Farewell Ebrahim,farewell

Dearest darling Ebrahim,

Why? Why Ebrahim Why ? Couldn't you have waited a little longer. Did the world fall short of space for you? Or were you too incomprehensible for this universe? Maybe the latter.

My heart is still bleeding...it only cries Ebrahim ...searching for you. Come back sweetheart,come back.

You always wanted the world to remember you as 'somebody who not just lived, but showed the real way to live'. Now what does the world have to remember?

The Silence is eating onto me. When they said you died-I called you up, again and again. Wanted to hear you chuckle in that infamous way, saying, "Caught ya." Couldn't this have been one of your pranks? My folks remember you as the prankster. My ma cried like my daughter for you.

What am i supposed to do with all the times we shared Ebrahim? The hours of non-sense chit-chat, your sexcapdes, your girlfriends, your life, your misery?You gave me my first bike ride. You took me out on my first car drive. You gave me my first designer perfume. Not a single birthday of mine have you missed. Now who do I count on to surprise me? We have spent drunk moments on Worli sea face talking of OSHO. Shee!You loved that sick bastard and his fuck all philosophies,but i heard them all for you. I tried and played my part. Or not? How do i even know that,now that yr not here.

When they said you killed yourself,my world stopped. it felt like someone cut off my hands.

I wish you could have seen your mother in her misery-yelling and crying out to Allah to give her her piece of her heart back and she would ask no more- or your sister who kept saying "Bhai, bhai" in her stupor.

What have you left each of us with Ebrahim? We don't want it, we want YOU.

You left your story incomplete pal. Its time for us to pen down the rest.

It takes a lot to choose to be different and you had the courage. You were never a victim of religious banterings,n all friends knew that. You had a heart, only a few knew before knowing you as 'the brat'. You would give a hand and a leg for your mother and sister,they meant the world to you. You always brought a smile onto a wrinkled face, remembered the forgotten people. You cared, my friend, you did. And you did not let anyone know,thats what made you a great guy.

I shall never know the answers to why you hanged yourself. But I do know that I will always miss you. That it will be very hard to make a trip to Pune, when I could not have done it for you. That I forgave you years ago for acting stupid with me.

You're free Ebrahim ,free from all bondage. Sing a song with the angels and tell me which one you liked the most*winks. I'll wait for your call....Farewell

Yours,

Sexy Irene a.k.a Moti

Hallucinating Angel

I'm sittin at my desk-bored,confused,irritated and worst- sad.

To lose a part of you could be the worst feelin ever to experience. Nothing you can do to make it go away-no bantering, no raving, no sleeping,no dreaming.

Tears don tell my tales no more. A shadow of me I have become.

To dream to get what you long for and then long to wake up in reality. Is this a joke?Maybe. Cos everyone seems to be laughing.

I want to laugh again, make me laugh.

Put me to sleep, let me dream.Another dream,please.

Dizzle Dazzle,Hiccups Uninterrupted....

Empty spaces, black faces,
Shadow smiles, wispy images,
Smoke rings, BLANK me.

Faded dreams, staggering footsteps,
Mumble,mumble...talk to me,
Drowning voices, silent screams,
Colours of the world.

A world of my own,
Reality fading to my world,
Losing my balance,
Tipping my glass off,
One more peg-I need it.

I need to see my world,
My colours, my dreams,
I need to get lost,
I need my sweet cauldron of pain.

Groping for hope,
Helping hands to hold me,
Lift my head to see clearly,
No one i see,
But the shadow of me.

Pour me that glass,
Sink in that feeling,
Thru' smothered whispers and
Empty glasses of wine,
I say to myself,
"Ooh baby! I'm doing fine."

Stab that achy breaky HEART

Your first stage appearance-it's the only beat you can hear
Your first crush-you wear it on your sleeve
You’re confused- you follow it
You win-it has a nuclear effect
You lose-it has a whirlpool effect
You run-it eats the life out of you
You sleep-it breathes life into you
In love-it gives you wings
In hurt-it leaves you nowhere…..

