Feel

I feel like i am breaking,

But i will hold on.

I feel like i am withering,

But i will flower on.

I feel acute anger

But i will smile on.

I feel downright insane

But i will go on.

I feel like i burnt a hole

Right in my heart,

But I will heal on.

I feel like feeling again

But, i don’t know yet,

If i could feel on.

-Subha Ramachandran

affairs I love

What is it about love stories that have women craving for more? Having grown up on a steady supply of Judith Mcnaught's Kingdom Of dreams, Whitney, My love and many such more, I hopelessly fell in love with the idea of a historic romance. So much so that the obsession even got me into a tricky situation, when months ago, I realized I was living this dream. Soon enough this bubble burst and I recognized my folly and blatantly attributed it to Judith Mcnaught!

Although I am practical when it comes to being practical, realist when its test time and a romantic at mind(!) , I cannot help but accept my love for everything grandeur. Dont you wonder that History is romantic? Thanks, but I dont harbour any sentiments of 'crush' on Bhagat Singh or Hitler. But , what I do harbour is to bathe in the glory of the grand nature of everything english. Its sex, raw greed, pompousness, polished sophistication with more than a hint of malice and their easy approval of their myriad sexcapades. I fantasize heroes, although I cant imagine myself as a damsel in distress, purely because of my lack of self-acknowledged-beauty and the works. Damsels in distress are very pretty , also very irresistible. I wonder if i'd ever qualify for that job and hence in a dignified manner I fade my memory of myself as a damsel-in-distress. But, I still like heroes.

Heroes who have horses, who necessarily dont have to be good-looking or vain. They have to be courageous though. I think I attract courage. I like courage . Courage is such a rare quality. I would love a man who comes with a open mind and a big heart laden with enough courage to confide in me his reasons that interests him about me. I have found very few men who are courageous. All of us are hypocrites hiding behind our own curtains , adjustable ones. I met a spineless man and so spineless was he that unless he proves me wrong in my reading of his varying capacity of spinelessness, I will detest the mere idea of meeting men about whom I dont know much. Spinelessness is a quality that percolates the very texture of our finely-built society. Its a quality we are all born without but like obedient slaves we agree to. And now having met people who are masters at this act , I wonder how much I would love to smash such men's skull into two. You must wonder and be amazed if not delighted about my special bias towards men in this piece. But I must say, with much remorse that women are also party to this quality. Its just their way of acting that distinguishes them in my eyes. Men suppress when spineless, women become old when spineless. I hope you understand old here, you do?

I am not cruel by nature, I am quite nice. Its just that I dislike dishonesty.

I am leaving it here. Not articulated it well.

Master of Minds

This is a beautiful topic. I would want to do full justice to it, but even if I cannot, there will be no love lost between us. Again, someday I will attempt to write this topic and wait to know If I have really done any justice to it.

I am listening to Postales from Namesake and I feel like dancing, singing, loving, laughing , and strangely so, evaporating in thin air. What a feeling!

How many of you like to dream ? Day- dream? I love day-dreaming. Day- dreaming is for two kinds of people. They comprise this universe. The one who turns those dreams into reality and the one who doesn't. I can safely say that I belong in both and more so in the latter. Its contrary and its saddening. I am sure If my father reads this post and my acceptance of not being able to belong to the dream turned into reality category, he would be upset. But I seem to harbour no ill feelings towards myself, which is very surprising , considering I am quite self-critical.

You know, I am feeling very happy lately, so I am going to write on something that makes me feel even happier. Master of minds is a simple topic, my attempt to decipher how much I love my mind. Slightly ambitious , but this is also my attempt to make people fall in love with their minds. I know, very ambitious. And, I'd love to know If you have fallen in love with your mind after reading this, or love your mind more or less.

Its been with me for such a long time. Its my witness to everything I have done, I have seen. It stays with me , It wants me. It grows on me, it grows with me. It tells me , It talks to me, It laughs at me , with me, it cries for me and it loves me. It demands no attention, no love, no money, no time, no nothing.No credit cards, no phone bills, no take me shopping pleas, no I don't like your mother and no I need my personal space. Wow! My mind is definitely not a woman. Having said that I also know that its not a man. It is not chivalrous, sometimes it hides beneath the dark corridors of my heart and refuses to let me in or come out. Sometimes it is too scared of my brain. Its love doesn't make my heart melt, its touch doesn't drive me wild. Its not a man.

