The Greatest Love Story Ever

"Ours is undoubtedly the greatest love story, Everrr and One day he will see it too!!! ", chirped away this friend I know and adore. Months have passed since she has been sharing regular,live updates of her unrequited love story with me and well as all unrequited love stories go, her's too have had its fair share of the awful and sad parts. What made it worse was that inspite of her regular attempts to pursue (and hence the persistent admonishing from me) she wasn't getting any closer,or better at getting her happy ending. 

Yeah, its sad, but if we push aside the emotions and its tragedic proportions for a moment, her story fits your normal; run of the mill-happening-everywhere-scenario right? Well. In my opinion, what sets her/them apart in this case; is that even at their lowest of low points right now, and, if i may add, a particularly ugly turn, she still choose to believe, that her's is the greatest love story ever. And gosh! the sad drawl and belief she says it with!!! On any other day, this comment would have been swiftly followed with a head slap, square in her face along with exasperated comments from me.But today, I was ppreoccupied making doodles in my notebook and staring vacantly at the doodly circles, lost in my own thing, when i heard her say this. 

After months of hearing her crib,contemplate, plan and pray for Mr.Punk (more like Mr.Junk if yu ask me :/), his time around, I chose to reserve my comments and playful attempts at cheering her up. Instead, I looked up. Stared at her for a second and then another.  And then yet another. Then gave up with an exasperated (and maybe a little exaggerated head shake) and smiled to myself muttering, 'Bloody lovers'. *facepalm*

Apart from my rhetoric reaction to her very usual action, it really got me to thinking.  Doesn't any and every good love story draw sighs and harrumphs over its twist and turns? The classic girl next door love story, the esoteric older woman-younger man or vice-versa. While there are quite a few that don’t comfortably fit the norms(same sex love stories), conversely, also prevalent, are the (preferred) ones with the happy endings, which if i may add, seem as slight as the dandelion—a sunny flowering, a puffball dispersed on a breeze. Ethereal and beautiful. :) Does these microscopic detailing's befit its fate on the love-greatness scale? Just because the guy in question (lets call him Mr. X) chose to stamp on and huff away from the affection that the girl-in-question had to offer, why should it make her love story any less amazing? Hence, even though she infuriates me sometimes with her seeming disegard for everything except Mr. X, Hats off to her dedication to him mahn.  And why not? Why does every love story, befitting to be re-told with fanfare and an air of victorious exuberance,only be the ones with happy endings? Why can't Glorious tales of royal and brutal rejection be a really great story worth being experienced?

Infact, whatever little/much we know about love is through watching the love/hate stories spanning our families as a kid..and the major lessons that started straight from middle school(and how :O ) till date. While in some Love stories, i see butterflies falling for homebodies, others involve dreamers head over heels with realists. Some have more at stake than a trip to the altar and don’t always end up happily. Some invoke the archetypes of myth and fairy tale, diving into the deeper imaginative realms of high Romanticism, a movement enamored of mystery and nature untamed. Others are live examples of the literary “romance,” scarcely true but then again happening all around nevertheless...one that combines adventure, idealism, and courtly love. Some people have one where their love takes them on a journey where desire is set against duty, and where love alters destiny (aww *pout*).

So then,i wonder, among the plethora of real life tales of love, both in the making and diminishing , that we see, hear, feel all around us,which is the greatest love story of all?  Which is the greatest love story ever told? Does one measure it by the amount of time it lasts or by the degree of intensity at its peak?  Do the ones that experienced bigger obstacles or overcame longer distances stake a greater precedence over more of happy memories and lesser climaxes? 

Maybe it isn't really about the relatable-ness other's can or cannot feel.

Maybe there are no 'original' nor 'trite' love story. 

Maybe it isn't about the circumstances at all.

Maybe it isn't about the comparable-ness either.Whether its between people or in some instances, one with God. 

Maybe i am using too many "maybe's ". Am i? Okay, don't answer that.

