As a Friend said...

I walk like I am on a hunt. Its intimidating to unsuspecting males/females.

This is the same woman who once told me she considers her body to be a burden sometimes. With its millions of problem.

I looked in the mirror today and found those extra curves in my butt and around my waist and on my arms. I realized that I don't mind them.

When I was growing up, my body was one of the most mysterious things I knew. Far from unraveling and exploring it, I shied away from the mirror, covered myself in clothes far too large for my body, and put on glasses. I greased my hair with coconut oil, and refused to feel pretty. Too miserable in my own gloom, I used to think I was unlovable and that was the way it was going to be. Thanks to the upper body that refused to subside. Or the lower body that never seemed to get "right".

I grew up under the shadow of my mother. Literally.

The family unanimously agreed on her prettiness. She was the very beautiful woman. I used to think so too. My mother was, and probably always shall remain, the most beautiful woman I know.

But I never found her to be the most incredibly attractive woman. Strangely enough, the definition of a firm cheekbone attracted me far more than the delicate turn of an eyebrow, and the strength in a staunch pair of shoulders made me feel more happy than a submissive pair of downcast eyes. I grew up to stare at my self in the mirror, squaring my shoulders, lifting my chin, and walking on straight, without an apology for being who I was. All beginning at age 15 when I realized I needed to be proud, and not ashamed of what I was and who I was.

And thus began the walk. I still walk, shoulders squared, straight, without apology. I know that my body has thousands of problems in it, fitness and otherwise, but I somehow realize that they are all mine.

And I am quite proud of it.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins...

"Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?"

---------------Eliot.

I follow the light and darkness is never further from me. I live my life like a lovesick clown in a bittersweet cartoon. I merge myself in the darkened alleys where I search for sudden piercing screams that fragments the silence that now chillingly wraps itself around my soul.

And I ask myself what I have become. And I constantly feel the dread and the despair which folds my self up with this haze of pain and forgetfulness.

And all I need is to be free.

Well....

I get by with a little help from my friends.

It seems hard but I know that I won't be getting this set of friends who roam around in my mind all the time. I will miss them like hell when I stop looking after them, but life is not about making regrets. Its all about making these little memories... which cling like a silver foil, etching and beautifying.

I suddenly know that I am all right now. I may be a lot of things. But these moments... these memories keep me on. People will leave, but they will leave me with the memory that I will have of them. And in this fleeting life of mine that does not even matter mostly I shall have this... and I don't want any more right now.

Of Instilled Ideas

Some people are biased. Some people possess ideas. A friend of mine holds knowledge to be the ultimate key to find happiness. Another believes that intelligence is the best way to assess a human being.

I would like to take this opportunity to let people know that I have been familiar with extremely intelligent people, and have realized they are just as gullible and stupid as those who decided that intelligence was not their forte.

In some places, I have been called rough, crude and vulgar. In some other, stupid has been the order of my day. But I like the term obtuse. I like it because it can lead into so many different conclusions.

While I do not like passing judgments right and left, I do believe that some people make friends with the "Right", the "Intelligent", the "Cool" and the "Happening" and they refuse to see people who does not go with their formed opinions. I have met people who have judged (among others) me and dismissed, and I have taken real pleasure in making them re-analyze and revise their opinion about me. Gives me a perverse pleasure to see people who at first glance would turn away, turn back and smile or even hold their houses open for me to enter.

Somehow this is turning into a slightly bitter post. Its just that, I really hate people who boxes others up into tiny slots based on their race, sex, nationality, individuality, personality and colour.

Typecasts

Or people who are put in boxes.

So someone told me over lemon tarts last night. Black beans are supposed to be good for your health and eating a lean chicken breast everyday will decrease your weight. All this and more I learnt.

Andro called and we were going over the last months between the two of us. Somehow, these last months have flown by and I am officially in the fourth month of my work and have missed work for god knows how long but its okay because I am depressed anyway and its been a long day for me for quite some time now.

But what I realized was she's not changed a bit. But perhaps I have. I have changed myself and its been a continuous process for a while now. Its probably me growing up.

* * *

Someone asked me "Why are you not married?"

I answered, "Because I have found people I can live with, but no one I can live without."

It was an old quote. But I believe in it.


* * *

Randomness is perhaps the order of the day. Sometimes I wonder why is it so important to make things last and stretch beyond their limits. I was so angry a few days ago. I wrote a letter about it to friends, and I am putting up bits of it.

