A fresh new page...

The New Year celebration has become an obligation. There were times when the threshold seemed like a Laxmanrekha, but the other day, when my Mom called up to ask what I was drinking and my darling sister wished me a Happy Birthday instead of Happy New Year, I realised that times are changing. Surely a lot of parties happened. And while people were dancing, spilling drinks, making out, puking and breaking expensive Bone China, I was sleeping like a baby under the stars. 

I was one of you as well. Living a lifestyle in which Mango is supposed to be worn and not eaten, Zara gives you orgasms and sprinkles of Cool Water are enough to charm a man. If relationships were based on one's affiliation with rock bands and football teams, life would have been so much easier. But it's not that way, it can never be that way. We are plagued by postmodernism, inhabitants of Eliot's Wasteland, living in an unreal city. Love, why not? Maybe because he has a Facebook fan page. For me, because he's as much an adventure junkie as I am; he's a voracious reader and he spells right, too. That's how our generation makes decisions. But I guess it's all so slippery. Is it quicksand, or is it just muck? I can't really spot any lotuses mushrooming around, because we're too busy tagging people. While our spirits are soaring, values are witnessing their downfall.  

How different is the year going to be? Full of debates and discussions. Damini, Nirbhaya will surely find a replacement, something bigger, if the nation does not somehow shut Pandora's box. Ex-boyfriends will kill their ex-girlfriends, I hope you know that's the latest trend. Salman will make another hit movie at our cost, and we'll eventually find that special someone for twenty thirteen and make Jeremiah proud. 

As depressing as this sounds, there's still hope. We probably need a sixer to win (and that's even tough after God has announced his retirement), but it's not yet over till it's completely over. We could all do our bit. Take the train and read more than sulking in the traffic. Jump a couple of parties and learn horseriding instead. Whatever you do, nothing  can beat that piece of satisfaction of having done something constructive. The resolutions might have flown away with the booze by now, but the year has just begun for most of us. It's not too late. A fresh new slate awaits your words!

Unfurling...

Shanaya woke up. Startled. He was nowhere to be seen. It took her a while to realise that they weren't together anymore. A series of images flashed through her mind. She had a weird way of defining what love was. It was when his hand strayed to her plate, to grab that string of cheese or carrot. It was when he knew when she wanted to eat a chicken pizza. It was when he woke her up to tell her to open the door. It was when she knew he wanted ice candy and found it in her grocery bag. Small things. 

Then he left. And it was like someone seizing a pool float from an amateur swimmer. Creaking memories, like water, gushed into her ears and nose. Crazy ones. Bitter ones. Loving ones. He was her father. He has filled in that void, and treated her like a princess. Once in a while, she wondered why he wouldn't make that cup of tea or lay a Spanish omelette on a bed of soft bread. But that was him, and she loved him unconditionally for what he was. He knew he would fall back and land up on her lap. 

Once the separation, she felt that lack, a lack that could never be filled up. It had been a while that someone held her tight, brushed her hair and told her that everything would be alright. She wouldn't step into the pool anymore, because she'd forgotten how to love someone who's not him. She'd rather sit back comfortably on a pool chair and watch the others have fun. Tethering on the edge of insanity, she wondered if it’d be better to let go or hold on...

This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs fromYashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

Straight & Sexy!

Rapunzel has inspired me to have those long, flowing tresses since childhood. The fascination, sadly, came true only in my early twenties. Thanks to my darling mother, I've always had to flaunt the Lady Diana haircut which clashed horribly with my features.

The texture of my hair is wavy, which made me do crazy experiments to reach out to the other two extremes - curly and straight. It was fun to put down the toothbrushes of the entire family on the dressing table and curl my locks one at a time. 

However, more than curls, I longed for straight hair. Enrolling for a permanent straightening session was out of question! My friends told me to slip those bunches into notebooks before sleeping, but that was too uncomfortable. Moreover, the notebook was somewhere else in the morning. Then something struck me. My straightener was in my own house - the pressing iron!

That has been my craziest, whackiest and wildest idea so far, apart from the application of eggs and coconut milk. One has to try it under supervision, though; else you might just burn yourself! Take a thin towel and place a bunch of hair under it. Take a light weight pressing iron and run it over the bunch. Spruce up with a dollop of glimmer shine gloss or a serum. Make sure you don’t try this too often :)

Trance

A spiritless morning

Sinking in an oversized quilt

Misty windows

I turn towards your side

My fingers running

On fresh linen sheets

You don’t sweep my hair

To gaze at my smooth neck

To mark your territory

My curvaceous waist

Unblemished. Untouched.

Nights, no more a silken soirée

Smudged kohl contours

I wear a smile

And dive into Adrienne’s wreck

Injecting the anesthesia

Of limitless work

Time blends with seasons

Coffee blends with nicotine

Scotch blends with ice cubes

I panic.

I lost the master key

Under the sheets

It’s already midnight

I remember the words

Of fairy Godmother

I fly down the staircase

Like a helpless bird

Separated from its flock

I suddenly realise 

That there’s no returning

The prince won't come

With my crystal shoe

I was never wearing one.

Perils of Amnesia

Breeze.
Breeze that made my hair tickle your face
Blush-turned-irritation
Love-ridden air pushing me off the cliff
A dagger in my back
A self-fulfilling prophecy
I dive into the wreck
No, not quicksand
Because it feels good
Mysterious topography
Unknown terrains
I venture deeper
I splash in mesmerizing emerald waters
Unaware of the venom of black
It pulls me down
Vision blurs
My tongue touches the roof of my mouth
I taste death
I move against gravity.

A Murderous Silence

An angel advancing from the horizon

Distant but loving, carefree but caring

Perhaps it was Cupid

He took an aim.

In desperation for love, I confronted him.

That evil arrow tipped with poisonous words

Ripped my heart

It hurt so bad, it felt so good

Mesmerizing abuses turned into a whip

Lashes broke like waves on a shore

The soothing warm blood felt like a bliss

Houses of cards break, sand castles crumble

Blame the wind, the air or the forces of nature

Indeed, the fault was never yours

But I mistook you for the God of Love

I seal my lips and caress my wounds

Under your thumb, I can’t utter a word.

Dreams Assassinated

You mash them like a bar of chocolate.

The sweetest and the most exquisitely wrapped,

The child inside me throws a tantrum.

You scream at it and shut her up.

Tears roll. You think I’m Matilda.

Cheeks redden but your stone heart won’t melt.

A life threatening turn taken for time indefinite,

Wishes and hopes seem redundant,

It did happen this time as well.

I stand on the edge of a slippery cliff.

The valley doesn’t scare me.

Matilda is dead and so is the child within.

You slit its throat in your fit of rage.

Don’t beckon it. It’s never coming back.

Pray, you give me that push,

Let me experience the free fall,

Destiny’s gravity.