But what i am trying to say is, maybe there isn't a single greatest love story. 

There are NO rules which makes any love story good, bad, a success or a failure..in whatever form, shapes or sizes. 

Whichever circumstances. 

Maybe the greatest love story is simply the  one you own.

Needless to say, I smiled pensively and suggested a walk to the newly opened dessert place nearby. After all there's nothing like  Winter-Icecream-love to go with Musings.

The Traveller's Itch

By no means involving scratching of any sort, i am referring to the hypothetical condition that both affects and fuels a wanderer's soul. The traveller's itch (or as i like to call it, the Cant-Sit-Still Syndrome is an actual condition and can be incredibly devastating. And by that, i mean BOTH incredible AND devastating. Incredible memories and Devastating financial repurcussions. It has affected millions of people before and after me and as a classic example of " been there, suffered that " by your's truly, i guess the only probable cure, is to succumb to it and indulge in travel's of varying magnitude and duration. Infact it's the lifestyle of my Dreams.

Scratch it and it will scratch you right back

Places i want to go, apart from Vatican City , Istanbul and Antartica
Tokyo- CHECK!

My once-every-2-month traveller's itch struck again two days back. Of course, as expected, coming back from Hampi and Coimbatore had left me with a sense of restlessness. It's hard to go from everyday being an absolute adventure, full of new words and people, to something a little bit more routine. But it's all about perspective. Because a few weeks ago I found myself lost in my hometown, Kolkata and I could have very well been in a foreign city, I was so lost. This one particular street with tree's forming a canopy that i came across was so effin beautiful that I stopped and took a picture. Amazing ! Because this was the Kolkata I grew up in yet there's so much of it I have yet to see. My whole life, and yet, this little street I'd never registered in my memory. Or maybe, living away for the greater part of 4 years is what it took for me to notice these things. It's as if you have to leave in order to come home and see what's really there.

Over the last few year's, I'v wandered through culturally intense and rich places like Amritsar, Kathmandu, Pokhara, Benaras, greater parts of Japan and lately, Hampi. But the Insane desire to keep exploring never goes. Infact  i vow to live by the ocean someday.It's so easy to picture myself running on the beach with my cute dog and getting home just in time for breakfast after an early morning surf session.Yep, that sounds ideal!

 One of my very favorite songs -- Anchor by Mindy Gledhill -- has a line that says "I am nearly world renowned / As a restless soul who always skips town" and the first time I heard that line it struck a chord deep within my heart. It definitely spoke to me. As cheesy, and pun-ny as it sounds. I am a restless soul. That's the truth.

Discover yourself as you discover the world :)

However, this time around the itch resurfaced in the single most inconvenient time, where it became the background ( in cant-miss-it-RED-hues) of my current end semester examinations (drat!). I am NOT good at holding back hence, I find myself talking to my conscience every now and then, explaining why i cant take off right now. Why i cant just stand someplace wildly beautiful or charmingly desolate in awe, in wonder as i wander. 

I throw questions at myself and answer them right back, until i go tired and postpone the idea of just packing up and leaving. After all, I approach the end of my postgraduation and for all i know, academic life. I am (Read: Supposedly) in a season of transition, a time of learning, growing  and preparation. I'm not sure what for exactly (23 and clueless, yep that's me :D), but I just know that this is a vital phase that would decide my future. 

With such idealist line of thought on loop, I once again placate my heart to hold on and stay put..Stay put for a few more days before i can get back to photography, tasting varied cuisines, trekking, laying on beaches, eating chocolate and drinking copious amounts of red wine *sigh*. 

Till then, in-between, this is what keeps me going on

Google : For places i can fuck off to next

Coffee : While i Google and ogle.

Books. All kinds. All topics. All the books.

Family guy: happen's to be my TV fix as of late. On repeat. Every night as you fall asleep.

Gratitude: And expressing it.

Writing letters: The good, old-fashioned, stick a stamp on it, push it through the mail slot kind.

