Rain.

Her breath is heavy, her aura moist. Time is still and Earth realm is waiting. 

The sky is pregnant. It seems Rain shall be a troublesome child.

The Boston Cupcakery

A secret outing on a monsoon night. We caught a rick and zoomed in the opposite direction. The traffic saw us passing by without a pause, but we weren't in a hurry. The roads were sopped, the lights shone off them, the rains hit the glass, the maps took us through little lanes. Finally, clutching onto wet umbrellas, we reached a humble, cozy little bakery - The Boston Cupcakery. And then THIS happened.

 Here's a little secret though: I had the best little cup of coffee I've ever tasted. Like a secret never meant to be shared, I sipped like a happy child, in silence and glee. I was happy my best friend brought me here. — with Shriya Shenoy at The Boston Cupcakery.

The Veiled Fortress.

He has that perfect face, you know, the kind that has no emotion. He has secrets - plenty of them. Yet he has a kind touch and a charming smile that breaks his silence when he's laughing at people's jokes. People around him don't see what that storm inside is like, so he continues to live like a mystery no one wants to solve.

Then someone does him a kindness. They show him empathy and happiness - in forms he has never seen before. 'Culture Shock' he calls it. Strange man! They sit and wonder, 'He isn't just from another country, but a different world! What sort of man can live where there lies no trust and no love?'.

Yet he survives, as he tells his tales, painting colours over the grey hurt in his heart. Inside, they wonder, 'how can he smile so?'. Time may have been unkind to him, but she is never wrong. She believes in teaching everyone a lesson, it is, afterall upto them how they learn it. Then they wonder again, 'maybe this strange man took his lesson the wrong way...but that smile, and that warm touch...something must have been right.'

He did it right, for he remembered who he was. He remembered he had love that he wanted to share and be embraced in return. He remembered that he could be happy again.

But who knew what he remembered, it was after all, all behind that perfect face of his, you know…the kind that has no emotion.

Meet the Wife

"Dude, I'd marry you right now if I could, you're Wife-material, seriously!"

If you're a woman, and you've heard this as a compliment from any of your close guy friends, pull yourself out of the gooey-eyed, twiddled-fingers, 'aw, shucks' mode for just one second and think hard about it.


I turned 22 recently, and I've already heard that statement come my way through my sheepish guy friends, TWICE; For a variety of reasons of course:

1. My 'single' status, which I have maintained flawlessly up until now. No, I am not a lesbian. Yes, I believe in 'The Prince'.

2. My tam-bram family background wherein I automatically am the "Chammatu Ponnae" ("Good girl"). Yes, clubbing is a big deal, Yes, I go out late anyway, but with permission; And no, it is not always granted.

3. I'm diplomatic, not because I don't have an opinion, but because I like peace. No, I don't want to join the UN. No, I'm NOT submissive.

4. Because I -
4.A: "can drive better than the "other women"",
4.B: "have displayed culinary talent",
4.C: am "caring and sweet" and DON'T display "typical female characteristics of the clingy, the needy and the coochy-cooey.

5. Women around me are getting married left-right-and-centre, and it just seems like I'm next because I not seeing anyone of my own choice; And, no, I'm not...NEXT.

Gentlemen...and Ladies, let me assure you that I am in no form, an anti-thesis to any stereotype every created just for the kicks of it. Somehow, being called "Wife-material" as a compliment, didn't click well with me.

I'm sure you accept that it has been quite a while since the "emancipation of women" has brought the whole 'Men and Women are equal' concept to a firm platform, sans the occasional "Kitchen and sandwich" joke that cracks us all up. Well, cracks the men up, the ladies just smile in a mock-dissaproving fashion, anyway.


Lets get a few things straight as I reassure you that I don't speak for the rest of my gender when I say the following. No, I don't speak for them, they will simply agree with me.


Being a Wife, Queen, Begum, (all of these words have the same secondary meaning which is rather annoying, but that's a different story) does NOT mean that we will cook brilliantly, clean incessantly, be naturally good with children, be even tempered the whole year round and calm you down when you are angry. Wives are not status-symbols (clearly *rolls eyes*), not pretty pieces of merchandise to show off to the folks at home and no, wives do not come with a warranty sticker on their foreheads which say, "We'll stick around longer than that skinny bitch you dated last."


