My Christmas wish.

This Christmas, I wish to smile more than I usually do. I wish to smile real smiles and not fake ones anymore. And if in case I don’t want to smile at all, at someone or anyone, I wish with all my heart that I don’t try too hard or force myself to. This Christmas, I wish I don’t try and understand every single soul I meet, don’t try to look at things from “their” point of view and step into “their" shoes. This Christmas I wish my anger lasts longer and I learn to hate people for more than half an hour. I wish that I don’t yearn to be good or try to be nice. I wish I learn that not all things around are bright and beautiful and that there are blacks and greys and will always remain. This Christmas, I wish that all those people who deserve a piece of my mind get it as and when they need to. I wish they get to see the bad side of me and regret like never that they met me. I wish I listen not to my head but more to my heart and I do all that it asks me to. This Christmas, I wish I learn to hurt, to ignore and most importantly to swear. I wish to learn not to regret, not think twice or even once after I speak my mind. This Christmas, I wish to be me. And not just somebody who some others want me to be.

Merry Christmas to me.

Signs.

I wish, to walk away.

I wish, I’d never want to look back.

Of all the wrongs and stupid truths

There’s never a reason to hold me back

Yet to feel funnily right

Guilty of love. Happy to be.

There’s never an urge to think otherwise.

Sheepish smiles continue to haunt.

Thoughts remain, they refuse to change.

The pause.

Just when you thought that the rains were over and the bright sunny days were back, you find yourself blanketed by dull grey clouds once again. So dull that you strain to keep yours eyes open. So grey that you stop believing in black or white. No matter how hard you try, all you see is a thick layer of fog all the way ahead. Giving you, not even the slightest hint of what awaits you. You strain harder and your eyes start hurting. And then somewhere, between the moment of grief and the moment of optimism, you step into a dark whirlpool of random images. Thoughts, to be precise. And before you even know, you find yourself tumbling across. From one image to another. The past. The present. The future. And then you find yourself frowning when you see the past. With images so clear, that you almost fail to believe that it happened. Because the past never seemed so vivid when it was the present. Or perhaps because you never thought that it would lead you to the future you’re in now. You try opening your eyes in between in an attempt to step out of it, but something sucks you back in. Deeper down and you almost find yourself falling. This time, you’re tickled, poked and rammed amidst a stampede of questions. You find the answer to one, but soon the next one crops up, you solve that and another boos you from behind. Left, right, centre. Madness. Then there’s a lullaby. A musical that drags you even further down. Here you have some others waiting for you. Guilt. Wrath. Possessiveness. All the bad guys. And they host a party. To celebrate your arrival. They know you’ll stay there for long. Maybe for good. You settle down, in a corner. You give in hoping for the fog to clear, the questions to fade and the bad guys to shrink. And then you feel the curves of your lips widen a bit. You cuddle and breathe out a sigh, as you watch a dream tiptoe from the corner of your eye.

My bedtime story.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl named Sara. She lived on the hill, in a room full of stars. But she cried almost everyday because she was in love with the moon. Though the stars shined bright and played along with her, she still missed the moon, to be with whom she wished upon every star.

So one day, Sara decided to write a letter to the moon. She started by saying,

My dear moon,

I see you from my window everyday

And wonder as I do

Do you want to come down and play?

Do you love me the way I do?

As she wrote the letter, she looked outside the window. To see if the moon was listening to all that she had to say.

I love you so much my dear moon

I love you with all my heart

I wish there was a way I could make you mine

And never had to part

Just then, Sara thought she saw the moon smile. She wiped away her tears and continued writing, now with a smile.

People say I’m funny and weird

They think I’m being too silly

But what can I do if I love you so?

So what if I’m a lil crazy?

Dear moon, I know you’re too far

Farther than the dreams I see

But I can’t seem to stop loving you

And wishing you were with me.

Sara put down her pen and looked outside as the moon shined. And then, as if they spoke, and the moon had something to say, Sara wrote a few more lines. And closed her book after she did.

I may perhaps never reach you

Or never be able to play with you

But I’m sure I’ll never have to miss you

Coz no matter where I go I know where to find you.

:)

Happily ever after.

What could get better than this? You and your first-grade buddies, sitting together on the park bench in school, 15 years later.

I’d say, nothing.

5^th September was special. And I can’t seem to stop smiling, as I write about it. It was not just a walk down memory lane, but re-living each and every moment we could remember. And it almost felt like we were there, behind our desks, passing comments on the teacher in front, exchanging notes, re-writing assignments, forging dad’s signature, rehearsing dance moves, singing out of tune – without a pinch of shame.

