Water Colors

It's been raining since early morning here. I woke up from a lazy night at the sound of the pitter-patter of raindrops attacking my glass window panes like the fury of a woman when she hits her lover and then rolling down the same glass pane like the melted anger rolling down her cheeks when her lover takes her into his arms.

It's a cloudy gloomy day with a pregnant sky and rain showers. The world around me seems to be wrapped up snugly in a fluffy grey blanket. With leisurely steps I open the door leading to my balcony and immediately my arms closes around myself in a futile attempt to ward off the slight chill in the saturated breeze. Yes, Fall's knocking on the door. As I stand there with my hands on the wrought iron railing of my balcony I see the greens being washed away by the rains in the distant and at that very instant I get that all too familiar smell which money can't buy - I inhale the smell of the wet earth. The Jasmine tree looks half-blurry as if someone has sprayed water-colors on it. I don't wanna go to Heaven or Paradise or Jannat or whatever they call it. I am already there.

I felt the rain soaking in through my cotton robe, retreated my steps back to the shade where I pulled a chair to perch myself on it and again turned my face towards the hazy horizon. And I see a girl on a same drenched morning rushing to that balcony with dancing eyes, arms stretched out as if inviting the Nature into her abode. The thought never once creeps into her mind to retreat her steps back under that shade. She stands there with her head tilted towards the sky, with her pinkish mauve robe becoming a second skin with every fleeing second. She stands there without a care in the world, with her eyes closed to all kinds of adversaries, oblivious to the Satan, the Devil, to all the Yin in the world. She stands there with a smile on her face with the soul objective of her entire being concentrated on inhaling lungfuls of that priceless aroma of the wet earth.

Suddenly she fades away like a figure on a canvas which slowly gets blurred when excess water drops are sprinkled on it. Or like the handwritten letter of a forgotten someone whose words slowly fades away with the growing wrinkles on the face of Time. I keep staring at that vacant place where she was standing some moments ago. The past hitting and rolling into the present as those raindrops which hit my window pane and then rolled down its surface with nimble strokes.

I stretch out my hands from under the shade and feel the rain at the tip of my fingers. Overcoming the sharp instinct to withdraw my hand, I keep it in mid air for sometime. Yes, it feels good. It feels good to connect to the only medium which connects that girl to me. A small smile slowly creeps to the corner of my mouth unknowingly as I look at the raindrops dripping down from my fingertips, one after the other. Maybe the essence of that girl drained off this Me in this same way sometime, long back... and I didn't even realize when.

Do I want her back? Do I miss her? Do I long to be her, again? Yes.

But at what price? Am I ready to trade all these years of priceless experience and realization just for that one moment of blissful innocence?

Nahhh ! I'm not willing to let go off Myself for the Me, I could have been.

Where Did All The Fairies Go?

Tell me something my dear Blog.. is it ever possible to bookmark the particular second when one rolls into an oblivion called 'sleep' ? Or is it possible to remember the time when past memories metamorphosizes into demons which lurks at the back of our mind, forever threatening us to take over our lives? Or is it even possible to remember when one stops living and becomes a zombie? I guess you won't be able to. I don't blame you either. Today, as I sit down and place my fingers on the keyboard, a sudden sense of nausea overpowers me.

Once there was this young girl.. no, child.. a 10 year old child, who was very fond of watching gold fishes swim in an aquarium full of clear water. Her constant nagging got her an aquarium full of gold fishes but it also got her an 'Uncle', her neighbour, who was to teach her how to feed those fishes. The girl was so happy that she was prepared for her first 'class' much before her 'teacher' knocked on their door. The first sunday afternoon her mom was there with them. It was one of the best afternoons of her life. The next sunday, her mom was resting in her room on the 2nd floor and as usual the girl was squealing in delight at the little tricks her 'Uncle' was showing her as he deftly handled the fishes.

She clapped her hands when the gold-fishes raced each other to catch the worms, she laughed in glee when everytime she tapped on the aquarium's glass walls and saw the fishes darting away in panic and she also inwardly squirmed each time her 'Uncle' touched her unnecessarily. Her skin crawled whenever his fingers lingered on her body for seconds extra than needed and quickly left her side whenever he heard footsteps coming towards the room.

