Love

I had always wondered what being in Love felt like. Not the love that arises out of friendship or family or familiarity. But the sort that encompasses all of the above and yet is so much more. The love that arises out of holding hands, strengthens from the stolen kisses, wavers just so little due to the first fight, grasps on to all the metaphors it can find. The love that is hearts and arrows and cupids and what not. And now that I know what it is, I feel lucky.

At 22 years old, I am no early bird at the Love Shop. There are plenty who think they have found it sooner. Some who have actually found it sooner. But plenty more who are yet to find it. So, me no comparo. Love is  a divine feeling. I concur. But If I did, I might just be in the 69th percentile. How? Lets just say a lot of analytics has gone into this number. Along with a lot of pubescent googling.

But that's not why I feel lucky.Sooner or later everybody finds love. Atleast their definition of love. My mom and dad found it in the rigidness of  an arranged marriage. A cousin of found it in the longing of her husband living in the Middle East, trying to make a living. Most people do find love. As for me, I found it when I tried to find it. "umm, what?" I will explain. People say love will find you. No it won't, If you wrap yourselves in a cocoon, It sure wont. You need to make an effort. A tiny step. And sooner than later, you will find love.

Then why do I feel lucky?
I feel lucky because I found her. And she taught me love.

Megamind

A villain who is a villain because he could not be the best hero around.
This movie is so damn awesome.

Good Length Delivery

Dedicated to Chandler Bing's latest show GoOn. Its not F.R.I.E.N.D.S good, but then nothing will be.  

GoOn uses sports to make sense of life. As has been attempted here.

A "good length delivery" is a type of delivery in cricket that pitches at a distance from the batsman that makes it difficult to score runs. Furthermore, such a delivery is difficult for the batsman to judge whether to play on the back-foot or on the front-foot.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_length_ball

Every person who has padded up, picked up the bat and walked up to the pitch knows about the lure and the terror of the Good length delivery. Good length deliveries in the world of cricket is rare. Few come by.You get to play fewer still. An it's an honor if you get one.

A good length delivery is essentially one that makes you wonder. Do you go for it? Or you just stand back in your crease, And watch that delivery cruise by. And you wonder was I capable enough to tackle that.

You see the ball and you are made to think, Should you make an effort go on the front-foot and try driving it for a boundary.And possibly losing your wicket.  Or you just stay in my crease, safe and sound. Thankful of the fact that you got to see a beautiful delivery and wait until a loose one comes around.

And then you are reminded of the last time you tried your hand at the Good length delivery. You had waited, observed, planned and then took a bold foot forward to bring the bat just in time to meet the ball.You had expected the ball to race to the boundary, what you got was the opponent cheering and your wickets castled. And then a long tiresome walk back to the pavilion. 

And failing, will not be heroic. You will be tossed on the top of a pile of castled batsmen. Openers, tail-enders, pinch-hinters, middle order bats. You find them all in the heap. So on top of being a failure, you get to be a cliche too.

You get scared.

But the lure is strong. You want to try your shot. Not because you have to. Not because you will not get any more scoring opportunities, you have few and you will more. But because you want to.

And you "think", Fuck Let me go have a cigarette. Atleast, for now.

The art of "Confrontation".

Confrontation - The only thing in this I have always run away from. And no I am not running away from the physical kind, where you get to land a few blows and wake up with a swollen eye, these kind I love. But the sorts where you have to explain what you feel, why you feel, why do you feel hurt/betrayed/anguished and then watch the person uneasily squirm.

But first things first, why am I blogging about this? Because I realized that by running away from these confrontations (even the little ones) I was also methodologically ruining every relationship (all sorts) I have.
Confrontations provide you with an opportunity to express, make understand and comprehend yourselves
Processes that are essential for maintaining any healthy relationship.By not expressing myself clearly in the hopes of avoiding a (yet again) confrontation, I am missing on the benefits that confrontations bring. Did you go "what benefits? do tell!!" Pray, read on.

Why do I run away? Idk. Extremely short and sweet. I have no freaking idea.Plain and simple. Truth, vitriolic truth.

I have seen people around me, use these confrontations for their benefit. Used them as pedestals for going from strength to strength in a relationship.And not just relationships, in an organsation, the slightest of confrontation, here and then allows you to walk with a swagger and exclaim boldly "I may not be the boss, but yeah I fought with him. What did you do twit?".

