Bye 2012

Hadn't you just begun?
But it's already the end
And soon, you will be gone
In a flash

They said we would die
Around the time you would
No worries, hassles,
And those little people
Who say "We're big."

All lies, as usual
Everything comes to
A full circle
Maybe,
But not now

So, what were you all about?
Happy farewells?
Or sad beginnings?
A series of synchronized melodies?
Or just sounds of mere cacophony?

By the time I decide
You would have already become
The last year
Guess I'll  just say bye

Bye twenty twelve.

She will be loved.

A quote from "Dhobi Ghaat",

"To my muse, to my whore, to my beloved."

Bombay.

 

I distanced myself from the city when I was well into my fifth year in Pune.

Pune is smaller. It's easier to commute within the city. Pleasant weather. Great locality. A neat friend network. School. High School. College. Everything has been sorted out. Everything continues to unfold in a perfect sequence.

Rewind to the bit when we moved to Pune.  You could call it The Milestone, because before that my life had been hunky dory, pretty much (Well, what would you expect from a scrawny, nine-year old kid?). I hated Pune with a vengeance. It was all about Bombay. And how I would miss my house. My grandparents. My friends. What about the stack of memories that had built up over the years?

Say hello to irony.

Anyway, I'm not here to ramble about how I learnt to adjust to my new surroundings. It's just about this sudden, random realisation that hit me today, on my way to IITB.

I know it's stupid of me to judge this city (this maddening city with local trains running all over it, carrying people who jostle, shove and stumble upon each other and hang onto a dear life, whilst waiting impatiently to reach their  respective destinations,) based on meeting a bunch of enterprising folks at the campus of IITB, but, it just felt as though Bombay was welcoming me, and was eager to usher me in.

I have had a terrific weekend. Met a friend, with whom I got recently acquainted, and jeez, it seemed as though we had known each other for a lifetime. Made new friends at the campus. Watched one of my favourite punk bands perform live on stage. Managed to watch Life of Pi (exactly a month after its release!), finally. Visited my childhood home, and felt a rush of nostalgia. Spent a good time with my family, and relatives alike, after what seems like ages. And right now, I'm hastily typing everything down, lest it all slips away.

There were no delays. No frustrating last minute cancellations. No evil conspiracy to stop me from having a good time. It's almost like Bombay made sure that everything went according to plan.

I don't visit this city as often as I used to. There was a time when we would drive down every weekend to meet our folks at home. But, that faded away as we gradually settled in.

Bombay must I have sensed I don't miss her anymore. This time she vouched to give me a splendid time with all my close ones. She wanted me to realise that she is an integral part of my life.

I don't know her as well as I know Pune. After all, I was quite young when we moved out. I am clueless when it comes to navigating within this city. The roads, the traffic, the trains, the buses, the concrete jungle, the crowd, the hustle and the bustle, the sights, the smells, the sounds, and the weather can not only stagger a new comer, but also an ex-Bombayite, who hardly visits her home city that changes slightly with each visit.

But, somewhere down the line, familiarity lingers.

There's this one small thing that was a highlight of my stay as well, and though it might seem very inconsequential to the reader, I'm going to put that down.

The ten minute rickshaw ride to IITB from my cousin's place.

It was hardly anything. Over the flyover and along Powai lake. And tada! There comes IITB on my left. However, it was my first ever rickshaw ride in Bombay without a guide. As a child, I always had an uncle or a grandparent to tag along with me everywhere. Today, I got my ten minutes of free rein, which was indeed very special.

To feel the same breeze that blows daily, all year round, as a child is different from sensing it as a teenager on the brink of adulthood. Earlier, I had been carefree, and hadn't a damned clue about commuting, the pains of high school, managing boyfriends, or the sweet liberty of using debit cards and consuming alcohol, tolerating emotional hassles, and all those complicated aspects of growing up. To me, Bombay has always meant walks with my grandfather, ice-creams, stationery shops, crayons, story-books, lollipops, slides, swings and see-saws, Esselworld, elementary school, beaches, etc. Bombay's streets have always been unknown to me, but, this time it was almost as if she was assuring me that learning her ways wouldn't be exacting.

I think I will eventually spend a good part of my ripe years in this city. Bombay will call me soon, I know.

I just want her to know that she will always be loved no matter what. We share a great rapport, you see.

XOXO

Sometimes, the cliched some-words-are-unsaid quote doesn’t apply all the time. Sometimes, an expression of affection, yeah those random i-love-you(s) or you-are-awesome-dude(s) are definitely worth the delight they infuse in a person, once they are uttered. Even corny lines to console your girlfriend who has chipped her front tooth - “You still look so pretty, babe.” Sweet lies, I know. Nevertheless they are effective.

They don’t require effort. Just a mere movement of your lips. Say them. Let those words flow.
And if words can’t be uttered, then quick hugs or cuddles or a peck on the cheek work, because they are innuendos of love.

Then you have those subtle gestures, like staying up late at night, waiting to dine with your significant other who has been held up at work. Or reassurance that signifies “Hey, I’ll take care of this mess. You better hurry up and get going.” Or just simply saving a bar of chocolate for your young sibling. Or helping him or her with a boring Science project. Or assisting Mum in the kitchen. Or watching a horror flick with Dad. Celebrating New Year with your family instead of your friends. Or aiding your old neighbour to lift a heavy load. Or placing a pint of Kingfisher before your best friend who is a victim of a torturous breakup, the ultimate chal-daru-peeten-hain option.

The Homo Sapien has been blessed with the ultimate power of articulation, of words and facial expressions. So why veil all that under a hermetic shell?

Say it. Show it. And make sure the smiles exceed the frowns.

The girl behind the curtain

She stood there, tensely. This moment before the consecutive moments that would follow, gave her ample time to think. And re-think.

She couldn't believe that she was questioning herself, at this point in time, with only five minutes left for her to step onto that polished, glistening floor, surrounded by a multitude of strangers almost.
Her fingers felt sweaty and moist.

It was her time to seek release from the monotonous background into the limelight. Her moment. Her moment to sing zealously, or croon nervously, but nevertheless, HER moment to do whatsoever she desired to. But here she was, thinking. Hesitating. Second guessing.