It is an it. It is a space. Its , I think its a tree. My mind is a tree so we shall call it mind tree. And its not subroto bagchi, but me who is popularizing it here.

The mind to a child
I can dream. I can fly. I can make the whole world mine. I can aspire , I can inspire. I cant locate where it is though.

The mind to me
I have been the happiest in my mind. I have fallen in love in my mind. I have made love in my mind. I have bathed myself in gorgeous blue - green water, looked at the moonlit sky and have felt my beauty in my mind. I have won over you, I have fought with you in my mind. I have gone red in my mind. I have apologised in my mind. When away, I have been thinking of you, falling for you in my mind. I have been talking to you in my mind. When sad, I have been crying to you in my mind. I have been a mother in my mind. I have been a lover in my mind. I have played many roles in my mind. So much have I done in my mind that I think I am quite a success.In my mind. I am powerful, leader-like, superb, beautiful, flawless, awe-inspiring and so much more. In my mind.

I am in my mind so much so that I feel my mind deserves the most beautiful place in my body. Very close to my heart. For sure. Very close to my breast. Sometimes, as a woman you tend to think from multiple locations. Hence.

No, Its not been a great attempt but I am excited thinking of the next time I get to write this topic all over again.

Breast Pockets

Hi !!!
I am so happy. Happy is such an understatement for what I feel. Bloggy , Coochie Coo.. How have you been ?I think I have a crush on you bloggy. You are so adorable.

Enough.

Today we shall discuss a very serious topic. It's breast pockets. This post of mine is dedicated to all those boobs , right and left both that have been crushed under the weight of several small purses that have signalled women's gateway to freedom ! So, who are these women who do not care much about the most-looked-at part of their bodies? Why are they so keen to stuff them with atrocious looking wallets containing money with a silvery zip? We shall find and arrest them. Oops , then we would have to arrest almost 95 % of India's rural women population and the rest 5% can be covered by the urban crowd who show similar insensitive tendencies.

Of what I have observed the breasts almost always seems to pocket money. Money in thin plastic covers, in small rexin purses, in the knotty end of an old worn-out handkerchief, or money just hiden in itself. The beauty of this system is the ease with which women plunge their hands in and out of their blouse cups. Take money, feel its presence, count it silently and tuck it back into the safety of her blouse.

Now there are two types of women in this stuffing category. Some who only stuff the left sides of their blouse cups, naturally denoting the easy access of the right hand to the breast pocket. Some who stuff it in both the right and left sides of their blouse.

Money is held very close to the heart , literally, in this big country of ours. A women's most trusted possession her breasts, which she coyly hides from the rest of the world is her safest bet. She trusts those breasts/ blouse not to betray her at times of need. When the husband is piss-drunk and searches the house wanting to take some more money to satisfy his thirst, the women knows no place in the world can escape the man's sight. But , she hides it in the most common of places, a territory where the husband has unlimited access. Yet , very rarely would the husband notice and even if he does , don't you remember the famous dialogue 'Mere Girebaan mein haath mat dalo'. Smarty, 'Mere izzat pe haath mat dalo' comes when its not the husband!

This breast pocket might also give some nostalgic memories of their childhood, when their mothers, loving aunts would shyly dig their hands in to their blouse cups , remove a anna or two and hand it to the school going boy, or the ever-so-beautiful village girl to have a candy, fruit or to buy imli, ber or star fruit with salt and chilli on it. Umm.. mouthwatering!

While travelling in the crowded second-class compartment of a train , the child on seeing a candy man pulls the hem of his mother's saree and that is when the heart connects to the breast pocket and throws a command in the direction of her hand which on impulse reaches her blouse cups and suddenly stops short of taking out the money. You ask me why ? I will tell you. It does so because the moment it touches the breast pocket it realises the gradually decreasing weight of the purse inside and the brain decides otherwise. Then all we hear is the screaming and wailing of the kid all along till the end of the journey.