God! Am I in love with you guys!

I used to be the “singer”. Ahem. And no, it wasn’t one of those, Oh-God-sari- do-you-still-sing moments. But a oh-remember-how-funny-it-was-to-hear-her sing-that-song moment. Lol. Yeah, that was something else that made the whole evening “different” There was not once that there was a long silence, when we looked at each other, took a deep breath and went, “those were the days”. We were back in time, remember? So we did what we’ve always been doing in class and outside. Pulling each other’s legs, finding faults, blaming someone for being smarter, laughing at how girls from other schools were always more beautiful than our own (and yes, that included me), basketball court stories, exam hall goof ups, everything that brought out the worst in us. Not one single moment of feeling good. But a whole evening of being ourselves.

Two of the guys brought their wives. Praveen and Debie. And it was so funny to see them join us in teasing their husband with their old girlfriends (lines, in the typical mallu slang). Sangeetha, Praveen’s wife couldn’t stop laughing when we told her how he used to swing on the bars in the park, to impress a certain someone. Rintu – Mrs. Debie, on the other hand, was curious. She wanted to know what else her husband was upto other than tearing pages of library books, that carried women in their bare minimums. Stany, the smart ass he’s always been, didn’t bring his wife Manju. He knew one thing for sure, that that would be the last day of his “and they lived happily ever after” story. Haha! And he was soo right! Rajesh is engaged to Sandra. She will be joining us in our next get-together. We’ll make sure she does. No matter what big idea the man has in his mind! ;)

I’ll be posting pictures soon. And I’ll keep saying this to myself, very often, from now on. I’ve had the best school days ever. And the most adorable fellahs as my friends. There’s nothing that can take them away from me. Nothing that’ll replace those wonderful days. Love you guys so much.

Can’t wait for October 2, already. ;)

Yesterday.

I dragged it back.

It obliged, without a smile.

It lay there. Still.

And wondered why.

It's nothing.

Sometimes all you need to be happy, is nothing. Nothing in your mind, nothing in your head, and (sometimes) nothing in your wallet either. Absolute emptiness. Yogis call it the art of meditating. I’d call it pure bliss. Because when there’s nothing to worry about, you have nothing to worry about. So let’s see. How easy is it to close your eyes and dance to a tune you can’t hear? Every chord, every beat, every string so clear, that you wake up to hear the noise in a silent room. Ever been able to keep your head void of every little sound that your mind makes? That of fear, that of doubt, maybe a giggle or a tiny tear? How far does your head go to seal itself from what the mind echoes? And who decides what enters the mind and what stays outside? You? Who else? All that’s in there is what’s out there. Right from bad coffee to bad tempers. Goof ups to higher ups. Pretty smiles to forgotten ones. That one line to a million other expressions. It all goes in there and like a bunch of tiny tots jabber all way long. Leaving you with not an inch left for that speck of silence you were looking for. You try hard, go deep inside in search of that piece of mind. But rarely find it. Not that easy when there’s a clutter you have to go through. I’d think that the simplest way to find a way out, would be to find the way in. If you do, then be the friendly guard who lets in the good and sends back the bad. Because the good, they talk, but only when you want them to. And when they don’t, close your eyes and dance to a tune you can’t hear. J

Gifted.

I mean, you probably have magical powers or something. Or wait, you must be like Vicky in small wonder, the scientifically programmed robot? You programme yourself to listen and then delete everything once you’re done, and that way, make space for the next time. Or oh I know. I’ll tell you. Your memory gets erased every night, so when you wake up the next day you don’t remember a word we’ve spoken the previous day. No? Hey! It’s got to be one of these, right? How on earth otherwise, dear friend, do you manage to listen to me sulk and crib every damn time and still like calling me your friend?

I love you dear one for being the way you are. I know I’ve been a pain with my eternal saga of “issues”. I swear, I’ve tried to solve them myself. But nothing seems to work like talking with you at length. The way you make it seem like I’ve just started on my woes when I’m almost two hours through. The way you smile at my biggest problem and laugh at my silly findings. And the way you listen to me with a serious face, like I’m echoing your problems and not mine. And then take me out of the mess, carefully, cleverly, not hurting me even a lil bit. None but you, my friend can do so.

I want to hold tight on to you, so that I never have to leave you. Cos honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if you ever thought of running away. With a friend like me, it’s nothing, but natural. But before you do, please do leave me a note telling me where I can find you. So that I can follow you wherever you go. :D Cos I fear my friend, that I wouldn’t be able to do without you. When you look into my eye, I know it's my mind that you see. And none but you can possibly reach that far.

