High Hopes

“Bitch come close to me” he says and bites my neck. Little goose bumps cover my arms. I clench my thighs.
“So can we work out this strategy?"…a voice trails
I wake up and stare at him blankly. My mind has been wandering again in the land of erotica.
Huh..yeah Yeah I answer.
Seconds mingle to mins and minutes slitter to hours and I am still in the meeting
Sometimes when I am bored, I think of wild sex.
Wild movements…
People jumping wildly out of the window…out of the meeting room.

We were a bunch of people talking animatedly about things that mattered the least to us,we had to because we were getting paid for that. At the extreme right was a very insignificant guy…like one of those guys even the ugliest woman ignored. For some weird reason I felt irritated just having him in the room. That perfectly combed oily hair, the pretended concentration and then I spied it. I thought first it was a rash. I leaned closer and ascertained that it was undoubtedly a symbol of an act of passionate nature.
He was sporting a hicky…not the boring maroon patch but a fresh crimson bite hicky.
Now that made it interesting. The Sexholic Holmes in me woke up.

I scanned the woman next to him. Droopy saggy chin, short hair, crooked teeth but sharp. Her forearms were touching him. He was leaning towards feigning interest in her presentation. Elementary Watson. Its her .

I watch him with rapt attention that after sometime I could hear their collected breathing separated from everyone else’s. Then I catch the rhythm of her arms supposedly touching
his accidently. I could see the glisten of sweat on his upper lips and she was biting her lower lips. His breath was hot on her cheeks and he started necking her …and then he slumps down on her.
Thud.

There are on the floor.She is screaming. “he has fainted, he has fainted”.
Every body looks at them immobolised for a few seconds.. then the Director springs into action. And turns him over

“O god, look at this guys neck, full of rashes. I think he has measeles”.

Meeting over.

I look at the ill guy, my unfounded irritation replaced with gratitude.
The woman who sat next to him who looked slutty seconds before looked like a conservative mother of three now.

How one man’s Hicky became another man’s measles.

“How things change in seconds…This could be the script of Tata Docomo” I think.
Meanwhile, nothing has changed. The meeting goes on.

Wish upon a Key board

Once upon a time in a windowless office of a high rise building worked little Sujatha. Little, because she was short, insignificant and the littlest in the organization chart, just about earning a few hundreds more than the office boy. Sometimes people bumped into her and didn’t even notice. She was that inconspicuous.

Like in all offices of the world, they followed some unspoken corporate mantra diligently. The consequences of which were very belittling to Little Sujatha. In the beginning of the month, every body laughed more and frequented the social networking sites with a vengeance. They updated status messages with smileys and left scraps to each other. Needless to say Little Sujatha was excluded from this camaraderie.

Good looking junior executives were bullied and teased but everybody conveniently ignored Little Sujatha because nobody really wanted to date her or even talk to her. It was then she read a story about why people bully or talk about others- something to the effect that people throw stones only at trees laden with fruit. She was sadly a barren tree, even boring to be bullied or cared for. This story scarred her a bit and she shed a hasty tear or two in acute self pity. Of course no body noticed.

When mid month approached , every body’s smile faded a bit and towards the end of month , they put on their running shoes and jogged hard to get businesses and make clients happy and most importantly to please the Office Priestess Rochelle- beautiful, intelligent, rich and born under a spotlight. When she walked into that windowless office, doors opened and spectacles frosted. Her voice was musical with a strong commanding ring. People listened to her, loathed her success but loved her nonetheless. It was rumoured that on Rochelle’s instruction, that her suite like cabin was always sprayed with the latest launched bottled smell - Chanel or Versace or whatever that changed according to her whims .

By virtue of sitting around Rochelle’s cabin Little Sujatha would get that whiff of the latest in the international scene which she always associated with success and would often cross her fingers wanting to be Rochelle, the beautiful tree laden with the choicest fruits.

Then one day, she heard a voice. She swore it was the computer talking to her.
Press F5. Now. You shall find what you want.
She types slowly and deliberately. Rochelle, I want to be Rochelle.

