Perception

Every person knows me differently.
Some think I am a sweetheart – the nicest person they know
Some think I am so mean that they make faces at me and go.
There are some who look forward to meeting me
There are others who’d rather not see me.
To some, I am spontaneous, impulsive, happy and bright
Some others, they say they haven’t seen a girl more uptight.

Every person knows me differently.
Some say my life is similar to theirs
Some say they count me in their prayers.
Some shower me with attention, some idolize
Some feign incomprehension, some criticize.
Some think I’m a Punjabi, hence very strong
Some know that the stereotype is so very wrong.

You know me like a mother knows her child.
Not strong or weak, not good or bad,
Not beautiful or ugly, not happy or sad.
You know me, simply, as yours - a part of you.
Like there is nothing unknown between me and you.
You know me like the sea knows the sand.
You know me like the back of your hand.

With you, I don’t have to be any person in particular.
I can be a headstrong feminist with progressive views,
Or I can be a princess who needs to buy too many shoes.
I can be dirty and disgusting; or I can be sexy and clean.
I can behave however I want – decent or outright mean.
I could smile like a doe or I could frown like a monkey
You will still caress my cheek and tell me I am pretty.

It is not easy to be with you - I have to be myself.
All that practice of having to live up to expectations,
Being nice with the nice ones; smart with the sly ones
Pretense comes easier to me than just letting myself be.
When you walk towards me, it is the reason I can’t breathe.
Because standing across you, I am nobody else, but me.
With your unflinching gaze – there is nothing you don’t see.

Emotions come crashing in bursts of hysteria and madness.
As though a massive dam guarding my energies was just bombed,
Every bone in me knows - for this breakdown my heart had yearned.
As my tears surreptitiously seep through the fibers in your jacket,
They seem to dissolve my ego - that cheap, sugar-coated packet.
The feeble walls that hold my pretentiously steadfast resolves
Crumble and tumble, leaving me no choice but to face my flaws.

Each time you amble into my safe-house, you make room inside.
You de-clutter, you sanitize and you clear it up for good measure.
That’s not all. Each time, you leave behind a sparkly new treasure.
You pin-point, you nit-pick, you taunt, you laugh and you tease
And in a fit of giggles, I bask in the attention as you try to appease.
My heart still stops in that moment; but from then on, it is quite easy
I am finding myself with you because that’s who you want me to be.

 

Let's make it count

What makes life good?
What makes you smile?
What matters the most to you?
What makes your heart yearn?

A reason to go that extra mile
A reason to stop and smell the roses
A reason to wake up happy and bright
A reason to cry and a reason to smile

A cause to believe in
A voice to heed to
A peak to reach
A path to meander in

A pillar for support
A boost of self-confidence
A shoulder to cry on
A stomach to punch.

There is passion worth vying for
A belief worth dying for.
You get but one life
Live for something worth the strife.


- Wannabe Wayfarer
(i don't write poetry)

My Day of Love

For a long while, I only saw the back of his head and sometimes, if I was lucky, a side-face. We sat on diagonally opposite ends of the same classroom. He was the dreamy front-bencher and I was the participative back-bencher. I used to observe him quite intently even before we started talking. I noticed that he doodled a lot. He’d always be scribbling or sketching in his notebook, never looking up from his desk, not even to acknowledge the professor’s presence. There was always a pair of earphones nicely hidden behind his long and shabby hair. I thought he was genuinely cool. When we first saw each other face-to-face, I tried so hard to make an impression, he confesses now that he disliked me then.

The year our paths crossed was the same year we chose to walk different ways. He moved to another city and I got busy trying to make money. The first time we really met, just the both of us, was the night before he was to leave Mumbai. We shared paani puri and awkward silence. But by the time we were to say goodbye (with an awkward shake of hands), I was hoping with all my heart that he’d stick around for just a little bit longer.

That was four years ago. He did stick around. With subtle gestures, harmless prods and seemingly inconsequential nudges, one at a time, patiently, diligently, he made room for himself in my cluttered heart. And he’s made it clear – he is here to stay. I don’t know exactly how or when it happened; maybe it had started from the day I first saw the back of his head, maybe it had started way before time itself or maybe, like a platinum love band, it simply has no start and no end. We were, we are and we will be.

