Ideas

Ideas are like poop. Sometimes, they flow like a carefree  waterfall. Sometimes, they are a gigantic roadblock. But do you know what makes them the most exciting? When they rumble and pant like a dormant volcano, about to burst in the pits of your gut, but never quite.
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So, you see, ideating is just like pooping.

Things People Say

'Oh you are so negative.'
'Oh you are always pissed.'
'Oh you are so depressive.'
'Oh you are so boring.'

'Oh yes, Neanderthals like you make me lose my faith in mankind.'
'Oh yes darling, because I suffered through an overdose of moronity, courtesy, you.'
'Oh you need to not use that word so lightly, it offends the actual depressed people.'
'Oh you need to start hanging around with 'your' kind of 'fun' people. What does it include, btw, half baked fb rants and selfie postures?'

Don't expect respect if you cannot show it. :-)

No Rhyme Or Reason

I don't know what I'm feeling.
I don't know how I'm still feeling.
Writing used to be the balm of sore life, the medicine that nursed me through days and nights of cold love and longing.
The only area of my life uncontaminated by petty competition.

It was never about writing 'better', it was just about writing.
Because that was the only way I could express myself.

So when did it become 'If you cannot write better than 'X' or 'Z', you shouldn't write at all?'
The only area uncontaminated by petty competition is now infected.

I miss those days.
When the voices crowded my head and I released them on paper.
No therapy could compare to it.
The voices still crowd my head but instead of releasing them, I sweep them under the rug.

Truth be told, I feel like a Stepford Wife.
Writing honey-coated lines for sugar sweet brands.
Superficial.
I want to sink my teeth into those words, bite them apart, just so the little bitches realise how full of crap they are.
Shallow. Kinda like the girls that the men I like go for.
Words without depth, words without me.
Where's me?
Where's the rawness, the passion?
The honesty that punches your heart and rips your guts out?
Aren't words the last hope of mankind?
The last shelter where mankind can cry, love, hate with a fierceness it can only dream of in real life?
When did I start pimping words to make a quick buck?
When did I stop loving them?
They are the only ones who ever loved me.
Without rhyme or reason.
How did I forget the times they rescued me?
Narrowly pulled me away from the edge.
Provided an outlet so I wouldn't cross the line of insanity.
Gone are the days when I used to fill pages and pages with words, big and small, thick and thin, happy, fat, sad, grumpy. No judgment.
Now, every word I write is questionable, changeable. By every random idiot.
It's not a labour of love anymore.
Then what is it? What, pray, is the point of it all?
If I cannot love it, if I cannot protect it, if I cannot fight for it.

Should I give up writing and continue to float lightheaded in this vast numb plane?
Or should I quit the paycheck to keep alive the only thing keeping me alive?

Life Crushed

Engrossed, she hunched over her tab, trying to figure out the best way to place candies. Those delightful coloured cells, bathed in stubborn problems, beckoned her to be their saviour. She was there, almost onto the next level.

Suddenly, the client stormed in. 'We've figured it all out! We just need to work the night.'

She looked up. Her life died.

What Long Meetings Teach You

# How to sleep with your eyes open
# How to yawn with your mouth closed
# How to pretend to be interested.

Tussle

My head hurts. The wall I have been banging it into for the past few weeks, refuses to break down. My head's strong. It refuses to give up. So does the wall. 

It's not pretty being sandwiched between an inanimate wall and an overanimated brain. I try coaxing it into finding another way, a better way. Something that doesn't involve me taking a bunch of painkillers. 

Climb it, perhaps? Fly over it? My head, like a tunnelvisioned bull, refuses to listen. Climbing takes time. Flying requires wings. 

"I know, I know, but do you think you can just stop before you break your bones?" I say gently, with a slight hint of indignation.

"There are no bones in the brain, you idiot", my brain hisses nastily, as it collides with the wall again.

"C'mon, I meant the cranium..you are breaking it!" I retort desperately. "Anyway, why are you so angry? I thought the brain was supposed to be the calm reasonable voice. Being emotional is the heart's job". 

"Try hitting yourself repeatedly and see what it does to a calm rational voice", it mocks me.

