My mom is possibly the bride from hell

I just had a revelation My mom is Bridezilla! Yes, she is that bride from hell. Except that she's not the bride; I am the to be bride. 

She is going berserk trying to shop for me and trying to drag me to shops. Shopping for me equals to a Dementor's kiss and I hate it (Chi, Wyak, Thoo) and so my mom and me have had loads and loads of arguments lately. She is frantic about buying me clothes and I am reluctant.

Apparently. since I am getting married I need a completely new wardrobe. Usually people are excited about such a thing but I am not and she is. 

Today, in the morning she was looking at the newspaper and pointing out sale ads- we have to go here; we definitely have to try this place...! She is going nuts. Worse part is, I can't oppose her without starting a fight and these days whenever we talk we bicker. She will stay stuff like " I am doing this for you!" Which is not true; she is doing this for herself. Because mothers are supposed to give stuff to their daughters when they get married. But ofcourse I can't tell her that. 

It's pretty turbulent. All conversations centre around my marriage and shopping. Where should we shop; how many of my clothes are still left; what else can we buy AND it gets annoying. My marriage is the foremost thing in her mind but not on mine. And that's why all this chaos. That sucks, big time. 

The best thing to do is to go along with all of her plans. I am pretty tired of it and want it to be over soon.  That way we avoid any kind of fight. I had never thought I would see this side of hers! Her franticness is something I am so not used to!

I know nothing about clothes and jewelery and what kind of shit. I am really not that interested in shopping for them! 

You know what the irony is? She hates shopping too. 

P. S Check this video about moms and their constant instructions. They can do it coz they are the mom

Because I am the mom!

Momentary alchemy

It was 11.30 PM. His flight was late. The sky was foggy. He had to travel from Delhi to Guregaon.

“Pesky cab wallas” he told me. “refusing to go”
I was at my place. Staring at the text he had just sent me. And shit scared.

“Oh shucks. Take care. Tell me when you reach. “ I texted back.

And that’s when it hit me. I am in love with this guy.

••••

Some lovestories are made in heaven, some you don’t expect to happen and they do. I fell in love when I least expected to. Is that always the case?

I am a Punjabi who lived in Kolkata. He is a Bengali who worked in Chandigarh. Despite the distance, we had a lot in common. From almost ignoring him to endless chats to now being together for almost a year; we have come a long way. I like to call it a rollercoaster ride, he calls it a walk in the park.

It’s amazing how much things change when you meet a certain person at a certain time. .. Even if that person is 1700 kms away.

Though we sort of knew each other through a common friend, it was the internet that got us closer.

On 25th June, I woke up to a text from an unknown number- “Happy B’day”

“Thanks, sorry don’t have your number saved.” I texted back.

“Guess who I am”

“Did we have a conversation about cars last night?”

“Yep.” Came the instant reply.

“Anand! What a nice surprise! How did you get my number?

“I am a genius. “

“And the most modest person I know. Come on! You gotta tell me”

“Ok wait, I am calling you up. “

“Sure”

2 minutes later, my phone rang.

“Hey, Happy B’day!”

“Thanks, you sound very different on the phone.”

“Haha.

Arre tell me...number?”

“I saw a number on your facebook business page and I was wondering if it was yours or your partner’s. You had told me the address given was yours, so I thought that most probably the number is yours. Told you I am a genius.”

“That’s so sweet of you. Thought so much just for a number. You could have asked for it.”

“Nah. What would be the fun in that? You got a surprise na?”

Ya, that I did. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

••••

One evening in November, we were sitting beside each other on a bench in a mall; talking; wondering whether or not we were thinking the same thing.

We both knew we had some kind of feelings for each other. Feelings we refused to give a name to. But feelings strong enough to want to be with each other. Feelings we had avoided, held back for quite some time now.

“What do you think about us?’ he asked me suddenly. Or maybe it was not sudden. Maybe I was expecting it. I didn’t know if he did, but I could hear my heartbeat

“Us as in? Relationship?” I asked. Even though I knew the answer.

“Yeah, you know…”

“I have thought about it” This time I almost whispered. “We both have na.”

“Yes, we have been avoiding this for so long.”

