Formula for Love

Maths has never been my subject. Numbers have scared me all my life. Still can't simplify any of those numerical equations. My happiness has constantly been differentiated ever since I discovered that there was another subject on the time table.. MATHS...... Somehow, any numeric data of any kind has constantly waged a war against me, with understandably scales tipping towards the other side. And needless to say, I have almost always lost the battle. The only numbers I have ever liked or retained were the ones announcing anniversaries. Ironically, I’m amazingly good at remembering birthday's. "Oh sure! an elephant never forgets. And I surely do look like one don't I? haha.." A nervous laughter always followed at the sheer mention of those straight, wagered and crooked lines and curves. Even my mom never took me to her Kitty parties and I never got to make her friends play tambola. But I have constantly been compared to the number 8. (A big fat major!)

So, when my editor asked me to work on our new special for the week......somehow numbers didn't elude me here as well. And in hand with the new assignment, I went out to formulate the new Nobel Prize winning theory.... Formula for Love. Yeah! right and there was the challenge. Just the two words in the subject were enough to get me all geared for another battle. FORMULA and LOVE! Still, this missy loves the sound of a challenge and conquer it I shall.Mathematicians and psychologists, artists and poets, literary philosophers and even (ab)normal people like me have been in love at least once in their lives. But how the Hell does one handle being in Love?.. was one question even I had trouble answering myself... let alone write 500 words on it. (numbers again! shesh..) But conquer it I shall......the story I mean.

And here is the whole formula:-It's not nuclear fission. But it's not chopped liver, either, and news that love is being created in a laboratory should be greeted as a major breakthrough -- especially by those who aren't sure it even exists.
Take two people who have never met, put them in a room together for 90 minutes and instruct them to exchange intimate information. Have them stare into each other's eyes for two minutes without talking. At intervals, bring in a researcher who says, "OK, tell the other person what you already like about him."Ok! so they aren’t really rats in a maze. But come on people, think about it. Isn't the whole concept of love over-rated? Movies have been made, books have been written, odes have been sung. And then there are the Doctors of Love, who know the tricks of the trade and can even juggle with two to three hearts at a time. Am I talking acrobats? Of course I am. Love-doing and not just love-making, is an art. You practice, you fall, you break, you heal, you perfect and then.....you PLAY BALL!

The Risk Factor? Self disclosure is tricky, of course. It has to be reciprocal. If you're the only one pouring out your heart, your date is likely to recommend a good shrink. However, mutual disclosure creates a connection on a deeper level and shows the trust. By talking intimately, you risk being embarrassed, and risk is another factor in forging an immediate attraction. The bigger the risk, the faster you become attracted. Ever heard the clichéd, call the mice on her, hear the scream, grab the hand and a lucky hug too theory? It works, every time! However, if the thought doesn't absolutely terrify you, you might try being a little different. Consider a river rafting trip or scuba diving lessons. You can never tell whose hand you will end up with in a moment of panic. Finally, if you're matchmaking this never ever fails. Tell your two to be lovebugs, they're gonna 'like each other', 'will instantly click', 'are made for each other,' 'have so much in common’ kinda shit.

Expectation too has a huge effect. If you ask people about their experience of falling in love, over 90 percent will say that a major factor was discovering that the other person liked them. 'I Like You' So, if you're lucky enough to meet someone you like, don't be afraid to acknowledge your feelings. "I like you" may be the magic words that will produce the other magic words we all long to hear.

By the way, if you've always wanted to participate in scientific research, but would prefer not to be hooked up to electrodes, try it out. There is no guarantee, however that certain organs might not be bruised but there is an absolute promise of one heck of a ride. Oh and while in love, enjoy it till it lasts!!
What do they say again. Ah yes!

"Its better to have loved and lost...
..then never to have loved at all."

Noise......but in Silence!

hoo-ha
The sun went down without a sound.
An idea struck without lightening.
A prayer was quietly sent.
Lovers clasped their gazes without a whisper.
Blood rushed through the desiring bodies without a yamp.
The plant grew, dust settled and nimbus traversed the breadth of a hemisphere sans-decibels.