Some may also remember the scene from Monsoon Wedding where the maid, Alice tucks Dubey ji's business card in to her blouse and we can see the ever-so-enchanted Dubey ji played by Vijay Raaz staring loving at Alice for her generous gesture. A gesture indicating love and union in Dubey ji's heart.

A man loves his conquest over this area. When he owns it , he rightfulls makes it his own. When he strays to own one , he either ends up demonstrating a cruel conquest or gleefully becomes the owner of many.

A woman finds it precious, sacrosanct , almost a necessity and happily opens the gate to the man whom she perceives loves her the most.

That's what it is Ladies and Gentleman. The Breast Pocket.

P.S: This entire post is written on the assumption that all women mentioned here are in a sari and blouse. For thouse who are not, the bra is what saves the day, although I may not want to discuss that.

P.P.S: Should this post be called Blouse pocket instead of breast pocket? What do you think ?

Lourve in the train !

I am in no mood to discuss this at length. I am blogging, listening to Aaja Nachle from Monsoon Wedding and I really understand why I like this song so much. It is because it represents celebration like no other song I know. Yes, coming back to Lourve in train. Lourve is no word and I must admit that I am getting better with each passing day in making up these 'Hey-I-can-use-this-in-my-blog-words'. The word here is just an extended expression of the word Love . The one in which you roll your tongue, touch the tip to the front set of your teeth and shrink your eyes the way bollywood heroines do when they want to invite their balam close to them !

Did you try that ? Haha.. Acha hain. Ya . So why am I blogging about this topic? It is because this is the most recent thing that has caught my fantasy. I went to drop ma off to Thane station from where she would catch the netravati (Every malu kid ought to know this , it is the kerala train and it also has a humble cousin called Jayantijayanta!). The moment the train arrived at platform No. 7 , the erstwhile desserted platform, house to flies, beggars and sensous looking gajrawallis with laali, I could sense the gaze of numerous men hitting me. A good number of these must be thinking to themselves , if this girl's gonna be my neighbour I can atleast gape in peace. Won't have to search far and wide to locate one decent girl who's gape-worthy(yes , one of those words!). Disclaimer : I don't look like Helen of Troy but I am not that bad , you know.

It is a game that only patient people can play. Its not for the footloose. You have to concentrate hard. Be alert. This game is for those who believe in 'real' love. This means that , they have a special appetite to think they are faling in love the instant they see a girl (potentially good-looking). There are many like this and please don't call me biased because I have known plenty of girls with the same 'special appetite'.So this applies for them as well. Now the rules of this game are simple.
1. You better learn to stare , stare in a loving way.
2. Smile and laugh as often as possible (more applicable to the girl)
3.Be aleart and be aware of the potential threats (mostly consisting of nagging mothers and serious fathers for the girls and suspicious wives or overfriendly brothers/mama for the guys)
4. Count the number of times you can acctually encounter him/her-toilet, get some fresh air, casual roaming etc etc.

And last but not the least , use all of these instances carefully and aim at the target. This could be a sure shot formula for a scandal in the family, but, well, people never learn you know. The girl will still be coy and inviting in a repressive manner and the guy will be his usual confident self, trying to be a hero in the train, by winning the card game, playing loud music, and by just being confident for no specific reason! See, there are times of role reversal and I must say it's quite a sight. The day goes in casual staring /gaping /brushing hands, elbows (if nearby)/ getting acquainted with her family (if , belonging to the same breed) and much more than this. People do innovate.

If a long distance train , then the nightime is quite the action time, where stealing kisses, tickling, passing love notes , pinching in the ass etc is common practice. Oh! How can I forget sleeplessness for the shy and meek. If it's a short distance train (read 24 hrs) then well, the night time is the last of those private moments. Young guns prepare themselves to say goodbye to each other. Some intelligent ones do exchange phone numbers and well, I am not sure If something happens after that. But for those who have managed to spend all this while in quiet submission of the fact that they are not going to meet each other ever, its the end of one stor of 'real' love for them.

The next will start in the return journey, whenever it is.