I want. Teflon for my self- esteem, to keep it untarnished from all the grease that gets thrown its way. Superglue to keep my heart together even as it trembles and waits to fall apart. Steel wool to accompany my attitude and help it push on through and scrub hard at whatever gets thrown along the journey. Velcro for my head, so it’s easy to detach the things I don’t need. And last but not least, a can of WD40 to spray on the hinges of my rusting patience with this world.
After almost thirty years of living in Dubai, I left. Although the possibility of packing up had been hovering as a ‘someday’, the actual decision felt like an anvil hitting the pit of my stomach. I spent my last month in the city driving down forgotten streets, having long conversations by the beach with overly sweetened tea and basically soaking in as much of the past as I could before having to cut the cord. And before I knew it my visa was cancelled, the tickets were booked, suitcases and cartons stuffed after hours spent weighing on what were the real ‘essentials’ needed ( I’m basically an emotional hoarder who can attach the tiniest memories to thoroughly useless objects) and I was off to the airport.
I am no longer officially an NRI. Continue reading “Goodbye Dubai”
How is it so easy to throw a word and walk away. Like a grenade you leave it to explode within me -an adjective, an accusation, a perhaps truth.
All these years I’ve wrung myself out for you, held myself at both ends and twisted madly to extract every drop of purpose and pain. For you. For a ruthless Shylock I’ve loved.
I’ve eaten corners of toast, saved you sweet mango flesh, lied to you about not wanting the last bites of divine chocolate. The need to give you everything I could flowed in my veins, etching itself in cells and platelets. My little liquid love in all the places in my body, dying and multiplying by the million
I have grown accustomed to these words you hurl, swallowing without water, feeling them move down my esophagus and scratching against my insides with a stubborn refusal to dissolve. Continue reading “Selfish”
Art is useless
Art. A three letter word that pretentious fools like to cling on to with a desperate hope for validation. What is up with these people who stand before mish-mashed paintings that look like a collage of vomit shrapnel and then go on to talk about how it represents man’s yearning for life or death or some other random shit that pops into their heads? And don’t even get me started about the writers. Sitting with pen and pad, staring at a sunset and scribbling away at the poetic beauty it inspired within their soul. Bull. Put that damn pencil away and look at the bloody sun and enjoy the moment will you! Your attempt to capture this loveliness will never come true to the actual experience. Art. Just an excuse for those seeking to run away from reality, drown themselves in pointillism, expressionism, cubism, poetry. The truth is, what doesn’t make you smart, is useless. These decorative smudges of color on your wall, do not define you. It’s what you know that counts. Everything else is useless. So don’t delude yourself into believing this world is a better place because of ‘art’. No one cares. Reality is everything.
Art is love. Continue reading “Art: Heads & Tails”
Be wary of people. They slither with smiles, poison laced on tongues that pour out sweet words mellifluously . They embrace you, but if you stop breathing for a second you’ll feel a wall, bricks of unhappiness that make it impossible for one to feel anything for anyone else. If you aren’t careful enough, your trust will become their dishrag. You’ll stand before them pouring your heart out, being brave. And they’ll call you stupid and make you do the worst thing – doubt yourself. Because somehow, no matter how strong we are, we crave validation, we want someone to tell us “Hey it’s okay, jump! You’ll make it.” But who would do that? Continue reading “You Are Enough”
I knew a girl once. She was older to me and I adored her, the way she’d authoritatively declare the game we’d play, her choice of bright flaring skirts, her creative endeavors with broken shells and colorful satin ribbons collected. Her eyes danced when she spoke, animated with the notion of big plans and the hope of creating something new. Daring and bold, sassy and crazy; that’s what she was. I wanted to be like her, a mad thing living with no rules.
She grew up. We don’t talk much anymore. She chose other things to fuss over, things I disagreed with. Society and status prevail over love to her. Only one thing matters to her- money. I stand with disbelief and look at her face that bears a smile; the warmth replaced with a hardness that’s been etched in there delicately with time. She is scared, so scared that greed overcomes compassion.
I judge her, but there is a fear within me, nestled somewhere in my mind.
Will I always be strong enough to do the right thing? Or will I fade into darkness?
I never understand why some people say, “I don’t want the head.”
For me that’s the best part of the fish. As I stand at the market and stare at rows of them lying still on a bed of ice, with gleaming scales, shades of grey and black and the occasional pink of a snapper, there is something marvelous about their glassy eyes. And although they look alike, I can almost always pick one that seems to stare back at me defiantly, refusing to accept it’s fate yet. Continue reading “Golden Eye”
For some odd reason, I had an extremely efficient morning today. After cooking breakfast and lunch and still having an hour or so till the little one would wake up, I sat with my computer, lapping up the luxury of toggling between browser windows, watching trailers and reading a few of my favorite columns. There is something so therapeutic about drinking a hot cup of strong , black tea and reading current affairs. Then deciding I needed to do something more concrete to utilize this miraculous gift of spare time, I opened my mailbox and began decluttering. I’d been procrastinating the act of ‘Unsubscribe’ for way too long. Today was the day- I’d do it. Continue reading “Unsubscribe”