One afternoon, he asked her to come and stand beside him, on a stool. Her first reaction was to cringe away but then when he told her that he got a candy stick in his trouser's pocket she got tempted as anyone at her age will be and she climbed up that stool. But no matter how many times she asked him to give her that promised candy all she got as an answer was to 'take it out' herself from his pocket. Finally after many a requests, a 10 year old's curiosity got the better of her and she put in her tiny hands into his trouser's pockets. But she couldn't find her treasure.

"Get your hands deeper little one", she was instructed.
"Yes, a little more on the left side." Further instructions came.
"Do you find a hole in the fabric? Yes, you do? Get your fingers inside that hole angel, you'll find your candy there." She did as she was told.

But just for a second, 'cause whatever her little fingers touched was a sensation she can never rub off from her hands for the rest of her life, unless she chops off her fingers. She never really knew hatred, disgust, fear and sheer helplessness in her 10 years of life.. but all that changed in those split few seconds. She withdrew her tiny hand so fast as if she has touched molten fire eventhough her 'Uncle' tried to put it back to where it was. It was only after she screamed at the top of her lungs that he let go off her. She never ran up those stairs to the 2nd floor where her mom was, as fast as she did that afternoon.

She didn't know why, but she somehow realised that this was wrong. This was not the way her other relatives hugged her. This was not the way her other relatives kissed her. And this was certainly not the way her other relatives touched her. She understood the types of touches and the nature of touches she has to avoid for the rest of the life too early in her life. She was just 10 years old and had no idea why she felt they were wrong. Somehow, in that little mind of hers, dawned a realization which made her grow older than her age. A realization which she was forced to understand.

She was lucky, 'cause for some reason which she still doesn't know, her 'Uncle' stopped coming to their house... or may be he was 'stopped' from coming to their house. After all these years, she asked me a question. A question whose answer I'm still searching for.. an answer I'm sure a lot of us are still searching for...
"He has a daughter now, does he ever look at her and fear that someone might do the same thing to her as he did to me for so many sundays? I was just a child, all of 10 years of age..."

All childhood tales are not fairy tales. Atleast not this one.

Taken From A Video Cassette

Blog, wanted to share something with you.
I had always been confused, apprehensive and intrigued at the same time about the thin red line that separates the real world from the virtual world. Why is it that the people we chat with, people whom we've never seen in our lives and probably never will... become closer than our real life friends? Or why is it that at times we look forward to chat with a person sitting in some remote corner of Dallas or Brisbane and don't even feel remotely interested in meeting a cousin who's visiting the town? Or again, why is it that we can wake up or go to bed at weird times so that the time zones of different parts of the world match?

I was on a cleaning spree.. no, not my closet... but my PC. And I came across a long forgotten gibberish written once upon a time in solitude.
Producing the same, just the way it was written so long back.


TAKEN FROM A VIDEO CASSETTE


I've always wondered how it will be.. to be all alone in an alien city. With so many people around you, yet not a single known face. I am running a temperature. My eyes are red and so is the tip of my nose from a nagging cold. I had so many plans for this one week. I was supposed to visit my home town to attend a marriage and therefore had taken 10 days leave. Oh, how I had to slog for these 10 days. And now, I’m stuck all alone.. in this 2-bedroom flat, in this city of millions. On top of that, it had been a wretched, gloomy day with the sky wrapped comfortably in a blanket of black pregnant clouds. It's been raining from early morning and there's no hope that it gonna stop any time soon. I can actually hear the pitter-patter of the rain hitting the glass window pane. Can't go anywhere. Can't even talk to anyone.
I get up and pull out an old video cassette from one of a dusty corner rack of the shelf.

I rewind the entire cassette and switch on the PLAY button.