Wilde, Beckett, Tagore, Mishra, Kerouac, Henry, Bronte ~ all silently rest on my shelf, the lines in place, emotions running high, people meeting, parting, dying, fortunes being built, lost. A few many zeitgeist condensed on a little cellulose.
And here I am, creating hoo-ha to be able to create more hoo-ha in this marketplace where everyone speaks at the same time all the time. Watching the world through a purple haze and smoky rings of ash and smoked fire, blaming it all on a few days of mindlessness and wasted solemness.

Is someone listening?

He

I often wonder
What he means to me.
I grow more ‘n more fonder
With every secret that he sets free.

There's nothing special in the way he looks at me.
There's nothing queer in the way he addresses me.
But there is something in those eyes which tell me he's home.
There's something in that 'hey' which makes me content with him alone.

He's never been the one I've pined for or craved.
But somehow in my sorrow or joy ...
its the road to his home, my footsteps have always to forayed.

He's never been my Knight in Shinning armour
But across the raging fires, his embrace has made me calmer.

When darkness surrounds me all around,
His one word spoken swallows the hound.
When gloom haunts my heart’s alley,
His smiles bloom a thousand valleys.

He's warm blooded but searches for songs in the silence cold
There's really no mystery in his way..
is what the passing wintry winds outside his window to me have told

He lets me gaze into his soul,
Tells me stories that give me a roll.

And even though I'm older and wiser,
His each melody and rhythm makes him stronger and dearer.

My hands are forever ready to thrash him silly,
Still his hands caress me like a Lilly.

He’s the tune in my song.
The rhyme in my poem.
The beat of my heart.
The smile on my face.
The glee in my eyes.

He’s all that to me.
And nothing at all.
His love is all I have,
And all I want !!!

Warped & Twisted

Harsh words & violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows
Eyes are open, hands are fisted
Deep inside I'm warped & twisted

So many tricks & so many lies
Too many whens & too many whys
Nobody's special, nobody's gifted
I'm just me, warped & twisted

Sleeping awake & choking on a dream
Listening loudly to a silent scream
Call my mind, the number's unlisted
Lost in someone so warped & twisted

On my knees, alive but dead
Look at the invisible blood I've bled
I'm not gone, my mind has drifted
Don't expect much, I'm warped & twisted

Burnt out, wasted, empty, & hollow
Today's just yesterday's tomorrow
The sun died out, the ashes sifted
I'm still here, warped & twisted

The evening I sat and wrote this verse (actually a lyric for somebody's tune), my friend sat in her room and drew that picture titled 'Sharin's Warped Mind,' whom I hadn't spoken to in sometime. Sweet are the uses of adversity they say.. And this adversity somehow linked two lives together, sealed with a kiss in a single moment. Love ya Sammy T...

Home Sounds...

I've been living in open rooms for so long, I've become used to home sounds and smells. Smell of spices frying, clanking of dishes in washing, television cackle, and intimacy of voices that go humming, talking, hollering, and wailing around. Living in my own small little self-created world of love and togetherness. Been cherished and cuddled a bit too much!

Went to see my relatives on my return from a distant land and when they asked what I wanted to do while in the national capital, I promptly affirmed siesta. Woke up with a start. To the sound of my little cousin in a fit of tears and no mind for a parley. To the sight of my aunt standing with her hands on the waist looking wontedly disinterested. Talk of training, internship, training my voice to mumble with a soft baritone, capture a lower octave, stop screaming, talk of growing media afflicting the nation, inspire oneself to be an element of change, break free from senseless frivolous ego-hassles with the
‘Ex and her’. Getting lost in a world of voices and words, ideals and realism, throwing the romanticist out and welcoming the idealist in. (still can’t find the difference between the two.) Struggling with changing the preposition from ‘I’ to ‘They’. “Don’t be the story. Instead look for the story.” Chanting the hymn of Objectivity, Objectivity, and Objectivity… Feel less, see more. Write less, report more. All while trying to craft a character, all contradicting the training. Keep the ‘I’ in. Feel with the character. Empathize, Empathize, And Empathize. Write, Create, feel…..

Journalist or Writer?? Reporter or Author?? Story writer or Story maker??