Did your brain go, "Oh yes, that might be true.But confrontations helping in a relationship, no way!! "

A curious case but the curious things about confrontations is that they always happen in public domains whilst the patch-ups always behind closed doors. So the confrontation unnecessary as it may be, allows for the creation of a private audience. Oh, If I might say a few unwise words not only I will be allowed to apologise, but also add on a few add on words.Interesting?

Well, I dont particuarly understand how "The great human social experience" works, I just know that confrontations do play an important role, maybe like the ladders an the snakes and ladders game.

The evening.

He was glad, happy maybe. The gods had made sure the weather atleast was pleasant. Rain and the slightest of cool breeze. What could be more romantic?

"I can't say a YES, And don't want to say NO", she said.

She looked sideways, hoping to see the reaction.
He just sat there, all passive, showing no evidence that the words had registered.

I might have to repeat that , she thought.
As she curled her lips, his eyes moved frantically, he jumped up.

"You what? Does that even make sense? I might have trouble understanding that when I am normal, let alone making sense of it now!"

She smiled, he waited.Silence.

"I cannot tell you how much you mean to me." He started, knowing the strength he had found was only momentary,and silence was one thing he dreaded more than this moment itself. But also realizing that in his eagerness, he had made the most cliched opening possible.

"Quick, repair the damage", hissed his brain.
"But isn't that the truth", whispered the heart, knowing it had no logic or reason unlike the brain to sooth itself if the dream it had so vividly built, remained just that, a dream.

But what should he say, the boy thought. He might be in love with this girl, surely he could tell her how much she meant to her. After all, it always worked in the movies.

"And I know that I am just the nice guy in your life, but I can be more.You say I make you smile, I wanna make that smile permanent. I wanna be the one constant thing in your life forever. And you say things have not worked before, I say it had a reason. It was I who was destined to be with you.Being with you is all I want."

He waited, looked away an then straight into her eyes. Should I take her hand, he thought. And smiled a little, surprised by his boldness. No, her hand is her's to give, not this to take."Still wanting to take a morally upper-hand, after blindfolding a girl into his proposal trap. But he couldn't have lived in silence either.This was better. Like Martyrdom", he had thought .

He continued, "I dont know why I feel the way I do. I have never fallen for somebody so hard. For months my day has started and ended with yours. All I thought was about what you said, what you had meant. Why were you quiet? All those times you asked how was I able to see through the fake smileys, I wanted to tell you because you were all I thought about. "

He paused, wanting to go on but not knowing how much to say. "That guy" he had gone to advice for had said, "Maukke pe Chaukka". He had laughed on his advice then. He should have asked for a clarification.

The two beggar kids meanwhile had sensed an opportunity of making a quick buck. "Swoop in on a couple during an intense dicussion", they had realized was an easiest way of making a ten-er. If only they knew what was going on, they had sympathise with him. There was absolutely no "couple" thingy right now. But he must have liked the similarity, for he handed a ten.

"You dont have to", she said sternly.
"Aage chalo", she said.
She continued, "Everything will change...."

But he drifted off. Begging was so easy, if  only love was too.Looking up at the kids, his gaze fell on the other "couples". Somehow all of them seemed so superficial to him. We will be better, he dreamt. He had felt her pull, the void that occupied her place when she left. And yet he was confounded by love.Not even sure if it existed. How could he, when he was yet to find it. Atleast the types shown in movies.


".......butterflies in my stomach...."

His thread of thoughts snapped, butterflies in her stomach, that ought to be good.
And he smiled,  grinned , maybe all his dreams were not in vain. All that time he had cursed his looks, attitude, demeanor;maybe all was not lost. Maybe she liked him too.


She caught that smile, cos she quickly corrected "I really do not want to be in this position, I do not want to have to do this. Things are good, why do yo want them to go bad."

"They won't go bad, I promise"

"All guys say that...."

And then he knew. He will never be what she wanted, it was not his fault but there was nothing he could do either. He had got his answer, it did not matter now what she said. He had realized. Pain, shock,numbness. He could not put into words what he felt. The brain had shut down, the heart wished to jump out and prove once and for all, how much he cared. But the brain registered nothing. Months later when he pictured it again as it was just happening , he felt the same feeling. Suffocation, helplessness, the wish to cry at what he had lost, but also laugh at his bold attempt.