Music. As often as you can. As loud as plausible. Singing along. Old school ,Old Classics (Spare me the new crap that is being dished out lately.

Though the temporary distraction does the trick at times, i do know that the itch is here to stay. And honestly, I am quite thankful for it 

#continuousloop-ItchandScratch

For the Love of Tiara and Smith&Wesson - Part 2

                                                 

Though the Tiara fetish hasn't diminished by any means, another, albeit an unrealistic one (so people say) has firmly laid its roots in my head. This brings me to my other love. The .22 mag 9mm Smith&Wesson

As the word 'fetish' implies, the subject of fetish need not have practical or sensible undertones. Yet, I do have my reasons for its acquisition. Apart from the obvious empowering and
sexy-to-hoot factor,it boils down to three groups of problems: safety concerns, instructional difficulties, and emotional considerations. Of these, safety is the most important (and most often overlooked) aspect. And i admit, these considerations did catalyze a certain sense of intimidation as to how I would go about achieving the seemingly tall order of pointers. But, once the myth surrounding how 'petite girls like myself  cant take the recoil of the gun', was busted, I was ALL up and about googling it, self educating my self about the calibers and specifications that are available out there.

The initial search itself made it clear to me that, contrary to popular belief, a woman’s physical size (or lack of it) has VERY LITTLE to do with which caliber will be best for her.

So basically, tiny little women with great big grins on their faces , have been known to hammer away with full-powered “manly” guns, while conversely, inumerous instances of sturdy-looking Amazon-woman types wincing from what can be considered to be a mild recoil, have also existed. It is ony the Size of the firearm that does matter.  For instance, a gun that fit the hand of that sassy hunky badass protagonist I saw on television quite well, might fit MY hands like socks on a rooster.

Anyway, so ever since i checked the 'Physical Barrier as a deterrent' off my 'Reasons-to-NOT-think-about-firearms' motion, I have wanted a .22 mag Smith&Wesson.
More than ever, for more than a year now . Yet it's the one thing i can't really include in my "Shopping" list. All i COULD do was choose and figure it in the top five of my "Someday" list.

But even choosing it does not come easy nor random by any means. When a gal tries on wedding dresses, they’re ALL pretty, and white, and they make you look like a princess. But there’s ONE that causes light to shine down from Heaven and the angels start singing and you know that its THE ONE.
Same thing happens with guns! They’re all kinda cool looking…they go *bang* when you pull the trigger, but every now and then you’ll run across one that makes you shoot straighter and gives you that feeling of an angelic choir in full “Laaaaaa!”

When that happens…..GET THAT GUN!!! Or, Specifically,  in my case, Get THIS BABAY!

http://www.smith-wesson.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/Product4_750001_750051_765962_-1_775662_775655_757896_ProductDisplayErrorView_Y

:)
SOMEDAY.

P.s- My ultimate fantasy Selfie has me in my whole "Canvas-Shoes-Sparkly Tiara-Striker-fired 9 mm Smith & Wesson M&P Shield-in-a-custommade-holdster" Glory , living the secure and armed lifestyle.

So colour me Pretty
In shades of the Moon and the Sun
Picture me perfect
Armed with a Tiara and a Gun

Never saw me as a gunslinger girl, now did you
Among the Cutesy Pink Gloss and All
Well,prepare to change what you thought you knew
Cuz, dang, You dint know me at all.

For theLove of Tiara's and Smith&Wesson's - Part 1

I have possessed four of them so far, at different ages, gifted by different people, and with different sensibilities involved, but every single one of them, have made me feel like an heiress every single time i have got'em. 

Yes, Heiress :) - The kinds who acquires it when inheriting isn't an option :P

TIARA #1

ICKY-POO

Self Acquired

From a railway station i believe, where my impatient eye caught its cheap plastic chin-sty glint and pointed at it with my chubby fingers, mumbling -  "Muje Chaiye".