“Long distance” I said. I was not sure of my voice anymore.

“Yeah, long distance. I really like you, Anjee.” He said quietly. I hadn’t seen him so serious.

“But were in two different cities...how will we manage?”

“We can make it work…”

“I guess we can

“I want this, Anj”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Pushed back all my fears. I wanted this to work out.

“I want this too. What we have together is worth a shot.”

••••

And when he finally dropped me home I asked him with a smile, “So now I am your girlfriend huh?”

He grinned and said “yes”

He leaned forward, we almost kissed but suddenly I felt too shy. 

••••

To be continued next week. 

Pricked

FOUR

You're like a paper cut
you make me bleed.
At first it was hardly there.
I didn't even notice it.

And then I realised
I was pricking myself
on paper.

I have bruises
I don't remember getting.

You hurt me
slowly
it's like water dripping down
a leaking tap. 

It hardly makes a sound
and you forget about it.
And when you do notice
you feel like you'll drown.

I didn't notice
the blood at first.

It was only when; after
hundreds of cuts
the blood stained my white shirt;
I noticed my red finger,
my now red hand. 

And I remembered 
all those times 
you hurt me;
unnoticed. 

And it pains now. 

~Anjee, Nov 2013

This is the fourth poem in my series of melancholy poems Mid Carnival of Woe. 

Flowers and cliche and romance.

I realised that I like the idea of receiving flowers. It’s a sweet  gesture. Even if they wilt after some time. 

I now have to figure out my favourite flowers is. And if I prefer a single stalk or a bouquet. I don't even have an opinion on their romanticness. I was once given a red rose on a date. I didn't go gaga over it. But it was sweet. And cheesy and cliche. Not a fan of cliches. I am definitely not a red rose person. I know I like yellow roses. Nice and bright. 

I think Orchids look good as decoration in parties. Shivli and Rajniganda would smell good.

Right now I am wondering about how I would react if surprised with flowers. The point is; when they wilt it makes me sad. Atleast when they are on trees you don't have to witness them wilting. Flowers DO look better on trees. 

 I have recently started pressing and drying flowers and making potpourri out of them. I do it before they start wilting and this way they last for so much longer. 

I once wrote a poem about how choosing flowers is not a very good idea because they wilt.

Flowers and destinies do not lie together...
When I chose flowers,they wilted
So I choose my destiny, and cry.

 I used these lines as my about me on fb because I felt my life was like that- I don't get to choose flowers; the easy path. I no longer feel that about my life even though I still don't want to follow the herd. I am doing what I love and I am certainly not unhappy. Neither is the path that tough, it's just different and I won't have it any other way. 

So yes, I am ready for flowers now. 

Despair

Like getting ready and going out and getting drenched in sudden rain.
And all your hair undone and all your make up; washed out.

Like those untruths which started out as a joke but the words flowed and it became
a bag full of lies which could not be thrown in a trash can. 

Like not knowing where you stand. Do you stand, at all?
Are you falling? Have you fallen? Will you be getting up soon?

Like standing outside a clinic and realising that 
you really want the baby but can't keep it.

Like crying yourself to sleep and getting up in the morning 
even though it's easier to sleep. And maybe even easier to reach out for those pills.

Like not knowing and all the thinking and wondering
killing you slowly and not being able to stop.

Like drilling holes in an already wounded heart
and somehow accepting the pain.

Like drowning in three feet water, it seems impossible
but it can happen and you don't even think of it.

Like not stopping, like not knowing if you can
and going around in circles looking for answers for questions never asked


Like shedding silent tears because you're mediocre 
instead of brilliant; like knowing you have no right to cry.

~Anjee, Nov 2013


This poem is part of my series Mid Carnival of woe

Happy Birthday, A

A turned 26 today and this is what I put together for him

I contacted his friends and told them to click pictures of themselves with one of the letters that make up the B'day message. I edited the pics, put them all together and made this collage. 

A's reaction was priceless and I am so glad he loved it. 

Anyway, here's wishing you a very Happy B'day A. May you get all the happiness you deserve. 

S 'agapó̱

A silky love story

Mitali met Sharad on a hot day, in the supermarket. She was standing behind him in the check out line. He suddenly turned back and stared at her. And then he smiled. “You have beautiful hair” he said before walking off.