There is warmth in him, a comfort in his presence. We’re wound up in each other – we couldn’t keep away even if we tried (and we have tried). They say that you’re nobody till somebody loves you. He believes in me – and that gives me strength beyond all else. He can see through my pretenses and he can break through my walls – I am most vulnerable when I am with him. I am also most protected when I am with him; he guards me fiercely.

Every moment with him is my wondrous day of love – an eternity, a legend. I fall in love with him all over again, every day. Sometimes, it’s in the moment where we make up after a fight, because of the falsetto he talks in when pleading with me to forgive him. Other times, when I don’t see him for months, it’s while watching the sun set over the sea; the beautiful memory of our first sun set together washes over me as the sun reflects a million sparkling diamonds. And every morning when I wake up, I know that there is no morning that will ever match up to our first sunrise together. Most ferociously, it is in those tiny moments that we share – when he walks towards me and the closer we get the harder it gets for me to breathe, when he looks at me with a fire in his eyes and my heart stops beating, when I look away and he softens his gaze, when he kisses my forehead and when my smile lights up his face.

Vivek and I celebrate 19^th September, the day of our first kiss, as our day of love. He kissed me on my forehead on a railway station moments before he took off for Delhi. He lives in Pune now, and we meet off and on. We fight about almost everything and are constantly planning for the zombie apocalypse, among other things like our bedroom wall.

Glad i finally wrote about us,

Thanks to preciousplatinum.in & Indiblogger for this motivation!

Signing off with a big smile,

Wannabe Wayfarer :)

Meeting the Other Woman

See :)

Got published in Tamarind Rice

I performed this also,

at Poetry on the Big Mic Vol 29

Tell me what you think!

 

Also, someone marked my last post "indifferent". Who are you? Come forward.

 

-Wannabe Wayfarer

The hair is always shinier on the other head

Girls with curls want to straighten their hair and those with sleek hair want curls. Classic case of female envy. That's what beauty salons feed on - our insecurities. We women are quite self-conscious. Those who claim you're not, who are you kidding? We use the rear-view mirror inside the car only to re-apply lipstick before we get out.

I have naturally straight, black hair. The length and style varies countless times in a year depending on the seasons and my unpredictable moods. Most recently, I also added some colour to it. Every fortnight, I get bored looking at the same reflection in the mirror and then go do something drastic with what I can experiment the most on - my hair. Once upon a time, I had long hair. But now I just don't have the patience for it anymore. Thanks to my habit of oiling my hair (or so we Indian women believe), I have had no complaints of dry hair. Even after I bleached sections of it to look like Nicki Minaj.

Anyway, I got a bob cut six months ago but it didn't seem shocking enough to make me like what I saw in the mirror. Therefore the colour. This is what I looked like then:

 

Now, the burgundy/pink is almost all gone and the straw-colour of the bleach that remains resembles a manjaa (a thread which is used to fly kites).

How many times have you ditched a social gathering simply because your hair didn't agree with you? I bail on 70% of the outings I get invited to. In hindsight, I rot at home 90% due to silly reasons like - my hair is not shiny enough, it is falling flat today or I look like a beaten-up Rihanna (no offence, Ri.)

I now have an award-winning and rather hassle-free solution to these vanities.

A Ramp-Ready Hairstyle at home!

In fact, I had no idea that my beautiful mane makes heads turn because of my simple trick while shampooing! I took for granted the extra volume my just-washed hair assumes and retains for at least two days thence. (I mean, isn't everybody's hair supposed to look fabulous after a hair-wash?) However, only after a slightly jealous friend asked how I managed a voluminous look did I realize that my way of hair-wash is not known to many.

