Sunday, November 20, 2011

The Bouganvillea Sang While I Waited For You

It started as a balmy, every day Sri Lankan day when the araliya flowers in my gardens were in bloom. The days were hot and the nights were hotter, the muslin curtained windows were thrown open to coax in the slowest of breezes. The balmy days of a Sri Lankan spring slowly turned into the characteristic humid summer. My parents were cutting mangoes, and the golden juices pooled lazily at the bottom of the plates almost beautifully as we watched a sneaky fly or two trying to get into it. 

Who would have thought that you'd come along? 

My days were slow, sad. Only paced up with those days at the Barefoot Cafe where my friends and I spent hour upon hour reflecting on the shallowest vagaries of life and drinking liter upon liter of beer and in my case, iced tea. The balmy Sri Lankan spring turned into a humid Sri Lankan summer. The beat was slow, temporal. Out of sync, out of place. Summer hardly felt like summer, but it's always summer in our little island paradise. The birds were too tired to sing, it was far too warm. The butterflies couldn't step out, the sun would have burnt their wings into fairy dust. 

Who would have thought you'd come along?

The bright pink Bougainvillea in my garden, violent shades of magenta and orange; they blossmed in full stilt in the harsh sunlight, sining out their colours like an all too eager show choir. They were my mother's pride and joy. I'd spend the days fanning myself in the verandah with a battered copy of the Hi magazine dated three years back and my dogs would be at my feet, so lethargic in the warmth to even raise their heads up from their paws. The spring dragged on into the heat of the summer. My days were punctuated by cold faludas from Bombay Sweet, ice cold Cokes from the college cafeteria and cold milk chugged out of the carton at midnight. 

Who would have thought you'd come along? 

Ice creams melted just outside college as we walked out of the kade that sold Jumbo Jolly. Just when we though the heat wouldn't end, the first drops of the seasonal rain began to hit. A little to early in the year, it was true. No complaints, the heat was unbearable. Warm, cozy Sundays cuddled up in bed, a cold pillow to keep me happy, watching the plant world through a rain streaked window and drink ginger until it almost ran in my veins. The days were cool and beautiful, the streets were rain streaked and full of utter senesless joy. The nights were cold and blankets were soft. The fresh smell of the Earth from my garden as the summer-browned grass drank up the water was intoxicating. The Earth was rejoicing, as was I.

Who would have thought you'd come along?

The Indian Ocean frothed in front of us. The lights on Marine Drive were iridiscent blobs of the prettiest colours, blinking along the coastline of our beautiful Colombo. Back to the summer days of the hot days and hotter nights, with occasional patches of rain to keep us happy. The waves broke on the rocks like crystal breaking into little shards of diamonds, a million glittering points of utter wonder. We watched as the sky is a shade of mostly royal blue with a traitorous patch of tangerine, pink, purple velvet, Barium green or red, showing that the sun isn't totally gone. The lights of Colombo blinked merrily, and seated near the rail tracks of the beach down Marine Drive, we kissed just as a train passed behind us, our bodies shuddering at the thundering noise and impact, your grip only getting tighter.

We kissed.

I was waiting for you to come along.
All through these beautiful summer days.
All my life. 

The Ghost

The blue clothed sky, God's colander
From darker it grows to bland and blander
And through the holes star light seeps
Fading as the ink blue runs naught deep
And in the city,  a ghost. 

The grey walled urban filthy maze
Crones and cultured women in lace
Filth of the earth in the cracks of the road
Grime coated sky, leaden grey load
And through this mess, a ghost

Glowing women otherwise wrinkled
White red faces, frosting sprinkled
Chatoyant jewels, glistening hair
Chitter chatter in the city's fair
And amongst them, the ghost.

Muted colours of the flags flying high
He walks the Earth, the end is nigh
His face saddened, despair how grave
Bound in iron, forever a slave
And so he weepeth, the ghost. 

Upon this Earth forever to wander
Never beyond the hills o'er yonder
Cursed he is, and he payeth his price
Heart broken being, imperfect splice
He roams the crowd, the ghost.