She feels herself being lifted, tenderly but somehow compellingly. And there she was enveloped by a smell so tingling cushioned in a seat so warm and leathery. She smiles in delight and the spectacles of the Executive Assistant frost. Her heart sings a beautiful song praising her for finally being the tree with the choicest of fruits. Then it stops on its own and little jets of pain shoot through her shoulders slowly and steadily. Diamond beads like sweat spring on her face and neck and trickle down like small comical rivers. Then the pain becomes a dream. A painful dream but real. Unbearable, scary and she hits the floor with her hand clutching her heart.
A heart attack the doctor confirms later. Must have been all the stress being the boss, Poor thing.

Meanwhile little Rochelle sat at her desk excluded from all the office camaraderie- Away from the spotlight and feeling light bereft of all the fruits that once weighed her down. Happy to be just a tree at last.

Sweet Talker

We were walking by the woods and the sweet talker says “ I can climb the highest peak for you”. The leaves start to fall and we encounter a little mole hill. I smile at him say ”this is the mountain, climb it”. And he disappears in a blink

Then my phone rings and he explains in the sweetest soothing tone. That mole hills are way too small and climb he would only the highest peak with his bare hands.

I yawned and deleted his no.

Next please.

:-(

I am restless…it feels like I am always in a race…running hard but never winning. Sometimes I have the medal in my hand; it’s golden and shining and makes me proud. Then in a blink it’s gone. I am empty handed and running…restless, always in a race never winning.

I don’t want to be this way.

Fuchsia Pink

Her fingers on the key board ran amok but the eyes were listless. Sometimes waiting for ever can do that to a person. She pursed her lips; scabs were forming on them as if mocking her a bit. But she decides against going to the coffee machine. She can’t afford that. Not now. Last year was different. Plus it would take approximately twenty seconds to cross the corridor , another 20 to pause for a turn or maybe more because today there seem to be more than a usual crowd there. Another 2 minutes to drink coffee perfunctorily doled out by that cold judgmental machine. 20 seconds back. Total 2mins 40 secs. Enough time to mail a reply on the profitability table and stretch her arms a bit. Her neck feels like iron.

But she is prepared. Not really. One can never be prepared. But one can brace against it, as she is doing now. She saw it in his eyes today. Though they exchanged no words, his eyes said it all. She might have to give away the car, move to another city or worst go back to her father and drown in the deafening silence of “I told you so, you were better off with us”. “Why god! Why me?” She thought again. A lone tear fell on the keyboard sloppily.

She finally decides to take that 2 minute 40 second break. Not for coffee though.
Papa, I am coming home
Silence, no whys, what, how….just silence
And palpable relief
The travel agent will come with your tickets. So now you are ready to get married?
Yes.
That’s my girl.
Click. End of conversation.
She then takes her sim out and slowly starts cutting it with precision. Yes, she is a coward, running way from him, from his carefully modulated “boss talk” that would break the news. The wait for the pink slip is finally over.

Sometime after she walks out never to appear in that office, he walks in to her bay and leaves a letter ironically in a pink cover with a lovely red bow. He feels happy that she got this promotion.

Damn I love her…

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This is a story i wrote for an IT daily....they didnt publish it...so it finds its place in you.

Saif and Secure and lot "more" (wink)

It was a boring day and i was walking in the supermarket and guess who i meet? I put my cheeks close to his and we get closer and then he whispers I want "more". Sorry bebo..(lol)

One Crazy nite at 10 D


My hair looks like a wig...it is not...only very artificial...but i sure had a blast!!!

2009 and a Voice from Outside

Procrastination has been the flavour of the year for me….Since you didn’t get to see my any of my posts. Let me update you in a jiffy.

Began the year with a new year party, had a blast not the earth shattering one but the grounded okay types…check out some of the pics.






Lot of things have been happening , nothing I can remember. Been pub hopping quite a bit
http://photogallery.indiatimes.com/articleshow/4040653.cms( check it out )
Let me tell you about the latest voice. So here goes.

The Voice…

There is this voice that just made me extremely happy …you know one of those drawly voices that make your insides curl. I did to mine too. I was smiling more…my cheeks felt flushed. The voice had a nice laugh too..slow and lazy with a tinge of bubble. I even contemplated recording the voice.

The voice said nice things…decent stuff yet very exciting and some lies. But little lies were okay cos voice was just too good. “I am your best friend”, the voice said and I agreed loving the tenor.