"yes or no", he asked.
"why", she said. "anyhow I will lose a friend."

"I am not sorry for feeling the way I do. I cannot go about being friend with all these emotions bottled out. That would be cheating your friendship.I had to tell you. So YES or NO??"

"Can I have some time"
"You already know what you gonna say, listening it on a phone will not make it any sweeter for me."

And the day wore on, with nothing new said. At last,he saw the lips curl and a NO whispered.

His brain, all too intelligent, blocked it out.

The good thing about bikes is that you are so busy accelerating and saving your life, that all else is left for opportune moments. It was that night I relized bike riding can be addictive too.


                                                                   ***


"Gods were pleased with you, the weather was pleasant. So, what did she say"
"We already knew ", he replied.
"And you still went ahead?"
He smiled.
"You gave her the poem? I liked the font.Can you send it to me."
"Bro, you are more excited about the poem than she was."


                                                                    ***

Blogging - The art of saying nothing

What do you write when you have nothing new to say or no new perspective to present. Do you just write about anything (as I am right now). Or you wait for an opportunity when something brilliant strikes you, but in that case too, a brilliant idea and a brilliant blog entry are two very different things.But waiting for the idea  will defeat the purpose of blogging (that for me is to vent). This paradox I might say has left me confounded. And also left me in admiration ( jealousy maybe??) of the blokes who turn in new matter every day, each similar to the last one, each justifying the idiom new wine in old bottle (sort of like Ashton in two and half men, which I am afraid to say nowadays is like half men and don't bother). Makes me believe the per-requisite to writing is no longer the desire to express, but merely state.

And this in spite of the fact that half of the folks I know sooner or later label me the creative kinds. Inspite of it I feel it very hard to blog every day (so I sort of understand the anguish you are in write now dear reader). To blog, I need to have a topic to express upon, but most importantly a viewpoint(however unbaked!!) to state and express. The sort of blogging  (must I add "mostly" or the few people I respect might get offended) that takes place today is a statement of views, not even lucid expression.

I do not have anything against freedom of expression, but what I believe is that in the constant chit chatter that this sort of blogging generates sometimes overshadows the voices that need to be heard. The ease of blogging has corrupted writers, no longer are the long hours spent on redrafting and editing, no endless deliberation on tone and style of wrting, writers no longer are exasperated when they cannot realise which of the two synonyms to put in an sentence. and well this sort of trend (so to say) helps writers who are just testing the waters (I had like to say, me for instance) but at the same time it brings doom for writers who might have otherwise turned out to be exemplary, but couldn't as they fall in the rut of daily postings.

Maybe, there's a point in all of it that I am missing. Well good for me then, blogging away, one day I might just find out.

Ram-Sita-Ravan triology

Dazzling lights, painfully loud-makes your ass cringe sounds.

That's how the Ravan effigy burns, well, sort of blasts in India during this part of the year . A very weird tradition must say and a very clear example of the victor defining history.

For the uninitiated, Ravan was a scholarly king who had won all the realms in the universe (whatever name you would want to call them, I leave it to you). Ram on the other hand was exiled by his family (under equally queer circumstances) to "van-vaas" or 14 years of forest living (so to say). Now after an attempt at flirting by Ravan's sister aimed at Ram, Lakshman (Ram's brother who god(will that be Ram?)-knows-why accompanies him to forest).........

Umm, got bored. Long story short, you already know the story.

What I had to say (before I got a migraine in the previous para while trying to make sense of Ramayana) is how can we celebrate the death of a learned scholar i.e. Ravan in such a fashion, when he did not outrage the modesty of the women he was said to have abducted. And two, would have been called a coward, had he not avenged his sister's insult.

I don't know whether or not it's right? I am a god fearing person and inspite of the fact that I believe Ramayan to be  just a great eg. of lucid storytelling, I do bow down before idols of Ram - Sita - Lakshman (there's some sort of combo offer at work here) everytime before an exam. But everytime before the Ravan effigy falls to ground to the thunderous applause of thousands, I also wish that  Ravan shouldn't be made out the villain he was not......

And as the 4 lone people who read this blog , figure calculated  from the insights "blogger" throws in my face every day, might have realised this blog is about musings of a mind which is happy being jovial but happiest being in solitude (not to be confused with loneliness, solitude is chosen, loneliness thrust.)

For more confused and unbaked thoughts stay tuned.