Take Your Time

Take your time, she said. But I had taken my time; all 10 nanoseconds of it, as I realised just what I wanted and how much.

Don’t rush, she said. But I wasn’t. I was just succumbing to the rush I felt as I closed my eyes and heard my blood sloshing against my tympani and felt my heart knocking my tonsils out.

Control, she said. But I had added an alt+del to it to complete my reboot. I was reborn and rejuvenated, and control was the last thing I was worried about.

So much thought goes into decisions of the heart. But then, isn’t that an oxymoron? Thought and heart? But then mortals will err and follow their head in relationships and their heart in business. Thus they end up broke; heart-wise and bank balance-wise. Not very wise.

Business sense and bank balances do not belong in these pages and will be summarily cast out from this rumination without further ado. Adieu. Aa-doo. I do. Sorry, got stuck with the sound there.

Relationships and Heartbreak: now that’s a pair that could have had the pride of place on Wordscapes. Unfortunately, that position is already taken up by Existential Angst. But in line with the new laughter theme, we shall keep things light. Put your hands together for the more light-hearted but nevertheless thought-provoking couple; caution and impulse.

Statutory Declaration: By the way, this is not a battle of the sexes and does not cast aspersions of paranoid caution at women and dizzy recklessness at men. The example above merely happens to apportion behaviour thataways.

So, coming back to our stars, caution and impulse…

When it comes to the heart, when you’re feeling full of life and happy to the hilt, when you’re gulping air greedily to make up for all the breathlessness; what holds sway, caution or impulse? How many words will it take to say what you feel and how many thoughts will it take to rationalise the madness that fills you? What schedule seems sensible to say this and do that, and what calendar do you follow to allow yourself confessions of your all new state of being?

When will you just stop thinking and start feeling, and admit that nothing else is going to work?

It’s true. Nothing else works. Let the naysayers say nay while they can, because if they are lucky, they too will have the breath knocked out of them by the ton of bricks that is called ‘the moment of truth’. And that will be the end of all thought; because there really is no point rationalising with a ton of bricks. Falling. Fast. And ducking doesn’t help.

Give in… feel. On your last day on earth, you’d rather have had a big life full of love (and inevitable heartbreaks) rather than a long life full of caution (and inevitable numb nothingness). Let go, and you just might find that one love that doesn’t break your heart at the end of the road. But paranoid caution is sure to doom you to celibacy, or worse, loveless wedlock. (Wed Lock… Jeez! That’s a scary word! Why would they do that!)
But yes… do take your time before you leap… all 10 nanoseconds of it!
Cogito Ergo Risotto

The Laughter Pledge

I just went through my posts.

All of them.

This exercise was triggered by a read of a friend's blog; it was filled with entries that were candid, breezy and irreverent; much like her. I came back to my dark pages and darker thoughts. Something is seriously wrong with my life if I haven't come up with a single lighthearted entry in the last year and a half. Come to think of it, the Snapshots one in the beginning is the only piece that can get away with a (highly questionable) claim to lightness. Everything else was pretty unbearably heavy. Even an entry titled Totter and Plop was distinctly reminiscent of Punch and Judy playing Othello and Desdemona.

Where has the laughter gone? I distinctly recall being a funny person. I have been told so on numerous occasions; especially by pretty women. Well, the pretty women memories come easier; no offense to the others. One such conversation surfaces...

Pretty Woman: Well, if nothing else, I'll admit you have a sense of humour; very rare in a man.
Me: I must say I'm flattered. But then, you haven't met enough funny men. There are plenty. Russel Peters, George Bush, God (when He's in the right mood)...
PW: Lol! Sure! I'll look them up!
Me: Let me help. I'll give you the directory of funny men... It's a laugh.
PW: Lol!

And so on...

Not earthshaking stuff, but it sure got the PW loling. And it got me a date at the end of the conversation. And this happened four years back. And that's the last I can remember when I was on a funny roll. After that, I can't think of a single one... roll, that is. Dates, there have been. Even date rolls. But no roll rolls.

Jesus Broody Christ!