"I'm capable."

These words had kept her going for a long time. But their effect seemed to have faded, that too, at the opportune moment. All that so-called confidence that had been burgeoning, or at least had seemed to have burgeoned, all this while, seemed to be diminishing. At an alarming rate.

The impassive velvet curtains seemed to envelop her into their grasp. At one point she felt as though they would twist her and choke her . How can curtains do that?

No, it was this fear. Baseless fear that was feasting on her spirit, and was preventing her from proving her worth.

Hadn't she loathed being considered as an option? As a mere backup? Or as a substitute?
She had never reached that zenith of having achieved that one goal, which would ultimately satiate her.

But, here was that chance. It had arrived finally, in all its glory whilst she was on the verge of flipping out.

The incessant murmur of voices was growing louder by the second.

 Mac was waiting on-stage, with his fingers poised on the keys. As she peeped through a crack between the sturdy upholstery, she saw her guitar placed on the side, waiting to be lifted. It looked at her beseechingly.

Hold me, it said. I will help you.

Nh7 time. Hello, Weekender!

India's happiest music festival is back!

Last year, it had been pretty spectacular. Unfortunately, I  managed to attend only a day out of this awesome three-day wingding, thanks to my semester-end examinations.

This time, it's different. And I'm extremely grateful to my University for chalking out a peachy schedule, that ended a week prior to the Weekender.

It begins today, and boy, can I wait?!

Eighty artistes, spanning three days can be quite overwhelming. But, that's the whole point. It's a treat to the ears and the eyes.

Energy overload. A lot of jumping and romping. Headbanging. Moshing. Pigging out on food. Screaming oneself hoarse. Photographs. A keen look-out for one's favourite artiste. Backstage sneak-peek? Yeah, probably.

OMG. I haven't been this excited in a very long time.

How to get the ultimate Facebook profile picture. (Girls only. Period.)

• Apply the crimson-est lipstick you own on your lips.
• The ultimate gloss to get the succulent-juicy-lips look
• Smear kajal/eyeliner/shadow above and below your eyes. It’s okay if you look like a racoon. (photo editing will take care of all the blemishes.)
• Don’t forget the mascara.
• Your flicks or bangs should cover one eye. Straightened.Yeah, in order to get the bandit-queen look.
• Hold your camera/phone in one hand. Face the mirror. Or face your Macbook’s lens. If you own a DSLR, half your task has been accomplished. For real.
• Pout your lips, raise your eyebrow(s) (optional) or narrow your eyes. Make sure you look your sexiest best.
• Take a  picture.
• If not satisfied with the first attempt, try umpteen times until you get the desired look.
• Once you are satisfied, get to the crucial aspect of this process - Editing your picture.
• Adjust the highlights, shadow/contrast. You could increase the saturation to acquire the unreal, dreamy look. Or probably fiddle with focal gray-scale, HDR, etc. If you are a Photoshop expert, use your skills to the fullest.
• Edit, re-edit your picture until you are absolutely sure that it’s what you were aiming for.
• Finally, upload it on Facebook.
  
  
  Plus point
  Assures a complete transformation from Plain Jane to Miss Sexybitch.
  
  Minus point
  It is virtual.
  
  
  Caution : May fetch you a bandwagon of admirers online, but they might change their minds on meeting you in real (unless your virtual and real avatar gel well together.)
  
  
  
  
  - An extract from "Fits of Boredom"

2009

It's amazing how I remember every detail of the year 2009. The three years that have followed it are blurry and hazy with conspicuous empty patches, representing incidents I cannot recall, no matter how hard I rack my brains.

That year brought about great changes in me. Call it a change in my personality and even physical appearance, but I felt confident, sunny and pretty.

I saw my school in a new light. Junior College seemed to be friendlier and warmer as compared to high school.

My first trip to the States.

My Facebook friend's list increased in leaps and bounds.

I realised that dressing up and partying was actually fun. Yes, I started smearing eyeliner under my eyes. Smokey.

That year, I broke more than three pairs of glasses.

I realised I had indeed fallen in love with my city and Clover Heights, especially.

This beautiful Squier came into my possession.

I realized that liking a guy comes with its share of thrill, estrogen and depression.

Tasted heartbreak for the first time.

Noticed changes in old friends.

Saw Death for the first time.

2009 was three years ago. I really miss it. With each passing year, it will go further behind. Milestone year. Definitely.

To not let it be

Is it a good idea to tolerate a friend?

Or is it better to be blunt and hurtful, cut of all connections, and then probably embark on a new start later?

I don't know. All I know is that I suck at being honest to those who are close to me. I am afraid of saying no. I am afraid of displeasing them. I could compromise for their sake. I don't like being in anybody's bad books.

I get this feeling that I tolerate too much. Trample on shit saying "Really, it's not that bad." But deep down, I know it is a lot. A lot to handle, and from the past experiences I've had, I rather prefer to not make big deal out of everything.


Tolerating a friend is not a good idea.

Coffee shop

Polished mahogany

Untouched coffee

Lingering aromas

Diffusing slowly

As I wait

Calmly palpitating

At the table by the door

I ponder

Till my temples hurt

A sip of cappuccino

to sooth my nerves

Ripples on the surface

Deep brown and creamy

I stir them violently

Mini storm

In the coffee cup

Hot caffeine on my tongue

Bittersweet memories

Flood my brain

Bittersweet is what I taste

One second

One minute

An hour

Tick tock

Collected thoughts

Dissipate like the aroma

That lingers no more

Mahogany, once warm

Has gone cold

And I still wait

At the table by the door

Barfi!

Dear fellow bloggers,

You guys HAVE to watch this movie, even if you are unable to comprehend Hindi. You will realise what I mean after watching this beautiful film!

Go watch it at your nearest theatre now, because it has been released world-wide!

Go. Just Go.

