Trials and Tribulations by Fire

Saying, I am pissed off would be a gross understatement. Notions and perceptions are becoming routine, oft led by perceived slights and concealed perceptions.  Do I care? Am I not the person who gives a damn about perceptions. I guess so. I am certainly that person who thinks she is a perfectionist and prides herself on being attentive to detailing. I goofed up today. That is why I am pissed. I could have avoided this. But, like a sitting duck, I gave a neat chance to make them scream, abuse, shout at me. Here, I am, sulking like a girl (which I am) and picking my brains to death. At this rate, me thinks I will be left with nothing. Or, a small portion of it.  Well, buddy, my mind said, eventually, no use kicking yourself over this miss. You should have been quicker and less gossipy. You did waste a lot of time in yakking and lost a few good hours. Especially, those hours, when you are freshest and sharpest.  Guess, I just need to put this behind and move on. Eh?     

Coherence is a temporary state of being In the mind, in the vast emptiness behind the nomadic existence A veiled coherence Oft quoted and mostly misconstrued Needs delicate handling, the coherence of the mind, is like a lamp swaying to the tugs of the wind during a cyclone, determined to stay alive but life being snuffed out fast The only coherent thought being the deep need to remain coherent Timelessness intertwines itself with the need to be coherent Time itself is a slave to the core functionality of timelessness Its essence belittled by the futility of the act of holding on to the fast receding landscape of coherence Coherence, is, just a temporary state of mind      

Ramkumar killed Swati because she spurned his advances and thought he was not worthy of her. As a normal Indian adult woman, I think it is her birth right to choose her partner. Or is it not that obvious anymore or even as simple?  Even as I write this, several Ramkumars would dream of luring innocent Swatis and move up the social ladder. Ramkumar wanted a girl like Swati to love him and marry him. Didn't he, even for a second, think of his status, a daily wager for a father, is he even in his right mind to think he could be in the league of women like Swati? So, is Tamil Cinema to blame, one might ask. Cinema, especially in Tamilnadu, often portrays a Brahmin girl falling for the Dalit or the poor farmer's son and eloping with him, thereby balancing the equation. Growing up on a steady diet of such puke-inducing cinema, Ramkumar would have also dreamt of bedding a Brahmin woman or even a upper class fair and well educated urban woman. Enter Swati. Any Kayalvizhi or Kanimozhi

The title refers not to the famous play by Oscar Wilde, but to the thought behind everyday struggles. It is important, many a times very important to show your eagerness, to participate, to engage and to, just be there.  The past few months, to put it succinctly, have been tumultuous. I went through many ups and downs and most of the times, came out of situations, with hands burnt but soul gleaming. I realized then that, the most important thing was to be earnest even during trying times.  When I say earnest, I mean being eager to absorb life lessons and experiences through each pore of your body and not only through the five senses. It is imperative that we take these life lessons seriously and ensure the moral stays with us, throughout our lives.  When we lose track of the essence, of the moral of the struggle, the whole effort of being in the challenge goes down the drain. Every life lesson is like a brick that adds to the strength of our life's wall.  In the last few m

Money Money Money  Oh my honey I love you! Have seen the shimmer of gold and the glimmer of silver coins make many a man go swaggering... Of late have been meeting people who love to show off their moneyed selves and flaunt their "oh my beemer that Ramu uses for going to the laundry" and coo "arree baba, take the Rolls na...!"  Most often these show offs are Punjabis. I 'ave nothing against those poor ole' blokes, just that they are so "pheeka pheeka and arre soo khaali khaali" between their ears ki na...poocho mat! Oaf heads!  Anyway, I just decided to jerk off on my blog so that I could get some sadistic pleasure seeing me jerk off, howzat! Whoa! it never seems to end, does it?  Something or the other keeps cropping up. These bundernooks, jerks think they are the best thing that ever happened to mankind. This post is about many such specimens I met and got highly highly amused and allowed them to hang around purely to tickle my funny

