Mom, I tell you...!

My pretty Ma (below); (top) me, mom n bro

MOM
“Gawd, what does she want now?’ I groan, whenever mom calls out to me. ‘Yaaaah’, I shout back, exasperated.
So what if she called me to take my medicines.
In other situations, when I’m back from work, I yell back, ‘Don’t you understand I’m tired?’
She still forces down those juices and milkshakes down my throat.

Mom, I tell you…!

Then there are times when she’s going out with dad, and she’ll ask me, ‘Is this okay? What earrings should I wear?’
I mumble, hardly looking up from what I’m doing, ‘Hmm, it’s fine. Wear ‘those’ earrings.’
‘Okay thanks,’ she says and somehow manages to figure out what I meant by ‘those’ earrings…

ME
I called out to mom the other day – “Maa, I can’t find my jacket…’ ‘Oh-ho, wait. I’ll look for them,’ she says back calmly.
“Maa, pick out a dress for me na... I’m running late. Leave it out while I shower…’
Needless to add, when I come out of the bath, I see the perfect outfit ironed and laid out on my bed, matching earrings placed near them, and my favourite heels placed on the floor, just below the dress. ‘A perfect semblance,’ I mutter, get dressed, scream ‘Byee’ and head out…No ‘thank-you’ from my side (I’m running late, remember?), but she does manage to squeeze in a ‘Looking lovely…’
And, I don’t know why, she never says ‘Daughter, I tell you…!’

MIRACLE OF LOVE
While in bed two days ago, I looked at mom sleeping beside me, and I don’t know when I drifted off into dreamland. I’d asked her to sleep in my room that night as I’d undergone a surgery three days back, and just wouldn’t get sleep because of the pain…
But that night, when she lay by my side, sleep came in minutes, and I slept like a log...

In those few minutes before my eyes closed, I thought of all the above things, and couldn’t help but feel grateful and hateful about myself! What would I ever do without her...?
Friends, who I wanted, more than expected, to be by my side weren't there...but Mom made up for it all - she played friend when I needed one, and 'Mom' when I needed her...

She’s a miracle. A miracle of unconditional love …

Mom, I tell you…
is the best thing that’s ever happened to me…

Taking 'you' away

(This one's for a friend and others who've thought 'ending it all' is the easy way out...)

It takes nine months for us to breathe in life at its fullest; a year to stand on our own two feet and mumble the first words; 12 years to complete basic education; another five years to reach graduation; another two years of a masters degree; 18 years to get a driver’s license; 18 years to be of legal marriage age; our Entire Life to learn what makes us truly happy…
There is so much to do in so little time. So much to understand, so much to love, so much to achieve, so much to accomplish, so much to live…
Yet, everything – love of parents, fun times with friends, hours wasted in front of the idiot box, vivid pictures of happy times, that first love, those countless dates … (I’d run out of space if I were to mention what ‘everything’ constitutes) – but everything disappears in one flash when anger, hatred, hurt, ego and expectations take over…
All those years spent in learning to live, vanish, and what’s left is regret…
A friend threatened to commit suicide. This is one odd case among thousand other reported and unreported suicide cases. But, this was a friend of mine. The tensed moments, the sweaty palms, the stomach worry cramps, the distraught parents, the onlookers…I simply can't get it out of my mind.
‘Why suicide?’ you ask.
The answer is hidden among these - a heartbreak, great expectations in love which were never met, a feeling of dejection, a clueless state of happiness, and an ambiguous vision of love…
‘Why’ I ask. ‘Why attempt to take away life because one person…one person out of the hundreds in our lives…made us unhappy?’
Life is an opportunity bestowed on us…a gift…are we that foolish to discard it in one fleeting moment?
If you want to escape a situation, run away…go off…never come back, or return when you’re stronger, because you still have the option of starting over, but once you end it, and reach the dark corridor, you’ll be stuck in an endless walk…If suicide is your vision of peace, it’s a warped vision. Get rid of it.
While slitting your wrists, poisoning yourself or jumping off a building, might drain the blood out of your veins and your soul out of your body, but what else will it give you? Tears from loved ones? Agreed. But, for how long? Those tears would never reach anywhere near the smiles that you could’ve got had you not been so foolish, so weak…
God hasn’t given us humans an analyzing brain for us to waste in such a manner. We have the power of reasoning, and that alone is our biggest strength.
To waste life over someone or something that doesn’t value it enough in the first place will get you no sympathy, no peace…it’ll only have you wishing that you should’ve held on…
If suicide has ever crossed your mind, just treat it as a passing thought. There are people out there who love you more than anyone could ever hurt you…and that’s something each one of us should always remember. Always.
Nothing is the end of the world. There's always a tomorrow. There's always sunrise. Don't take your tomorrow away from you...