It begins on a night a few years back. The girl has just come back from work. She's enters the empty flat. She never gets a chance to ring the doorbell 'coz by now she knows that there is no one to open the door for her, there is no warm dinner waiting for her on the table. She knows and she doesn't expect anymore. She doesn't get to hear any noise apart from the tic-tic of the wall clock. And she doesn't even get a chance to open her mouth, except when she's eating. But today she has met a new friend. She switches on her computer. He was waiting for her too, at some other corner of the world. Today was the first time they chatted and it was like, they had known each other for a few lifetimes now.

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

Today she has come back quite early from work. She has bought a headphone ‘n’ microphone set and she just cannot wait to go real-time with her friend. To listen to his voice or just to listen to him talking. After a quick shower and a quick grab to eat she sits down to chat with him. He too was waiting with his headphone and mic. All these days they chatted. Tonight they had a conversation. Yes, it was different. Their mid-night rendezvous went into early morning. They said goodbye when it was day-break outside.

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

The day had been good. She had a successful presentation. Her boss was happy with her. Her boss's boss was happy. And hence she was happy too. But the day had been busy. So busy that she didn't have time to think about her new friend. The time difference of their parts and their schedules of the world made it difficult for them to chat in any time of the day apart from the night. She didn't even have the time to mail him. The moment she steps inside her flat the realization of how much she missed talking to him hits her hard. She doesn’t ever bother to shower or eat but switches on her computer. Damn ! No matter how much or for how long she tried, she just couldn’t access the darn net ! Next morning, she finds him in her mail inbox, “Where the hell were you yesterday? I was worried sick about you woman ! Get in touch ASAP.”
She feels good after a dull night.

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

As days became weeks and weeks became months, they started knowing each other better. Their friendship grew into a strange bond. He used to chat from his office (as much as he could) and she from her home after midnight. Dark circles be damned ! The nature of their conversation spanned politics to epics, from career to literature, from music to movies. At times, they were two of the most wisest people on Earth and at times they bitched like there was no ‘morrow ! For them those few hours in the virtual world was like an oasis in the middle of the real world. Each and every conversation was like a different realization.. a whisp of fresh air for both for them. Yes, they became close.

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

As they came closer, the guy shared a lot of his life with her. Told her things he never thought he will tell anyone. Expressed his views, his thoughts which he was sure the rest of the world will think to be crazy.. but somehow he was sure that, if anyone ever understood them, understood him… then it will her. Mostly it was a one-sided conversation. He typed, she read. He spoke, she listened. The girl came to know the guy inside out but did he ever know her in the way she knew him? Or is it that there was nothing worth that happened in her life which she cared to tell him? Or is it that the guy never tried to probe deeper into her past trying to catch those moments which passed in a twinkle of an eye? Or is it that the girl had decided to bury those untold tales in some deep corners of her heart?

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

She was back to her hometown, which was his too. Tonight as they sat facing the monitor at two different corners of the world, he had good news for her. He was coming back home for a week. She read the typed text on her monitor, re-read it. And re-read it again. She just couldn’t believe her eyes. After so many days and weeks and months of talk, they are actually going to meet each other !
A coffee shop. A corner table with two mugs of warm cappuccino on it. The guy in a denim and white shirt is listening to the girl in cream chiffon. For months after months the guy has poured his heart out to her and she has listened patiently with more interest than she ever listened to anything in her life. But strangely, today the picture has been reversed.
Today, it’s the girl who is talking and the guy, the patient listener.

Stop --> Fast Forward --> Play

They are back to their familiar environment, infront of their computer screens.
Today the girl complains that behind the veil of the virtual world, the guy can pour out so much but in the real world with its normal realizations, touch and smell, he had become speechless that day. She also said that if she did not meet him, she would never believe that someone’s eyes can say so many things which the tongue fails to convey.

Pause -->

Why? Why this enigma? Why this strange reaction? Then does it mean that their relationship is not a fact but fantasy? Not real but virtual?
Or is it that real physical distance of so many months bring them closer to each other which real geographical closeness of those few hours couldn’t?
Can they ever cross the thin red line that separates the real world from the virtual world?

Stop -->

Damnnn ! The cassette ended.
Time to get another one.