So, here's what I suggest you should do too:

o   This works well with any good shampoo. Just do what you always do.

o   To rinse it off, however, while standing under the head shower, turn your hair upside down and face the floor so that the water falls from the nape of your neck to your forehead.

o   The last rinse, most importantly, should be with freezing cold water in the same face-down position (cold water gives guaranteed shine to your hair)

o   Conditioning is a must because it is essential that you do not have knots in your hair

o   After you're done washing, don't rub a towel on your hair to dry it

o   Simply wrap it around the upturned hair and squeeze the excess water

o   Keep the towel wrapped. You may leave it on while you get dressed, do your make-up etc for the big party.

o   After all that is done, face down again, remove the towel and use a wide-tooth comb on your damp hair in the same upturned position only. Comb from back to front, neck to forehead, preferably directly under a fan.

o   Ultimately, turn your head up and toss your hair back with a flourish

o   Do not comb your hair now. Simply let it dry.

o   Use your fingers to set it in place, where needed.

o   You can use a hairspray if you so desire to lock the just-washed hair look.

Voila!

This works 100% on straight, sleek, black and shiny hair. (yes, I show-off.)

For more Ramp-Ready Hairstyles for your hair-type, check out: http://www.youtube.com/user/TresemmeIndia/RampReadyHair

There are awesome DIYs for curly (makes me wish I had curls) and wavy hair, too!

Feeling sexy,

Wannabe Wayfarer

But Most Importantly, Be Mine.

Prologue: Eventually, say when I am 25, I want to get married. Probably not settle down, but definitely spend the rest of my life with one man. This post is for that man. I know this is five years too soon. But this is to remind me what I need to demand of him. I must not be blinded by the fervor and must not compromise on my indispensable requirements. Of course, this may be rendered useless. I will not settle for sub-standard so I just might not get married at all. If in case I do, it is my fiance’s responsibility to read this post.

Hi.

You are going to spend the rest of your life with me. Are you sure? Rethink. Please consider this as documentary evidence of my official warning to you.
If you’re still so madly in love with me, this is what I want:

A humble wedding.

Ever since I can remember, I thought extravagant weddings were the best kind of weddings. As I grew up, I was familiarized with family politics and I learned that big weddings do not usually mean happy marriages. As I gradually attended more and more weddings, I realized I would be much happier with a humble wedding. Firstly, rich weddings are highly inconvenient. I do not want to be an unmoving, over-dressed doll that needs to walk at the pace of an 8-bit video game character on the very day that I want to jump with joy and laugh and dance and not care if the whole world is looking at me. See, my plan is simple:

1.       ALL traditional rituals and functions must be followed. In case you are not Punjabi, I want to do all your set of rituals, too. We are not going to miss out on even the tiniest tradition.

2.       Anyway most of our pre-wedding functions will be different for you and me. We will each be with our respective families. All my pre-wedding functions will be amongst a small gathering of only those closest to me. Therefore, just family. As for you, I am going to trust you to have sincerely performed all your set of required rituals before getting married to me.

3.       A sangeet. I would prefer that to be more or less private, too. My friends and I are constantly editing the song-list. I have already decided the anchor for the event - my maid of honour. So you can’t have a say in that, sorry.

4.       The shaadi – I want pheras. Even outside a mandir will do. Nothing too fancy, please. I just want my pheras and sindhoor and all that jazz. And lesser the audience, the better.

5.       Basically, I want to make just the Reception an open-to-all event. Rest everything needs to be a family affair. Since 80% chance is that you are a Punjabi, our combined family strength will be 800 people. We need to cut it short to 200. That is our guest list for the sangeet. Okay fine, plus a 100-odd for our friends. Reception, you may invite even 1000 people.

6.       I DO NOT WANT US TO SIT ON A STAGE FOR OUR RECEPTION. It’s a reception! Not an exhibition. We will be moving around constantly, touching the feet of elders here, there and everywhere. We will have a table with the rest of the people. NOT a stage. If you insist otherwise, go for the reception alone.

7.       I want to hire a cool wedding photographer and I will not be made to pose with my hands under my chin phonily.

That’s it. See? I don’t ask for much.

Now, here’s what I expect from you once we’re together (since I’ve already chosen you, the disclosure of my more detailed, essential pre-requisites is not needed here):

Say I’m beautiful.

Defend me at all times. Come home and shout, that’s okay.

Don’t leave me alone anywhere.

Be interesting.

Love me, but don’t spoil me.

Travel light.

If I am marrying you, I sincerely hope it is because we love each other. Even my expression of love to you is restrained until we’re married; and I’m yours.

In this life and beyond,

Candidly yours,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

 

So that the bachcha party doesn't get bored