up on myself. What does she know. What the fuck.

I am sorry. My errant behavior is the sign which I am coming to terms with.After i have been sliced into two, by an unaccepted unfeeling proposal meshed with misunderstanding. I have become a person with 2 left feet, who just jump around knocking me mindless. Let me elucidate. About 2 years ago, I have had a heart break. Well, it shouldn't have affected me much, but it did. And it leaves me zapped. Only because my ego has been the sole victim.

She would never understand. Parveen Babi, ya right.

I'd like to make a mention of the adjectives here: All copy paste.paranoid, misdirected, insensitive, hypocritical and over-inflated egos, insecurity-ridden, deprived, pitiful, petty mind


Isolated. Let me be. I will never ever want to talk to her again.

I have an entire article on me. And does it sound harsh, yes. And its horrible to know that. Oh another Aries down. Well how many have I got left? Oh that was the last one.
I knew 3 and every year I lose one. I think it calls for a celebration.I finally got away with it.

But it haunts me, it shouldn't.The farther you go, memories make your heart grow fonder bullshit, will continue to ring in my head. So where do we run? We sure can't hide.

what's the best way to unwind, among other things?

Let me know the cheapest. And no, don't tell me its food.
How do I get myself feeling buoyant after a hard day's work? I mean, I am in advertising right? Then how the hell do I make time for swimming or playing lawn tennis? What and how? I am not keeping fit at all. Damn. Sometimes, you really have to think things thru in getting your life into perspective. I know a few deadlines coming up next week,and I am not so glad about it. My work is going to get published , and it has a few times before,but I want something more. It has got to be in freelancing.

Getting back to the reason why I started writing this piece. I want something more in life that keeps me busy 24/7. Yes, that's it. I don't fancy taking calls, its like speaking into a small instrument and concentrating on it, its just not what I like doing. I rather be having conversation with the whole being. That's my pet peeve, so be it. Hmm. SOmetimes, I jsut think I need a change of place. Well, I did go to Ahmedabad didn't I. There are some really inspiring things hidden only for those who are keen on discovering Mahatma's cultural heritage. The drama, the naked truth. And those who do, leave that city pursuing great things. Or just end up in advertising like I did.
But advertising, shows us the glitz and glamour, but I don't think that creative people stop there. They surge forward, for there is always something more on the other side. By that I don't hint at the client's side of course. Its a hint at the other things that this world offers. Mostly travel and living channels. I'd love to be a cook. And well, work with Gordon Ramsay sure. Well, I'd love to learn scuba diving for once, and teach others how to do it. Before that I'd love to learn to swim. And how on earth am I going to find time for that. Life in advertising, leaves no space for other things. Now, I need to show passion, and I need that money.

Ah! Now I know, what Tendles meant.

Passion is everything.

For Bhau. To the one who is truly free.

Freedom. Its a big word. And not everyone has it.Truly ask yourself. From that bird in the cage, like that parrot who you taught to learn 'Meethu' or that housewife who is stuck in the rut with Ekta Kapoor's serials. All are jail birds. Freedom is tough even in these times. Even those children who go out and hang out with friends, but reach home before 7. Or those girls whose parents ask them to return home from work at 7 maximum 8. They leave their jobs in accordance with society. Who is free?
My Grandpa is.
He left for the heaven's on 14th August at 9:25 am.
He was an officer in the ST department. That runs buses across the state of Maharashtra. An excellent service then. We used to often ask Grandpa if he ever did any heroic activity in the years of the Raj. And he'd say, he didn't and would add. I had a family: I had to earn my living, to keep them alive. Not everyone participated in the freedom struggle. But 25 days before 15th August, I saw him struggle for his life. It hurt so much. Every day, he was in pain. After the surgery he didn't open his eyes. Only struggled to open them. He couldn't speak because his pain was excruciating.He was one hell of a fighter.

Shankarrao Kadam is his name. And he is the father of 2 sons and 3 daughters. And he has raised his family in honour. On his funeral quite a few admirable and respected people turned up.And we sat closely with him, touching his feet, caressing his forehead. We wanted him to say," Kashey aahat"? " How are you, my child?" and kiss us on our cheeks and smile and give a few words of wisdom. Since I was born. I remember my Grandpa, to be an aristocrat. He had a stately demeanour, and everywhere we went, that is to Pune, everyone respected this oldie. He was intelligent and loved thriller stories. He's read all novels I talke dof. ANd once I handed him The Da Vinci code. And he said, "Its too catholic for me and it doesn't interest me a bit". I ain't into thrillers so much. So I didn't know his taste. But I do know now, that Da Vinci ain't his cup of tea. He was handsome and he was clean. Spic and Span , was my grandfather. He would wash most of his clothes all by himself. Wear white pyjamas and kurtas. And would have his medicines on time. He would drink water from a Tamba, a copper vessel, and has been doing so since I can remember. He was a very important part of our life. And we all loved him. I took interest in the recent Sudoku games he would play. he would spend 15-20 min explaining to me about the tricks. And one day I gifted him, a book, which contained around 100 puzzles,which on my next visit I found him to have solved with pencil, so that I could erase the answers and fill them up myself.