Maa

It's that time of the day when the next episode of your favorite sitcom comes up on air. And throughout the day you have wondered whether the best friends will finally confess their love for each other or not. Or, it's the final day of the tournament with India clashing against Pakistan and you've chewed off all your nails thinking about the slog overs. It's time, finally ! And you make your way towards the television set when suddenly you hear a voice behind saying in rather a strict tone, "What are you doing with that remote in hand? Have you forgotten about your math exam tomorrow? Go back at once at sit down with your books. You can watch TV later." And that seals your fate for the evening. All the questions about the childhood lovers goes unanswered and all your mind does is to wonder about run rates ! Trigonometry takes a backseat.

A month ‘n’ a half later you again chew up your finger nails. This time for yourself! Tomorrow morning you’ve to submit your report card and your Dad has refused to sign it in a tone which defied any kind of requests, persuasions or even begging. The school bus will be here any minute and you’re still at your wits ends. Then she comes in and in a very indifferent tone asks for your report card. You hastily hand over, not wanting to lose even one precious second. An annoyed look, once more, at your scores and a swift brisk signature at the end. And all your troubles for sometime is over. Phewww ! What a relief !
She saves you. Once again !

It’s your birthday. You wake up with the familiar and oh-so-delicious aroma of your favorite dessert in the air. You take in lungs full of that wonderful aromatic air. The day has a good start ! You peek into the kitchen and see her sweating it out on your favorite dishes. She looks at you and smiles. Wishes you and tells you that she has made all your favorite meals. And suddenly you remember the treat that you’ve promised your friends. You will be eating out today and you’ve simply forgot to tell her this. But then again, your mind starts working on blue-prints of the ‘damage control’ plan. You promise her that, even if you’re eating out for lunch, you’ll surely be home for dinner. After all, she had been toiling all morning just to make your day a li’l more special. The smile on her face clouds just for a second, or was it two? You’re not sure. But then the familiar smile comes back and she says it’s all right and asks you to enjoy your lunch.

You come back home. The day had been great. No, it was rocking ! You had a sumptuous lunch with your friends. And then you all went to a movie. In the evening pub-hopping and finally ended up the great day with a long drive to a drive-in Dhaba, where you all had your dinner. After a rejuvenating shower you hit the bed and look at the bed side watch. It’s 12.30am. With a satisfied smile you close your eyes and try doze off. When somewhere between the land of sense and slumber you realize the door opening noiselessly, someone was placing a glass of water on the bed side table and putting a blanket over you. A soft palm caresses the few careless strands of hair on your forehead. Lingers there for a few seconds more and then as noiselessly as she came, she leaves. And suddenly you remember, you promised her that you will be home for dinner. She was still awake. Waiting for you. She also knew that you get thirsty in the middle of the night, so she remembered to place the glass of water on your table. She remembered. But did you?

You are a busy bee. You have your school/college/work. You race 24/7 pursuing your studies, your degrees and your career. You leave your home in the morning; get back at sunset or even later. After a quick snack, either you perch yourself infront of the computer or infront of the television. Eat your dinner and then some more browsing. Then go off to sleep. Sundays are meant for friends. For enjoyment. C’mon that’s the only day you get for yourself ! And in the midst of all these, you don’t even remember when was the last time you spoke with her for a flat five minutes. You don’t even bother. Who has time? Right ?

One morning a few days back, as you were grazing the paper, your eyes come to standstill when it read a particular news. It was on the 5th page.. or was it the 7th? You can’t tell now. It was just a few lines but it shook your core. It said that a middle-aged woman has committed suicide. Reason? Depression and acute loneliness. None of her family members had time for her, the paper said. After giving her all to her family for all these years, now in the twilight zone of her life, she didn’t have anything left for herself to fall back on. It was just another piece of news which will blend into oblivion for the rest of the world. But for you, it shook yours. You turn and look at woman who is sewing back the button on your shirt, painfully squinting through her glasses. And suddenly you feel like putting your arms around her. You just feel so glad !

These ladies have various names.
We call them Maman, Màna, Madre, Mater, Matri, Mama, Morsa, Maica, Mutter, Mor, Majka…

We also call them, Maa.