 My folks were in their - "say no- then negotiate" phase (which they never really seemed to outgrow till date), so quite a bit of drama, and 25 bucks later, i finally got my hands on it and clutched it as if my life depended on it.

The ULTIMATE  three way Tiara, it was. No wonder i was totally kicked about it.

A Click of a button and it lit up with snazzy burst of Loud blinky colors while "kambakq ishq hai jo" gave it the final touch of crass royalty. I named it Icky Poo and loved it to death.

Its was like living the Tiara Dream :D

The dream did not last long. It lived it's last magical moments at some kiddy party(most probably mine :P) where a bunch of annoying kids took it upon themselves to use it to push prod and eventually break it, much to my teary attempts which ended with me furiously bawling (yes, i cry when i am wayy to pissed). I have looked for a similiar thing since then, but couldnt find anything quite like my Jhingalala Icky-Poo Tiara.

TIARA #2

3rd MONTHIVERSARY (YEP, I NAMED IT ON THE OCCASION)

Was from a someone i was dating. So,one day he randomly crept behind me, covered my eyes with the palm of his hand, and in complete Bollywood ishtyle, intertwined a bunch of Balloons and a smallish dirty looking box in my open hands. A sucker for surprises, I was smilling like a nincompoop, anticipating all sorts of things that it might have. He had me beaming gleefully at the Balloons itself, until my eyes almost popped off at the shiny piece of prettiness that the box held. Yes, i got the crazies. No, He dint look surprised. In fact he had a satisfied expression, as he looked on at me acting like a loony 5 year old mad clown while over the next 15 minutes i took regular turns in jumping about the entire place, wearing it the whole time and humming lightly to sitting quietly in awe at what had just happened.

Much later, I found it hurt all over (read : snapped into two) as i unpacked after our shifting and fould it in a very precarious state. 2 Cellotape bundles and lots of disgruntled comments from me later, i salvaged what i could, keeping a mental note of carrying it on myself if i ever shifted houses again. 

My exquisite Princess-Crown

It still reminds me of that day.

It still makes me smile.

TIARA # 3

PRINCESSA

My adorable Sister, gifted me this tiny tiara crown that was so beautiful that I almost cried, first emotionally and subsequently due to the sudden realization that i now possesed an absurd no. of tiara's for a 20-something Science Graduate. Needless to say the latter reason wore off in minutes.

I wore it on my away-from-home-in-a-distant-land Birthday in Japan.

My Tiara crown with my Magic (I got proof, so non-believers, you can suck it) Wand.

Jealous Much? :D

TIARA # 4

BABEL

Handmade, with pearls and patience and love by two of my awesome Friends.

Gifted on my Birthday this year. It came with a Delish cake and everything. Made me go into a verbal diarrhea of "wtf, this cant be handmade"  in amazement until i realized it was all mine, and that was all that mattered. WOOHOOO it was SO sassy and elegant in all its pearly white glory :) Ofcorse it brought out the retard kid in me. Yet again.

One of the best Gift ever. Pearly and Priceless.

I still have it and it figures, along with my wand ofcourse, in my things-il-grab-in-case-of-a-fire-list! 

Yep. I am cheesy and i know it . LOL

But no matter how much i love myself in the whole Tiara glory, for me, the ULTIMATE Princess-de-elegante will always remain Princess D. Nobody could carry the tiara off quite like her. Maybe because Both were equally equisite and therefore complementary to each other.

                                           Amen to your Immortal Beauty

                                                                 

                                             

For the love of Tiara's, Wand and Smith&Wesson's - Part 1..... To Be Continued

The Totally Unscientific Chronicles of Systemic Memory Relapse and associated Maddening Disorders

We all have had them. One time or another.

The bad timing case.

No,i am not talking about situations where trite  lines like "its just bad timing-if its meant to be it will eventually be"  are cited, a saying to which i would personally love to retort with a smirk and a "please shove it up your ass" if i ever hear it. 

