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

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



Why the bad guy is good for you

Last Saturday -as is my weekend routine - was spent watching movies. I half-heartedly went to watch Rowdy Rathore with someone I hadn’t met for five years and, quite unexpectedly, it turned out to be a ridiculously hilarious evening. What I learned: never say never.

I got home with the intention of pulling an all-nighter. Having heard so much praise about it, when I finally got the download from a colleague, I couldn’t wait even a day more to watch Bridget Jones’ Diary. Also, the colleague has given me a covetable collection of rom-coms to last a good whole month. God bless her.

I started the movie with a lot of expectations from it; and it didn’t disappoint. You just can’t get enough of her and so I stayed up till six a.m. to finish the second part too. I cannot say I like Bridget as much as I like Rebecca (from the second movie). Rebecca is sexy, tall and a super smart lawyer. Mark didn’t hook up with Rebecca not because he loved Bridget but because Rebecca did. If she was straight, you’d have known that Mark Darcy is no saint. Am I the only one who thinks that Mark Darcy is too perfect to be real? Okay, I LOVE how he loves Bridget (especially his “high regard” for her “wobbly bits”) but in this world, there is no Mark Darcy.

We’re more likely to be floored by a Daniel Cleaver first. I think every girl has a Daniel Cleaver in her life; someone who is so charming that he sweeps you off your feet, so sexy that your knees turn to jelly and so shameless that you hate his guts. But in a way, as much as you hate to admit it, Cleaver was good for you. Where Mark is happy with “just as you are”, Cleaver gnaws at your brain, breaks your heart and you strive to improve your life simply as a way to get back at him. Notice how she got fitter and found a better job after dumping him? It’s like a whole new improved life; the sweet smell of vengeance. She needed Daniel Cleaver: to realize the worth of Mark Darcy. And to realize her own worth too.

We become who we are not only by the choices we make but also by the choices circumstances make for us. If that ladyboy hadn’t interrupted them in Thailand, then Bridget would have most definitely slept with Cleaver and her life would have turned out to be very, very different. I am glad they were interrupted.

Because Mark literally traversed the ends of the world to rescue her J

Forever believing in miracles and a sucker for happy endings,

Signing off,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

Our Unspoken Mutuality

Every morning when I wake up,

I secretly hope to myself

That today, everything will be fine.
That today, we won’t argue.

No! I don’t understand you
Each time I try, I let you down.
How can I be there for you,
When you don’t even need me?

I can see that you love me
You really do.
But you love yourself more
And I can see that too.

When you love me, I hate you;
Because I think I’m undeserving.
When you hate me, why would I love you?
So I hate you anyway.

I do all I can to keep you happy;
But it’s never enough.
So sometimes, I get frustrated
And just stop caring.

Not the victim, you’re a predator;
Feeding on my slavery and my fear.
If I’m a burden, a pain, a curse,
Why won’t you leave me? Or let me go?

I lack the patience and love that you need
I’m selfish, like you
And the powerless coward that you call me;
If upto me, I’d run away – leave you to bleed.

Yes, I know. You’re weak,
Sensitive and fragile
And that it’s beyond your control –
Your scathing remarks, the ill-speak.

This is probably what you think of me too
We’ve grown on one another, that much is true.
Ironic then that I still want to love you
Though now I’m not sure what love is.

Maybe it lies in our efforts to stay together.
This is our love – our unspoken mutuality;
I love you
Because you love me too.

- Wannabe Wayfarer.

And he said, "You don't know LOVE"

- Anonymous

PRELUDE: I have a wonderful friend who is quite like me in matters of the heart. We pretend we act rationally and listen to our heads, but in reality, we let our hearts win over better judgment. And most of the times, it turns out for the best.

This rhyme is hers. This story is hers. She prefers to grace my blog anonymously.

It ended. Abruptly I won’t say because the signals were clear. I always imagined myself having these long lasting relationships so a four month thing made me sad.

I cried. Then I crap messaged a friend knowing she would be asleep. And even in all that hurt, I sent him something that wouldn’t make him worry or complicate things. I said, “Adios Amigo”

I wondered. Realized that it had happened for the best. I learned, I grew through it. I was happy and sad. I learned to be unapologetic about my feelings. I learned to ‘do what I want’. And it ended before it went bad.

I realized. I was beautiful, smart and mature. There was every reason for a guy to like me. He had proved that. And that was all I needed to know.

I smile. For every relationship that ends, new ones start and old ones are renewed and that’s what makes living worthwhile.

So I Hope.

What happens in Goa stays in Goa

I lived my own SATC movie in Goa this month. And these are memories that will stay with me for a very long time. Can’t say forever, you know my memory-span. That’s partly why I’m writing this post. I want to be able to recall this trip even fifty years from now.

