sing me a happy song and I wont turn you away.

When you are happy the happy songs make sense.

You like the beats, the drum roll and the bass. 

Sing me a happy song and I wont turn you away. At-least for now =)

I am not jumping-on-a-trampoline happy. 

No, I am not in the most ‘perfect’ stage of my personal or work life. I could do with a better paying job, a lean-toned body, but that’s only so much wishing can do. I know I can do with a lot of things different; but, I am in a place where I know that I couldn’t have done without the things I have now. 

Maybe, that’s what quiet satisfaction is (no, I have not given up on controlling things, yet) It is just that, I don’t have difficulty sleeping and my mornings are nicer, crisp almost. 

The broody, intense, passionate man with Jesus hair and song in his fingers is absent. I have instead a tall-ish, lank-ish, goofy man, who always smiles when he looks at me, hums a song when he is happy.

He doesn’t make me weak in my loins with his looks; but yes, his embrace is my spot, in everywhere.

He doesn’t make my emptiness go away, I still withdraw at times, cry and feel less than I should. He cannot fill me in ways I want…but he fills certain empty cold places with a warm glow, he holds the light up, un-knowingly most times but earnestly. He doesn’t want to search me, he is waiting, patiently, for me to come around. 

He is the Oak to an undeserving Bathsheba.

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On a different note, I don't know what it means to say exactly, but I am in love with this song :

 

Hope you have a happier 2016!

connect.

We do things that keep us connected. My husband reads the newspaper, even if he gets only 10mins to do so, while he brushes his teeth;  I cook, even if I do that in the only 'free' time I have aside from the working and traveling-to-work hours. It keeps us connected, connected to our homes and thus to our mothers, while we make a home of our own.

The Shadow

What is a memory? Who is a memory?

I have a lot of memories, I think of myself a storehouse of memories. I have filled my head with nuances, looks, songs, letters, words and even sighs. The sight of that man walking towards me with his shampooed jesus hair,eyes only on me, smiling. Those fingers pricking the guitar strings to my song;the same song he refused to sing lest he couldn't do justice to it. The sight of that man who looks at me as I run across the airport terminal to hug him tight as the entire terminal looks with awe at that grief stricken girl and sheepishly smiling boy. The reflections on all those mirrors are memories, those smiles are memories, those tears are memories.

No, you are not a memory if you are still here. If  you are a memory, you are not present; you have ceased to be a certain someone/something and thus transformed into a warm memory.

If I am here, I am not a warm memory, I am your present.

Or maybe I never was.

'The Gatekeeper put away his blade. "What do you make of it? Strange thing once you cut it off," he said "Shadows are useless anyway. Dead-weight." 

Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.

- Haruki Murakami

this and that

I am vella again. Between jobs again.
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I was at my mother's place last week. After two years of my marriage I went there for an official 'aanto' (gujarati for visiting your 'maika') I could manage to stay there a week, then I shortened my trip and came back 'home'. Let me make this clear, i don't hate my parents; no one in his/her right mind hates his/her parents. They are gentle folk, just like my husband is. My mother is a tad stifling that's all. She has this habit of curbing people, non intended of-course,but yes the curbing does happen. She is the person who would open the caterpillar's cocoon for it, when she sees him struggling.

My impromptu packing of bags made my father call me to get my hormones checked – 'beta, that causes mood swings and depression'! Alright.

The constant need to run. Run away and escape makes me feel nauseous.
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Tamasha was engrossing.

Among-st all the subtlety the least talked about was the earnestness with which DP played Tara, that hopelessly in love Tara, who does everything Ved's way.

“...main jab se wapas aai hoon, tum mere saath ho”There is that unparalleled honesty with which Tara confesses that she has, in a way, become a stalker, searching him everywhere and yet staying with him when he in fact is nowhere to be found. Lucky for her she finds him and finds HIM.
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You cannot make you love someone, but yes, liking someone is not very difficult. Liking alone, I think is sometimes enough to get one through life. Atleast,till liking gives way to love, which i think also should be a natural process.

There is fear and insecurity that comes with the lack of love; respect and trust are not always enough.
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The only way to garner (extra) attention is to walk away in the middle of a conversation (not always literally) but, poof, gayab. I think that cat is out of the bag now. It is so not cool. Just plain stupid.

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I just love back-lit keyboards, they are the best.