"Well...hello!" I put out my hands, in exasperation. "Clearly, this pain is making you dumb. Maybe, if you'd just listen to me for a while.."

"Why don't you try telling your heart that? How many times have I told it that ideas don't like to be pushed out? If you've hit a block, try finding another route. But, it never listens." My brain desperately shouts the last words as it crashes into the wall.

Bang, bang. Bang!

"Ok, enough. Everyone listen. Brain, for the love of everything rational, STOP! Heart, what the hell is going on?" I cry, exasperated. The pain was becoming too much.

"I will overcome this. I will, I will. Nobody, nothing is going to stop me. I will overcome writer's block", my heart speaks breathlessly, for the first time.

"Stop..stop. You are killing us. Look, may be if you just took a break...". My eyes start to go blind.

"You won't stop me. I will overcome this block, I will keep on busting my head, till it breaks down..."

"The head or the wall?" I gasp one last witty reply as the world closes in on me. 

Conversations

Fingers on his chin and head slightly bent, he looks at her silently from behind those big round glasses.

She stands, scared. A huge pile of papers in her hand and the expectation of having to perform weighs her down.

"Next idea", he silently murmurs.

"Umm...umm, so this is about a woman who brushes her hair with cactus..."

"What's the brand?" He inquires.

"Uhh..softener..hair softener", she mumbles.

"Oh..done", he says quietly.

"Already?" Her disappointment thinly veils the nervousness she feels around him.

"Hmm...yeah", he goes back to watching Breaking Bad on his computer screen.

She comes back to her desk, banging her head against the imaginary wall, for a millionth time.

"Be smart, be confident, be brave", she encourages herself.

"You know, it's been a while. Doesn't make sense for you to stammer so much in front of him. So, he's your boss. So, he's cute. So, he's witty. So he's intelligent. So what? You are not dumb. You are clever and funny and talented."

"And he's so remarkably down-to-earth. I didn't expect a celebrity to be like this".

"You're starstruck".

"Dearness, I'm crushing on him at the rate of 2 icebergs per second. Just last day, he was running down the conference hall like a child while explaining an idea. And yesterday, he was cycling. In the office. He's always teasing me. And, he talks ..I mean, really talks to me. You know I'm shy and I don't talk much with people. But he comes everyday just to talk to me. I mean, who does that?"

"All it takes to impress you is for someone to be nice to you".

"Dunno. But he's not just nice or talented. He's a good human being..."

"Or so it seems."

"I wish...I wish..", she began dreamily.

"Careful what you wish", the stern voice warned.

"Why can't I get guys like that?"

"Coz you become dumb when it comes to guys you like. You are smart and sweet and funny. But when it comes to guys you like, you act like a total retard."

"And now it's affecting my work. I mean, how on earth am I supposed to think of ideas when he just stands there being so cute, so friendly, with such an adorable smile and accommodating personality?"

"He's flirtatious. And you, are an idiot. You never learn, do you?"

"Apparently I don't", she mused grimly.

"Is this the first time a guy has been so charming to make you fall hard, and land with a thud on the floor?"

"No", she said quietly. Underneath though, she was thinking of his suede shoes and lime coloured watch. The fancy hat. The twinkle in those eyes hidden behind big glasses. That indomitable spirit. That sly smile. That seriousness with which he listened to every idea she had, no matter how flawed, how trivial. The poems she had written on him. The way he flirted with her, but still treated her considerately like she was his sister. How much he loved his daughter. His beautiful wife. And how, he was still so warm with her. And everyone around him. How he helped everyone. Even those who could do nothing for him in return. How straightforward he was. Blunt but never rude. How he found beauty in the tiniest of things. How he was frank with her. Fancy saying that her writing was like a 13-year old. How it had angered her. How she was so terribly terribly intimidated by him. Because of his down-to-earth behaviour. Would she be able to live up to his expectations? Did she deserve so much kindness? As she thought this, her eyes became watery.

"But you know", she continued, fighting the knot in her voice, "he's different from others. He genuinely helps people."

"So? Your job is to work so you can better yourself. Then find a new job. Don't you think I know why you did not leave even though you had other offers?", the stern voice thundered.