So my conscience, my friend, my surprise gift from heaven, let me tell you this if I haven’t before, you’re truly special and will always remain so.

Let go.

I let go. Let go off old smiles and put on new ones. Might look fake to you now, but soon you’ll get used to them. For all you know, they might just start looking real after a while. I let go. Let go off the memories that stuck to me like on old spider’s web. It was tough taking them off. One by one. One stickier than the other. But I managed to get them all off. You might see a few here and there, coz they’ve gone deep down into the skin. Finding a place for itself, like a home of its own. So they might remain. But not for too long, for sure. Coz I need to take them off too. I have no space for anything old anymore. I let go. Let go off all that’s old, disturbing and useless. I need them no more. I need to move on. I let go off old butterflies. Let them fly off. They danced in vain. Fluttered, but in pain. I almost killed them. Coz I didn’t need them. But I loved their moves, loved the songs. And so I just let them fly. To find a place where they can stay, where nobody tells them to go away. I let go off the shine in my eyes. I let go off the tears that they held. The dreams that they saw. Don’t call them dead, coz they’re just quiet. They speak no language. They see no dream. But they aren’t dead. I just let go off the life in them. I let go off the lump in my heart. The knot in my throat. I let go off all that’s stopped me from being me. I let go. Let go off the hope that put me to sleep. Hope that never saw the light of the day. Hope that spoke the language I knew. And said everything I ever wanted to hear. I let go. All that wrote a story called me. Or a chapter maybe. I turn the pages, smell a fresh new leaf. I let go the past. The future I see.

The Reason.

All way long you thought there’s a light at the end of that tunnel. You spoke to yourself. Wrote blogs about it. Facebooked it. Gtalked. Told your best girl friend that things are going to be fine with her, when secretly you knew it’s something you need to tell yourself. Everything­­ had an answer, in your mind. But none of them seemed to translate into reality. And the tunnel, just didn’t seem to end.

You coined terms, found the inner meaning and even caught yourself floating in meditation. Every time you cried yourself to sleep, a new answer was revealed. And yet, the pain lurked. More questions arose. And the verdict found you guilty. Guilty of stepping into this mess. Self-respect was greek. And sensibility, latin.

What made you love yourself some day was soon becoming an obligation. A formality, that couldn’t be curbed. If the world wants you to play, you ought to be a sportsman. If your mind’s playing games, you have even better reason. Just do it.

Butterflies may go to sleep, dark corridors may get uncomfortable and the ‘moment’ may last for nothing longer than one. Yesterday becomes a mistake, togetherness a routine and love, nothing more than a slip of the tongue.

With reasons to justify every action, all that you’re left with is an undying feeling of disgust. The truth being, nothing remains worth an explanation. And till the day you find yourself again, you’re left to feel dense, idiotic and unpardonable.

Letter to God.

I tossed and I turned and then, like jack in the box, sprung up to action. It was decided. I had made up my mind. I was going to write a letter. To God.

Sounded weird to me too. But what the heck. If he’s too busy to listen to you or just too confused like Bruce in Bruce almighty, then as well find the next best bet. A letter. Written in my own curvy handwriting, signed by who else but me. He ought not to miss that one, I thought. Think about it. One day, you pass by your rusted old post box and ask yourself, hmm..so lets’ see what’s going on in there after all! You open it and voila! You find a letter. A handwritten, stamped, licked and pasted letter. What do you do? Option A: Say, oh jolly! There’s a letter in there. Shut the box and walk on or Option B: Say, oh jolly! There’s a letter in there. Take it out, eyebrows still raised, mouth still half open, walk to your door, get in, sit down and read it. Eyebrows and mouth still the same. Option 1 if you’re just too cold. Option 2 if you’re normal.

God’s a nice guy. He’s probably a lot more than normal. But he’s really nice. Really. Ya perhaps a little too busy these days listening to the news and shaking his head. Regretting Adam. And then Eve. And then the apple. And all of that. But he’s sure to walk by that letter box some day. And find my letter in there.

So I begin. Dear God. Will fish curry do for lunch? That was amma preparing her menu for the day. And making sure it had what I liked, in it. Moms can be weird, right? Anyways, I reply with a ho-hum and move on to my letter. Dear God, I’m sad and alone. Dad calling. My phone sings and beeps and vibrates altogether and I have no choice but answer.

Ya acha.

Hello molu. Your phone bill’s been pending for a while and so I paid it.

Thanks cha. Bye. Will pay you later.

Dear God, I continue, I’m sad and alone and have nothing in life to look forward to. I hate my life. Are you listening?