If you're looking for the above, that's cool, but just to be fair, you should take into consideration the 'check-list' the woman gender like to tick off in their heads about their kind of gentlemen and no, you are not permitted to throw your hands up in the air and say "Women don't know what they want, it's an endless list, and not worth the hassle."


Battle of the Genders going on in your heads? Get out of it and get real. Both of you.


Look, I'm no expert at the Gender/relationship debate. If you have doubts, kindly check point 1. Truth is, that compliment didn't make any sense to me. Speaking strictly by my experience , I'd like to negate the goody effect of the "Wife-material" compliment.


 I can drive better than most women AND men that I know. If you have doubts about that, well, I don't care. It's not because I'm a "exception as a lady driver". It's because I was trained by a superlative teacher. And I practiced really hard. And I payed attention to detail. You cannot sit in my car and say "Damn, that fool on the curve was a woman-driver, tsk". That's not done.


I "display culinary talents" because, jeez, my mother is a brilliant cook. My COOK is a brilliant cook. My friends' mothers are brilliant cooks. My dad can cook when my mother or cook aren't around! I know men who can cook the most succulent dishes. And I happen to like to watch colourful ingredients do magic on the stove. It's like bloody art! I cannot cook a vast meal, but I make good things, because, yet again, I'm surrounded by highly skilled people. I pay attention when they're baking cakes, and DONT pay attention when they make Karela. It really is that simple.


I clean incessantly because that's just good sense! And as far as children go, I'm an utter disaster with them, I'm most likely to talk to them about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre just to mess with them!



I'm diplomatic and don't like arguments because I enjoy my peace. Really. But that does not mean I'm submissive or will pointlessly let someone rave and rant at me. If men expect women to calm them down when they're angry, I'd like to bring to your notice that it's not a gender role. If the men are likely to argue with "We take care when you PMS" line, I'd like to say, well good! You should! And another times also, when I've had a bad day, when my assignment got poor marks, when I fought with my best friend, when I'm having a creative dry-phase, when a rickshaw guy crashes into my car. These are not PMS frameworks. These happen to the exact times when I need calming down too.



I don't go out partying that often just because I'm a "chammatu ponnae". It's because I'm the only child to my parents and evidently, they panic a lot about my safety. I'll grant them the paranoia and the rules that come from the paranoia because I live under their roof. Secondly, I personally feel clubbing is overrated. I'd rather sit back and smoke a joint.


I'm "caring and sweet", why, because I wrapped a wound? Or made a fast sandwich in a moving car? Or fought an ill guy friend down and put vicks on his nose? Yes, nurses also do that. MALE nurses also do that. Your mothers and fathers both have done that. My parents' Lassa Apsos are caring and sweet. Humans are caring and sweet when they want to be. If you touch my accessories and break them, I will stop being caring and sweet. I will break you.



 Finally, I'm not touchy, needy or coochy-cooey because I'm generally secure about being private, giving space and letting people do their own shit. Plus, I like spending time driving alone around the city. And scheming plots to embarrass my best friend. And other cool stuff.



 I'd like to say, however, that being "Wife-material" may be quite a deal for people, which is totally okay. I can be Tilda Swindon in a suit or Katy Perry in a frock, but while I'm at it, I ensure I'm playing the role because It defines who I am as an individual. I wouldn't do it to fit into a compliment bracket, and certainly not a stereotype that encourages further complications in the sexes. If we can force our minds open to Gay rights, we can force our minds open against stereotyping. "Wife-material" is a stereotypical description, and I'm most certainly against it.



So gentlemen, the next time you wish to say to someone that they are pleasant, intelligent, beautiful, fun etc, just go ahead and ask them out, or propose marriage (if you're serious) if you love spending time with them. Telling them they are "Wife-material" won't cut the chase.

Remember, that just because people are different, and you dont have the potential memory power to recall what each one of them are like, stereotyping them to define their personality just means you'll grow old and die faster. (I'm joking. Not. Okay, I am. But do you care? You're so vain, you want to die young anyway! Okay, that's me. Whatever.) 

Closure

~"You're a piece of me...How could you disappear like everyone, when you're with me everywhere I go?"~

He held her like a lily wrapped in a silk scarf. Gently and close to his chest. Like a memory that now became a truth of his life. Yet he didn't hold her because she was far from home. So far away that even if her heart craved, the cries would never reach his ears.