Mind: Why ??? why you piece of flesh? Why does my master listen to you always? Don’t you have a place for hell? You do feel everything possible…don’t you feel hurt? To choose you, is to choose hurt.
Heart: Everyone’s different. I’m from a different race. We don’t think and act like the rest. Your master chose me. I did not.

Mind: Why don’t you fuck yourself somewhere? Or probably you did? You a virgin? I’m not. I get mind-fucked everyday. Would you be still be if you were fucked and hurt a zillion times?
They call that stupid, you know…Answer me..you bitch…
Heart : I’m what I am. My stupidity defines hope for many. I still crash and burn…but I’m stronger than you think

Mind: Oh really! Then why don’t you find yourself a different abode…you are screwing me every time, miss fancy
Heart: Mr fickle-minded, why don’t you for once make up your mind. And don’t blame me for your idiosyncrasies…you don’t know what you want…I ALWAYS know what I want.

Mind: Now now now ….who comes up with logic, practicality and sense? Every time I make up my mind, you hustle with me. Have you no heart for your master? For you always bring him feelings of pain and guilt. Because of you, I have to accommodate new entries and memories to an already stashed up house of mine. Where am I supposed to make place for these new memories? Why! you don’t even want to erase the older ones!
Heart: Hey, I would have if my master were a gentleman. But what do I do? I'm born to a lady. She loves to play war with us two.

Mind: So lets play together-fair and square.
Heart: Lets play in circles.

Mind: You are pissing me off! I think I’m going to stab you.
Heart: Honey before that I will kill you with beer and whisky….

PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE CANDY SHOP...

If you were an Arts student (female) or a Life Science’s student (like me) or a part of a fashion editorial team (not like me), you would know the optical satisfaction of just glancing upon some "eye-candy." Yes! All of us ladies out there know the scarcity in our fields (the ones I mentioned above) of such wanted (said in a very slow emphasizing accent), therapeutic men in our organisations.

Year after year, every batch of the Life Science’s Department(read as the female species that included the female profs too), those that passed out and those that graduated to the next class, would always discuss the most coveted topic of boys. We always felt they were less, but on an optimistic note “something better than nothing," while the ladies from the Art’s section always felt we were the luckiest with “sooo manyyy hotttt guyyyyeees”(said a squeaky shrilly voice). And that bought me to wonder- WHO MOVED MY MEAT?

If you are a lovely gentleman reading this exclusive blog piece of mine, you would be enlightened to know this part of us- the breed of not-so-desperate, hard-working, independent, level-headed, and normal women. It’s as simple as a man rather having a swimsuit calendar on his table than a family photo. Oh! The joy of simply feasting your eyes on something that was obviously made for us can’t beat the list of little things that make us smile and get thru the day. We aren’t cradle snatchers, or shameless lechers or a bunch of bored hormones surveying for flesh. We also, and I must add at this point, are very much pleased with our boyfriends, husbands, flings, asexual entities that give us happiness, and last but not the least our families and friends (for singles, like me).

We are also very much surrounded by the latest technology and gadgets, in my case “breaking news”, but I think what we would really appreciate is seeing God’s creation with a dash of attitude, a flash of style and loads of pheromones to get us on that wild imagination. Not that our brains are not constantly on hire. But a lil bit of beauty exercise, I guess, would do wonders for those tired brain cells.

Your non-existence is a topic that finds its way in our lunch time, pantry time and hiring time. You would be amused if you were to see the kind of expressions you got. That is, if you existed in our presence. For instance, the dazed look amidst an important edit meet just while you cross our line of vision, or that smirky smile when you know that potential fish could be your catch(in a hypothetical world we almost always live in) and sometimes that twirling of the hair or the removal of a hair band to set those goldilocks free. Can you imagine you get all of this and don’t even know it? Not that now that you know it, the next time you walk past by us you will notice it. Mind you, it’s an art mastered over the years. Just remember that we are always looking at you or, for the optimistic like me, for you.

Then why aren’t there enough candies? And if there are, then please take me to the candy shop…

Pieces of me...