Your starry-eyed blogger,
Anju


I have never been completely anti-Bollywood. I do have a list of favourites, and likewise a list of the ones I hate. However, lately I had been disgusted with the bout of out-and-out commercial, over the top, shady Hindi films that had poured out. Gaudy cinematography. Actors hamming their way through almost every scene. Yes, I was pretty annoyed and disappointed with this dismal phase our industry was going through. I stopped bothering about upcoming trailers, movies, movie-buzz etc, etc.


And then from somewhere came Barfi like a breath of fresh air. I watched it today, in fact barely half an hour ago. Of course, my fingers itched to touch the keyboard, and type out words; good words praising this soulful film!


A carefree, deaf and mute boy (Yes, that's Barfi aka Murphy, played by Ranbir Kapoor), a lovable autistic girl (Priyanka Chopra), and another who is perfectly normal yet dissatisfied with her life (Ileana D'cruz) , the amazing camaraderie and love they share, endearing humour depicted through actions, gestures and a pot pouri of emotions - that's what Anurag Basu's latest flick is about.

I'm afraid I'll divulge the whole plot if I actually describe the movie in great detail. You know an actor's good if you refer to him by his character's name. And likewise an actress. Ranbir Kapoor (Barfi) and Priyanka Chopra were simply phenomenal. Playing the roles of physically/mentally challenged protagonists without evoking pathos in the audience is a feat, and they have achieved it! Respect.

I am not usually the one to notice the technical aspects of a film, but, yes, this movie brought those details to the forefront as well.  Set in the 1970s, the story unfolds in the quaint city of Darjeeling, wonderfully depicted through clean shots, homely folks, vivid colours with emphasis on nature, especially the mountains and the pines that add to the charm. Love hasn't been portrayed through intimate scenes, instead through affection manifesting in subtle gestures - another point that makes the movie tick!


The dialogues, though minimal and subtle, are meaningful. The innovative use of silence in this film, to indicate almost all aspects of human nature, especially conflict, is the highlight, undoubtedly.

The tears are imminent of course, but an emotionally charged scene is cleverly followed up by an instance of comedy that doesn't let you linger onto the blues.


A few hitches include a vague crime, and one or two loose ends towards the climax. But those are easily overshadowed by everything I mentioned above.

Words are important but not when it comes love. Barfi says it all through his silence.

Happy watching!

P.S: Do watch it and drop a comment below regarding your opinion about the movie. :-)

Going solo

Confidence is a sexy feeling

I sang Adele's "Set Fire to the Rain" for our intercollegiate fest. Today.

I have gone solo in the past, but I somehow end up compromising on that 100% effort I usually put in during the practices and rehearsals. It unfortunately diminishes to a mere 50%, leaving me feeling quite dejected by the end of it.

Today was different. I feel sort of...erm..proud..of my performance. Credit goes to my friend, who provided an excellent keyboard accompaniment. I didn't want to bungle up and douse all the enthusiasm that had been an integral part of our practice sessions.

Okay, I'm making it sound like it was something very crucial, almost a life-or-death situation. It was actually just a solo singing competition for a usual college fest, that I assumed I might eventually forget.

But, looking at it now, I guess I will cherish this day. My voice didn't waver. I didn't quiver. I hit the high notes. The words flowed smoothly. I worked at the expression. I know I did it. I feel happy with myself, something that is very rare.

I think I gave my 100%. I don't care about the competition. I think the stage is lovely. The euphoria after a good performance lies at a higher level than triumph, though I did feel triumphant for having gotten over my fear.

I think I just tasted confidence.

Overwhelmed

The best reassurance that you could get from someone is that he or she loves you. And love doesn't necessarily have to be romantic; it has its aspects.

I feel overwhelmed by this reassurance given to me by my friends. I have seen them go out of my way for me, and I just want them to know that I do value every bit of it.

It is good let even the closest ones to your heart, that you appreciate their efforts in bringing more light into your life. Yeah, while some emotions are implicit and some words unsaid, their expression takes the relationship one notch higher.

I notice how everyone wants me to be happy. I feel loved. Plus, this is the best gift I could have asked for, on my birthday.

I love you guys.

<3

The Airport

Airports feature in my list of top ten favourite spots.

I just love airports - the atmosphere they enclose, the lingering smell of air fresheners (airport smell!), flat screen T.Vs plugged in here and there, coffee machines, the lounges, book-stores, souvenir shops, sofa-chairs that one could sink into, periodic announcements, flights taking off and landing, and mostly, the multifarious populace pouring in and out, and the emotions writ on their faces.

Airports have always held good memories for me. An airport has undoubtedly been a part of every fabulous trip I have had so far. Come to face it, a tour to the States, Singapore, or Thailand, or any other exotic destination begins by entering an airport. A blast of cool conditioned air welcomes you, as the automatic doors slide out to usher you in.

Tickets? Check.
Passports? Check.
All the luggage? Check.
Toothbrushes?! Check.

We are geared and all set to go.

Airplanes form the climax. The destination is the ending. The planning and organizing bit of the trip is the plot, according to me. I love to recollect the whole process while I sit in an airport, eagerly awaiting our flight announcement. I haunt the bookstores. Occasional cappuccinos rejuvenate me. Earphones are seated comfortably in my ears. My fingers fiddle with my iPod buttons.

 'Course, this is what I experience once the holiday is about to begin.

In contrast, the feeling while coming back is mixed with a bit of sadness and longing. Holiday blues, they say. The airport is the sole, physical remainder of the wonderful trip, and I usually love to savour those final moments.

Once, our return flight to Pune from Goa got postponed to the next day owing to bad weather. I rejoiced, while my parents stood glaring at me.

It isn't vacation time for everyone. Often, one gets to see upset faces; heartbroken, angry, impatient, and sometimes ridden with worry.

Indian airports are known for their cacophonies.

Large Gujarati families comprising trendily dressed housewives, who are thrilled at prospect of breaking away from their households, jovial husbands, and extra boisterous kids, are usually spotted at the international terminals. Newly weds occupy the cozy corners. The wife has an array of bright red bangles, covering almost half her arms. Intricate henna designs on her hands. The gold adorning her seems strangely mismatched with her casual denims.

Punjabi and Tamilian dads can be heard talking on their phones, even if they are miles away; booming voices that attract truckloads of attention, whilst their kids shirk away in sheer embarrassment (been there, done that).