DH got a heavy duty internet pack and had been dropping hints about streaming movies online. I suddenly realized that I had lost that allure for watching or absorbing stories, at least visually. There is something that happens when I get absorbed in a story or the visual element of a movie. In a similar state of mind, I watched Fan. SRK’s movie after a long gap. I think the last movie I watched was the disastrous Happy New Year. I had almost given up on King Khan and I watched HNY only because of Deepika and that lovely number called “Kamli”. I ignored Dilwale and didn’t even bother to watch it free. So, when Fan was being promoted, I turned a blind eye and a deaf ear. I had written him off. Almost. I was kinda sad too, ‘coz I thought a man like him must go down with grace. Not resort to gimmickry like how he did in HNY but I would have wanted him to play more Mohan Bhargav kinda roles.    Yes, I grew up with him and even dreamed of him as a teen. Probably, like millions of girl

Sia sat in the dark balcony, lightly holding the smoldering cigarette in her slender fingers. She took a short deep puff and then inhaled deeply, taking the smoke inside. It traversed her pores and housed in her lungs, her cells. She left out the smoke in slow motion. The smoke mixed with the cool night air and she stared as it dissipated, becoming thin. The nicotine kicked in then.  She had started recently and was willfully forcing her mind to get addicted. Sia knew she had to keep control over her restless mind and reign in her thoughts. It was high time she went back to her routine life. Soon, she wrote in her diary.  Sia suffered from delusions and sometimes she wondered if everything was squeaky up there. Many times it seemed as if she had deliberately entered a suicidal mission. But, then how you must get into a dirty pond to clean out the weeds, unless you delve deep into the recesses, you cannot unravel the multiple layers of the thought that make up a mind-plane.  S

I have a problem when you don't see my point of view but when you expect me to follow yours I have a problem if you think I am a robot and do not need sleep or timely food I have a problem if you believe that I am jumping with joy to come home after a 12-hour shift to cook a hot meal I have a problem if you think it is cool to stay cool while I sweat it out in a hot kitchen I have a problem when you don't attempt to do your assigned household chores and I am forced to do them I have a problem when you seem to forget that I am a woman with a heart and that I need love and affection I have a problem when I crave for affection and yearn for that touch though in my heart I know I can never have it again, ever I have a problem when I see you walk away, never to return I have a problem when I don't see you stand up for me, when you let me down, yet again I have a problem when you treat me like shit I have a problem when you think I am weak if I cry out of frustration I have a p

The weightlessness remains rooted  even when the heart feels heavy, uprooted, bleeding second by second... How is it possible I wonder, weightless but heavy Feels like life is throwing oxymorons at me  Challenging me, teasing me, morphing from one emotion to another seamlessly, confusing my mind into thinking that I am dealing with  myriad emotions...but its all actually one and the same   The pain doesn't go away, goes nowhere...like matter, just keeps changing  shapes...formless sometimes, like air or even gas...flows into each crevice and fills one up, till oxygen gets choked The zillion pieces that lay scattered on the sands are something that I  do not want to pick up...I walk on...a few pieces stick to my feet and poke till blood gushes out...I wince but the pinch is not as great as the wound in my heart, I manage to smile...pull the piece of glass and look at it with wonder A miniscule thing, immaterial by itself but when it makes its presence in the righ

Have been wandering with a mad, wanderlust in my head A worm burrowing deeper deeper harder Forcing me, sometimes torturing me To wander, aimlessly, aim-fully, with disdain in my heart Across areas I wander, drive sometimes, listening to loud music, blaring from the thundering speakers of my car My sole companion, a mute spectator to the intensity of the night Of promises not made, of love made, and of emotions exchanged Hormonal rushes doused, to be aflame again, to be stoked till the heart's content be satiated... A fuzz, a buzz that pushes me, keeps forcing me to think, obsess on the sparkle of the eyes, of the whiteness of the teeth, of love unspoken but displayed, of passion exchanged over a mere touch Words flow like a torrential river, sometimes each drop spitefully spew venom Love, hate like co-brides, inhabit my self, containing within themselves an intense intertwining of emotions and sentiments, creating an inextricable bondage, making me catch my breath, forcing