I looked at myself, again for the zillionth time, in my mirror. Been doing it for 23 years. My face looks the same, a little different over the years. I know of this fact only bcos I have pictures of myself to substantiate this fact. Beauty seems to play hide and seek. Sometimes with thoughts, sometimes with my mind. Sometimes through magazines, sometimes through wise talk. Sometimes, through the mirror. Happiness, her friend and confidante, does the same to me. Too much of play and my mirror has cracked. Is it unlucky? I laugh, well it’s been 16 days and I’m the way I used to be, always the same since 23 years. For that matter, I even travelled Bangalore on the same day and I had a ball.

I look for??? I want??? I’m drifting from my ground. Need a breather. The heights rare are dizzying me out. The levels of unknown moments tick me off. I'd there a world I belong to? I need to be there soon. This place is scary. I’ve stayed long enough and know nothing. Isn’t that supposed to be scary? I’ve lost myself in the process. I wait for that cracked mirror to tell me a different story. But it doesn’t. It remains a cracked mirror only. So I’m sound, the mirror is well-behaved, which brings me to think, people are liars. Or simply, idiots. Then whom do I listen to? I am lost, they are idiots and my search is killing me, the rest of me. The confines of my abode snuggle my thoughts.
I feel like an embryo in my mother's womb- safe, reassured and happy. I walk towards my broken mirror. Pieces of reflection glare at me. Distorted, but its all part of beautiful me. The corners of my mouth, find a smile, a rare moment these days.

In my cracked mirror, I find my answers. The lines are showing on my face, clearer. Pictures need not be taken as proof of my life lived. I see the picture clearly. Expecting a future of answers is a journey made in waste. What options does a hopeless soul have? None, through the mist, you make your way. Ask no questions, seek no answers. Cause life is not what we were meant to live. It’s not permanent. Does an ephemeral existence have any answers? Its life beyond death, that’s permanent. Known otherwise as eternal life, all unanswered questions vanish. After all, birth is only the beginning of death.

DREAM ON…

When Steven Tyler yelled, "howya doin' Mumbai?", I was der....in BANGALORE

Thunderous applauses,flashing snapshots of the band whilst the picking rhythm of bass n drums...smoke, flashlights and Voila! the sweet smell of sex,drugs n rock n' roll....n im wid me,myself n AEROSMITH....


You never reason out why you spent nearly 6k, travelled for 22hrs by bus,get conned mercilessly by auto drivers, stand for 41/2hrs with an injured foot and knapsack, face your fear of heights, literally while flying by a substandard airline that assures you nothing about safety,let alone yr fucking fear and all that for a 60-year-old rocker…that too all alone.yes all by myself.
Haha…well not really, I did travel all the way to b’lore for the aerosmith concert with a bunch of absolute strangers. After a grueling sick journey of 22 hrs odd and with the magic of 2 tabs of avomin(I suffer frm terrible motion sickness), I finally reached the IT city.

OOPs moments
For my FIRST concert, this was the best unforgettable experience not only bcos of the legendary steven or the sexy Joe fuckin Perry, but becos of the few funny instances that occurred for the most rockin event of the year…the first to hit the list is when steve actually addressed BANGALORE AS MUMBAI.
STEVE: Hey India, We Love You
FANS: HEYYYYYY(BLURRR IT)
STEVE: "Howya Doin' Mumbai?",
FANS: not a yell, not silence…jus a weird murmur
Some guy frm the crowd actually screamt, “sutta kar ke aya hain kya?”hehehehe…yea baby I gues the trippin was full on…

The next to top it all was a statue of the lord ganesha besides the drummer Brad Whitford…what in the world was that supposed to mean? Lol I dunno what image India holds for the rest of the world but for a hard core rocker also known as ‘The Demon Of Screamin’, the presence of a god was an absolute antithesis to whatever….again a spontanesous voice yelled, “Saala benchoth, Mumbai main hota toh B**l*s*h*b uski band baja deta..”lol….

And finally you don address in Hindi to yr b’lore fans, taken for granted that fans from Mumbai care four fucks for who says what except that music is their sole religion. To which a stoned fan replied, “Fucker I paid to hear you rock, not speak in Hindi.”