Good v/s bad

Death is a denouement of life…
All the pain, all the joy,
All the troubles and strife,
Trickle away into a seemingly insignificant and faraway land,
The tears dry up,
The laughs don’t echo back anymore…
What remains is a flashing motion picture of deeds done, and undone,
Of the people hurt by harsh words and acts,
Of the cherished ones loved unconditionally and conditionally,
Of the proud pat-on-the-back moments,
Of the flushed-with-embarrassment times,
Of what He expected of us, and what we did instead…

Life is an opportunity that He gives us, to prove how worthy we are of that thing called heavenly bliss. How worthy we are of life itself…
This isn’t a disquisition on ‘A Good Life’, nor is it some preachy piece on the same subject. It’s just certain constantly-nibbling-at-the-back-of-my-mind thoughts that I’m penning down.
A week back, I think, I was in a rather bitchy mood, and was crankily cribbing to my aunt and gran about how hopelessly conscienceless some people could be. My aunt frowned at my thoughts, and said, “By talking about them, and their ways, you’re taking some of their karma onto yourself. Leave them to do as they please, for some are unchangeable.” ‘Unchangeable’, why? I asked myself…
I’ve discovered in these few years that I’ve lived, that there are only two choices in every situation – right and wrong. It never is the case that we are too blinded to see the difference…The truth of the matter is we’re too afraid of admitting our wrongs, and accepting another’s rights…and I speak out of experience.
I’ve not lived a 100 per cent righteous life – I’ve blundered, I’ve caused pain, I’ve bitched, I’ve lied – but everytime I did so, I’ve slept a distured sleep…I would try to coax myself that it’s that bitch who did this, and that b@$t@rd who did that, but Conscience is one stubborn ass…Yes, he won’t ever let me win an argument…
I’m not saying we should live a saint’s life – that’s humanly difficult (I won’t say ‘impossible’). What I’m saying is that I try my level best (well, sometimes, the level falls) to choose the right over wrong…And, everytime I do so – everytime I say sorry, everytime I make someone smile, everytime I make up with some strained relation - I sleep like a log. It’s been on the rise ever since these thoughts have been softly echoing in my mind! Yup, the dark circles are slowly fading into the oblivion, the twisting and turning has almost reached a Zero, and the battles with my conscience, they’re a thing of the past (almost). That all-knowing righteous bugger (Conscience) can no longer boast of wins and triumphs…:-)
It feels good, and feels better to know, that while the knell of the parting day drums slowly forth, I would be able to face Him when He will hopefully say, “I gave you chances aplenty, and I must admit, you did me proud…”
For, death is the denouement of life…
Ego, that ‘I’ within us, which brings selfishness, anger, hate, enmity and negativity to the forefront, will be a losing force. What will emerge winner, is the good you’ve made of your gift called Life…

Morning mourning

It’s 4 in the afternoon. I’m rubbing my sleepy lids and my lenses are drooping with a jarring heaviness about them. I’m cursing myself for leaving the balcony door ajar before I plunged into bed last night. The morning rays trickled in, at an unearthly hour, woke me up and made me squint at my surroundings. I muttered something under my breath, pushed aside the cozy quilt and did a zombie walk to the troublemaker door to bang it shut.
Why did God make mornings, I wonder. Why couldn’t there be a long, sleepy night, which unfolds into a bright and lazy afternoon? I’ve asked HIM this question on countless occasions – when my school rickshawalla would sound that nagging, hissing-cum-buzzing, horn, and I would rush down, breakfast in one hand, and a couple of books in the other; or then, the time when I was handed the college timetable – First Lecture – 7 am. Have they lost it, I cursed. And, I thought college was supposed to be fun. HMPH. ‘Fun at 7 am’ – that falls into the ‘impossible’ slot in my list. Then, came work, and I remember my boss laughingly handing me an assignment for 8 am, knowing just how much I abhor waking up early. How do I work if my mind’s still tucked in snugly under the quilt?
I’m just not a morning person. If you ask me what’s more beautiful – sunrise or sunset, I’d jump onto the second. Of course, it’s a different issue that I don’t remember seeing sunrise :P…!
But, seriously, evenings and nights are so much prettier. The pluses - I get off work in the evening, enjoy a sumptuous dinner at home or at a favourite restaurant, head to a nightspot or drive around, and then cuddle up with my doggie and sleep. Perfect, no?
Mornings, on the other hand, always bring a picture of being dragged out of bed, picking a set of boring clothes to wear to work, and then driving through the mad traffic to reach office. It’s not that I don’t like work – I wouldn’t be doin it if I didn’t love it – it’s just that lazing around in bed scores a one-up on that!
It’s 4.45 pm now. I’ve dozed off in bits and pieces while writing this. Had it not been for the blasted mornings, I would have keyboarded a more positive piece…
Gawd, I hate them early mornings.