And the infants! Fragile looking creatures that fool you when they bawl their lungs out. Stuffing milk bottles into their mouths may relieve their harrowed mothers (whom I really pity, no kidding!).

The corporate guy looks bored out of his skull. Another one is seen conversing heatedly with a voice on the other end of  his smartphone.

You have the NRIs, who are usually bewildered by the bedlam around them. You could probably hear the sounds of those wonderful images built in their heads about India, shatter instantly.

And then amidst the horde of brown faces, you might spot a few white ones, looking slightly disoriented, as they try to locate the baggage counter. The smug expression on the Indian bystander's face clearly says, "Don't expect signs to direct you."

The scenario outside the airport? Chaos and clamour in simple words. You can see ones' family, escorts and drivers, falling over each other, holding name placards, as they valiantly crane their necks to look out for whomever they're waiting for.

Indians usually forget that boarding a plane is quite different from boarding a train. Local trains narrate a different story altogether, and I really, really don't feel like delving into that. Anyway, the thing is, there is absolutely no need to rush or shovel while climbing onto a plane, but, old habits don't die fast, so...you can predict what's going to happen next.

That's more or less how it is done out here.

Yet, airports are good. I associate them with all things good.

Most movies end at an airport. There comes the romantic aspect. I mean, a guy deserting his flight for you just 'cause he has realized the inevitable, would be the best possible thing ever.

Well, all I'm trying to say is that most people tend to forget how important an airport is. It can bring about reunions. Or sometimes, separation.

A place that provides you with small luxuries.

Or it can just be the start to a great memory. Every airport has memories attached to it.

That's what she said

This is going to sound super corny I know, but I have realized that my mother’s opinions about any guy have invariably ended up making sense.

I may think that this guy is absolutely fantastic, an amazing friend and all that, but mom will contradict, obviously.  Not because she likes to be a sadist and dampen my enthusiasm with her remarks, but, because she is able to see something in him that I’m not able to.

But, I get angry.

You never get it, do you Mum?
She gets it. I don’t. I never do as a matter of fact.

I wish I was endowed with that sixth sense. A very valuable sense that too.
And as I ponder over my mother’s words, I realize that her recent opinions about someone were indeed true.

It all makes sense. I was in some stupid denial mode.

The day she expresses strong positive emotions about a guy I fancy, will feature in one of the best days of my life.

It’s not like I want to base my likes and dislikes over my mother’s judgements and views, but come to face it, my mother has never been and will never be biased.

Because what she says has a lot of truth in it.

Smile

It is as quiet and as empty as I wanted it to be.

No more questions,

No more impatience,

No more frowning,

Or incoherence,

At last.

"Now then, get up, you are alright," I said,

When you refused to budge.

Crease lines etched across your forehead, deepening,

No smile, no twinkle,
Drooping cheeks and anxious eyes,

Yet, I tried.

"It's your favourite movie!",

"Look at his face, crinkled up comically!",

 Smile!

 But you didn't.

"Look at these pictures,"

"That's me in your arms, gurgling with laughter."

And then I could see,

A hint of a smile, maybe.

Worry shouldn't be your best friend,

Medicines won't cheer you up.
Look at me, and look at her, and him,
And all your favourite things,
That make you gladsome,
That make you smile.

Anger couldn't hide itself.

This was all wrong.
Spill your secrets,
The darkest ones,

Why couldn't you?

All I wanted was you to be alright.

I stamped upon the gloom,
That caught up with the days,            

Flying past swiftly,

Drowning myself in a world of make believe,

With all things happy and wonderful,
Catchy riffs, puppy love, and words.

Laugh, laugh, laugh!
Pretty smile that lights up your eyes.

Ask, ask, ask!
Those questions, silly and stupid

Else this isn't you.

But, they grew dimmer, your eyes.

Feeble tones to your voice,
Breathing harder to survive.

Still, I forced myself,

To make you smile.

I could stamp no more after a point.
I asked Him hence,

To ease you,
To make you smile.

A miracle maybe,

"Heal her!"I pleaded.

"Only one way," He said.

Bittersweet it tasted,

Plunged sharp into the folds of my skin,
He called it Pain.

You didn't say bye,
But you did.
They said you didn't smile,
But you did.
I know,
I can see it in my mind's eye,
That beautiful smile that lights up your eyes.

My stint at poetry writing, that I dedicate to Paati, my wonderful grandmother.

R.I.P

Bachhpan

Learning to let go is hard. But when you do, the relief you experience is fabulous.

But I’m still in the process.

I miss Bombay. I miss Goregaon East - Vishal Housing Society. 4th Floor.

I miss how my grandparents exclaimed, “ANJUUU!!” reflexively, when I rang the door bell.

I miss their eager, excited faces on seeing my family and I, after months.

I miss the verandah. Especially Aanchal’s ayah glaring at me from her window.

I miss the smell of filter coffee wafting into my room at 6.A.M.

And the aroma of lemon rasam emanating from the kitchen.

Birthday cards arranged on the shelf behind the television.

Karishma's phone number scribbled on the white label stuck on the receiver.

The bathroom tiles.

"Goodnight" mosquito coil plugged in Thatha-Paati's room.

The detachable bed rest.

Sun TV playing on the television.

I miss watching Paati doze off while watching the television at night.

And thatha resting on his bed (his throne, so to say), gazing at the window opposite him  - a crushed cigarette butt on his ash tray, an empty tumbler with dabara on the side table.

I miss the smell of Paati’s closet, the dressing table ke neeche waala cupboard, and her numerous hankies.

I miss the halls, rooms, bathrooms,windows, grills, vessels, empty Bisleri bottles, showcases, and the unused crockery arranged in those glass cupboards.

So many small things. The inhabitants. Details.

And all those infinite memories attached to them, and bonded to that house.

Drops of Earth

"Baarish kabhi bhi ho, apna dil gaata hai."

- Puru (Lambutang from Tumblr)

It rained yesterday, finally! And I had earlier cribbed about mucky bike rides to college and all that. I can bear with them for the time being.