He was a fantastic writer. For some of his writing I have it as a souvenir. What if they were only 2 pages.He had a beautiful handwriting. Confident,and calculative.
My other cousins have had the privilege to have known him quite well, because they lived i the same house as he. I consider them lucky. And myself, fortunate.
I have had a chance to be acquainted with only my grandma for a few years, and he sudden death, was a shock, and I remember her but only slightly. I remember that she remembered that I liked grapes so she would bring a whole bunch for me to finish. She was wonderful. My grandpa, was very happy then. I remember seeing both of them together. When she had done her cataract operation. Both sat side by side. It is a wonderful sight. Now he must be happy. He must be with his wife.My grandpa and grandma, weren't storytellers. They were caretakers of the household. My prime storyteller was my mom. And she has had told me around 900 stories, each night. The best mother any one could ever ask for. My dad, was the best motorcycle driver.Rash. But super fun.

I have had the most amazing childhood anyone could ask for. My grandpa, was awesome. For he would always bring us an 18 Rupees packet of Good-day,and then we would get it in a golden box, with cashew pictures all over it.And I and my brother would thank Bhau for getting it and run to the bedroom to eat it up. It was beautiful.
I have fond memories of him. And I have an immense respect for my grandpa. He was a genuinely great person. And he loved his daughters and sons and his grandchildren.


Bhau,love you forever

of manic mondays.

after a good rant. you do feel good right. yeah.
just like after you've worked your back off..literally speaking. you stretch those arms up high, wriggle a little, and then after that joyous feeling, go back to feeling exhausted again. brilliant.
Thats how I feel right now.
hectic day. loads of work. like always.
I miss my Macintosh from MICA. really.
I could have finished a lot of work, rather than just keep begging to a few people, who you don't want to bend down to. Damn. Maybe client servicing are not the only ones who get their ego hurt in unimaginable places. Its weird, but there is some kind of camaraderie among people at the workplace, or its just forced. No matter. The road is life.Jack Kerouac.

Unbearable lightness of being is a brilliant piece of work by Milan Kundera, very manly psyche.
Its funny how women have to accept some of men's enlightening moments that are in fact really pathetic, and I see no art in it at all. Its just a clever device that excuses men of philandering. Its a cleverly written book no doubt. But in parts its a Men are from Mars book, through and through.

I am now reading Nathaniel Hawthorne's infamous novel, the Scarlet letter, and the first few pages are a beautiful description of exceedingly measured copy.The description of Hester Prynne is beautiful, again here I talk of a prostitute in the 18th century era. The Boston tea party days. The beauty of a prostitute, like the one we saw in Chameli, of that of Kareena Kapoor. Its like saying, look at life from their POV. Or lets say, Tabu's acting in another prostitute's life story. I can't really say, what this book entails, as I have not read it. I am determined to write an essay in the coming days. And then maybe you can draw a critical sketch on what you presume to be a frivolous life of a prostitute. Here I am merely hinting, that it maybe much more than that.

All talk and no game.

one thirty am. that's when i learn to keep my mind at peace. Yakkity yakking 24/7 and look, now i feel so tired that i'd love to crash into deepest slumber. I would only get up the next day to cancel a few plans, becoz of a thrifty girl's spree. Big malls, really big. But infrastructure of the roads, pathetic. Highways, hardly 4-5. But innovation zero. What is wrong with Bombay? Everything. This city is Communist, Marxist. Truly. I believe so. Only because even an ICICI gold card member talks to the beggars and people from gullies like they were true friends. Wow. That is really something. Because I can strike a conversation with the bus driver of a BEST bus and discuss the situation of Bombay like we own the city. Well, all bombayites think they do. And if anyone who is new to the city and behaves like he owns it. Boy! are you gonna be in big trouble. No wonder I stayed back. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be in Chennai, only to realize what fate had in store for me.

Talking of fate, yesterday, on one of the rare chances where I get to talk to my mom about the world and the logic with life. We hit upon an idea that Destiny is not quite true. Its actually probability. And the saying " the choices we make" is bang on target. Because we exist in that circumstance and that situation, because of the choices we have made. And that's how it is. There is a theory we conjured up. but its pretty petty to disclose here.So well, I shall keep mum. Grandpa is not well. And his health is deteriorating. We are all praying for him. And trying not to think more.

Need more compartments for women!

