On the way home last night

In God's Own Country

Amongst God's own Men.

I found my Eden..with a touch of brown and grey....

...Kashmir

(notes from Omar Abdullah's private golf course)

By blur

Deliberation and Angst came over for dinner tonight. We three dined over melting drama and glasses of cheap Sula wine picked at the last harvest in Nasik. The lights fluttered in the shadows reacting to the exchanged emotions amidst the silence of clinking spoons, forks, bone china and masticating noise. Any moment now, the plates will be empty and there will be no food dodging the inevitability of the evening. The cheap Sula’s last dregs had been emptied. The candles on the table were dying out and what seemed like the longest supper of the longest night at the smallest dinner table in the whole world, closure would'v been a fine aftertaste. Cloaked in the comfort of lose linens and satin sheets, the threesome would finally come out tonight. After the last morsel was forked off the plate, Deliberation let out an exhausted sigh. There was to be dessert, of course, for the prolonging. But for the lack of Purpose’s wisdom, he mentioned it before. “I just can’t find that cheesecake.”

“Marvelous meal! I haven’t had okra cooked in vinegar for a long time. My compliments to the lady.” Deliberation smiled vehemently. I absently smiled and kept my gaze strategically away from meeting his eyes. Madness you see is like gravity. The eccentricities of Deliberation would only require a little push to instigate.

Scowling in one corner, Angst sat and studied her subjects. She knew them only too well and too quick. A deep-set frown on her forehead, Angst shrugged her nose in silence and stared down Deliberation and me. And then, it began…

… after it was all over, I sat examining the empty table and the upright candle. The bone-china sat perfectly shiny and immaculately placed around folded napkins and bowls of food waiting for the guests to come and chose their naked surfaces for the grand feast. Just like virgin skin. My carefully ironed and spiffy red dress draped my feigned glow. I’ve waited for this day for far too long and months of chasing have brought me to my supper table. This was my one chance at finishing my long search. Dreams and Ardour are coming for dinner tonight. In the corner of my ear I could hear, “I just can’t find that cheesecake…”

PS (there are bottles of beer in the freezer)

Drunker stupor

Usually such posts should come with a disclaimer, but courage comes with a time warranty things follow their own steam. Very proselike rambling, only this might read more confessional than concluding. I have no message and no knowledagble epiphany or after thought ODed over to dstribute. There is just this buzz in my head that won't stay with me and has aimlessly directed me to this webpage. So one would write like one has always been. Only tonight the verse has gone missing and the words are not coming by easy. It's just the wisp of a lingering melody in my head that will see fulfillment on the six-string. The seduction is back and I have a sneaking suspicion this time it is going to stay. I seem to be saying that a lot lately and for obvious reasons. But Paolo has packed his guitar off the cobbled street, and left for a grander stage. I don't think I have it in me to be Priscilla to my Elvis. And I am a bottle too down to bother the chase. Hic.

The oft visited dream

The Last Kiss

Long long time ago in the land of Pixie-sweeps, Rapunzel let down her hair. The knight instead played double sweep on the poker table. No one came to her rescue that night. She pulled back and swept her floor of all the waiting, straight into the chimney with the piling dust of yesterday. In the corner of her memory, a mellow tune filtered in. Somber, mournful and melting within...she heard bagpipes and the tin flute. The sharp playful shreik of the Harp made waves through her soul. A single hand plucking the acoustic lifted hee heart and plopped back in her chest. A tear floated at the back of the iris. The tattoo maker was writing invisible sheet music on her bare skin.

The yearning for a perfection, seemingly absent.

The yearning for love, picture-perfect and melodious.

The yearning for the last kiss, if only true love climbed the golden hair.

(Un)likely Fairytale

OK! So my last few posts have been somewhat dreading towards heightened romanticism.(and I've been made aware of that time and again..thanks to B) No matter how happily single I profess myself to be, a girl can have her moments. The truth is, life is a corny lover's bubble and blame it on oxytocin.

Some days I think I should have been born during the medieval days when honour and chivalrous knights ruled...okay, so that's the romantic view most of us choose to have of that time, in lieu of the violence, black plague and serious lack of personal hygiene. It's the act of chivalry that I believe has all but disappeared, becoming crumbling empty shells of history, much like the once majestic castles dating back to that era. I'm faced with this reality every time I hit the roadduring the daily commute. Amazing how the moment you step foot out and find no more empty seats, no empty taxis, packed elevators and not to mentione shoving queues. Feignng sleep rather than make eye contact with you. Now, mind you, I do my share of being courteous. If someone is right behind me as I go through a door, I always hold it open for them.

Doesn't matter if it's for a man or woman. That's called manners...plain and simple. I've given up my seat on the bus to elderly folks or pregnant women, too. But, no matter how independent I am, I still enjoy having a man hold open a door for me, pull out my chair (preferably not out from under me), let me enter or exit an elevator before them, etc. Heck, it makes me feel special, and what's wrong with that? :-) I'm a romantic at heart. That said, I felt pretty darn good this morning when I was approaching the front doors of my office building. A man was also approaching, but he was still at least 10 feet away compared to my 1 foot. As I reached for the door, he darted forward and said, "here, let me get the door for you!" Seriously, he actually ran to open the door for me and it wasn't as if I had my hands full. How nice was that? It's one thing if you're both there at the same time, but to run for the door? Major brownie points, dude! ;-) Just goes to show, you never know when some guy's latent knighthood will wake from deep slumber, puff out his chest and say, "after you, m' lady."

Notes to Self-II

My room has stars. The last moments when sleep takes over and darkness sets in, they whisper the last goodnight. Their florescence make me smile each night and I ponder somenights gazing endlessly into the fligree cups running amuck in the window of my already dreaming mind. I haven't even slept yet and the weaving has started. I imagine small elves sprinkling glittery sleep dust just like in the children's book that said so on New Year's first night. I recede and let the twinkle settle in. I sleep. I feel the stars looking down at me through the eyelids. I feel safe. I still hold wonder in my heart.

Shadow walker

Smell of malt whiskey, stale beer and tempered wine. Murky yet somewhat dapper. It's everywhere. I can sense him everywhere. In the train, on the platform, in the car navigating me, in the kitchen teasing my culinary senses, in the bed beside me fighting for pop corn at prime time, hugging me while I fondle with the six-strings, paying intent attention while I talk to myself; make my hair; iron my clothes... follows me to the garden of thought as I pick lilliams of wonder, resting his back on mine as I talk perilously for hours and gasps in animated wonder at my quivering super-sonic reactions, breathing down my neck as I write - even on this confession box...
My shadow doesn't seem like my own lately. It's been telling me things I yearn to hear but would rather not know. It's bigger, longer and seems to be able to engulf me. The bitter scent is back again and I feel a deep longing. My heart tells me its not alone anymore. If only I could disagree.