The experience
All in all hats off the Aerosmith’s magical stage presence. It simply is amazing…I was alone yet nt alone…but when throngs of fans hold that one moment in their hearts that take care of all their memories ever created with their songs and couple this with the band’s passion and presence…it defines a magical moment that keeps you enthralled n in one, as part of a something bigger than life. Every fan is unique, majority of which know the birth and life history of their mentors. I know nothing abt the band besides their names. But what I do know is what the band gave to me when I needed the most,that connection to all yr life’s graph lines. The amount of times I hv connected with their songs and the kind of special connections that I hv shared with frnds is something you cant explain,like any beautiful experience. Crooning away to the lyrics of every single number and with every single thought of all my friends bk in Mumbai,times spent with them and moments that you live each time the songs play by….yes I lived a lifetime experience with the most closest band of my adolescent days.

Me, Myself and Irene
And why I did what I did? I love music and am a fan of several groups but as I was crooning my way thru the concert I realised the Aerosmith fan in me. Actually speakin, the whole experience sunk into me not when I was a teenager or whjen I purchased the tiks or even when I was screamin amongst the hundreds of fans but when I was flyin back. For a girl like me who doesn’t even use the office elevator to the sixth flr jus bcz I suffer frm motion sickness, to travel in an aircraft whr I sat all alone, bracing my fears made me realise the fan in me. I reached Mumbai and the faces of my parents were that of the actor Utpal Dutt;a constant expression of disgust and disbelief that their daughter took off impromptu all by herself to a new city, who has given an exceptional definition on “How to get broke in no time for a 60-yr-old.”


I guess for me it was my tribute to the group that made my life so simple and unforgettable. And it was just the rock n’roll for me, no sex,no drugs. (Well what the hell do you expect? I was “alone”)

Fossilized memories

Seven days ago i seen the reality of life.I'm glad i did,jus wen i was abt to sit n analyse hw important it is to conform to the norms of this world,in order to live a suitable life!I wonder if i wd hv realised it all by merely skimming thru the ochre pages of a well written novel,perhaps a best seller or jus flicking the remote button to hear wise nuthings to mk sense of yr self.

I turned 23 abt 23 days ago{well i startd writin dis pc a day b4:)},n i tot i hit it like big time...ppl,moments,gifts,yrs all amalgamated into one cloud of hope dat stayed wid me fer dat day..."woohoo" i screamt in my lil head,not empty i assure u,"im an old lady."hehehe...or was i still waitin fer another bday wisher to tell me otherwise?with the years come the eternal reminders of blissful youth in a not so appealin manner frm yr mother who subtly slips the fact of marriage...it got me thinkin-wat do i need to assure tht my ageing or eternal youthful assurance stays perfectly normal with my thinkin n insecurities?Yes,this is one truth i NEVER share.i'm mortally afraid of wrinkles n crows feet,for dat matter even spectacles...n the last thg u need is yr maternal n paternal aunts whackin the marriage crap into u to mk u understd dat old age(n my undisclosed fear) wd be really bearable wid a companion...

