Break Time

Of family gatherings and endless pampering
Of mouth-watering delicacies
Of sweets that I never get to eat otherwise
Of mindless shopping and reckless haggling
Of cousins exchanging notes
Of lengthy conversations in ‘oh-so-my-language’
Of adda sessions that never seems to end
Of days filled with celebrations
Of days without any deadline to rush

This was a vacation much different.
No planning. No sight seeing.
Just bonding with the roots I’ve forgotten.
With Tagore songs.
With Bangla literature.
With everything I’ve not done for quite some time.

Indeed my heart cries for ‘more’.
So I’m left waiting for the next opportunity to come.

Nothing is forever.

How true. Gone are the days of Chitrahaar and Rangoli for which I still remember the amount of begging I did or the number of sums I finished half-heartedly in a losing bargain with my dad. My TV addiction got completely cured with time and now when I do get time, I despise staring at the idiot box.
My days of hitch-hiking to college were also short lived as were the friendship I made on my way. Every mode of transport I tried and now the time has come when jam packed busses give me a scare.
My “who cares” days were cut short too. And with it disappeared my boy-cut hairdo and extra large clothing. Marriage finally took me over and responsibilities mellowed me down. Today, I care for every relative, their opinion on my dressing sense, my better halves favourite colour etc…the list goes endless.
The most unfortunate of all is that my foodie heart has learnt to compromise. Earlier nothing less than a Biryani would do for me whereas now a low calorie sub without mayo or cheese suffices. “People should love me the way I am” has died a premature death. And I make every effort to look good and work hard to keep my age a supreme secret.
Wish we would never grow up and let things be the way they were always.

Missing U

The truth is ‘Relationship’ doesn’t come with a warranty card.
Yet, the over enthusiastic heart always think otherwise.
Take for instance, my second hand Maruti 800 which didn’t come with tall promises.
And I never realized that my association with my old car would run deep. Much deeper than I thought.
So, what if it didn’t have any power steering? And I had to gather all my might while steering the wheels when it was fully loaded.
So, what if its suspension and brake were showing traces of aging? And driving uphill always came with the double risk of automatically reaching downhill on a reverse note.
So, what if its horn were due retirement for long? And almost every night after work would refuse to blow.
Still it was mine. Treading through the chaotic lanes of my city S.
Never failing me. Never refusing to take me home.
Today, when it’s long gone, I cherish the odd hours when me and my old car would together travel miles in the deserted lanes, feeling safe in the company of each other.
The day I exchanged it for a new one, my heart ached and my eyes kept searching for the familiar grey.
But it was gone even before I blinked my eye. Didn’t even get a chance to say bye.
All I do is pray so that the old fellow does get it much earned retirement.

Get, set, GO

Age changes you a lot. Says the wisely lot.
True is it, I am made to wonder.
Because I see myself changing with each passing birthday celebration.
More quieter and little to announce to the world.
While people around me are running at a pace of their own.
I simply sit back and gaze around.
Women have no gang-ups with one night stands.
Men are desperate to tie the knot early.
Teenagers exactly know how to grow up fast.
Toddlers start running even without crawling.
This is the new age.
Surely the world would be a much smarter place without my obsolete wisdom.
Everything is changing quick.And I am left gasping for breath in catching up with this change

Too grown up?

To old for that pat of dad’s implying, “You’ve made me proud”.
To old for that kiss from mom’s stating, “I’ll love you always.”
To old for that chat with sis assuring, “Nothing can come between us.”
To old for that wet lick from my dog meaning, “I missed you so much.”
To old for that look from the special someone saying, “You mean the world”.
Am I too old for good old fashioned love?
Why does age have to decide all?
Am I not human enough?

Of beauty minus brains.

Can already hear my male counterparts screaming “who cares about brains anyway?”
And thus enters the new hottie to work. Pats an eyelid and all eyes forget to even blink. Flashes her much practiced smile and all of a sudden sunshine arrives at my office. Even the biggest sulk seems happy. She is the only one to leave sharp at 6 and the only one permitted to come late. But she’s the reason behind the broadest grin on the bosses face. The motivation behind the general well-being of all the male colleagues, so what if she goofs up in briefs or fails to meet the allotted targets? All that matters is that she exists. And a souvenir of her presence, every 3 months she’s the only one to get an increment.
While we, the not so lucky ones console our hearts and scream out loud, “mera number kab aayega”.
Actually men are right, “who cares about the grey matter anyway?” Just keep looking gorgeous if not inherited then go for a series of surgery to look your best aka Rakhi or Shilpa style. And let people declare that you’ve arrived.

The WHY’s I have to reluctantly deal with:

Why am I not skinny?
Why am I not drop dead gorgeous who gets out-of-turn promotion merely on the basis of her looks?
Why do my clients keep murdering my copy assuming I won’t even grief?
Why does the client always approve the worst concept of all?
Why do my relatives keep asking about the good news?
Why do I have to decide what to cook at the end of a hectic day?
Why does the hubby not like non-veg as much as I do?
Why is my dog so fussy about food?
Why can’t I have a Gennie who’ll do all the household chores?

The list is endless. I am sure even you’ve to deal with a lot of why’ssssss in your life. Do let me know of some of the why’s those are just as disgusting as mine?