Archive | April, 2010


27 Apr

Everybody has the fundamental right to be loved exactly the way they want to be.

Not differently, no less and without compromise.

If that’s not it, then it’s not worth it.


23 Apr

…I’ve been a stranger to myself.

Does that make sense?

If Only This Tag Were Wearable

19 Apr

First up, this little bauble from Kiran over at ThirtyNineandCounting:

She believes I am metaphorically beautiful and who am I to refute it, especially when my beauty lies in her perfectly lasik-ed eyes.Thank ye, kind soul. It’s been a while.

Passing on the endorphins, the Beautiful Blogger Award goes to:

1. Aunty G: A hug from her makes you want to weep with joy. As she is wheeled in for a cataract operation today, I want her to know she is truly beautiful and I’m blessed to know her.

2. The Purple Foodie: She shares a recipe for Rosemary and Garlic Oil Foccacia and shows you how easy it is to grow lemongrass. Enough said.

So that’s that. Enjoy the bling, ladies.


Now for the tag, also passed on by Kiran. The 5 things that disappear just when I need them are:

1. Scrunchies. They’re the cotton-covered elastic avatar of commitment-phobic men.

2. My key bunch. Since I casually toss it aside every time I get home, it decides it isn’t going to be wanted or needed or loved ever again and scuttles off to a grimy corner to mope.

3. Lip balm. This little baby is my best bud, but being the size it is, gets left behind in the last bag I used, so I’m always scrabbling through the inner pockets of my too-many-to-be-mentioned handbag collection. Ditto this.

4. Cabs. When I decide to walk, they cruise past me, flashing their black-and-yellow Hyundainess in my face. But when I’m late and hopping and waving and flailing, none. Zilch. Nada.

5. That product from the stores that was available to everybody and their grandma up until 2 hours ago. Like this smelly oil that does wonders for my hair. “Sorry medum, out of stock chhe.”

I’m tempted to throw in good sense as a sixth missing item, but shall pass this once. Now, who wants to play tag, you’re it?


16 Apr

There is nothing lonelier than lying awake next to a deeply slumbering person, counting moments to the rhythm of their breath.

The Other Side of the Fence

12 Apr

a.k.a. Every Blade in the Glade

Credits: OJ and her Canon PowerShot SX120 IS.

It’s such beautiful weather here… spring! Playing tennis under leafy green trees with a bit of sun and the occasional light breeze wafting by…

~A friend on chat this evening, totally unmindful of the fact that my color resembles the picture’s.

Ryan, this one’s for you. I recommend clicking to enlarge. Sheesh, never mind how that sounds.


8 Apr

Lalit. It is difficult for me to speak. Words halt and shuffle under sentiment and I labor to breathe. All was as usual today when I hopped into a cab and was on my way to the sonography. Dr. D awaited me, it was just a routine scan, there wasn’t much thought to it. The fools they call staff around the place made me pee first and then guzzle four more glasses for the procedure. That brought my total to 14 since noon. I even looked over my shoulder a couple times, half expecting the BMC to rap my knuckles for excessive water consumption. Finally, I was in.

Good, good, murmured Dr. D as the cold gel spread over my belly, the smooth end of the pod bearing down on an alarmed bladder. Just mildly polycystic, she said, as she continued to examine my ovaries. They’re well-behaved, as you know. Haven’t ever been cause for trouble. So I lay back and let her earn her fat pay cheque.

Kidneys, check. Urinary tract, check. Uterus, the pod dug deeper. I casually turned my head toward the screen. Emptiness, naturally, stared back at me. A cavernous space, quiet and unused, minding its own business for three routine decades.

WHY AREN’T YOU HERE? I WANT YOU TO BE HERE. WHERE ARE YOU? WHY AREN’T YOU HERE, WHY, WHY? Half roar, half hysteria, the words flung themselves at the screen. I turned for Dr. D’s reaction. She was dictating away. The nurse in the corner hadn’t noticed anything amiss. The being formerly known as me pleaded with the blackness, willing my eyes to see a shape, railing in unreasonable hunger, consumed by a bodily need no logic could perforate. But baby, you’ll say (and I’ll pardon the terrible pun), you’ve never had a child! You aren’t planning one now either, so why the agony?

I don’t know, Lalit. I wish I could say it took me by surprise. But no emotion save blind urgency was permitted to address me while the virgin longing coursed through my body and held it utterly captive. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The room melted away. Dr. D travelled into another dimension.  The nurse ceased to exist. I did not obey my own body. All that excess water pricked the back of my eyes and flooded mountains in my throat. Atlantis drowned all over again and oceans rose to demand a tenant. For the first time in my three routine decades, it was just me and a baby I wanted to exist. I fear motherhood, Lalit. The erasure of carefully constructed thought, plan and reason.

Back at baseline, I reacquaint myself with consequent emotions and catch my snatched breath. Maybe what happened this afternoon was an aberration. Oh well, now we know I have somewhat healthy ovaries.


3 Apr

That which doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger. want to do the deed ourselves.

When in Haryana

1 Apr

I spelled out my full name to a booking agent over the phone the other day and here’s what followed:

OJ: _ as in _, _as in _, ……


OJ: Hello?

Agent: Are you an Indian national?

OJ: Yes

Agent: Different name, no?

OJ: It’s a Parsi name. Have you met a Parsi before?

Agent: Oh. You are the first Parsi I have ever spoken to!

OJ: Congratulations.

And such it goes. Perhaps now it’ll be easier to accept that tribal status. I should’ve thrown in a couple war cries while I was at it. Pity he couldn’t see my plumage. Tsk.