Because, it’s a wonderful feeling when the raindrops touch your face; a cool breeze blowing from all sides that make a whooshing sound as you ride.

Because the smell of Earth is tantalizing.

Because it’s lovely to hear the sound of drops on your windowpane when you wake up.

Because you know that finally everyone is happy. Yes, including the birds and other creatures, that have been craving for moisture.

Because after a spate of rainless months with the black clouds playing hoax, the drops of earth have finally arrived.

Happy Monsoon! :-)

Big Plans

Why is everything going against my favor? I want a lot of stuff to happen. To agree. All that wishful thinking to come true.

Do you hear me?

It's a question that bothers every believer.

I have my own staunch beliefs. I don't pray everyday. But I do think of you everyday. I just need to know if things will be alright.

Do I have to join my hands, bow my head, cross my legs, and recite prayers to get what I want?

I keep reassuring myself with the thought that you have big plans for me. I know you do. I can't wait for them to get actually implemented.

I'm not a practical person by nature. I am very impulsive, and I usually let my emotions take control of my rationality.

It's not like you don't read my mind. You do.


I remember a song I haven't heard in ages. I switch on the radio, and I hear it playing.

I miss my best friends terribly. I crave to see them. I receive a message from them stating they will be in town soon.

The minute I become over-confident, something brings me back to ground level.

I get a premonition that my grandfather is going to leave us forever very soon,and sure enough he does.

Is it a coincidence? Or are there omnipresent invisible detectors you have set up, to discern my musings, my speculations and intuitions?

I don't know.

I know you care. Sometimes everything moves so fast that I find it difficult to breathe, while sometimes it trudges drearily. How long should I wish for better circumstances?

I'm running out of whatever little patience I had, conserved so carefully.

Me, Myself and I

I read an interesting blog post this April during the A-Z Blogging Challenge - "N is for Narcissism. It made me think. I can recognize a bit of narcissism in everyone including myself. Yes, even those who claim to keep their so called egos aside in their refrigerators.

An overdose of narcissism -  you are what people term as egocentric - having an inflated sense of self esteem that will piss others off.  It's okay to feel narcissistic to a certain extent because someone who shows absolute lack of narcissism suffers from a lack of self-esteem, which isn't good either.

It's so very hard to hear someone else out (Unless you are the quiet listener, refusing to talk about yourself.). For instance, when my friend went through a bad break up and was having a terrible time coping with it, he turned to me for support. And what did I do? Listened to him for the first five minutes, and then narrated my break-up story for the next half an hour, throwing in useful tips that I  considered, might help him.

It's not just me. I have been in my friend's position as well. This one time, I screwed up my performance in a college event by getting cold feet in the last minute. I was very upset that day and decided to talk it out with my friend. Instead, I ended up listening to her chatter about her first stage experience and her stage fright. It was supposed to make me feel better but it didn't. I hadn't called her up to hear her banter. This was about me.

What makes you think that I'll feel better after listening to you talk about yourself?

It's so very hard to be the patient listener-cum-adviser. You would always want to relate everything to yourself.

All my friends treat me as their personal diary. 

For many, it just takes a second to launch on a self ramble.

You:"How have you been?"

Me:"Oh nothing great in particular. Just working that's all."

You :"Oh okay. I  went rafting the other day. Then I visited Lavasa. It was raining, and was so beautiful and..."

You may call it being insensitive, but, it's omnipresent - this mild hint of narcissism. Everyone likes to comes first at some point or the other.

Else you wouldn't be normal.
Eeeps.

I had to add the last line. :-P

Happy Endings

I watched a Bollywood movie after ages. It had a godforsaken plot which ended depressingly with one of the protagonists dying. It was pretty intriguing,,but, that ending destroyed the initial happy feel.

I don't want to discuss the movie. I don't like watching my favourite characters die, especially if they are cute. Aargh!

I'm a sucker for movies with fairytale endings. Okay, sometimes I wish my life were a movie with all the drama, emotions, ups and downs (and ups again); a superb climax (obviously) leading to a perfect finish, and ta da it's done! And of course, a brilliant background score to complement it. Ek dum masaaledar, as a typical Indian movie buff would put it.

 I first thought liking happy endings was kind of lame because harsh, brutal endings is what life is about and movies portraying this aspect are mature and realistic, and if one likes such movies, well ehm..ermm... one's considered to have a good taste.

Movies gotta be real. And all that.

I brooded over this for sometime and realized that I prefer the former, make-believe aspect of movies. I know the what the real thing is about. I know my life isn't a movie. But, indulging in predictable, yes even stereotyped fantasy is nice for a change, an escape from uncertainty.

Say guy X, whom I adore, who is a friend, who doesn't see me in that light, who already has a girlfriend to whom he is going to propose, suddenly realizes that he has got it all wrong (when he is already on his knees, mind you), and comes running to my doorstep to  say "It's you I have been looking for." and then pulls me close. My favorite Gary Cherone song playing in the background. Roll credits.

That's a movie (with cheesy dialogues).

Realistically speaking, I would receive a get-a-move-on slap on my face from life. My best friend would say "The sea is full of fishes! Don't worry!". Else something else would come up to distract me. No background music.

Now this is real.

Yes, it's not exactly what one wishes for. It's not stereotyped. It's far from being predictable. There is a plot, nevertheless; a plot that keeps one in dark for a lifetime. The suspense is exciting. But, sometimes the suspense tires me. I wish events could be a bit foreseeable now and then.

Solution?

Watching corny flicks occasionally.

And they lived happily ever after.

Appreciation!

Blog Button
Thank you Betty, Phoenix Once Again, for encouraging me with this award!

7 random things about me huh? Ummmm..
Here goes -

• If my house were to collapse, the first thing I would grab is my guitar!
• I love bubble water baths.
• I'm dying to visit Texas, New York and Las Vegas.
• I love dogs and looking into their beautiful warm eyes makes me feel fantastic.
• I get along with elderly, old people and frankly speaking, they are loving and awesome.
• I would treat you to paani puris if you came to India!
• I like wearing glasses with nerdy black frames.