No Less of a Man

Last night I was watching a movie called, Boys Don't Cry. For the second time. Last watched it when I was just fresh out of college, quite a few years back. I was fascinated then by the histrionic skills of the leading lady and the message lying beneath the scenes and the script. I was fascinated even now, but this time for a different set of realizations which the later years and experience helped me to realize.

Last night I also witnessed the pain, the suffering, the longing and the tears of a friend of mine. My friend was in the lowest of spirits, completely broken by the sadism of life and love. There comes a time in everyone's life when one reaches out to anything or anyone.. a straw or a hand or a shoulder.. just to hang on tight in order not to be swept away by the merciless torrents of life's' 'fun'. One just needs someone who will only listen 'coz all one needs at that time is to flush out the toxins of the heart. Last night, I saw my friend breaking down; the tears came like a heavy torrent after a long drought. And my friend is a man.

Many a times I've been asked, "Is it wrong for a man to cry? Why do they say that boys don't cry.. can't cry? Isn't a man as much a human being as a woman? Doesn't a man suffer as much as a woman?" They do. And much much more.

Blame it on the mind set or the folklore taboos, but even before a boy has gone through his first five years of his life, he has been told, taught and instructed to behave like a 'man'. And how does a 'man' behave??? Different schools, different syllabus. But the most common notion amongst the litter is probably this - 'Manliness' is synonymous to virility, to strength, to stoicism. They should be seemingly indifferent to or unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure or pain. "Seemingly" is a verrrryyyy interesting word. Isn't it?

Life has her own favourite satires. And one of them being, men should be abominable to tears. And as ironical as it may sound, but for men it is a double bladed knife. Hold it in anyway you want, at the end of the day, you're bound to bleed. While women have the 'birth' right to cascade their tears at any given opportunity 'coz sentiments and emotions are supposed to be a 'feminine' thing, men on the other hand, are supposed to be epitome of restrain. He's supposed to be like an Adonis who won't flinch at a Herculean task.

What people forget is, this species called 'men' also has the same blood flowing through their vein and their hearts too are similar to that of the 'privileged' class (atleast in the matters of expression) called 'women'. Like women, they too bleed and their lacrimal or their tear glands secrete tears when hurt. They too suffer the same pain and angst. Maybe, attimes much more. 'Coz they are forbidden to show that they suffer.. 'coz they are forbidden to shed those tears which they painfully blink away.

Hopefully, in the distant future, a time will come when he will show that he too is capable of expressing and the society will accept that a man is equally vulnerable, if not more, despite his magnetic charisma, his reticence and drop dead animal charm.

Hopefully, in the distant future a day will come when a man will finally realise that there is nothing wrong in exploring the 'feminine' or the softer tones and hues of his character. While the women will realise that at certain junctures in life, if he too breaks down or sheds a few tears and needs a shoulder... it won't make him any less of a man.

Paradise Lost - Never to be Regained

Hey, you know what? A few days back I finished The Kite Runner. Yes, yes.. I can see that look of surprise in your eyes. The eyebrows have shifted up a couple of centimeters. The mouth has curled into a slight 'O' and there is a glint of curiosity on your features which is clearly asking me what took me so long to read something which the entire world (or atleast half of it) has read a year back. Right???? Ha ha.. don't get alarmed 'coz I am not turning into a face-reader. Not just as yet.

But to use a long used cliche, 'better late than never'. Yeah, I took a year longer than the rest of them.. so what the hell? I didn't take a life time.. right? And that's all that matters. Is it not? I am not here to praise this book. 'Coz I don't wanna show the Sun a lamp (roughly and hopelessly translated version of an idiom in hindi, but I guess it serves the purpose).

I am not gonna write a review on the book. 'Coz I consider myself too insignificant and puny to even try to attempt the feat. And neither am I even attempting to baptise others who have been unfortunate enough not to taste the delicacies which this book offer. 'Coz again I'm being tempted to use another cliche, 'you can take a horse to the water but cannot ever make it drink'. Then what the hell am I doing? Yeah, you are right in asking all the wrong questions. Well, I just want to cleanse my knotted up emotions. I hope you remember that this place is my purgatory. People visit the loo and I visit you whenever I am in need of a catharsis. And I know you love me for that. I love you too.