Sunday morning,the early sun shone its way into the living room of the octogenarian Effie Carvalho.Vacuous eyes told a tale of strength and hope and of a lady, who breathed french into everythg she dvelved in.Sitting like in a state of rigour motur,I watched those same eyes that looked at me lk a stranger.I knew of Effie's condition even wen i was tutored by her.But a good teacherr aint worth cheatin,the loss is always yrs...I sat there introducing myself to her as if for the first time.In response i got the vapid look...the maid looked at me as if i was wasting my tim...she was employed full time for the old lady,tho aunt edna,who took me bk home to effie,was happy to play dumb wid me...Her son,one of the twins,was down frm abroad performin the sunday ritual of cleaning the house.He walked past by several times,making me feel comfortable n one wid the furniture,besides his mother who stared aimlessly at the television set displayin a non-descript hindi movie.Nevertheless,i went on wid the usual jabber of my life n then onto the tuition days where i reminded her of her late beloved pulling her legs durin classes...
The carvalhos were a content family of 2 girls,the twin brothers and a diabetic father,now no more.Baylon carvalho always said,"My wife shall forget my name,my daily doses n probbly her name too,but she can never,damn it! forget tht french of hers."This was the constant cribbing of her husband during the french tutions i used to take from her.
The lady who made sure i din forget a word,today was sitting before me not gettin get a word of what i was sayin.an awkward silent moment passed by not until an aged voice in the room spoke..."are you dominic's grandchild?my cousin delphine's grand-daughter?"barring my frozen shock,wre the frozen figurees of the rest present in the room.All that moved were was her carcked lips while her son,sis-in-law n maid looked at nana teary-eyed.It was effie's first recollection.i suppose in years since i left 5yrs ago.apparently,she din remmbr nethg nt even her own.As i left the place,promisin to return bk,thnkful eyes greeted my way out hopin dat i wd keep up to it,moreso fer themselves...
did effie knw dat her son was der jus to see his mother remmbr him fer one las time before she closed her eyes?dat he gv up his time to be wid her?dat her loved ones still cared for her to live on as long as she cd, the way she cd.n all dat effie remmbered was her beloved n,ofcourse French....

I walked bk home.thinkin abt all dat happ.no,i wasnt considerin spendin the rest of my life as a wise decision of my bday naggin...but,yes the wrinkles wd be worth adorning for that one 'beloved'........And 23 will do jus fine...

“AMBI” VALLEY

We search all our lives for that one piece of hope/love/moment. Basically, all our lives we run, run, and run; hoping to find that reason why we are here? Like my friend tanvi’s nick goes- searching for my piece of sky.. Nice TannyJ probably the key word out here is ‘contentment’ and when we find it we know we are at peace, at home. And our parents have always told us to follow our hearts..Yes mom. Yes dad. We are happy till we start off the rat race. And man, as much as we hate it we want to run that blood sucking, soul wrenching, cut-throat, shallow race. Well did we choose to race? (thinking) did we have a choice? Hmm, tricky one.. “No” is my answer. Its like relay. Our parents raced and now the baton is passed on to us. They rest and tell us what to anticipate in the race. They tell us we will be rewarded as long as we can race. We have no bloody clue but we know we got to race. We race. We tire. We are unhappy. But there, we see our loved ones cheering us with praises and bragging our tales..Some of us think “Now I cant leave the race, I’ve got to keep up.” Others think, “I have ran enough, I need a break.” Another set of us scream, “Hmm…this aint enough..me wanna run more.” For those who quit the race, we call them “Losers”. Those who continue racing, we call them “Ambitious”. There are a whole lot of adages given to us participants, but these two categories are my favourites.
HYPPOCRITES!!! Fucking hypocrites we all are. We hate the race. We have been there. We know the truth. How does one draw the line between contentment and defeat? Is it so that the point of contentment when reached defines the point of non-ambitiousness? Who draws the line for anybody? Why has ambition or “the race” being overrated by us, who already know the farce of it? Does that mean those who choose a life other than the rat race are leading a pointless life?
And you know what? Ambi valley will still be there. Losers. Winners. Complacents. All are awaited to be a part of it. And well, they DO have a choice. So SHUT UP and RACE or just SHUT UP.

Drain away, laugh away…away from here, away from me

A ray of sunlight seen from the waters beneath
That’s my wish to see me again
Deep down, I lie, lie so still,
All I can hear the winds from afar
Wait don’t go, take me with you
Let me live my life for me
Myself no more, will I be
Without you, I know no other me
Each day I mask my face
My mind steals a glance
Of the person I once was
And in pain I shrug my shoulders
I laugh away my thoughts
Maybe in vain I’m wandering
A hopeless future daunting
I smell the stale cold cup of tea
Like every morning,
Today too, I pour it down the sink
Wish I could empty
All the sea of fear
Just like that….
Just like the way
A broken barrel of beer drains away
Efforts to stop all gone to nothing
Still I walk up the stairs
Holding onto myself, my light
As the door keys turn
I’m a prisoner to you, a prisoner of yore