  Also I would like to give this award to 4 of my fellow bloggers!

  • Diary of a square toothed girl
  • Spill Beans
  • Skaypisms
  • Phoenix Once Again - Because you deserve this award too! :-)
  It feels great to be appreciated! Like finally. Means a lot to me Betty, lots of love! :)
  

Eye don’t know how to

Wear contact lenses.

That’s it I’m a klutz.

I was at the eye clinic today. My fourth sitting, as I valiantly tried to practice wearing contact lenses. She hates me, that doctor. It seems so and I know for sure. It’s like she wanted me out of her stupid clinic.

“Arrey baba why are you blinking so much?! Anjali, even if you come here for ten days you are never going to get it because you keep blinking.”

Then she smiled diabolically, simultaneously summing me up as a clumsy freak.

I felt foolish and totally self conscious as I tried in vain to pull the eyelids of my right eye, the way she had demonstrated, trying to insert the cup shaped lens balanced on my right index finger, onto my eye.

It was trembling. Don’t blink, don’t blink! That’s it you have got it..almost..yes..
My lens was moving closer towards my right cornea.

And then there it was.

Hanging for its life from my lashes.

I had blinked again.

The doctor sighed. “Children learn this in 15 minutes of their first sitting. Anyway I will see you tomorrow.”

a sad yet scornful smile plastered on her face. She just wanted to me to scoot.

I could feel my eyes stinging. “Oh shit I’m not going to cry for something as silly as this! C’mon!” I scolded myself inwardly. I tried to maintain my composure as I walked out of her clinic, in some sort of a dignified way.

I couldn’t maintain it for long though. I came home and burst into tears. Mom tried to hide her amusement and she comforted me.

“I’m such..an..id..idiot. All my friends who wear lenses would have never faced this problem!” I blubbered.

Mom showed me a few demonstrative YouTube videos about wearing contact lenses for the first time. She scrolled down to the comments. I couldn’t help but feel good after reading them.


There was this one that went like this -
“Thanks for putting this video up. I died at the doctors office trying to put one in for 30 minutes, and when I got home I died taking them out for bed. Haha. I found that the easiest way is to look directly at the lens and just stick it on even though it feels horrible, it’s much faster… At least for me…”

and this

“i cant do this! im sucha pussy man!!!”

So Eye’m not the only freak after all.

The Late Latif

It's never too late - never too late to start over, never too late to be happy.

- Jane Fonda

 I had a sudden urge to put down a cliched quote. So there.

My summer break is coming to an end. I went through the syllabus for the third semester. Pretty interesting. So yeah, I'm kind of looking forward to college, even though it's the onslaught of monsoon which invariably means mucky bike rides, bad hair days, abstinence from street food (Damn!), potholes, torturous traffic jams, and probably occasional colds.

Yes I know,  I'm one of those weirdos who doesn't think monsoon is awesome.

Still going to college doesn't seem to be a bad idea.
 

Summer wasn't that eventful. Yet, I notice there's been a spurt of sudden optimism within me to make the best of all the time I have in hand. 

 

 I just feel like time is running out. I'm going to turn twenty next year, and I'm ignorant about a lot of stuff. Basic stuff.

I have always been late when it comes to learning anything. Almost. I was late when it came to -

• Cooking; I should have started that a year or two ago
• Managing finances. I just learnt how to operate my debit card. (Never mind)
• Watching How I Met Your Mother. I just started watching the whole thing from scratch, two weeks ago.
• Downloading the Red Hot Chilli Peppers' latest album, that was released last year.
• Watching Inception, that was released two years ago.
• Going in for a wardrobe makeover. (I was stubborn.)

Especially when it came to realizations...

• All my close friends are NOT my best friends.
• Nobody has the time to hear me ranting miserably. Narcissism creeps in inadvertently, and they start comparing their problems with mine.
  
  Me : "So yeah, I'm really messed up. I don't know what's wrong. Do they hate me?"
  Friend : "I know what you mean, exactly. There was this time when I felt the same way. I argued with my boyfriend and..."
  
  
• There's a life beyond dating and relationships.
• I suck at being a wannabe.
• Not all boys are jackasses.
• I have turned into a couch potato.
• I'd feel happier splurging my own cash.
• I like peanut butter
• I wouldn't want to get drunk. I'm not curious either.
• Excessive gossip has a bad effect on me. I get grouchy and bitchy.
• Depression kills my appetite. 
• I need to meet new people. Depending on my old friends all the time for company hasn't helped me much.
• My mom is really cool.
• My sister is really awesome.
• My dad is fantastic.

The biggest realization - I need some change.

I'm changing as a person. I know it. I can feel it. It's probably due to the grave circumstances that had plagued my house a while ago. The somberness is still conspicuous, the only difference being that I have learnt to deal with it. Those things that really affected me earlier - a break-up, minor arguments and misunderstandings with friends, and being single - seem trivial now. I don't feel like wasting my time, getting upset over petty incidents. I don't feel like pondering. I just feel like learning something new everyday. I like working on my own. At the sane time, I desire to meet new people and visit new places. I want a taste of independence.

Wow, I know it sounds like an awe-inspiring speech that ought to be backed up by an intense realization-dawning-upon-me background music. But I mean all of it.

Sometimes, I get a complex thinking how sheltered and ignorant I had been all this while. But I guess there's still time to perfect myself, and to gain more experience.

My glass is half full

Maybe with Mojito
Maybe with lemon iced tea
Or maybe with filter coffee.
Depends on my mood.

They make me feel optimistic, somehow. Does it make sense?

 It doesn't have to always.

What are you supposed to do if you are forced to stay home during a two-month long summer vacation with the shallow comfort of a cellphone, a laptop, a T.V, a swimming pool, morning walks, an occasional cuppa coffee with a friend, maybe lunch, and the only family outing being a mere dinner?

To add to that, you hear your friends gushing about their plans to holiday in Europe, Australia, Thailand and the like.

I have had my share of cribbing. I have had my share of whining about my problems. After a point, even complaining loses its charm.