The blue clothed sky, God's colander
From darker it grows to bland and blander
And in the sunlight, a shimmer of white
Barely seen, a speck so bright
Wandereth the lonely ghost. 

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Dear Fairy-Godmother

This letter is in reference to that party I went to, two days back.

I was dancing with this guy at the party.
The very hip, very cool party.
Flashy clothes, all top of the line
Everyone glittering from head to toe.
I was fancily dressed thanks to you. 
So then, the cutest guy in the room asked me to dance.
Of course I said yes.
He was rich, he was cute, he was tall. Why not right?
So we danced.
Everyone watched as we grooved.
Slowly, the dancefloor started filling up and people were dancing around us. 
And just as no one was looking.. He grabbed my butt!
That pervert! He grabbed my butt.
I was shocked. So I ran for it.
Pell mell, down the stairs, I ran for it.
The stairs tripped my shoe and I nearly fell. I was too much in a hurry so I left the shoe and I ran to my car.
And now that pervert is all over the place
Trying to identify the shoe.

That bastard. 


An Ode: Lust, Love.

Breathe and slide closer, inhale exhale, chest rising and falling in a rhythmic beat.
Shy, shyness engulfing the spcae between our bodies, my lips parted to catch the breath I couldn't catch before.
The air almost trying to pacify the utterly inhibiting limits of our lungs, so pointless and un-needed in this haunting, daunting deed.

Your finger tips trace the contours of my lips, down my face and between my breasts, enticing gasps so, slow soft velvet. Your hand running through the lengths of the raven locks, burning flame; an open kiss, along my jaw, along my collarbones, over my heart, lingering lingering.

There will be no more breathing. Rise and fall, rise and fall, bodies entwined in the thousand passions of a ray of light, expression expression. Blue light, moonlight tracing our bodies. Wound in each other, skin to skin, patina of warrmth. Soul to soul, lips to lips. 

Rise and fall, a pounding beat. Steady steady as the crash of the waves. My lips parted, your lips on my skin, moving along, burning a slow trail of fire. Melody your name, in gasps and sighs, in long and winding syllables, a gentle caress on my tongue, your name your name. 

Tangled we are in this web of lust, the oxygen in the room burning into and inferno above red. Human emotions, basic instinct, expression expression. Tangled we are, mind to soul. Two hearts we are, bleeding love into the same glimmering pool. 

Shame On Me.

The laughters and the memories
Were made, sealed, protected.

But what of the laughter?
It will fade in to nothingness
Forever in the voice of the wind.
And what of the memories?
They will be nothing but 
Whispers of times that passed 
Frolicking in the sun
Holding hands down the busy street
Making love in the afternoon
The endless warm balmy nights

I have no regrets
Oh no I don't.

But shame on me
For holding you so lovingly.
And shame on me for kissing you
With my eyes shut so tight. 


Below the fathoms of the ocean blue
Beyond the tides froth churning brew
Away from the grasp of reaching light
Kelp such green and monstrous height
He lies in the shadows, deep great slumber
Skin deep gray, eyes bright umber
In his sleep the water doth churn
Churning until the fiery burn 
Of mankind brings this Earth to demise
Then from the watery depths he shalt rise
But until the day the angels weep
Sleep well beautiful monster of the deep. 

The Knight, The Hero, The Loser and The Phony.

"Knight in Shining Armour" it said
A paid adverstisement on the flat screen TV
Armour colour choices of black or red
Finally someone who was ideal for me

"Hero Upon a White Horse" I see
Splashed across the leaftlet one day
My life would never be as bleakly
If I find this hero right away 

But I was never a damsel in distress
I fought my battles, I stood strong
As nice it is to have love's caress
I would prefer to sing my own song

The Knight was nothing but a loser in tinfoil
The Hero was nothing but a jerk on a pony
Such was the result of my meandering toil
My so called man was a  phony. 