I am talking about instances where our choice puts the other options totally out of the picture. No option of "may eventually be" or feeble "what ifs".

So we choose, because what we have and what we now want to include don’t perfectly align at that time.(*eyeroll* stupid strategy )Choose, NOT because we would rather lose in a cause now that could someday triumph than to triumph in a cause that we know will someday fail, but simply because we don't want to take a leap of faith.

Then, if the cons outweigh the pro’s of our micro-scrutiny of the entire situation, we cop out. Step back.  Play safe. And we justify our choices while we play safe. We build up walls. Higher.  Stronger over time. Till it convinces us that it is high enough to block that path. And we sit complacently for awhile, satisfied in our warped view of how things will be forgotten and we will let go of it.  And they eventually do. They are replaced, by everyday. Life, as we know it, gets in the way and hurls other major turning points as we move on and stock up on fresh memories along its course. And soon the wall becomes so blurry that we don’t even see it anymore. Atleast that’s how it was for me.

Then.

One day.

One piece of long forgotten piece of paper.

One random song.

A small inanimate thing I had tucked away.

One glance at the vaguely familiar area.

Just ONE of the above.

And BOOM.

That does it.

Moments of pure, unadulterated, unrationalized maddening urge.

Instantaneous.

Systemic.

And there it looms. Darker than before.  That wall I had built. The wall that had blurred away to obscurity till that very moment. That wall. 

Crumbling unabashedly, unapologetic and involuntarily. Paving way for a flood of memories. Memories  I thought i had tucked away to oblivion . And yet here they come, getting under my skin, piercing through every molecule of my being , stirring up all the moments right till the build up of the climax of that chapter of life. The maddening blast from the past catalyzes the rude wake up call – that I had let go… while vestigially holding on.

Now that the wall has crumbled, this time how does this end?

Is it the end? 

Or the right time?

And if it is… Is there a right time to undo the wrong things for the right one?

Misplaced Anger and Displaced Emotions

Sometimes I get so pissed at the small things while shunting my mind away from the big one's. 

It has taken me years to stand up and say I deserve better. Years to say “I’m so angry that you didn’t treat me better.” So many incidents before I could just stop giving a flying fuck about what repurcussions my reactions may have. But until i reached that stage (and thank goodness I reached that stage), i used to take it all in. Just because they were coming from near and dear one's (or atleast I assumed them to be).

So it was mostly incoming from them.. through all the harsh words, broken promises and the false beliefs that warped my worldview. And I accepted them out of whatever misplaced belief i had. But good God, the rage I could summon at a perfect stranger who drove precariously close to the sidewalks. Like, dude, this is not your road, other people walk on that thing you are barging on, if yu have a car drive like a freakin PERSON or dont drive at all yu piece of driving shit!

Clearly, I needed to work on spending my emotional energy more wisely. 

The question is, have I ?

You are all i am and hope to be, Ma:)

A BIG cyber hug and tons of birthday wishes to one the most beautiful and remarkable woman I’v known in my life. The most honest person I’v come across, an awe-inspiring perfectionist, and hands down, the Bestest Chef ever and so much more.

Life flies by and we find ourselves thousands of miles away from the ones we love. It is especially hard on birthdays when we want to simply pop in and hug you in person and take you out. I know I seem too caught up in my own little world sometimes, (hmmph, Aaj kal ke bacche I tell yu :P), but the truth is, I wish you knew how much you are loved even when those who love you are far away.

Ma, I just made a not-so-awesome version of the chicken curry you make, the other day. :)  I love making stuff that you taught me how to make. Because every time I do, it reminds me of you. I think of you when I fold my hands in prayer or wear  any flowery kurti, because it is SO you.

Mom, thank you over and over for everything you do and everything you are... Thank you for loving me through every tantrum (even though I don’t believe that I could possibly throw fits!), every mood swing (what!?) and anything I ever did that caused you worry or concern or heartache.

Aap awesome ho :) Happy Birthday!