So now, I'd like to think of it this way - Maybe this two-month vacation is a chance for me to explore my skills as an artist, a writer, a singer, and a guitarist. Or a chance to make up for all those months of inactivity by swimming and walking. Also a chance to meet school friends whom I have missed ever since college began. It's up to me to optimize on these days of freedom, not boredom.

Optimism is bullshit, say my cynical group of friends.

It's not. It's that one that keeps me going against Misery's efforts to drag me down to Level Zero. 

Minding my own business

Sometimes my seamless concern for others disgusts me.

I think it's a girl phenomenon. Else it's just completely my problem.

Unavailing, otious concern. I'm talking about pointlessly analysing somebody else's life. Sometimes it could also be that silly curiosity that plants itself in my idle brain.

There's a reason why they say an idle mind is a devil's worshop. In this case the devil assumes the form of senseless scrutiny.

Why is she dating that dumb dude?
What did he see in her?
Wait, what did she see in him?

What will happen if he gets into that college known for its snotty crowd?

If I ignore her calls just once, will she get mad at me?

Why is he messing with his life?
He shouldn't smoke.
She shouldn't smoke.

Why couldn't she opt for the career of her choice?
Why can't she make her own decisions?

Why, why did she fall into bad company? I didn't expect that.

Why can't he cut his shaggy mane?
Why did he go bald for chrissake?!

And, amongst all these unnecessary questions and thoughts dedicated to others, I forget one important person.

Me.

Everyone talks about this thing called Ego. Self-importance and adulation. Oh, I was so proud of it. It comforted me when I was hurt. But, I couldn't comfort it when it got hurt.Well, this is completely off the context but it's a wonder that I forget all about it, worrying about others. I should put it first. Worrying about myself and my problems to an extent is healthier than to worry about the choices others make, and the trouble they invite upon themselves.

It's good to care but as I ponder, I conclude that I excessively indulge in thoughts about everything possible which is not in my control. For heaven's sake, my friends do have some rationality to their credit.

It's THEIR life. As Bon Jovi would say.

Almost half my brain is occupied with thoughts about others. Are they really worth all that space in my head? I don't know. I guess not.

Indecisive for myself but decisive for others.That's what it has come to. Control freakism-ish I suppose.

Would my best friend reserve that much of her brain space for me? I don't think my boyfriend ever did that either.

Minding my own business is something I need to grasp.
 

Anger Management

I'm amazed at myself for coming up with this post.

Getting angry is never the solution to anything. That's what they say. I would like to believe that to a certain extent. Getting angry increases your blood pressure, fills you with an ugly, nasty burning sensation, and also stimulates all that pent up emotion to leak out in the form of angry tears. Why put yourself through such discomfort?

"Hothead!"

"What a grouch!"

"Chill!"

"Stop getting so worked up!"

"Whoa! That's some temper."

"You are always pissed at someone or the other. Haha."

I get this all the time. From friends. From family. Recently, a friend remarked that I have the silent rage syndrome. Wow, intriguing.

Screw you.

Anger was my loyal friend when I went through this dark phase last year. It didn't make things easier. But, somehow feeling angry towards those who had hurt me seemed to give me some temporary strength. It was a concoction of bitterness, anger, complaints, dissatisfaction and sadness. It caused my heart to burn no doubt, yet there was a short-lived solace. It helped me get through each day.

It gives others a chance to provoke me further, and poke fun at me. I have learnt to become immune to it. I have developed a thick skin against all those digs at my temperament.

I can't cry easily. I get angry easily.

That's how I am. Learn to deal with it.

The aftermath of anger is nasty. Most of the times I get engulfed by this deep cloud of regret for having overreacted to something or to someone. And at such times I wish my temper didn't make me so vulnerable to an onslaught of other painful emotions that were uncalled for.

So here I am, giving a shot at anger management.

Zimmering with satisfaction

It's time for Hans Zimmer's dynamic music to render a fitting finale to this month.

I say it's also time to squeeze in a bit of narcissism in my final post for this month.

Twenty five blog posts in the month of April with this one being the twenty-sixth. I can hardly contain my delight. Sundays were certainly off for good behavior. I earned this sense of achievement I'm feeling right now.

This month has been eventful some ways. Writing has acquired a new meaning for me. It kept me away from stress, sadness, and anger. Writing about music was the cherry on the cake. It has been a learning experience (Super-cliched line, I know). I did my homework before coming up with these posts and their respective titles.

I preached a lot especially about life and its doings. Well the thing is I was exposed to all the surprises, shocks, and disappointments, it threw during the course of this month. They followed a sequence, to form an arpeggio as I mentioned in my first post. Overall. it was an April arpeggio that I will never forget.

The examination blues that almost frustrated me, yet left feeling content by the end of it all. I can't thank the cheerful Blues plus Capo-chinos enough for helping me get through this phase.

Sadly there weren't any decelerandos this time. However the month as a whole has been quite expressivo in terms of circumstances. My friends have been big time supports, lightening my mood regularly. Some fugue huh?

April pushed me into getting into the groove of studying, blogging, composing tunes and making most of the time I had with my grandfather.

Hummingbird is one song that is still stuck in my head. A couple of impromptu jamming sessions boosted my spirits, not to mention providing inspiration.

The keys are something that I have been neglecting. I need to get back to playing my keyboard.

It hadn't been a smooth, legato-ish month. April's metronome kept up a rapid tempo of events. I can't believe a month of summer is already over. Meanwhile, guitar classes have definitely helped me sight read better; there's nothing better than joy of being able to interpret musical notes.

I wrote my first story. I decided I would keep it offbeat, and I sincerely hopes it works!

Summer break has given me a chance to pause, analyze whatever has been happening until now, and make plans to keep myself busy. Enough of quicksteps.

The crazy rhapsody of circumstances that April sang of, taught me to not get overtly affected by every little thing. Learning to be staccato.

Thatha's death wasn't unexpected. But I really miss the beautiful timbre of his personality. His passing away had the undertone of peace and happiness. He is probably content in his own place while he has given his family to gradually cope, and get used to his absence.

April has made me stronger. The low phase seems to have infused me with a vivacity to keep writing, and nurture my skills. Writing and music have proved to be the best remedy to my problems.