Sunday, May 01, 2011

Single and Sold

You might be a girl reading this, or you might be a boy..
So I shall write this story in both perspectives.
You wake up, the sunlight hits your eye, it's annoying. 
You blink, you check the phone.
You have some GPRS charges messages from Dialog, some Tweet mention messages,
some Facebook wallpost messages.You want to sleep.
He/she calls you. You talk about useless things for fifteen minutes. 
Call ends.
You smile, widely awake. Okay, let's start this day!

You walk around, on the road, with your friends. You are talking, texting, watching the road,
doing the uber-multitasking that youngsters are so inept at these days. 
You have your phone in your hand, you dressed in the usual college life garb;
the jeans, the causal t-shirt, the sneakers and your bag is slung over your shoulders.
There is a boy flirting with you. He notices how your hair shines in the sun, he loves the way you talk.
There is a girl faltering under your gaze. She loves the deep gravelly tone of your voice,
she likes the fact that you can play the guitar. 
Phone beeps.
A message from him, a message from her.
All thoughts of that other person who likes you...
... ah well, they lie flat, like a fallen leaf down a lonely road. 

You are having a bad day. You are frustrated, anger is creeping up on you,
work is piling up, homework is nowhere close to being finished.
You want him to call. You want her to text. 
You stare at the phone.
You are bored, you are not absorbing anything on the white board.
You are far far away from the lecture room as you can be.
Lectures finish. Your day is no better.
You send a random text. 

You come home. You are on Facebook when person from your class comes up on chat.
A boy, a good looking one, flirts with you. A really pretty girl finds you interesting.
You reply like a dead duck.
All the while, staring at your phone, willing it to ring with that name on it. 
Day is winding, you slip into bed. 2200 hours. 
Phone rings, you smile.
You talk on and on for an hour or so, ending the day talking to this person.
This person, who is not yours to have.
This person who makes you feel good,
makes you smile
This person who should clearly sort out their stupid issues
and say "Screw that "
and just be with you. 
Because you and that person, are perfect.
The two of you are so dysfunctional that the ridges fit just right. 
Two broken halves of the same cookie.
You end the call, you end the day.

You stare at the wooden slats of your ceiling,
and think of that boy who flirts with you.
You think of the pretty girl who likes you.
They'd be very happy if you gave them a chance.
Another face comes to your mind.
His spectacled face and toothy smile.
Her soft curly hair and twinkling eyes.
You sigh, knowing that this is how it will be
..for a long time to come. 

Because you are single..
.. and yet your heart is sold. 

Rain and Ramblings

Everytime it rains, it brings back so many memories. I wish I knew why, but I get a deep sense of nostalgia.
I normally sit out side in the verandah and I watch the rain come down.
It's amazing how these little drops of water bring the whole universe to life. The greens of the leaves become greener and the shades of yellow become brighter. It's almost like the rain breathes life into everything that surrounds us.

When I look upto the sky, I wonder where the infinite drops of rain come from. Oh sure, I know the scientific explanation but that's boring. I like to make up my own theory. Maybe there is someone up there, crying? Maybe, just maybe, these crying people are angels? Who knows. A little bit of imagination never goes amiss.

The rain is falling in a steady stream and I love the sound it makes when it splatters the leaves. It's almost like the rain is talking, singing and serenading the world with it's stories. Pools of water form all over the grass and when the wind joins in, the soft chilly breeze that hums around me is so inviting. The world smells so fresh and seems to peaceful.

When it rains, my father likes to sit outside in the verandah and watch the rain, just like I do. I wonder what he thinks of the rain. The dog snoozes on a warm patch of terra cotta and the day passes so, with us watching the rain.

The rain reminds me of my childhood, of my sister whom I miss very much. It reminds me of stories I have read. They say people don't remember things will, but they will always recall how they felt about something. I don't quite remember the stories but I remember how it felt, cuddled in my mother's embrace, making jokes while we watched the rain from the safe harbour of her bed.        

The leaves glisten with the rain water as it washes their faces, dripping off the ends beautifully like little drops of liquid diamond. The dog yawns and I watch the little stones swimming in the pools of water. The gentle pitter patter of the falling water, the smell of fresh soil, the memories, it all overwhelms the senses. It is comforting to retire to bed with a warm mug of coffee but I don't like wasting rain. I love to sit outside on this verandah with my cup of ginger tea and read a good book. Some of the books I enjoyed the most have been read while it was raining. Maybe the continous pound snd thrum of the falling water had something to do with it? Who knows.