What is the story about? I will just give you a sneak preview. The saga is set in the 1970's Afghanisthan. Long before the advent of the Russians and much long before the mayhem of the Mujahidins. It was a picturesque place, smelling of flowers n fruits and kebabs and kites (yes, kites also has their distinct aroma, especially the penultimate one which comes down from the sky on the day of the kite festival). This is the story of two boys, Aamir and Hasan, in an age when everything looks fresh, fun and frivolous. A virgin innocence.

Aamir the son of a wealthy and mighty Afgan. And Hasan his most loyal and devoted servant. For Hasan, the first word he ever uttered was 'Aamir' and probably his last too but we'll never know. For him, Aamir was the world and everything there in it. And probably that's why he became a man faster than Aamir. This is a story of loyalty and betrayal. It is a story of undying devotion and undying guilt. It is as much a story of the rough terrain of Afghanistan as much as it is a story of the cool climate of the US. Of kebabs and burgars. It is a story of innocence lost, of kids becoming adults in a matter of minutes, of insecurity and jealousy and most importantly of salvation and longing.

We all have an Aamir and a Hasan inside us. Just as we have the yin and yang. There have been so many times we have done something which we know in all our senses to be wrong, to be a sin. With the full knowledge that it will hurt the very person whom we love more than ourself and yet we have gone ahead and done just that. And from that moment onwards we have started living together with the demons of our past and 'sleep' became a matter of folklore. Isn't it a too familiar feeling? I guess we all have a sadist and a masochist within ourselves too.

But I believe and I believe this from the core of my deepest element that Life is always fair to us. No matter what the situations and circumstances are, she always gives us atleast 2 choices. To do or not to do is always the question. Like Rahim Khan says near the end of the novel, "There is a way to be good again." Might sound a bit condratictory but how many do get that golden chance to try his hand at redemption?

And even if redemption comes, won't it be a li'l too late to hear that familiar voice calling out, "For you, a thousand times over" ?

Sometimes paradise once lost can never be regained.
Just sometimes.

Remembrance

You asked me once, if I still remembered you.
And you met with silence.
After all these years I thought about that evening when you asked me.. that question.


I remember the sound of your laughter. The touch of your hands.
The twinkle of your eyes. The smell of your aftershave. The dimpled chin.
I remember the way you used to tease me each time you saw that poster of George Michael on the walls of my room. And then later the way you used to say, "Hey, I am sorry."
I remember your fingers.. when they strummed the six-strings.
I also remember your fingers.. the way they held a cigarette.
I remember the way you used to pull my hair in a playful zest and then the way you played with them with childlike innocence.
I remember those drops of diamonds when they rolled down your temples each time you got drenched in the rain.
I remember the way those nerves throbbed on your neck each time you got angry.
Each time the way you clenched your fists in helpless rage against the world.. I remember.
I remember the way your mouth curled up in an yawn each time you watched a tearjerker on the big 70 mm screen.
I remember the starry dazed look in your eyes each time you watched Monroe or Madhubala on that same 70 mm screen and then the way you used to sigh when the lights came up.
I remember the gleam in your eyes each time you passionately voiced your thoughts on a belief that u believed in.
I remember those unsaid words when you put a protective arm around me and helped me cross a busy street.
I remember the way you used to laugh till tears came to your eyes.
And I also remember how much you tried to hide them, at times.

I remember your spirit, your anger, your sarcasms, your angst, your frustrations, your hopes, your dreams, your passions.


But I don't remember YOU.

Frankly My Dear...

Hey dear Blog, I'm back. To purr.. to pout.. to pour.. as well as to keep my promise of keeping you company once in a few days. Today I thought of sharing something interesting with you. There are a few lines or quotations.. well known all of them.. which through the continuous use by posterity have been raised to the level of proverbs or idioms. But I've been always left a li'l baffled as what they actually mean and how correct a few them are ! Confused? Ha ha.. It's a bit difficult to keep your mind clear when you're near my vicinity. Ok, let me take the honour of humouring your confusion.