They met again at the supermarket and got talking. Mitali did most of the talking, all Sharad did was stare. It was creepy, pleasant even. Life went on, they met more often.

Sharad didn’t do much. He just stared at her, as if in a trance and ran his hands through her curly mane. “Your hair is beautiful, don’t ever cut it.”, he told her once.

Eventually he asked her to marry him. She agreed. This would be his fourth marriage. She didn’t mind. The marriage took place soon. “I can’t wait “Sharad had said.

One day they were watching TV together. A talent hunt was on. A magician with his assistant was contesting.

“Look at the assistant, she has red hair” Sharad said.

“She looks so silly” Mitali replied.

“I like her” said Sharad simply.

The very next day Sharad announced that he was going to Goa and wouldn’t be contactable. And then he disappeared. Mitali got no calls from him, no emails. His phone was constantly switched off. A worried Mitali moved through her days not knowing what to do.

One day she decided to clean up the storeroom. An isolated shelf stood at the entrance. When Mitali swept under it, she found a key. She tried it on the shelf and it worked. Curious now, Mitali took out a dusty diary and sat down to read.

“……I saw the perfect set of curly hair in the supermarket today. How I want those locks. I want to run my hands through them. I want them in my collection……”

Surprised, Mitali turned to another page.

“I have asked her to marry me. Now I can easily cut off her hair…”

Trembling now, Mitali turned back the pages

“Ritu is dead now. It was easy to strangle her with her own long hair. Her shiny long hair. I have cut off a very long strand…..” 

 

The diary dropped from Mitali’s hands. She went to her room in a daze.

 A Few weeks later a report came out in the newspaper

“A woman’s body was found in Vikramshila Apartment yesterday morning. Her hair was cut unevenly from several places……”

 

Kinda

Kinda funny, kinda not.

You promised but you forgot.

Kinda like a quiet blot,

which did twist the plot.

Kinda funny, kinda not.

We are all fragile

Today is the 13^th day of mourning of my grandfather’s death. We lost him on the 9^th. Today we have officially stopped mourning. We had a hawan, followed by lunch. His favourite dishes were cooked. It was a goodbye; a tribute.

His death reminded me that we are all so very fragile. He was not ill. He fell. He was 86 and frail. And now he’s not there.

This is not a lecture about how life is precious and how we should all live it to the fullest and blah, blah and blah. No. All I know is I’ve lost a grandparent. My mom has lost his dad. 

Things change when you lose a parent. Dynamics change. Equations change. He was after all the head of the family and now he is no longer there. It shook me, his death. I  had very stubbornly thought that he would always be there.

The day he died, I was in denial for a very long time. When he fell I was resolutely thinking that he would live through it; even though the doctors  had  declared  that his survival chances were very low. 

They say time heals. My question is where is this time that heals?

From tomorrow we get back to our old lives. We resume work. My masi who came down from Delhi will go back home. Everything will normalize. Or as normal as can be. We will move on. Because we are humans and humans need to move on.

Just another adventure Dumbledore had said. He was 86, my grandfather. He did lead a not just good; a very good life. And I am lucky I had him as my grandfather. My nanu. And I know that soon, I too will move on.

But for now all I can say is thank you. Thank you nanu.

That's my nanu, me, masi and nani

We shall meet again.

I hate goodbyes. I know it's a very cliche thing to say but yes I said it. I am not the kind of person who can't let go or move on when the time is right. I didn't cry at my school or college farewell. I know I won't cry when my current course ends. Because I know from the beginning that this end will come. But when it's sudden and unexpected I find myself not liking the feeling. It's uncomfortable. It leaves a lump in the throat. It makes me sentimental. 

The word goodbye is dreadful. A simple bye seems less final. I like the idea of saying "I am coming back" instead of saying "I am going." Bengalis and Maharashratrians have this tradition. 

In Bengal when we celebrate Durga Puja and when Maa leaves us on the 10th day, we chant "Asche bochor abar hobe. "- This will happen again next year. " Maa is not leaving us, she will be back next year. 

In German there is a saying that says you don't meet a person just once. So if you're saying goodbye , know that you shall meet again. 