She stood back feeling like thirsty sand. Water would soak it full before it left it dry. She felt peace in pain. She knew he had said goodbye. She smiled as she cried. He gave her what no one who had left her life before gave her: Closure.

He had to go to war. Alone. It was a war like no other, because he fought for only one purpose: For his Closure. He promised he would be back alive. But if he didn't, he wanted her right by his side.

She hated those who took him away from his self. They left scars that lasted for ever. But he was a warrior: Scars were his pride. His hurt but his pride. She hated how they took away his heart, took away his trust and most of all, took away his soul. She hated that he had to fight alone. But there was nothing she could do about it.

He raged at her for trying to stop him. He loved her for not giving up on him. He said he was going away for a while and he wouldn't be able to write. He didn't want to. He reminded her that when he held her like a lily wrapped in silk, close to his chest, that it was the best he had felt with her. But it was time to say goodbye.

She felt his arms wrap around her, so gently and protectively. He wasn't really there to do it. Even if he thought of her, his thoughts wouldn't be able to cross those harsh seas to reach her. But she prayed that he remembers her. She prayed that he fights his past. She prayed that he conquers his future. She prayed that when they would meet again, he would smile saying nothing but a million things of happy silences.

They both knew it was goodbye until next time. The heart can't wait for next time, but the mind does and so does the soul. They would look at each other with respect and celebrate what is left of them: a friendship that walks alongside eternity.

The Full Moon

Tonight is the big night. She looks beautiful, the Moon. Her fullest. She sits patiently with her mother, the Heavens.

Her mother spoke to her, "It is right for you to marry him. He is known for his generosity. Look how many diamonds he has presented you with tonight! Aren't they beautiful!"

The Moon smiled. She weds the Midnight Sky; Most mysterious, master of the darkness. Intelligent as they come, his force floored even the Earth. 

But she knew better. She knew he bedded her mother when she grew smaller each night. They hid their affair behind the clouds. 

'Well,' she thinks to herself,'atleast I get to keep the diamonds.'

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Pause. Play.

Rains do well for us. Most part of this time of the year anyway. This time of the year kind of reminds you of the silence amongst the noise of the street. Don't get me? 'Silence.' 

Ok. Have you ever sat alone without the company of your headphones and not given a real rat's ass about that beeping mobile device in your jeans? Ever been secure without the company of a book when you're travelling and been divorced of those menial drugs of life that keep you glued and pretty far away from yourself and who you really are?

It's like the world around you is buzzing, faster and faster by the moment, and you're silence is slowing it down - not for them, but for you. Your thoughts are nothing but observations, the picture that is being painted with every breath you take and every glance you make. The world is telling a story - and you are listening. Watching. And living. 

That man outside the coffee shop, sitting over his computer, working away for something that makes a huge portion of his life. His eyes are narrowed, gleaming with dedication and his thoughts are disturbed by the waitress who served him his coffee. Did you notice that flicker of annoyance? He looks at her accusingly, but he has no time to bother with her, so he ignores his coffee and types away rapidly on his laptop computer. 

Look over to that woman so smartly dressed at her desk in her cabin behind the glass door. She's on the phone and you wish you heard what she was so rapidly talking about. Her hand on her hip, and her lips chattering away about something important. Important because she has a straight face with just a hint of angst. Her lips painted red look beautiful though, and you're not too sure she appreciates how pretty she looks even when she is flustered.

The shopkeeper behind the stall on your busy Mumbai suburb is chewing tobacco and reaching out a friendly arm to his customer. That beggar just bent down to give a very chubby dog some biscuits. A young woman tightened her scarf because it kept slipping off her head. A little boy just punched his friend in the shoulder saying something that you couldn't hear, but they seemed to find it really funny. There is a queue outside the bank and it's too hot for people to look pleasant. A cat just brushed past your leg. Somebody waved an arm at another person. A bus just stopped ahead of you. 

And your phone just rang. 

You reach in your pocket, answer it and say 'hello?.' And that's the end of the story.

The sound is back in your life, it's noisy as hell. Busier than a million working bees buzzing in your ear singing different tunes, some even screaming. The bus is honking and all you want to do is shut the noise out and get the hell home.

This time of the year is like october re-make before the rain clouds actually grace us....

My point? Nothing. Just live a little and let the world do some talking. That's all.