"Weh....Well, I thought I could learn from him", she stammered again.

"Sure you thought that, but you also liked spending time with him", stated the stern voice matter-of-factly.

"Yes, well who doesn't?" She smiled. His thoughts made her feel shy. 

"You are fooling no one except yourself. This is your life, YOURS.Whether you want to run it or ruin it, is up to you. Remember, a lot is riding on this."

The stern voice subsided inside her, telling her what she always knew. Just a young girl with big dreams, trying to make it in a big city. Did such feelings even have a place here? 

Charm

It should be a crime to be so genial
And touch mountains high
It should be a crime to be so gentle
To shine as the bright blue sky.

You are a ray of warm sunshine
Gloomy days shy away from you
Burning so brightly,
You enchant all around you.

You smile and the world goes round
Your talk makes the rain sounds sweet
Your voice is like a string of pearls
Playfully creating their own harmony.

Now look what your charm did
Playfully nibbling away my thoughts
Been thinking of you all this while
And wrote a silly poem.

Don't lose your optimism ever
Don't ever lose your shine
You see, your light inspires millions
And you, my friend are pretty fine.

Gurgaon Chronicles

With gleaming yellow eyes, the rat took a step back and brought out his sword. Those devilish eyes squeaked as I recognized a faint smile lurking behind his moustache. I closed my eyes in horror. Darkness.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor and the little rodent was staring at me, the same squeaky eyes smiling evilly. Unable to breathe, I closed my eyes again.

The morning after, my head felt heavy. As I got up dreamily, realisation struck; Rats! My PG was full of them. Now I love animals, but to have them licking my food is the last thing I want.

I have been in Gurgaon for roughly 3 weeks now. I still remember the first day I got down on Delhi station, with no idea or clue whatsoever, no hotel or PG, standing amidst a sea of porters and cab drivers, each shouting at the top of his voice. My knowledge of Delhi was based on the news the media presented; most of which revolved around the fact that it wasn't a safe place for women. 

I took a cab to the nearest hotel, kept the luggage and took a Mega Cab to the jungles of Gurgaon. The first time, it was eerie and I was awestruck. After the somewhat lengthy journey, met a PG person who showed me PG rooms for 2 full hours before telling me that they were all full. Then after explaining to him, that I was, in fact looking for a 'vacant' room, I finally got one. 

Cut to PG problems. 

Washroom woes added to an arrogant PG owner and to add to that, I saw a rat playing hide and seek under my tiffin box. But it's been interesting till now.

Met a lot of wonderful people (yes in Gurgaon, imagine that!), saw a big monkey (yay!), made friends, met some stuck-ups, a lot of helpful people and it's all been one exciting adventure till now. 

I guess, you never realise your full worth until you start living alone, solely on your capabilities. And I have surprised myself. I like that.

There's still a lot to do, a lot more to learn but if there is one thing I have realised in these past few weeks, it's this: I'm awesome.

When you're not here

This world dies a little when you're not here Flowers cry a little when you're not here The sun's mood darkens a tad little. The office becomes gloomy, a tad little. Eyebrows depress, a tad little Monotony drags time, little by little Ideas get lost, in a mess little This office feels lonely, a tad little. The stairwell gets dizzy, the elevators limp The yellow ceiling light becomes a tad bit dim So you see, it all becomes very very grim. This place misses your big wide grin. So come back, my dear, my funny quirky man. We'll make rainbows and play, as much as we can.

For You

Your face is a shining beacon of light Your smile, pure dewdrops of night Your cuteness makes my day Just for you, I wanna stay.

Storm, fire, or lightning I'd come to office everyday Oh I wish I could stay! You see, your face brightens my day.

Your smirk, your pranks Encouraging people to take a chance Brave you are, mischievous too. Inspiring minds, with just a glance.

And though you & I could never be No, not even if you were single. You make my days happy. And continue to positively enliven me.

So thank you, once and for all, For all that you are, and more.

Much Ado..

He's worn black today.

"Black makes him look hot."

"Compliment him".

"No, we fought. How dare he?"