Some details are scandalous enough to completely transform your opinion of the fabulously “prim & proper” girls I travelled with and came to love. So I take them to my grave/funeral pyre (or forget them, whichever comes first). From the following words however, you may draw whatever conclusion your imagination leads you to:

5 hours at the flea market

“Goan bred”

Mish Mar

Mr. Darcy

Red chaddi hotter than blue chaddi

Lunch with what's-his-name

Humar sajan tumhar bistar?

2 a.m. half-biryani with full raita

Future prediction

Free ticket booth

Confessions

350ml

Medical students’ troop getting too friendly

S being openly checked out

Dress Night!

Belly Dance

Hug-spree

Chronicling my life with the fat gujju & steamy affair with the pool-boy :D

Saving the last glass!
Champoonara

T's leg-clap

Early morning cycle-touring

Grocery shopping, chai samosa & Church-visiting

Nothin' on you, baby! <3

Yeah, we made a pact. To make this an annual tradition. It's Ibiza next I think.

Cheers to all the small joys!

-Wannabe Wayfarer.

First Love

Precursory statement: This is not about my first love.

So, yet again, I bunked yet another class for yet another movie. Ek Deewana Tha today. And the world may give it half a star or none, I loved it. I loved it because it’s one of those movie experiences where I’m stuck to the seat even after the credits have started rolling and the movie itself plays in my head for the rest of the day.

The possible scenarios for all typical Hindi romantic movies (not mutually exclusive):

·         A lot of focus on “You never forget your first love”

·         LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

·         Crazy jobless mawaali woos shy delicate princess

·         Love vs. friendship

·         A happy ever-after against ALL ODDS

There was nothing new or fresh about Ek Deewana Tha. Except Prateik. His dancing skills, acting and just him being so cute in love! For people who’ve seen (or will see) the movie, notice the way he hugs her at the Taj Mahal! ^_^

Okay, less than 3 hours since I saw the movie and I cannot recall the name of his character. But his portrayal of that “i-would-die-for-her” kind of lover is etched in my mind. For the moment atleast. Probably because I’m being very sensitive about love this month. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the winter. Winters always make me want to cozy up to somebody and thereafter realize that my ugly pink teddy bear needs a wash. Only during winters, I let myself go “Aww” on mush. Or when I’m eating a half kg tub of ice-cream.

Re-focusing (though there isn't much of a focal point here), while watching this typical romantic movie on a wintry February morning snuggling my hoodie, there were a few couples who came to my mind. I love real-life love stories and so I’ve heard a lot of them. Some were strikingly similar to this one. More than one was a LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. So fact remains, even if I have never experienced it, love at first sight happens. It’s one hundred percent real and possible. Though, in all the love stories - real as well as fiction- that I can think of, the whole love-at-first-sight emotion is stronger for the man. Because apparently the girl of his dreams is so shy, she doesn’t even look into his eyes. Pfft! I couldn’t be that shy even if I tried. So is the phenomenon exclusive to the ‘bashful boy – timid girl’ pair?

The way he looks at her… sigh! THAT, THAT makes me wish that someone falls in love with me. Just one look, and he decides, “She is the one. The girl I will marry. I love her.” Surreal.

In most cases, like in this movie, the man’s first love is his love at first sight.

I want to be somebody’s first love. Someone he is madly in love with. Someone he will chase to the ends of the world. Someone he will never give up on. Someone who, for him, is his “biggest audience”.

Now, some bubble bursts:

• I don’t think love happens just once. Can’t you love more than one person to the same immeasurable extent?
• Why is the woo-ing and chasing customarily boys’ domain? I want to pataao guys, cheesy pick-ups et al, without being labeled unpleasant things. I want to do crazy things for the one I love. Hmm.. Okay, this question I think I’m answering for myself. I would want to do all those things only if I’m sure he loves me back. Boys are probably more rejection-resistant that way.
• For the normal, non-breathtakingly-beautiful variety of human beings with a zillion things to work out, does love really find us?
• Also, my over-analyzing alter ego, who I try to keep suppressed as much as possible, has a very disturbing theory; that one rarely marries the love of their lives. Most passionate love stories have depressing ends – war, death, or simply (and possibly the worst of its kind), living different lives with different people, away from each other. Apparently, the original EDT has a different ending – one where she ends up marrying a bloke from U.K.; not the happy ending which the audience sees.
• Now that the alter ego is on the fore, might as well get this out of my system: Maybe it’s never about love. It’s just a trade-off. Weighing of options.  The ‘U.K. + parents’ approval + stability + rich hubby’ package probably tilted the scales as opposed to ‘love’. Bleh.

Signing off,

The Ever Optimistic

Wannabe Wayfarer.

P.S.: I do not know how to add audio, but if possible, listen to the music of Ek Deewana Tha. Particularly, Hosanna in Tamil. A.R. Rahman creates magic!