A first class pass costs up to 340 rupees and while a 2nd class would cost 95 rupees!
wow! its a huge difference of 250 rupees, really, the yellow colour thats painted inside is much classier than the boring green in the first class, at least I personally think so! The dark green is quite an eyesore. They could at least have put some happy colours in there. Bombay needs to change a lot. And the citizens need to spit a little less. And not litter at all. Glowering eyes don't work with women at all, becoz they'll look right at ya, with the same vigour. Damn. And men, well you rather just make horrendous faces and leave it be.

I was wondering, after reading one of the forwards, that Abdul Kalam's speech, with all due respect to the ex-president, and one of the really good men to come out after 40 years of elections, I wanted to ask Mr. Abdul Kalam that when he says that Indians won't spit in other countries because the law there is strict, and that why don't Indians follow the same rule here. Well Mr. President, I need to ask you something. Why doesn't the country put up police officers or junior officers in public places or places where the junta is in constant contact with the police men? The policemen can do their job of charging the spittoon creator with a fine of 500 rupees, and start doing it with immediate effect. Because for a country like ours, we can't afford beautiful roads, than how can we afford cameras to be placed in every nook and corner like the vigilance videos, and catch the culprit in the act, like Singapore does?

C'mon be practical. If the Arthur road jail is surrounded by 500 policemen, who are actually doing nothing, and watching people spit in front of them, and spit betel juice right under their noses. Then well, the law makers are themselves supporting this phenomena. I am sure, that your English speech must have gone on deaf ears, because those who spit and make reddish orange modern art drawings on the walls and pavements of the bombay promenades 90% are in fact from a vernacular background and how on earth would they know what the President is talking about? And those who are educated, they are all the more pathetic, they are a clear case of habit. And this case is more aggravating to the children who they bring up in the world a complete package, full of impeccable manners and etiquettes.Only to regretfully watch his mom, dad, uncle, spit in front of them time and again.
Boy! what a life!

Something should be done. I saw the movie Nayak. 2 years back. And sometimes I think.. We really need someone like that. Not a Hitler. Not a Mussolini. Not a Bush. Nor an Osama. We need Che Guevara.


This is young blood angst.
signing out.

On a more serious note.

Ok.
One fine day, naaah
One monday night, where you have spent all your day, slogging your brain off, working on creative "thoughts", you reach the platform,completely oblivious to what's coming next.
A 12 coach train stops by, after you've waited for 3 whole minutes, and you enter the second class, i have been warned by fellow inmates of my singlehood-traumatic-working-girl-group of girls, that the1st class is much better if you wish to deal with stress.
Here's the story.
We passed Bandra, and it announced 9:28 on the yellow blinkers that the world of Bombay easily reckons with. As we landed on Khar, Men stormed the 2nd class women's compartment. because after 9:30 pm, the women's dabba gets converted to a men's one, very conveniently,and as we women are docile and enjoy the peace and quiet in the train, trying to drown ourselves into the journey, or thinking about what the world doesn't care about >(like the way, a woman slipped the piece of plastic right out the window, once she finished eating her wafers, while I put my tissue in the bag to drain it off in my garbage bin) Oh yeah, and these men, jump right in, like its their right. And well, they are a bit careful, but there are also those, who want to string that little snake right into you.And as you get up, other docile creatures look up at you with fear in their eyes and you wonder why are these women, still hanging around,when they should just up and leave? But No, that would show their fear. And women aren't afraid. But thank you very much. I am. Truthfully, I am scared of that little snake, and, its silly, but I would spew abuses if anyone, especially on a railway station; would even try that on me. As I hung by the gates that opened to Hell(by Hell i mean the eager men, who are wanting to jump into the cold war area), I started on a spew of abuses that kept people at bay, and I was ready with a good strong umbrella to give a good hit, to where it hurt. Anyways, I became a shield for those women, who wanted to get down, and happily they did. i did too. Because men, understand the language of insult than a cajoling one, They have heard enough cajoling from their wives.

Bastards.

Being thrifty and other things

Yes I'm a spendthrift. I agree upfront.
I have always put in money, not to wait for it to get doubled, but before even it starts its venture in the savings account, i have to wade it right into my wallet.Stuffing it and emptying it, as if handling a railway ticket really.I am sorry, but i never really thought my job owned me, i never came around to thinking that. Mostly because I always had someone or the other backing me up, like my family and now my brother for instance. Bad attitude, Yes. I know, I don't know how to cope with it. I need some cure.Mainly because, I live everyday like it would be my last. No, I am not trying to mean what I just said, in a more philosophical way but, I really believe with the way things are going, marriage, growing up, behaving like you've just become superbly mature, and, the place where ewe live, its like an island waiting for a tsunami to attack to actually realise we are all going down. We in fact, even had a holiday, for the weird state of trains in Bombay. Water logging in railway areas, stops people from working!

I saw ICE AGE 2 today.
Damn, what a good movie.
And I nearly burst into tears when I realised that little fellow with the nut, whose name me Miss.Forgetful forgets, enters the heavens, where the skies are full of nuts.
What a great movie.