Let's start with The Alchemist. It's rates amongst the first 3 of my favourite books. How I love the pages of this book, it has memories attached to it. Like siamese twins.

There's one particular line to which I would like to draw your attention to. "And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." What exactly does it mean? Is the Universe such a big conspirator? Don't we all, at certain junctures of our life, want something so badly that the need takes its toll on our lives? Some develops migraine, some develops ulcer and the rest gets dark circle. We either become wine cellars or chimneys. At times, our entire life gets wasted behind that one, solitary wish. We live for its fulfillment. And die in the process too. Why does the Universe sit still then?? Why doesn't it conspire then? Why doesn't it help then? Why doesn't it hear our unspoken words and silent screams? Why can't it see our tears and wrinkles? Huh?

While still on the topic of life and books, let me mention another favourite of mine, The Godfather. Oh, how I love the dialogues. They have attitude etched in them, each one them. Sample this, "There's nothing called business in life. Every piece of shit every man has to eat everyday of his life is personal." Can attitude get any better than this? Yes, it can, when Vito Corleone says, "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse." Blog, I'll make an honest confession here. After the 9th time, I've stopped counting the number of times I've read this book. But still now, each time I come across these two lines, I read, stop, think, ponder, sigh and go on to the next line. Is their anything which is completely 'business' in life? Anything at all?? Don't we put a part of ourself (however micro it maybe) to anything and everything we do? And can anyone of us, when made an offer.. the right kind of offer, refuse it? There's an offer for each one of us, somewhere. All it takes is to place that right kind of an offer to the right person in the right time in the right way. And the brain which can find the right opportunity to conceive all this is called the Godfather.

Sweetheart, have you ever thought of Life, as in what it means to you? No? Yeah right, you are one of those lucky few! But there are a whole bunch of unlucky mortals who does and when they do, they come up with varied definitions. I don't have the energy to decipher those and I'm sure neither do you. Hence I will just quote a line which a character called Forrest Gump voiced, "My Mama always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get.'" Hmmmm.. Now that is what I call diabetic ! Life and a box of chocolates???!!! What about those who have blood sugar ? What about them? For them is life a box of insulin pills? I wonder! As for me, I don't have much of an affinity for the sweet-tooth and people generally go for the fanciest wrapper! Ok, ok.. and I can see the first frown of impatience on your brows, so I'll better shut up my mouth on the topic of LIFE. And anyways, I should be the last person to comment on it.. Yeah, you can laugh out loud and I am not stopping you.

Let's steer this discussion on a much more interesting subject. Women. Ahhhh.. now I can see the satisfied grin on your face and the twinkle in your eyes. Naughty! Naughty! Ok, tell me what do you make of this line, "In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns." ?? Who said this? That's insignificant but just to quench your curiosity, it's mouthed by a fellow called Fabrizio, in The Godfather. Why do I keep coming back to that book? 'Cause I am in love with it, do you mind?? Ok, back to the subject. Can someone please tell this Fabrizio that not just in Sicily, but women everywhere is far more dangerous than potassium-cyanide, leave alone mere shotguns. Shotguns? Huh, that's fairy tale. Ask any man. I can see you are already nodding you head. In agreement or disagreement, I cannot tell.

Now for a funny few. The great Bard, Shakespeare once said,

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

Tell me, what do you think, is he right in saying this? That there's nothing in a person's name? I don't know about others, but the 007 agent would sure disagree. After all he's so possessive about his name. I can still hear the great voice and the pride behind that voice saying, "The name is Bond. James Bond." Imagine calling James Bond, James Butler!

The spooky kid in The 6th Sense whispered, "I see dead people." And I clapped my hands in glee. I just couldn't agree more. When after long hours of pain, the point still doesn't get registered and when after a witty joke has been cracked, the face in the front remains as blank as the walls of the room. I see them too, now and then. Don't you? Ofcourse! Ofcourse!