There was a time I used to review movies. Most of the movies I reviewed, I did not like. My reviews said as much. I used to cook up blurbs like 'this one is strictly for the make-out couples in the backseats; only they need to be handed out ear-muffs and not 3-D spectacles.' Nasty, but still lol material. At least the PW mentioned above would have loled. Come to think of it, I wonder how she is doing. No... She wouldn't like me one whit in my current avatar; mulling over social oppression and hope in the midst of ruins.

It's probably to do with the reigning themes in my life. There's angst (pressed and repressed with pleats down the front), odes to ideals in the face of scarred reality (much like a plastic surgeon's theme song), lyrical cynicism (or cynical lyricism if you swing the other way) and the big finale; the neverending quest for true love (it's like the randomiser in the questionnaire went terriby wrong, with all the answers turning up 'false').

I need a time out from these heavy-duty soul-search-engines. I need to take a dump out in the open with a jokebook in hand. I need to... shut up!

Enough already! Hereby, I take the laughter pledge! I shall devote the next few entries in this dark, suburban blog to bringing laughter to the occassional reader who passes by. Look deeper (in the blog) for insights, but skim the froth if you want a chuckle. Because enough has been said with a hammering pulse and a moist eye. It is now time to let the tongue lol. Come back soon, and expect an entry written to celebrate the Spirit of PJs and the Fun of Puns.

It's time to dig up my roots.

It's time to laugh.
Cogito Ergo Risotto

She

Disclaimer: There are men who have never bothered to ponder, and there are others who claim to be masters of the female race, cognisant of their every whim and vagary. The writer does not try to even acknowledge these poor men in his musings below.

Every once in a while, every man sits down to ruminate on that one fantastic concept that he just can’t get his mind around. She. She is a part of his life from his life to his death. The roles vary, as do the relationships. He sees different sides to Her, and wonders time and again; how, why, what. The questions plague him and the answers rarely appear unless She chooses to enlighten him. And even then, it need not make sense. And more often than not, even then, it does not make sense.

This whimsical creature called She has touched me in so many ways, right from my infancy to my recently concluded Premature Midlife Crisis. There has been unconditional love, silent acceptance, infinite patience, enduring amity and breathtaking passion. There also has been heartless cruelty, illogical eccentricity, infuriating obstinacy, mind-numbing inanity and inexplicable bewilderment. I have felt these emotions otherwise too, but it is She who has shown me what it is to really feel any and all of these feelings.

At times by chance, at times by choice; there are so many ways She has been part of my life. She has been my mother, my sister, my friend and my lover. She has made me, broken me and rebuilt me a hundred times. She has abandoned me to my end and yet been there for me through times when no man could have helped.

I haven’t been passive through all that She has done. I have played my part in this dance. I have loved Her, been fascinated by Her, lost my head in insane wrath, lusted for Her and been there for Her. And at times, I have even given up on Her. I have claimed to have figured Her out. I have even fooled myself into believing I’m stronger than Her and need to take care of Her. She has walked out on my childish assumptions and She has smiled and tolerated me through my foolishness. She has indulged my need to be the man in the equation, as long as it suited Her. She has also shot me down for daring to think of Her as an equal, when She was so much more than I could ever imagine.

The years passed and I grew. I did not understand any better. But I did understand that I would never understand. I did understand that understanding is not what I needed. There are things that cannot be taught and cannot be learnt. There are things that are. Like She told me once, the only answer she has to my why is because. And slowly, many miles later, I see what She meant. There is no why. There is only because.

There have been scars. There has been ugliness. But what has endured is the beauty She left in my life. She moulded me into the man I am. She taught me what it is to love. I learnt from Her what complete surrender was. And I realise now that there is no other way to be. No matter how many times She has let me go and I have fallen, I can curl up in my shell for only so long. With a mixture of amused bewilderment and poignant fatalism, I concede that the next time She reaches out to me, I will take Her hand again. And I can only hope She doesn’t let go this time. Because I have walked with Her. And nothing else will do.
Cogito Ergo Finito