‘Solitary grand moment’

Xpre$$!ons...

I hate to dig my old diaries but only once did I smell the pages and I remember it was the purest way of pressing memoirs close to my heart, but I don’t keep my old diaries with me, for some reason unknown.

Whenever I stand thinking alone, there is this whiff of air that passes by me and it untangles the memories—even though they are missing in print they are etched in my mind.

Every first page begins with my grandma; her motherly nurturing has imbibed in me some good mores, the only reminiscence I cherish every minute I go flashback. I see her sitting in the balcony in a grey sari that she always cared to drape it flawlessly, her hair neatly done, and when I look at her pleasant face she smiled back and sang a religious hymn that I too loved humming. I am on her lap, and there is no one in the house and the ‘solitary grand moment’ becomes my only memorable moment with this ‘grand lady’. She was beautiful, the only woman in my life whom I looked up to with a child-like ogle. The blustery weather seemed to be calm in her stillness presence, no word of wisdom we exchanged, no age-difference mattered, the grand moment went by in its preeminent humblest way.

There were no chocolates for the baby but it was the sweetest moment ever, no video games played, yet playful; no park could create an ambience like the loggia, no ‘thing’, nothing could have presented me a beautiful moment like this one. Humming a song or two was not a chore but a chosen task that sadly did not live for a very long time when the tiny toes stood on its own. There were moments like this, but very few. And there on, the closing stages began to stare, demanding a bitter adieu.

No page can word this moment, its special it its own way and so here I remember the grand old lady who gave me my ‘solitary grand moment’. Love you grandma, miss you!

A battle within me…

There are times when I just can’t accept as true, something that I become most of the times and then wonder whether this was really ‘me’. And then I pacify myself saying, there are many a kind of women in me who dominate one after the other. But I can’t recall the best woman so far…I haven’t lost it, no. It’s just that I love analyzing people and this time my subject is ‘me’.

Having adapted to reading zodiac signs, and people — my favorite of all I ended up looking into my own self, what I do? Why I do? And why I do whatever I do? Then the thought process goes on piling up, it’s madness though but intriguing. Some might call me self obsessed, I disagree! There is no harm in knowing oneself better, and if you are like me, battling many a women in you then you better watch.

And the confusion began with the mystifying woman inside me, she is the one who lays many a trap and teaches harsh lessons in life. I hate to take consent from her, for she never gave me a single solution. But then the problem is eventually solved with the smarter woman coming to my rescue. People I know never realize this complex nature in me for they know that I already have a twin, and we have been confusing them right from the time we are born. It’s fun, but this one is no fun!

I live in my own world and practicality is something I fail to understand, there is this stubborn dreamer within who just rebuffs the idea of realism. May be I should get real. It’s time. There are many a times you wake up with a bad dream, but that does not mean you stop dreaming, and that does not even mean you get addicted to bad dreams. Wake up with a dream to live it, a good one though.

I was caught in the web of real people around, it’s a maze out here and I am heading to my way out. I know I will reach there, for the real world knows no dreams of a dreamer and for this may be I need to surrender these women. There has to be a woman alone; strong, assertive, alert and very responsible. There are times when we have to do this, evaluate, own up and advocate ones’ wrong actions, especially if these unwanted women in you are building castles in the air.

‘I am just a girl asking her boy to love her’

Xpre$$!ons...

This is the best time to write ‘love stories’ when you’re alone, sick and coughing on the bed, to let know your best boy how much you love him. You feel sorry for your state, sometimes you go a step ahead thinking it’s your last breath, cry and tell some important people how much you care and love them. To add a little drama to the whole feeling of sickness, some tears drop in too, and then the whole episode looks funnier after you jump out of the bed and say, ‘whatever was I thinking last night’. And this just happened with me this morning! But I did make a call, and let my boy know how much I care to spend my life with him, how much I wanted him to see my crying face and how much I wanted to see him care for me.

Love, no, it doesn’t happen to lucky people, it’s not of ‘Mr Right and Ms Right, no, I disagree. There is more to it than just saying ‘I love you’. This thought crept into my mind when my dad asked me, ‘why is that youngsters today think we parents don’t understand love? Why are you guys obsessed with good looking, rich guys/girls and call it ‘love’? Why don’t you fall in love with a beggar? But he was right this time, every time we discussed love stories I always thought we knew better than our parents did. And this time I lost the debate, but I did realize that there is a little ‘thinking’ that goes even into falling for a person. Love happens, but before making it happen in the due course we consider many things. The making of a love story is more practical than it does not seem at all.

And when the thinking is over, there are emotions that follow up with some sense of responsibilities. When you’re in love you never admit, and as you enter the beautiful trap you realize the trap is a wonderful defeat and if this is how it feels to be in it, then you would always want to be defeated.

All I am trying to say here is that I have been defeated and madly in love. And I say, ‘‘I am just a girl asking her boy to love her’.