"He's so hot".

"Tell him, tell him".

"His voice is lovely, isn't it? And when he wears his sunglasses and trots off strutting his stuff...."

"Tell him, tell him".

He comes, takes one look at her, and proceeds to his friends who are sitting next to her.

"Look at his physique."

"That body...."

"Tell him..."

"Tell him what?" She frustratingly asks.

"Tell him he's hot."

She proceeds towards him. He stares at her with his piercing eyes.

"You are hot tempered", she loudly opines.

"I'm sorry, what?" He comes close to her.

"Ye...ess.. you fight all the time!" She mumbles...a little loudly.

"Well you know what", he stammers, "that's my style". And walks off like the hero of a Tamil film. Background scores play inside his head but she can hear them. 

"Idiot.."

"Yes, he's such a..."

"Not him, you!"

"What? What did I do?"

"We are off. Hasta luego."

"Wait.. don't go. What if I have to talk to him again?"

But they did not reply. The voices in her head retreated. She would too if she could.

Walking on a Tight Rope

I walk a tight rope

Towards a dark invisible goal

Thousands of cheery faces urge me on.

I look below.

Small skyscrapers

Scared I stumble

Nothing to hold on, nothing to fall upon

The abyss looks up at me.

Like the mouth of a hungry beast.

But with nothing to hold on, I fall down.

Men Will Be Men

So I was browsing through a social networking site just now and saw a girl younger to me (I'm 22 years old btw), who has probably also worked in some recent acting productions, married. I'm not judging.


She was tagged in a photo that had the picture of a girl smoking (it was NOT her picture). There were some comments on that picture. One of them was from a lady and went like this: What a shameless girl! chi!. The other comment from a man, was a bit more specific: Girl der choritroi ata.mayra sob e pare.ader choritror kono level nai.. . . . . . . ("This is the character of girls, they can do anything. They have no level at all......." ). I am not judging. 


By virtue of interest, I clicked on the man's profile. His favorite singers include Shakira, Eminem and Avril Lavigne. His favorite movies include Tomb Raider, Transformers and The Dark Knight. I also clicked on the lady's profile. I did not find any 'interests' mentioned on her profile except that in the part of Favorite Quotations was written this: "Don't ask for my phone number. I'll not give it to you." Interesting.


I learnt that she was in her first year of graduation and was already engaged. The man, I don't know whether he is married or not, but he had a profile pic with a little girl. I wouldn't be too surprised if he turned out married as well.


Now gentle readers might ask me what's the point of all this.


Truth is I don't know. I have half a mind to put the links here so that you can drop by and send the man and woman in question, a short message, asking what it is that they truly believe in. The woman's case seems to be pretty simple. She has conservative values, which explains why she is already engaged in the first year of college.


The man's scenario, I find amusing. One wonders what his values are when he sees Angelina Jolie smoking onscreen. And not to mention the steamy Megan Fox in Transformers. Let's just be honest, Megan Fox is the best thing to happen in Transformers. 


But I'm pretty sure, the man does not watch those movies to see the seductive Angelina Jolie or the steamy Megan Fox. He watches those movies purely because of the "Good Vs Evil" wars they portray. After all, that's why he even likes Milla Jovovich in Resident Evil..Oops, he does not like her, he just likes her "action".

  


Critics will always say a lot of things; they will always be cynical towards his good intentions. And even if he (like a lot of other men) likes to watch those beautiful scantily clad girls throwing their shapely limbs up and down, what's wrong with it? They are foreigners; they can do anything. In fact, the less clad they are, the better. ;)

But that does not mean that girls of our homes will go on and start doing those things! Oh No! That would be a sacrilege! I mean a girl smoking, how atrocious is that?! And not because smoking is a harmful habit which is dangerous to both men and women and all those who inhale the smoke. It is atrocious because it is a girl who is smoking! I mean, can you imagine that?? It's alright for a man to smoke, it's alright for a man to pass lewd comments about women on the street even if she is covered from head to toe, it is alright for a man to beat up his women; he's a MAN. He can do anything. God Almighty has given him the full right to do as he pleases, with women, with children, with even other species. 