Will there be such a time when I won't have to seek in and ask who is to be called at this hour? When will I be allowed to fly south for the winter? Stand at the balcony and admire the neighbour's handsome son, and not look for a story there. Watch a rally from the drivers’ seat and not in the box of spectators? Go for a concert and head bang instead of sit with the critics and analyze the scales, the rhythms, the crowd and the stage. Scream out for a glass of water. Be able to say 'Your place or mine?'

When will be such a time?

My Daddy Strongest!

My Father's Daughter

It isn't about me.

It's about somebody I am not.

It's about him who sees in me a spark of what he once wanted to be. Who is my ultimate autodidact. Whose refractory spirits have always held me in goodstead. Who has given me much more than than the proverbial 'roots-&-wings'. Who has given me the sky, the wind, the soil, the strength to find my own directions, to grow wild-flower-ly, to fly fancy-free-ly. Who fights the big, bad wolves while I pick flowers in the wilderness.He's been in all my hardships and somehow rowed my boat through the stormy seas to the harbour each time.

That's why, I guess I've been content with what I have. I have let my men go to the sea, with this deep unrelenquished faith that they will come back home safe to me.

Someone once asked me.......... Why arent you possessive? Why have you been always so secure? Why do you love boys so much and get so easily hurt by them ? Why is deception so difficult for you to comprehend?

I've always had a father-figure. I've always looked for that secure warmth and comfort everywhere.. I have always trusted too much. I've always loved too much.

In so many ways than one, Im like my Papa, .... hopeless lil love sick angel with faith in happy endings!!!

Victory of the self is to cease to want to be like someone else. It is going to be tough to not want to be somewhat like him.

The Delete Button

Great tool. Comes in handy. Rectangular and sometimes square, but without any edges to it.
No complications.
A finality, rather than a preplexed judgement.
Blocks all inhibitions.
Rights many wrongs.
Wipes away many memories. Offers a clean slate to rewrite again.
A chance to do it all over again.
Forgives many blunders. Helps to forget.
A sense of foreboding is all gone.
No hesitation..........No Shit Loads.........No Miracles ........ No False Hopes............ Only a Promise, to perhaps do it better again or let history repeat itself again....

..... But even if it does, the 'delete' button is there to carry its function out yet again..........

"Honey, would you please take out the trash again?" a hopefull call!

somewhere over the rainbow….

Now & then, comes a song you can't get out of your head.

Drink it on a lonely night, supremely intoxicating. Unlike the cup of wine they offer at street corners. Wistfully step on quicksand and let the harmony wash out sorrow from the deepest pores. In the heart of a nectar spring, taste the melliflous morning. Try to shower it off and it hides within, like vermillion under finger nails. Growing all over, about, around you. The finest vine.

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I try and imagine those hands. That dreamt this song. Those that wrote these wondrous lines. The fingers weaving strings. Pouring poetry out of taut drum-skin. That explained the nuances to the singer. That skim through the listener's palms, giving, taking all the same.

I wish they would write about me.

Such hands.

I'm anxious what about me.

My ready smile, my halting laughter, the flab around my waist, or the one three inches below the collar bone, kohl-ed eyes, unpainted lips, scuttling words, faith in happy endings, all my senses drowned in their creation.

Now & then, I wish you'd write about me.

Now & then, I hope I never have enough of your music.

Freedom!

Liberation is a great feeling. A whoosh down a water slide, a ghush of pure emotion, total abandon to that Sound of Music you love so much, no more is the soul chained and tied, no more are there thorns pierced deep within that narrow mind. No more is this fish out of water.

The caste tore,
The calm ocean raged again with life.
The glass smashed on the floor.
I can play again.

How ironic, I've been looking for it at all the wrong places, where it was right within me all this while.

This afternoon, we make music, my freedom and me.

Open Chords played on Steel Strings
You sing …..

Picking at a guitar

Harmonica resting on your slow-breathing chest

Battered lyrics , broken voice

Straining to tell stories few understand, some relate

Only you feel its pain

You are ……

Steel strings

Of an acoustic guitar

Easily broken , snapped in two

Strummed one too many songs

Bleeding fingers

Calloused soul on rusted time

Tuned you are……

Forbidden notes Dancing fingers playing stealthily

Waltzing on dreams

You are…….An instrument of change , sharing pain

Open chords played on steel strings!!!