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

Not written by me. but hey, its almost like Leonard Cohen could read my mind while penning this down :) this just...makes me smile..a little sad, yes.. but mostly smile in nostalgia....this song really flipped my troubles away through a pretty hard time  :)

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,

your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,

yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,

in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,

but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,

your eyes are soft with sorrow,

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,

walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme

you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,

it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,

your eyes are soft with sorrow,

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,

your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,

yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,

in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,

but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,

your eyes are soft with sorrow,

Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

- Leonard cohen.

A furry angel,the savage beast and the undefined

 

He towered over them. Savagely, looking wild and yet so hurt…

His eyes, the shade of dark red, were seething. Emanating a dull fervour of ferociousness and something that wasnt just hunger, anger, lust or anything else.

She stayed put, pinned to the ground, trembling as she watched him rip the men apart.

The human instinct in her should have been horrified and appalled at his reckless, scary demeanour as his eyes met hers. And she was. 
She was terrified to the core..  But more from the reasons that may have made him like this...

She  should have stopped.

She should have run for her life while she still could..

But when has "should" made sense in love?

She should have… but she couldn’t.

She couldn't leave.

She couldn't leave him there alone.

Amidst the raw, displaced acts of treachery he exuded..She could sense the flicker of confusion on his face.

Almost as if he was tired of himself, tired of his nature, tired of his cruelty.

He was hurt, she could tell and so was she.. only, she would probably be his next victim of redemption once he was through with them. Yet she had the urge touch his hurt face and take away the pain that flowed like craters on the moon..

And as their faces came closer, his teeth snared, unapologetic, while her eyes widened in fear.. and a strong bout of absolute tenderness..

And just seconds away from a probable gruesome death… it dawned on her… This wasn't the fear of him.. it was the fear of not fearing him. 
Not fearing her death, if it meant his life. 
If it meant his redemption. 
If it meant his healing.

Only time would tell what this beast really wanted.

What he really was. 

But as of that very second, he was her undoing.

The "timing" curse.

Right timing

Wrong timing

Bad Timing

Sad Timing

Is it even for real? 

I think its just an excuse for not accepting the way things turned out. and while it does help when trying to motivate ourselves. it mostly has delusional repercussions. Where we stop being objective and seeing things for what they are. Like the time i chose to be all ignorant while going through the lowest points of my relationship and not addressing the absolute lack of anything in it,  partly cuz i assumed it to be this shitty  phase and partly blamed bad timing for it. 

i mean, even when that low phase hit an all time low and  streched out my feelings like a rubber band and basically made me question my own worth, all i did was be like,*high pitched stern voice* - " Goodness woman, get over yourself, remember the last time a relationship got messed up because you were trying to be over-protective and cautious.. let it be... let things take its own course..gowith the flow.. let the good times come..let the sun stroll in and shine again.. and it will be all roses all over.. And bubbly And happy...blah blah blah..wala walah walah..." 

BULL. CRAP.

Incase you are wondering, The sun did shine. Infact it shone hard and stern and vengeful upon me. 

FOR 4 LONG EXCRUCIATING MONTHS. 

BURNED.

With gory shades of Black.

And blue. 

And sore. In a non-sexual and Creepy way. Where i recieved a blood written threatening letter from the guy and scared the hell out of me.

 Just becuz i was looking for the good times to come along and and make our world pretty again. So much for waiting for GOOD Timing. 

So there might be a million reasons or there might be just one, behind why my relationships did not see the happy ending they initially swept me away with. But bad timing? can never be one of them. 

When you are in love, the basics do not need waiting upon NOR working upon. Its already there, giving us eebie-jeebies every once in while, making their loving presence felt. Making us hold on. Love on.

And, unless that basic feeling is there there ISN'T any point in holding on. there ISN'T  a good timing or bad timing to break up. Just do it. And this is me basically talking to myself and getting this through my thick head full of fairytale mumbo-jumbo. 

When you really love someone, it is simple.