Phones should be banned. They just don’t leave you alone. Ugh! This time it’s Juhi. Must be some stupid Sardar joke of hers. I read her message. Babe! Pondi this weekend, the whole gang’s there. You game right?

I chose not to reply. I’m depressed and have work to finish.

Back to the letter. I find myself at loss of words. I’m stuck and I can’t seem to write anymore. But I’m depressed. I’m sad. Alone. I have so much to cry about. So much to complain about. Life’s so unfair. God needs to know that. I close my book, irritated, get on to my bed, and lie there thinking. Not before long, I’m asleep. Amma walks in, finds me sleeping and pulls over a blanket on me.

I guess God’s been talking and I haven’t been listening.

PS: I love you

Don’t take the rains for granted.

Watch her close. Touch a drop.

Smile at her. Blow a kiss.

Just because it rains, it doesn’t always pour.

She sings for you. She does a step.

And when she’s tired, she takes a break.

Never take the rain for granted.

She sends her people before she arrives.

Only so that you can give her your time.

And not just walk with your face turned.

Or lock yourself within your doors.

Go to her. Hug her for a while.

Tell her what she means to you. Only if you really do.

And then when she’s gone, you wouldn’t cry.

Coz you know she’ll be back soon. Some day.

PS: I love you.

There's Hope.

Hope is when you stare at the sun and imagine a drop of rain.

Hope is when you kiss a rose, with your eyes closed.

Hope is when you smile alone and say it’s fine.

Hope is when a love story makes you cry.

Hope is when you look in the mirror and say thank you.

Hope is when you part ways and look back one last time.

Hope is when you believe in coincidences.

Hope is when you search for a meaning.

Hope is when you look for answers.

Hope is when conversations don’t end.

Hope is when he calls you for nothing.

Hope is when there’s a long silence.

Hope is when you don’t want to give up.

Hope is when you want to move on.

Hope is when you write for him to read.

Hope is when you check your mail a thousand times.

Hope is when you find meaning in a forward he sent.

Hope is when you read between the lines.

Hope is when you think.

Hope is when you dream.

Hope is what makes you live.

When sari met panjo!

Not all people you meet form an integral part of your life. Especially when you meet hundreds of them and you’re the kinds who’d befriend them all. Some just stay. In a corner of your heart, but accessible whenever you need them.

Panjo aka Anjo Jose Kandathil, is one such friend I’ve made. Someone whom I couldn’t help noticing on my first day of work at Mudra Cochin. You’d know why, if you’ve seen him. His characteristic hairstyle, amongst others, makes him stand out from the rest. This guy went on to become my closest friend in Mudra Cochin. And one of the very few reasons I’m still here.

“Life’s good right?” That’s where it all started. On a Sunday afternoon, a window pops up on my laptop screen with these words written on it. I couldn’t help but smile and type back, “Oh yes, it is!” There. That’s all it took. What started as a gtalk conversation is today my daily dose of cheer and positive energy.

Surprising, that I’m writing this today, given the fact that our level of interaction during the first few days was nothing more than ‘hey, is the work done?’ He was just another client servicing guy any creative person would secretly detest. Briefs, deadlines, pressure. Nothing better described this breed. And he was one of them. Little did I know that this guy would end up being the one I’d discuss all my ideas with and have me ponder over his criticism. Hate to say this, but this guy makes sense. Most of the time.

And by that I don’t mean work alone. To him, no problem’s too big. And so to me, he was agony unc. I could talk to him for hours together, to finally hear a “ashey! athrey ulla?” or a “athinipentha”! And if he says this, be sure of a solution. If nothing else, he’d make sure he brings a smile on your face. Coz every conversation ends with, “you happy no?” Now, what more could you ask for?

How we became this close, nobody knows. Neither do I. All I know is that this guy’s today, a friend, a girlfriend, (how I love bitching to him) an uncle, a dad and sometimes even a grandfather to me! Try asking him questions that surround life and it’s weird ways, hows and whats, whys and why nots, Panjo has an answer for them all. I’ve got an answer every time I needed one.

He’s a find. A very rare one. Today, on his birthday I’d like to tell him this:

“Panjo, have lunch on time. Don’t make me call you for two hours every day and finally eat at 4 in the evening!

If somebody calls you, return the call. Don’t just say you were busy and forget about it.

When somebody calls out to you, respond. If you decide to meet someone at 4, meet them at 4.

If you think you’ll take half an hour, don’t tell them you’ll be there in ten minutes.

I’m not sure how many of those you’re going to remember, but these, you better.

