Of love.

Love is the embellishment for your reality.
It glows, radiates. Love sparkles.

Love is the intoxicant for your boredom.
It heightens, enhances. Love stimulates.

Love is what your doctor should've ordered.
It heals, rejuvenates. Love helps.

Love is your excuse for stupidity.
It giggles, preens. Love laughs.

Love is the joy in your moments.
It dances, sings. Love celebrates.

Love is a lifetime of memories.
It captivates, remembers. Love sets you free.

Love is the bonfire in your harsh winter.
It embraces, protects. Love saves.

Love is everywhere, in everything.
It needs, hopes. All it wants, is you.

If only.

If only night-repair creme could fix broken dreams.
If only a straightening iron could un-crease my brow.
If only concealers would cover up the blemishes on my spirit.
If only mascara could hide away my tears.
If only nailpaint would polish my soul.
If only this scrub could exfoliate the pain.
If only make-up remover would erase those memories.
If only I truly looked like, what I see in the mirror.

Attempts at Poetry/Shayari (2)

(1)

Aaj apni galtiyon ka ehsaas hai,

Aaj teri khushboo ki pyaas hai. 

Kitne din yaad kiya tujhe,

Ab teri yaad bhi nahi mere paas hai.   

(2)

Thoda tum chalo, thoda hum chalein..
Faasla yun hi mit jayega.
Thoda tum chalo, thoda hum chalein..
Faasla yun hi mit jayega.
Hum chale iss taraf, aur tum doosri ore..
Ab hamare beech faasla nahi, saara jahaan hi aa chuka hai…

(3)

Tum kya samajh paoge, humari kya hai musibat.

Tum kyun samajhna chahoge, hamari hai kya musibat?

Dil tumhe saunp kar, hum hue bedil;

Ab toh yeh berukhi, ban gayi hai jaise ek aadat.

(4)

Kitne pal humne saath bitaye,

Kitne saal yun hi has kar kate.

Par ab itni raatein humne alag hai guzaari..

Tumhe yaad karna hai mushkil, aur bhool jana namumkin.

Things we can't ever seem to get right

I do admit some of these might be a result of my ineptitude at basic life skills, do let me know if you agree with any one!

1. How many times to call a person back after they hung up on you in anger
2. The perfect cozy-under-the-duvet AC temperature
3. That one drink to stop at to avoid the hangover the next day
4. How to deal with those who annoy us, without letting them affect us
5. The choice of person to lose your virginity to - a choice that would seem correct at age 30
6. The optimal number of shoes to pack on a vacation
7. Accurate microwave settings and timings
8. How short to cut your hair before it becomes too short
9. Whether to reply to a text message signaling the end of a conversation, or not reply and be labeled a snob.
10. The exact volume to set on the TV without having to readjust it every few minutes
11. How many cheese puffs to have before you feel sick
12. How more-or-less frequently must you text the person you're thinking of all the time
13. Knowing exactly how many onions will constitute one kilo - to avoid the vegetable seller seeing right through your n00b-ness
14. How much tip to leave after a meal - without hurting server sentiments, and your wallet.
15. Whom never to trust too easily, and whom to dare trust with you life.

Why I refuse to be called an alcoholic.

Baileys. Creamy silky liqueur. As it went in me, a burning calm. My tongue lingers for an extra drop. He sees my happiness as I drain the glass, and asks, 'What is it, about alcohol, that you so love?'

I ponder.

Is it the taste? From the bitter to the sweet, from the fruity to the dry, from the light to the strong.
Is it the aroma? From the smoky single malts to the coffee-laced crèmes, the spring garden scents of champagne to the wintry strength of rum.
The colour, perhaps? The silently strong vodka to the dramatic show-off merlot? The grand oaky whisky or the golden sunlight of beer?

Well it's all of those, I feel. But what makes it truly wonderful? A thing to be enjoyed, a craving, a companion? The answer lies in the effect, I feel. What alcohol does to us. What it brings out in us. What it makes us be. Or want to be.

It uninhibits some people,
some, it calms.
A few, it angers,
Most, it allows expression.

In him, it brings out the comedian.
In me, the poet.
It saddens a few,
and makes brave many more.

It makes strangers appear friendlier,
and loneliness feel lyrical.
It makes the drear of reality seem distant,
and really, what more can one want?

It is a vile poison;
and yet my precious nectar.
It brings me so much pleasure;
I wonder why they could think of just seven deadly sins.

Teri yaad..

(1)

Thak gaye hum, tujhe yaad karte karte...
Thak gaye hum, tujhe yaad karte karte;
Aisa na ho, tera saath jab phir mile,
Teri yaad hi behtar lagne lage..

(2)

Hum toh ban-na chahte the, aapka sirf ek hissa..
Hum toh ban-na chahte the, aapka sirf ek hissa;
Par yeh kya maloom tha humein
Ki aap toh poore hi, kisi aur ke the..

Bittersweet Firsts

There is something special about being 'first'. First in a race, first of its kind, first-born. And then, for newly married women in the northern plains of our country, there is the first Karva Chauth. Yesterday was my first. Luckily, it was a Saturday. Like thousands of other women, I planned, and I decked up, and I fasted. Mehendi and all that. It was my first, you see. Well, I'd be lying if said I didn't love it. It was special. The husband waiting on me hand and foot, lest I get mehendi on our white sofas. Or the very white macbook. Yes, I loved it.

The moon played hide-and-hide, and finally we were able to seek at 10 30 pm, a blurry brightness behind a cloud.  A heavy dinner followed, much happiness and wishes from everyone ensued as well.

Why bittersweet, you ask?

Later that night, the husband left for an overseas stint. For three months. Excellent opportunity for his career. Excellent opportunity for me to enjoy the single life I always crib I never got a chance to live.
Excellent opportunity to catch up with girlfriends, regular salon visits, twitterverse and embarrassing TV I could never admit I watch. My first time living alone, all the space to myself. Sounds good?

Well it has been 10 hours since he left. Have spent 6 of them sleeping, and the other 4 missing him. So much for my 'space'. As I waved goodbye to the fading taxi last night, overcoming many a throaty lump, I realised what an institution marriage truly is. My life revolves around him, whether I like it or not. From the mundane alarm setting variety, to the management of myriad landlord/carpenter/watchman issues, there is just so much I depend on him for, even if the money is not one of them.
Sunday mornings used to always be a battle; and getting up early, in line with his body clock, was not something I'd do. I'd sleep in till noon, leaving him to fend for himself. Today, I wake up before 9, and neither Twitter nor TV interests me. Making chai for one is just no fun.

I realise that marriage makes us weaker. Definitely. Suddenly I find myself unable to shop alone, go for a random drive alone, buy vegetables for one. I want to quit my job and tend to him and cook for him and clean after him. My feminist classmates from college will be disappointed, much. My own mother can't believe me when I talk like this. But that's the way it is. Practicality is a different matter, but if I had to, I would.

Spending all our time together, makes each minute spent apart even harder. As he left last night, he took a piece of my heart with him. I feel incomplete now, an incomplete puzzle. One that even I can't solve. One that he can, by coming back soon.

He forgot to detach my heartstrings from his, taking me along, yet leaving me here. All I can do, is wait.