A drink, girls?

When love fails,
Emotions work.
When emotions fail,
Memories work.
When memories fail,
Words work.
When words fail,
Tears work.
When EVERYTHING fails,
90 ml Vodka works

There’s a big grin pasted across my face even as I write this! The love-shove, tears-vears don’t rouse my interest. It’s that sparkling drink, swishing and swirling, almost making its way up to the rounded edge of the shot glass that’s caught the attention of my senses. And, to think I write this while at work ;).
Now, I ain’t an alcoholic…haven’t gotten there yet, and doubt I will (my mum would freak, my dad would give a disapproving nod, my brother…well, actually doesn’t really matter what he says), but I have no qualms admitting that ‘hey, I dig drinking’. Dad does too. It’s in my genes, and there’s nothing to do about it (Now).
My point is not that ‘drinking’ is still in the bracket of ‘Oh-you-drink-?-it’s-not-good’, nor is my point that at office, some raise an eyebrow, or pass a behind-the-back comment if I partake in a ‘drinking’ convo with a fellow colleague, nor is my point that there are still some daft chauvinistic men out there, who, with a drink in one hand, point at your glass of wine or vodka shot, and murmur – ‘I want a girl who doesn’t drink, blah, blah, blah’. Well, boy, the girl should want you! But, even that is not my point.
My point is that I love that tingling taste of vodka. It’s even better with red bull. There’s nothing to beat a sweet-sour white wine too. Tequila makes me sick :(, and the fad of flaming shots seems to shoot to the head, rather than gurgle down the throat. A breezer, ah, well, you’ll laugh, but that was my first ever drink. The first love. Can go on the backburner, but can never die out. There’s good ol’ dark rum and coke too. It’s cheap, and makes me smack my lips, so, it stays in the ‘like’ list. Beer and whisky are in the ‘No like’ list. Haven’t yet acquired the taste, and am in no hurry to do so. I’ve never tasted tharra, so I wouldn’t give myself the authority to comment on that one :P!
A friend asked me a while back, during a very random conversation – ‘Do you drink everyday?’ ‘No, maybe twice a month on a night-out,’ I answered honestly. ‘Ok…Do you drink for the high or for the taste?’ My pat reply was – ‘The taste…I love, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada…’ He smiled – ‘Then, you’re never quitting drinking, woman.’ We moved on to other topics.
That apart, there’s no denying the fact that when the boyfriend and I argue, my ‘lurve’ for the taste of vodka shoots up! And, this revelation brings me back to that SMS that made me grin – ‘…When EVERYHING fails, 90 ml VODKA works.’ I can surely stand by as guarantor of that experienced fact! :)

Men

Men.
I’ve cursed them. I’ve been through the ‘anti-men’ stage a zillion times. I’ve promised to never look at another guy in my life. I’ve sworn that I don’t need those scum-bags. I’ve criticized the balding ones, I’ve chuckled at Mr Smarty Pants, I’ve jeered at the shy Mamma’s boy, I’ve hauled the typical MCP, and I’ve grown out of love with the leashed puppy ones. Heck. I’ve even wished them all away.
But mind you, that’s just the immediately-after-a-heartbreak phase. Of course, even now, that I am blissfully in love with a man, I do tsk-tsk at my married sisters, wondering how they can put up with that same face for each passing day. The one sister who I’m more vocal with even tsk-tsks at herself. I don’t want to venture into all that I hold against married life (I’ve begun developing cold feet just thinking of the institution), but I must re-ask – One man for your entire life, or till the contract ends, due to natural or well, natural causes?
I like the phrase ‘It’s raining men’, though, I swear (and I hardly lie), that I can’t handle more than one man at a time. But, just the thought of men (cute, sturdy, sexy ones – one can be choosy in dreams!) rolling off the roof, plonking on to the car bonnet, landing on the terrace, makes my eyes twinkle. The other day, my msg on gmail read ‘It’s raining men. Hallelujiah’. My sister sighed from Bangalore – ‘Why can’t I see any droppings?’
It made for a good laugh.
I’d like to make it clear here, like I have before, that I’m in no mood or need to juggle men. I have my man, we’re happy (most of the time) and sometimes I find myself dreamily wishing away that we spend a ‘happily-ever-after’ life together…just him, for life…
... Gosh, we women, I tell you, can get as confusing and contradictory as no man ever can…! It’s that ruling factor called ‘men’ I think, that does it to us ;)