You’re irreplaceable.

You’re my most favourite friend.

You have the sweetest way of saying “im sorry”

Switch to creative. U belong there!

Your films are going to have halls full!

You better be the way you are. Adorable!

Happy bday Panjo! You deserve nothing but the best.

Hugs!

Superheroes

Ever been in a state where you’re terribly troubled, you know the reason and still can’t do anything much about it? You try everything possible to get out of it except what it really takes. Simply because you think you’re not brave enough to face the consequence. You prefer being disturbed because it comes with a certain amount of happiness here and there, now and then. And when those rare happy moments strike, you forget your worries and tend to ignore the marshy land you’ve crossed a while ago and would perhaps come across very soon.

Here’s the flip side. Why is it that we human beings, or some of us find it so difficult to face adversities? Or is that the case after all? It’s always when the worst hits that you and me want to face it, live through it and see what finally happens. And in the process, depression strikes, hope unfolds and a certain strength in you makes an appearance. Which most often goes unnoticed amongst all the negativity. You feel you’re the weakest. You ask why, why you. And you think of the worst from every possible angle. It’s an obscure pleasure you get out of all this. Somewhere, in your sub-conscious self, you begin enjoying all the pain. And you decide to wait till the end to see and know for yourself where it all ends. And no way, can anything stop you from getting there.

And this I think is far better than the act of escapism. It’s not cowardice, but an unidentified pang of strength that you’ve hidden within yourself. Of which even you’re not aware. You take all the shit that you’re offered, walk through the roughest lanes only because you know that you’d finally get somewhere. There’s no giving up unless you’re convinced.

Why else are we endowed with qualities such as patience, will-power, hope and confidence? You need all of it to walk out of a situation and all of it to live through it too. But at the end of the day, it takes courage to decide. It takes more to wait and see.

What's in his mind?

“Men. Who says they aren’t complicated?”
“Nobody.”

“Really? So then why was I under this misconception?”
“Um…probably coz you didn’t want to accept reality”

Her lips twitched.

I agree
Maybe
To hell with your philosophy.

I wonder which of these it meant.

Sammy has the sweetest boyfriend in this world. So she thinks. Like any other girl does in the first one year. 4 months in Sammy’s case. But here, I’d give Sammy’s verdict a ten on ten with a star. Tarun was definitely a find.

They met at the fish market. Yea, of all the places. Smelly hands, maroonish plus blackish gooey stuff – (worse than what you think girls) all over and semi reddish puddles of water that lies stagnant. Sammy in her striped pyjamas, a double XL t-shirt that read ‘I know where you’re looking, you pevert” and of course her blue and white chappal that went perfectly with her looks that day.

The most unromantic “pehli nazar” that led to, what Sammy calls, a perfect relationship. Tarun couldn’t help noticing how she knew each and every monger there and how they behaved like one big family for those few minutes when Sammy was there. “He fell for my socializing skills” Sammy would say raising her eyebrows and sighing with it.

Tarun adored Sammy. Unlike most guys I’ve met, he respected his girl. He admitted he was wrong when he was, and apologized like a kid when he hurt her. His face would shrink with guilt when he made a mistake or when a tear rolled down her eye. Tarun was a great guy. A rare human being who understood another. There were days when Sammy would come home with a smile so wide, it would show on your face too.

To him, Sammy was his kid. It was a pleasure to see him treat her like a toddler. The way he tilted his head, looked into her eyes and smiled when she sulked and complained. The way he would kiss her forehead and hold her tight when she cried. And the way he would punch her lightly on her arm when she told him how she hated the way the girl in the coffee shop flirted with him. Everything about it was so happy and so real.

He wasn’t really the all mush kinds either. There were days when he behaved like she was nothing more than a friend to him too. Like the day she complained about men being complicated. They would have the most amazing conversation but to put it in Sammy’s words, he would seem distant. Like he was talking to any other close friend of his. And this disturbed her.

How could a guy who could one day make you feel like there’s a butterflies family meet in your stomach, who looks into your eyes and makes you want to melt, who holds your hand and takes away every little fear from your mind, one fine day talk to you like it’s a formality he’s fulfilling. This confused Sammy. And me.

Could these be instances when guys think twice about their decisions and regret about it somewhere for some strange reason? Or is it just one of those days when they don’t feel the love. Or a passing phase when they think about their life, their career, their future all of which got lost somewhere between all the romance? Or are we women just over reacting? Oh please guys, stop nodding so hard.

Sammy looked at me with those twitched lips, straightened them and nodded. “You’re right.” She said.

I shrugged. Was I?