You deserve something amazing. And so does he. And, it might seem a lil scary right now but i am gonna be there and i will totally impersonate Gandalf's booming voice everytime i say "shut up"  to each of your faar-fetched fairytale notions. I promise. Pinky Swear. By the power of sisterhood. Honest.

So fuck timing and just DO it karishma. Do it and the hit the shopping stores already before the sale runs out!

FairyTales

 A Beautiful Princess.An enigmatic Prince,
An Enchanted Palace. A majestic King
Whimsical Subjects. A viciously seductive Villian and of-course the Knight in shining Armour
Delicate. Flowers. Vintage. Magical. Sparkle. Dainty. Lovely. Colorful. Natural. Candles. Love. 

There is a part in all of us — a sliver of innocence left from our childhood, lying dormant — that comes alive when we read a good story, watch a movie, or experience art.

That  part that still believes in fairy tales.

I adored fairy tales as a child. 

I still do, actually. 

Mysterious dark forests, wishing wells, enchanted princes and poised apples and glass slippers not to mention, adorable animals who speak – what’s not to love? I think I always felt, curled around a volume of Hans Christian Andersen or the Grimm’s collected stories, that there was a little bit of magic hidden away at the heart of every story.

Of course, they come with thier share of darkness too. I remember sobbing over the fate of the Little Mermaid, who for all her efforts couldn’t make the man she’d fallen for, love her back. And then there’s the gruesomeness – the evil king/queen ravaged by jealousy/greed with heads rolling, feet cut off, eyes put out. In some ways, these are probably the original horror stories which have survived the decades of editing and euphemising in order to make it more child-friendly. As a child, though, I don’t remember ever being troubled by the physical violence in the tales. It all happened, after all, in a land far, far away .

I love the older darker cruel-ler gruesome tales as much as I love the cheesy ones that end with happily ever after (but I loathe that I do, but as I was weaned on Grimm and Disney, it’s ingrained). 

What I love is that fairy tales are that they are living and evolving.  They are survivors. They change to suit society’s needs. Originally they were cautionary tales warning both adults and children alike of the dangers in the world. Each tale would change with each reciting as the storyteller would embellish and adapt the tales to suit the audience and keep them enthralled.

The thing that has remained with me the most from my childhood love of these stories, though, is that sense that there is a little bit of magic hidden somewhere within them. Fairy tales, once unleashed, take on a life of their own ..  There are still some paths that, once started down, you never know where they might lead . . .

Science and Silliness!

When blue sparkly nail varnish sits pretty under the microscope! taken as an undergrad student :)

Magnification --- x100

During the maddening 3 month long internship i underwent, the only way i got through it all was by amusing myself with experiments (including the kind that could blow up half the lab) of my own. here,I used nail varnish in the lab when making slides to stop the glass coverslip from moving and ruining my precious dissections. I have been using it ever since for sealing the edges of slides to stop them drying out. Although it’s not as good as some of the resins scientists used to cook up themselves., but so far good. How pretty it looks :)
In exhibitions one can  see slides made  100 years ago with samples that are still perfectly preserved – not sure mine will last that long!

LIQUID COURAGE

Memories......among other things, they can induce chuckles of laughter, tears of pain and reflection of lessons taught and learnt. Either way, where-in small doses, they drive us to be happier and wiser, in large doses, reliving those very same memories has the power to consume. The past month of my life has been exemplified by the latter. Memories of my family, my friends,and Mr. You have been a constant background presence among the blur of everyday. The past one week especially, has seen me think about Mr. You more that ever before.

The following is about him. The thing is,unlike before, this past week has seen me allow myself to miss him. Not too much, and not for too long, but sure as hell miss him.Miss "US". More than once,in ways more than one, I have found myself thinking of our devil-may-care friendship days. Barely friends and rarely in touch now, I sometimes wonder how we landed up here. Which is basically nowhere.