Rhett Butler is one of my heroes, probably I might even swoon like those dainty damsels in distress if I ever met him in real life. And he might just say in his typical cocky style, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!" But hey... I do give a damn sir. I do. Each time I get hurt, each time I get misunderstood by a close one, each time someone upon whom I trusted lets me down and each I let myself down.. I do give a damn!

Blog, I have just quoted a few lines which have secured a permanent place in history. All of them well-known. All of them famous. But there are a few which are not so, yet probably more apt than all of these. Probably no one has heard of them. But the one to whom they are said, remembers till the end of his or her life. 'Cause they are voiced from realization.

Someone, once told me, "Emotions can't be faked."

But then, that's another story.

Forget-me-Knots

Ok.. I opened this page some 2 hours back with the pious intention of writing my 3rd post. In the meantime, I have attended 4 phone calls, had my dinner, chatted with 2 of my friends who were online and even took a loo break. And when I FINALLY came back to this page, whatever I planned to write to you, my dear Blog, just disappeared from my mind. Please don't swear sweetheart. I know, life's a bitch.

Why is it that when we really want to do something.. and I mean reaaalllyy, from the core of our wretched hearts want to do something.. and just as we are about to get started.. something crops up.. and our action takes a differnent course altogether? Why?? Isn't it soooo applicable for life too? We are perfectly cocooned in our own existence.. whatever form they might be.. and suddenly.. zip, zap, zooooom.. everything goes for a toss and most often we are left wondering what was it that hit us when we were at our unprepared best.. !!!

There had been so many times that I felt, it just can't get any worse than this. And Destiny must have had a nice laugh I bet, 'cause the very next instant with smooth kaleidoscopic twirl of fate, my naivety at assuming things were proven wrong. Yes, yet again. And again. And again. But I'm not one to learn my lessons so easily my dear. Am I not making you laugh? C'mon accept it.

Good. Now that I made you laugh, I am sure you won't remain angry with me for too long. You just can't. My complete support is behind that person who said, 'To err is human. To forgive Divine'. So please my dear, get a divine touch and forgive this poor soul. Yeah.. Yeah.. I am irrestible and I know that.

Sorry? What did you say? Modesty? Mod-what-sty? Sorry dear Blog, I am not really familiar with that word.

What? Oh yeah, I am serious. As serious as a joker can be in a circus.

Silent Night. Holy Night?

I hate those darn nights when sleep goes on an indefinite strike. Oh, how I hate them!!!

Last night was one such night when I felt that I was the only living soul alienated from slumber. Tossed and turned. Tried to sleep with the pillow under my head, at my side, over my eyes and after some time, out of sheer frustration, threw it upon the floor. Yes, I tried counting those stupid sheep too. I even counted cows and goats but at the end I was lying wide awake with my eyes fixed to the ceiling. How I hated last night.

All sorts of strange, weird and even psychotic thoughts were littering my brain, or whatever was left of it. I even fancied the idea of digging a hole into the ground and going on to hibernate, for all seasons unlike those animals who dislike only winter, but then the thought of missing out on a few faces restrained me from taking that drastic step.

Ahhhh.. faces.. huhh?? No wonder! Then that was what it was.. hmmm.. Why is it so that just the mere sight of those very faces which used to calm all the tempests in one's life, suddenly on one fine day, raise a tornado which sweeps away the sleep of several nights? Any answers or even suggestions?? I bet even you are searching for the same.

Don't worry. We all are together in this - The Eternal Quest.

First Few Words

This is my place. My mirror. My conscience. My soul. This is the place where I voice my expectations, my angsts and my insanity. A place for entertainment. A place for examination. This is the place where I punish myself. And this is the place where I praise myself. You all are welcome to view and comment upon them as and when you wish. If you understand them, good. If not, even better. 'Cause I don't expect anything from you. Neither do I want you to expect anything from me. I am perfectly content with an one night stand and if it proceeds towards breakfast next morning, I won't mind.

As I said, this is my place. My Purgatory as well as my Paradise.