When the rain clears up and the world goes back to being it's dry place, I will miss it. I miss the rain, I always do. But maybe it's the ocassional occurrence of the rain that makes it so beautiful in my eyes. Something common would get boring, wouldn't it?
The rain might go away and the world will be dry again, but one will always find the little drops of water clinging to the very tips of leaves, catching the sunllight with proud defiance and throwing their colours to the world; the evidence of a recent rain-fall. I like to think that rain is life. How can it not be when you see the flowers and trees drink up the water so joyfully?

There is not much sunshine during the rain.. but there is always some. And sometimes, even through the rain, the sun shines's brightly, letting the world bask in it's golden, waterly glow. That sight, I think, is the best gift nature can give us.

Rain is beautiful.

To Be Fat, To Be Proud

I hear the line.. "You aren't fat, you're just chubby". You know, in all honesty, I am sick and tired of hearing bullshit like that. I am fat, I know this and I don't want to change. It's harder than you think, living in my body. Certain events that occurred today led me to write these thoughts down and inculcate what I have been feeling into one note. 

Look, telling a fat person they are chubby won't make them feel better. Especially a girl. And you know what? We still live in such a superficial, negative society where size is hated upon. Either you are too skinny or too fat. No one really actually makes a fuss about being skinny. It's harder being large and being a girl. You see, if you are a guy and you are on the heavy side, you can still date a skinny girl. But this frame of mind does not apply to a girl. You are large and you're a girl, you'd probably feel conscious about having a crush on a skinny guy, let alone dating him. And believe me, I am talking from experience here.

I know I am talented and I know I am smart. I know I have a personality encapsulating many of the best traits, but that only goes so far in a world where appearance is everything. Sure, you get the one or two who say "Looks aren't everything" but no one really means it. Get real. Physical attraction is essential and who the HELL would be attracted to someone who's thigh is bigger than a normal person's legs put together?

You get these skinny girls screaming about how they are fat. To them I have to say.. Shut the f*ck up and live your f*cking life. You honestly have no fricking clue on how hard it is to live in a fat body. It's horrible having to see gorgeous girls with perfect bodies all over the place and look at yourself in the mirror and see how plain and ugly you are. Sometimes, you are afraid to like a boy because you are scared that you'll never be pretty enough or skinny enough. I have been feeling this, I have felt this and it's not something that will go away. Once in a while, you meet the nice guy who really adores you for you and it remains, but that's only so often.

I go partying with my friends. Am I asked to dance? No. Am I invited to the dancefloor? No. Not unless I invite myself. I go shopping for clothes. Everything is a size too small. The tops are too tight, the jeans too short. It's frustrating. You can't eat a fricking chocolate without being made to feel guilty. Everyone turns such a critical eye on you. It may sound plain on paper, but I am very sure that everyone of you who's reading this has made a fat joke at some point. Sure, the person might brush it off, but it really does cause a lot of heart ache and depression in a person who is insecure enough as it is. I have my strategy of hiding behind my mask. It's a strong, unbreakable, spirited mask. I call it my personality and it protects me from the negativity people send my way because of my size. But what of the people who are not as strong as I am? What of those girls who go home and cry everyday because some asshole made them feel ugly? And you know what, I shouldn't have to hide behind a mask in the first place!Stop and think. Us fat people, we have feelings too. When you behave so insensitively, we feel it. And it does hurt. More so than you think.

Finally, to the guys who read this, I have this to say: If you see a fat girl smiling at you, smile back. So what, her butt is twice the size of yours? If she likes you, love her back. She might have the capacity to make you happier than you might know. She might have an amazing personality. Share an ice cream with her and get to know her. Notice her shiny eyes and bouncy curly hair.
To the girls who read this: Stay beautiful. Just because you are fat, you shouldn't be made to feel ugly. Because you aren't.