This  cheers me up. Goodbyes need not be forever. We part so that we can meet again. 

The next time I need to say goodbye  I will say instead "Until we meet again."

Update: To read my poem on Goodbyes and letting go "And then sadness prevailed click  here. 
I have also written a piece on trying to cope with my granddad's death. Read it here

J: So J

Jealousy is  an inevitable sentiment in any relationship. It’s funny when your friends get jealous if they see you close to other people. It’s cute when your boyfriend is jealous when you talk too much about this cool guy who happens to be a friend. But when jealousy turns into possessiveness, it’s time to see red.

There is a very thin line between being possessive and being jealous. Many a times,  it is not apparent that  the line has been crossed. Possessiveness sometimes translates to having the desire to control the other person’s action and the need to dominate. Often it is the result of deep-rooted chauvinism .

Possessiveness is something I cannot tolerate.  No one can control my actions, no matter how much he or she loves me. Possessiveness is not a sign of love. It’s a sign of a desire to own someone. In a romantic relationship, one partner may show a desire to decide what their partner wears, a desire to know where their partner is going, who he or she is meeting; there is a need to know what their partner is doing at every minute. In extreme cases, there is a desire to dictate what one’s partner should do; all the time.

In many cases both partners are possessive. In most cases(here I am citing straight relationships) the male is possessive about his partner. His partner may not have male associates, friends; his partner may not decide what to wear or where to go on her own. In such cases of extreme possessiveness violence is also involved. Obviously, such relationships are unhealthy.

In cases of parent-child relationships if parents are too possessive of their children; it will hinder their personal growth as an individual. After a certain age it is necessary for children to learn to make their own decisions. If they are not allowed to do so,  it will lead to clingyness and unhealthy dependency. Such dependency will again deter the person from being able to move on and learn to live if and when their parents expire.  Such people fail to have normal relationships with other people. They also may need counseling or psychological help.

Jealousy on the other hand, does not do much harm. Unless ofcourse it’s envy. The green eyed monster. Though envy is a synonym of jealousy, it is a more intense emotion. Envy. So many things have been written about envy. So many poems and plays are based on this emotion. Woman are said to have mastered the art of being envious. A very stereotypical view, I must add. It’s a lot of things. Resent. Spite. Even hatred. Jealousy seems, less complicated, less harmful. 

Semantics define jealousy as the base emotion which may give birth to possessiveness and envy. Its like a river with two distributaries.

It's fascinating that one emotion can imply so many different things.  They have different undertones at different times they are used. Emotions are complicated, ain't they? And language is an amazing thing. 

100 Words: Distance

1772 kms. It is difficult to be practical, when in love. Crazy practical people in love. “Be strong. Be Patient.  When the going gets tough the tough get going” These are the words she repeats to herself. Like a chant.

The heart is already fond, it doesn’t need distance.

Today she has to smile. She does have a smile, plastered on her face. If you talk to her you may hear it in her voice.  She will be strong. For she knows someone needs her to be. As much as she needs him to be. 

Distance makes tough people tougher.  

Two Jacks and a queen

“Crush your ‘oh I love you so much ‘thoughts for me Anant. Gutter ke pani mein dooba do unhe. My interest level in you is a little less than a lion’s interest in grass for lunch.”

“Why do you have to keep on insulting me just because I told you that I love you”


“Anant, you love miniature paintings. You love Thai curry. You don’t go about declaring your love for it every two days.”


“Thai curry? What has that got to do with anything ? But I do love it. See the point is your logic is totally haywire. Why should I… Oh just forget it. I don’t know why I fell in love with you. And I do not. I do not declare my love for you every two days. I may mention it once in a while…"

“Once in a while?”

“Ok. More than that. Whenever I feel the need to remind you”

“Every two days”

“Not every two days”

“yup”

“Nope”

“And why are we arguing about this. Bunk it. This love you have? Can’t you love someone else?”


“You’re kidding. I hope you are. The point is, why don’t you accept the fact that I love you. Just accept it Misha”

“Ok fine. Whatever. What I don’t understand is why did you ever fall for me.”

“I don’t know. I seriously don’t know.”