So what’s in a voice, you might ask
Everything I would say…..

Work became a cheerful place…after work even more….there was a song in my heart that matched with the song of the voice. The voice laughed and made me laugh. Some of my friends became jealous of the voice but I didn’t care. Then all wise Lena told me “ You feel like this cos you are turning a year older soon and subconsciously you cant accept that you are no longer” young” anymore…you are a psycho, you’ll get bored with this voice”. “Never “, I screamed.

This is the voice that’s music to me. I was suspended in a continual state of excitement for almost two days. I searched for the voice when I couldn’t hear it…My best friend voice and nothing more…singing many a lore that’s pleased me to the core.

Then the inevitable happened. I met the attachment with the voice.

What’s in a voice you might ask?
Nothing I would say… absolutely nothing

Lena was right after all….and how can a voice become a best friend overnight? Beats me…now.

Three is a crowd!



Being lonely and having no friends is sad but somehow one gets used to the loneliness and finds solace in doing things that one is passionate about. The most thought provoking ideas stem from solitude, so does immortal works of art; books, songs, paintings - all crafted carefully by dexterous fingers in moments of loneliness and even pain by a very lively brain. What is truly heartbreaking in life is being the Third Wheel.

This post is dedicated to all the Third Wheels in Life. Third Wheel trapped in marriages, The Third Wheel among lovers, Third Wheel of friends. I feel your pain. You are worse than the garbage because the stink is from inside and you are constantly trying to escape that, little knowing that it is the stink of being “the Third Wheel”.

The third wheel existence in life is to give company to the other legitimate wheels whose bonding levels are sky –scraping , to the extent that TW will always be the outsider .
If you are trapped in any of these situations, god forbid !

*You always end up passenger seat in the car. The front seat goes to the First wheel/Second wheel every single time.

*You are always driving and they both are in the passenger seat.

*You are the messenger. Your job is to repeat verbatim, words, emotions, expressions of the other wheels to each other.

*You are the temple friend, somebody the first wheel accompanies in the process of meeting the second wheel in a temple/bus stand/canteen etc.

*You are a crowd of three and not part of the special looks/subtle touches exchanged by the other two.

*You are there but very much not there.

*That you are the legitimate but are treated otherwise

And many more such instances. I hope you get the drift.

But sadly Third wheels only wake up when they get the message flat on their faces
“Thank you for being there. Now we don’t need you anymore”

Need some tissues TW?

Crack in my lil finger....

Its official…I fractured my little finger and suffered quite a bit under the care of a certified quack. So now its re bandaged and I am painfree.

So here comes some pics of me suffering(lol) but working hard to spread the glory of my company all over the world like a lone martyr – narcissistic and a lil cracked up!




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Kyunki yeh Life hai…
Because this is Life …

Sometimes when I look around, I feel that I am part of a mega soap. A narrator of sorts without a script.Some of the things that are happening are so absurd that my beliefs are shattered like little glass shreds on a hot day. Some trample on it unscathed while others get hurt by the sharp edges.
These are slices of life that bemused me and some that shook me a little.

Some years ago in college, my friend just stopped coming to college. Then I saw her a month later and she appeared to be "hugely" different. After years of believing that she woke up like that one fine day, now she tells me without a blink, over a glass of vodka…"those are the implants"... The best part was I didn’t blink back .

There was this beautiful girl, smart, vivacious and a nice person , when I saw her in college I knew that she would conquer the world. Now, she has a little girl and is on the brink of a divorce for no reasonale fault of hers where as the certified dunce in my class is painting the world red and has leaped the career ladder like rabbits in lust. And she isn’t even remotely nice looking and her communication skills are zilch. Beats me.

Then there are others who seemed to have all but their lipstick is to hide quivering lips, glossy hair is a painful effort to divert the mind from pain . The laughter is loud but hollow and the mist in the eye after a good laugh is actually tears , of pain , sorrow, anger , knowing that they had it all but still have nothing.

While manipulative little things, with fake smiles and dried up brains walk away with trophies and bask in confetti and all the nice things showered by life…even the narrator cant but sigh in exasperation.

Four years ..... (Nov 27th)
of love, fights, tears, happiness
cuddles, kisses, milestones....
It feels great to be married :-)