A fellow trainee likes to smoke. She has about 5-6 cigarettes everyday. She hears quite a bit of lecture for her unhealthy habit from me. Everyday during break, we go out to search for relevant shops in the area and she takes this time to smoke. I can't stand the fumes, so I stand away, while she smokes to her heart's content. The area is a predominantly official area with a lot of office-goers (read: men) around. All shapes and sizes of men ranging from your average rickshawallah to the elderly businessman pass by. They look at her; I look at them. Desire, a rowdy oppressiveness characterized by a sly smile adorn them as they pass by. Some of them even take their time to stop by and gaze at her as if she's a new species at the zoo. I mean, what kind of girls smoke? The 'bad' girls right? If a girl can smoke, then she can do anything. Yes, that's right. Anything. 


If a girl smokes, it means she is cheap and easily available. She is ready to sleep with anyone, be it a roadside rickshawallah or a sex starved 50 something elderly businessman. She is very 'open', you know. 

But what if a girl is not smoking? What if let's say, she's wearing full length clothes? I see 70 year old rich men pass by and give her a quick glance of desire. Lust. There is nothing fatherly or even the least conservative about their glance. And I am shocked. Because these are rich men, well one assumes they are educated, experienced in the ways of the world, one assumes that since they are old and on their way to the grave, they will treat girls of their grand daughters' age as such. 


But silly me. It's always the girl's fault, didn't you know? 


It's raining heavily. I am fully wet by the time I reach the bus station from my home. On my way to office. Water dripping, there is nothing attractive about me. At least I don't feel so. I am like a waterfall. I feel like a cartoon. Irritated. I hate rains. And I notice a man beside me, an old man, but this time, from the lower sections of the society, staring at me, as if he would gulp me down, if he could. 


And frankly, I don't know what to make of it. I mean I am used to lewd comments, unabashed gazes on streets but when it's a calamity, the least you would expect of everyone is to mind their business. But c'mon, how could that stop him from gazing at me, at my body, more specifically? I could be even more specific but then my gentle readers would not be able to take it. Some of those gentle readers include well educated men who talk idealistically of equality between sexes. :)

I never get over it. Always mind my surroundings. What to wear, where I am going. After dark hours. Scares me. I also have a cause of suffocation, which means that I cannot be huddled in crowded spaces.But crowded buses, shuttles, often a tired traveler sits close to me, with hands dangerously close and nowhere to escape. I gasp for a breath of air. 


But c'mon men do this. Don't they do hard work everyday just for the sake of their family, this economy? If they are a bit comfortable with their hands on you, let them do it. After all, they are not raping you. Always remember, you are a woman. You have to mind your surroundings. Men will be men. They are biologically programmed this way. 


And this is the crux of all education. No matter how educated you are, no matter how many degrees you have, somewhere down the line, you will find these degrees fail. Which line is that? The line of sex.Your MBA degree is not going to save you from getting raped at night. It doesn't matter how compassionate a social worker you are, it is not going to stop lewd comments from getting at you.

At this rate, my highly educated idealistic friends would scream up, 'But.. but there are women too...'. Yes there are women who have been molded by this overwhelming suffocating obnoxious system of patriarchy. Women who think it's the girl's fault if the man touches her. But who's fault is that?


And now my intellectual friends will give examples from Raja Rammohun Roy and Vidyasagar who were the first ones to campaign for women's rights in India. I don't contest that. All Good.


But strangely, I don't get to see many Rammohuns and Vidyasagars every day that I travel. Or even generally. May be it's my fault. I've got a girl's brains you see. Girls are by nature a bit stupid and irrational. Hope you will excuse me for that. :)

And how many of these high flying scholars have been teased by the lustful glances of men? Er..Okay, Women? 


At least 1 woman?


No? 
Then Shut Up. :)


P.S: Like the pictures? ;)


P.P.S: Here's a raunchy link I found on hot female cartoons. The best part? The writer is kind enough to offer his expert opinion on what women/gay men would like as well : 

http://www.cracked.com/blog/mommy-im-confused-10-women-from-80s-cartoons-that-ushered-us-into-manhood/