And as this month comes to a close, I realize it's time to relax a bit. Maybe indulge in a waltz of memories or yodel for the heck of it!

It's time for ze finale! Here's Zimmer's highly popular soundtrack - Main Theme (Pirates of the Caribbean)


And a big thanks to all my fellow bloggers for their appreciation and encouragement. Happy May!

Yodeleyee Huu

"High on a hill was a lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo!"

No points for guessing. "The Sound of Music" soundtrack would be always incomplete without this catchy yodel.

One of the wacky aspects to music is Yodeling. Almost all songs with yodels have remained unforgettable.Yodeling is a singing technique, involving alternation in pitches of a sustained note, from low to high, by switching from the normal chest voice to falsetto and vice verse. 

Here are a few popular numbers with yodels! 

Hocus Pocus by Focus has an amazing combination of rock with yodeling!

Jewel yodeling in her lovely voice, in Chime Bells

Or cute old Jimmie Rodgers singing T for Texas :-)

 And how can I forget Kishore Kumar, the best Indian yodeler of all times! Here's Nakhrewali, a Hindi song.

Although it sounds really cool, yodeling requires a crazy deal of practice plus breath. It isn't easy to fluctuate between full throat-ed vocals and falsetto. Hence kudos to these yodelers!

Yodeling included as a part of a usual song, can bring a quirky element into it. It sounds eccentric, and heightens the mood of a song. It's a unhindered form of singing with no rules to follow. Yodels could be impromptu while performing onstage!

However, it's limited to a certain audience. I know of those who find yodeling extremely annoying, or jarring to the ears( that would include most of my peers, no offense). However, imperfect yodeling  is painful to the eardrums, and can contribute to a headache, cause in such cases, the singer ends up sounding like a dog howling in pain. Ouch.

As I have mentioned before, I'd like to consider Music as a living entity, with a variety of aspects to her  nature, be it delight, or melancholy, or pain, or passion, or somberness, or wild enthusiasm, or eccentricity that is today's highlight.

Do you have a balmy side to your nature, the wacky-cum-carefree part of your self? Well, I definitely do, and it usually surfaces when I'm amongst my close friends. The time when I let myself loose, crack silly jokes, laugh hysterically or play harmless pranks on others. Or maybe improvise crazy tunes and riffs while jamming, and generally have a real good time with everyone around.

There's one point I'd like to stress on, though. Don't go nuts to such an extent that it ends up irritating those around you. That isn't cool. That's similar to a bad yodeling overdose.

Yodeling is Music's way of letting her hair down. How about you?

X-pansivo

X
X
X
X
X.

So obscure, yet very important.

It adds a special touch to anyone or anything, you know that "X-factor", which is in great demand these days. 

A good dose of X could mean anything -
Xcstacy, Xtraordinary ,Xcellency ,Xceptionality ,Xcitement ,Xpression.

A bad dose, on the other hand has unpleasantness attached to it -
Xhaustion, Xplosion, Xasperation, Xtravagance, Xaminations.

And the list goes on and on.

It's time to revert to the topic. Technically speaking, the actual word describing overtly expressive music, gushing with emotions, is Espansivo, that has its origin in the word 'Expansive'.

I prefer subtleties to effusion. Expression is enough to emphasis the mood of any song, but, according to me, excess expression kills any form of music. I may be wrong. Maybe sometimes music needs to be effusive, as in the case of drama and background scores. Yet, it doesn't appeal to me.

I wouldn't want to name any, but I already have list of singers and bands that are con molto Xpansivo, in they way they sing and compose songs.

Moderation is the key to everything. So cliched. A much beaten to death saying.

But, there's a reason why I can't tolerate highly jumpy people around me as well. Craziness, anger, eagerness, excitement, passion should be controlled, else it just gets annoying, sometimes scary. Seriously.

It could also mean that the other person is just trying too hard. Is it all a pretense after all? Or is it genuine?

I know I just sounded really Xtreme, but it was something I just couldn't resist bringing up.






 

Waltzing in love

They glided across the resplendant hall that seemed to stretch endlessly, oblivious of everyone present  including two faces, wild with envy. He held her so close that their faces almost touched each other, eyes held in rapture. She hadn't ever dreamt of this moment, not even in her wildest dreams. He, on the other hand, had been so enamoured by her beauty, the minute he set his eyes on her, that being in such close proximity with her was almost dream-like to him. As their steps followed the triple beats of the music, they secretly wished for the night last forever, for the music to play infinitely, and to never be separated for a long time to come. Hardly had they wished, when the enormous clock struck twelve. She broke herself free from him, and fled from the hall in panic. Incredulously, he hotfooted her, pleading her to stop. He arrived just in time to bid her a hurried farewell, as the carriage pulled ahead. Clink, fell her glass slipper that had danced the ubiquitous waltz.

 

 

Vivace

Doesn't matter if you are a brilliant opera singer,
Or a bathroom vocalist,
Or an exceptional guitarist,
Or just a novice,
Because it's the vivacity that you add to the music, which matters.

Music is zilch without spirit. Though technically, fast and lively tempos are termed as Vivace, this word has its origin in"Vivacious" which means, full of spirit or life. Quick paced numbers usually grab anyone's attention, their gusto and vigor being quite addictive. However, any song, irrespective of its pace, can be spirited as long as the musician becomes the music.

Mediocrity usually stems from lifeless, soulless music, which isn't music really. Standard beats  with just a bunch instruments thrown in, maybe an incompetent vocalist as well. And, let's not forget meaningless words. Where's the zeal?

Similarly, one's got to be upbeat and enthusiastic as often as he can; quick to overcome ugly phases and making the most of all that is good. Man, you just get one life. One chance. Being a cynic, or sluggish or some sort of a prosaic douche isn't going to help.

It's better to think of it as a song that's vivace, rather than thinking of it as tedious, dismal tune. It's better to make any vapid, unpleasant task seem appealing, for your own satisfaction, else you would sit drowning in a sea of woes.
 
Going all out, giving your best shot, is the way to a vivace nature.

Here's something quite vivace -Have a funky night!