After 4-5 days of this quagmire of why;s, why not’s and what if’s doing random rounds in my head, i need distraction.One which preferably would bring an end to this. So i turned to the two things that have unfailingly been my aids-in-distress and distraction since time immemorial.

Girlfriends.

And

LIQUID COURAGE.

Considering my fucked-luck, finding myself  looking forward to heading towards the  simultaneous mix of both of the above later that evening, wasn’t surprising. Shoving aside my lazy pant’s, I partied with friends, jived to the throbbing shrieking-down-my ears music with crazy dance moves and a glass of chilled beer. As it warped my perception, I could feel his thoughts dissipating with my every  twist and every turn to the thudding music emanating from the boom-box. I laughed with friends and posed and laughed again till I felt totally silly and inappropriate and random.

I felt like myself again. It was amazing. Liberating.

The action for distraction seemed to be working, and would have,  through its entirety,

Only, 

the party ended, like all parties in Bangalore do, by 11-freaking-30. End to the fun dancing, and being silly for the night.  Heading back home, I went whatsapp happy, and “hey you-ed” Mr. You.Somewhere between my jumbling words and fumbling spellings I did the ONE thing that the evening was supposed to PREVENT me from doing.

Cardiac-Outpour-Arrest   

“I wish yu all the awesomeness this world has to offer

I really do. 

Take care you"

The irony?

Well,what should have been a moment of “dafaq, what am I doing”  was more of a …”hey-why haven’t I done this before’ moment. I felt at ease. I felt at peace. The lifted weight, albeit a tiny part, of the chunkload of unsaid words I had piled up, had a cooling effect on my warm cheeks in the cold night. All this peace, when I hadn’t even begun with the ‘things-i-want-to-say-but-wont’ thing properly.

Yeah, sure, next morning upon reading my transcript of shame, my last-nights-besotted face was replaced with a disgusted one. Reading his coolly detached replies to my whatsapp-word-vomit kicked the “ Dafaq!! What, was I thinking" jazz right in. Through my gut.

 Sure I mumbled a curse or two. TWO freaking months of whatsapp abstinence this is how I tear it down. Drunk texts! knowing that it worse than drunk dialing. Drunk texting is evidence. Incriminating evidence of embarassment!

#KILLMENOW

But deep down, the lingering feeling of peace stayed. Evidently, last night’s liquid courage had won over my embedded inhibitions. And ,clearly, my lowered inhibitions had whooped my elevated ego’s ass. Like MAJORLY.  But somehow the only resulting collateral damage was the feeling of relief. And it seemed, this time around, it wasnt a sign of damage after all. It was a sign of salvage.

MY salvage.

#FeelingZen

Cant keep you in

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet. -- William Shakespeare

Written for a dear friend

I breathe you in

a whiff of life

Feel you diffuse

and fill my mind

Induced rush of blood

Renewed surge through my head

Your whiff soaks through my heart

As life imparted  to the dead

Head thrown back

I gently close my eyes

Let it work its magic

As you save my life

Locking and unblocking

Throughout length and breadth

Teasing and releasing

Spanning width and depth

Sinking deeper in,

It’s hypnotism grows

Exhilarating every cell of my being

 I seek you more

Alas, deceptive air,

Your ringing elation

Metamophoses to throbbing

Pricking, a  stinging sensation

Second by second,

In pieces and bits,

It corrodes and devours

Your toxicity hits

Sudden panicked heartbeat

It begins  to clog the mind

Constricted breathing

Its viscosity slowly blinds

air to mist,

Mist to smoke

Smoke to poison

Poison to choke

What filled and thrilled

Suddenly burned and blocked

Sucking life and blood

and osmotic shock

Once exhilarated smile vanishes

As life slowly drains

Once a face of serenity

Now contorted in pain

Hands; struggling and spilling

Eyes blurry: under the shadow of death

Self preservation kicks in

I cease to  hold my breath

Tears running down my cheeks,

Body struggling about,

Gasping for a breather

I choke you out