I watched as a guy threw his wife of 5 years out of the house while his girlfriend watched with a little smile on her face. And I had to talk to that frightened, hysterical, pathetic (yes, and i know its true, so there!) woman who took shelter with us for the night. My mother was thankfully not home. I hope this guy dies a most remarkable death one day, slowly and steadily, knowing every moment he is going to, and frightened of it. I can't think of a worse fate for him and i don't think i want to sully my thoughts by thinking of killing this fat, ugly monster. I do not care what she was to him or why he did what he did... but no woman deserves this. No Human Being to be precise.

But Do you know what she wanted? She wanted to beg her husband to come back to her. She could not believe that he was doing this to her but she wanted to beg to stay in that house, irrespective of the mistress. I was SO THANKFUL they do not have kids.

I somehow now feel quite detached about the whole incident. It has ceased to affect me. Now.

In Search of Protection

So a certain Someone told me... Girls should be liberated enough to be protected themselves, and therefore find and get protection whenever required.

"Okay then " I said. "Lets Go."

This certain Someone walked with me tonight to find it.

Here beginneth the epic tale of Panu's Quest for the Divine Protection:

So off we went... me and my friend...

Not in the locality. That was too obvious.

So we went to anonymity.

Episode One:

Pantaloons.


Goddamit!! S said.... they have sanitary napkins but I can't bleeding find them!!

"Thats because you are looking at the cookie section."

"I swear I found them here the last time."

"You never came here before!! You said that!"

"I did at Big Bazaar! They had!"

"Fine!!"

No go. Food, tissues, detergents, pencil-rubber... every section was meticulously looked into. No protection.

Disgusted and annoyed, I approached the sales lady. She was equally clueless, and her mortified pink cheeks were festoons of our temporary withdrawal.


Episode Two:

Jeevan

Jeevan. Ah the Portal of Trusted Life. Bring me the Protection!!

We walked with happiness as the light poured forth from the wide doors. I approached cautiously, with S at my heels.

And there were Old Men.

And there were Middle Aged Women with Shawls and Glasses.

I walked away with S. The Portal of Life was closed to us.


Episode Three

The UNKNOWN STORE

Disheartened, I moved with S to the grounds where she would find a chariot home.

We walked and we walked down the empty road.

And then we heard footsteps.

Men approached.

"Whatta Bum man!"

And my Great Rage began to build up. So did my Determination. I was going to be Protected or Else!!

And then.... Then There was the Store.


Episode Four:

The Purchase

We walked to The Store. There was a Young Boy trying to buy a Cure for Cold. And we waited patiently till we were served.

And we demanded for Whisper.

And then delicately put forth our need.

And met with Perplexity.

The man stared at us and said...

" I am sorry. We do not have that brand."

Nooooooooooooo!!

To be brought this far... and Spurned!!

We were Disheartened. Our Goal seemed Far away. Far Far away.

And then the man said... "However, we do have Something Else!!"

So we made The Purchase. And we were given a concession for our efforts.

And the man Looked as we were Shielded.

And then We truimphantly went Home.

Episode Five:

The Aftermath

Now that we were well protected, we let the story unto others. Women of all times, hear our plight and Protect Thyself. For in Protection you can Rely. And in Protection you can Prevent.

And here endeth our Heroic Tale.

Expanse of Spirit.

Or something that attracts the spirit and sends the soul off to far away, distant places, know, that it is I who am.

It is me who still remain here.

Dearest friend,

I have made mistakes, I have pretended. I am guilty of my sins. But ever since I pretended, and I made mistakes, I became dearer to you, so would you not love me because my mistakes and my pretenses made me come to you and look at you behind your mistakes, and your pretenses? Maybe you can forgive those random thoughts, those silly comments because you cannot bear to see my hidden face anymore?

Maybe I am merely putting myself up for folly. One laughs at the enigmatic speeches I make and pretend they do not know what I speak of. But I know here what I speak of. I speak of the faraway spirits which embalms you in the middle of the day with their vapid presence. I speak of the forgotten who was left inside the dank, dreary skin while you hid.

I speak of all the random places I have seen, talked to, and touched a little part of 'THAT' who speaks to you in your head.

And here I end, leaving on a note of nothing beautiful, nothing glorious.

Dated.

Delusion and dreams. That is what is there. But its all about existence. Maybe existence is a dream. Or a delusion. Or maybe its a certainty. I am pretty non-committal that way.

Speaking of delusions, I believe randomness is delusion's hold to sanctity and sanity. What say you?

You believe otherwise. Or you might not.