Friday, January 21, 2011

~~ The Other Woman ~~


Being in love is an amazing feeling. It is everyone's secret fantasy to have that special somebody in life. Everyone survives on love. Almost all lives centre on this theme.

People fall in love for a number of reasons and many relations break down because they are all the wrong reasons for being in love. Some people get into relationships because they feel empty or worthless when they are single. Some people get hooked because their friends are in relationships and they feel left out in the game of love. Some might be repeatedly questioned by family as to when they are settling down. So there is pressure, either direct or indirect, on both men and women to fall in love.

Nowadays, it's very easy to fall in and out of love. Often people mistake lust for love. When the lusting is over and done with, people realize that they were never in love. It is not uncommon to hear couples say that they share a great chemistry and that's the reason why they got together. But relations started on the basis of chemistry and not commitment; rarely stand the test of time. A lot of people believe that it's natural to fall out of love. Although it is common, it is not natural.

However, there are relations that start off on the right note, with the right intentions that run into rough weather. People often make the mistake of promising the stars to their better half and later back off from fulfilling that promise or completely deny making such promises. This is one of the reasons why people fall out of love as their expectations have not been met. It also leads to hurt, anger and resentment as your loved one may feel cheated. Another common complaint among couples is that their partners have changed over the course of the relationships. The truth can be that they haven't changed. It's just that people tend to take each other for granted.

No matter what the reason, all issues can be resolved if a couple is willing to commit to each other and work towards building and strengthening their bonds. Men and women should not think their partners are mind readers. You have to talk to each other. Relationships flourish only where there is trust, understanding, acceptance, and forgiveness. It is important to be truthful to yourself to be truthful to your partner.
Breaking up is never easy. And it's even tougher for exes to be friends. But, if you have the signal clear that you like being friends with the person, then it's best to stick to the decision, take a step back and get into the "just friends zone", without ruining it all.

Love heals every scar.
But what heals a scar given by love?

The man is more often than not forgiven an extra-marital affair, and the wife assumes martyr status. Where does that leave the Other Woman...Is she not human?

To the Other Woman of long standing, to borrow a line from Germaine Greer, “watching society's efforts to deny her existence is amusing.” Angelina Jolie trots around the world collecting children in a do-gooding publicity blitz to wipe the memory of her home-breaking affair. Senator John Edwards smiles and is forgiven by a cancer-stricken wife who turns martyr for his campaign. The mistress becomes a “mistake”. And Carla Bruni almost makes it as a poster girl, until the too-socially-perfect a marriage to forgo happened.

The Delhi High Court considers the mistress equal to the wife in matters of domestic violence, but society still has its nose in the air. Shobhaa De, Pooja Bedi, Smriti Irani all distance themselves from even commenting. Other Women take the rap in Suchitra Krishnamoorthi's rants on infidelity; in Rani Mukerji's professional isolation and self-imposed silence. Men dally freely and women take the blame. Hasn't it always been that way?
When Shakespeare died, he left his wife Ann Hathaway only his 'second best bed' in his will. And who knows where the original went! But why go so far? The Other Woman remains embedded in Indian culture; in the harems of the Mughals, the erudite Bengali babu's sonagachi of the 1800s and in the Tamil Brahmin's chinna veedu. Mistresses were beautiful, talented, seductive magnets of men, and inescapably sidelined until they entered mainstream marriage.

At least those who were lucky did. Indian filmdom has pointed its finger at everyone from Waheeda Rehman to Madhubala, Rekha's Silsila, Sridevi's wait for respectability, and Hema Malini's refusal to even pose for photographs with Dharmendra.

What motivates an affair? Who wants to listen to the Other woman?

They don't crave the stability their male-friend’s marriage has. If does not even think of giving it to her, he runs away. He needs a no-strings-attached relationship. My friends say I am in denial. I think they're denying they can be happy this way. As Maureen Dowd phrases it, "Men are necessary not because we need them, but because we want them. It's nice. Like an ice-cream or something."

The man on his part treats his Other Woman as he would never treat his wife — international holidays, a penthouse, diamonds, flowers, and tenderly calling her the love of his life. The stuff of fantasies. But the truth is, he loves to have the control of two lives without extra commitment.

Is forgiveness a virtue? The new-age man has to apologize or be damned. So he did. He becomes a martyr to his hormones. He gets away with it by saying he did it so what? And leaves the Other woman to take all the blame and shame.

Men in affairs are the wimps. Very few men in affairs have the spine to give the Other Woman the option of moving on. Most pretend its leading somewhere. He's not going to jeopardize respectability for a potential soulmate. Women fall into the trap when the man phrases the miserable three words — I need you.

But why presume that men are seduced beyond their will? Is it not the married men who are angling for an affair? It takes a special kind of woman to sustain an affair and still be on the social circuit. To accept being sidelined, people's glances... It's not for the faint of heart. It's not like the man is being kidnapped, drugged or stolen away. A lot of people see only what is outward. They don't notice the home they're accused of wrecking probably had its own reasons for falling apart. They only see the explosion. They see what follows and not what went before. A win-win situation. No commitments, no emotional burden. An easy shrug off when he feels being cornered.

Would a man be called the Other Man? Never. It comes from thinking of women as more chaste beings. Even women have sexual urges is a surprisingly new idea to most men. The fact that a woman initiates sex, wants an orgasm too is anomalous. The Other Woman doesn't have an easy time of it. Never.

"As long as there is marriage, there will be a mistress," writes Victoria Griffin in The Other Woman. And as long as there is a mistress, may she find a voice.

She loves him without a tag, freely. She finds peace in knowing glances, shared moments, stolen sighs. Worrying if people would find out, what they'd say, was a fleeting instant of fear. She doesn't need public acknowledgement. It would seem to be a state of constant bliss. There's firmness to being the strength inside a man. She glows with secret love. Don’t you think a mistress is on par with the wife? She just owns a side of a man, a wife doesn't. She is equal, with spaces in her togetherness.

She shares joys without responsibilities, she consoles without being involved. There is a distance too because the relationship is fragile. On the other hand, wives and husbands go where the Other woman will never. They don't discuss “their” life much. Nobody knows about tomorrow so she lives more fully for today. Today, here and now, is all it's about. She is happy in her own ivory tower. One day, it will all come crashing she supposes and that’s the bitter truth. She shrugs. Tomorrow is another day.

You can tell she means it when she says "I am fearless. I don't fear failure, I don't fear anybody but ..." But what? Does Miss Bindaas actually fear something? Hush-hush secrets tumble out, embarrassed she admits, "It is so since more than a decade. I am scared of humans! It's so awkward that someone like me who is so independent just needs to have somebody around. It's some sort of inexplicable terror which I have to get over sometime in my life. But currently it seems impossible"

So the Other woman always remains a mistress, “The other Woman” and never a wife….coz nobody....nobody listens to her…..

Saturday, January 15, 2011

~~ My World ~~


Delightful little butterflies seem to twirl around my waist as I woke up this morning into a Prussian blue dawn that was raising its reticent little head from the farther corner of the horizon ~ translucent, silvery, glorious.
Have you waited for something so long that you don't remember when it all started, spent infinite moments picturing it, rewinding and playing it in your head again and again and again. Tireless. But when its finally in front of you, circumnavigating the borders of sweet fruition; you're filled with a trepidation mingled mirth sort of sensation in the pit of your stomach, you're unsure it is happiness or excitement or fear.
A similar feeling fox-trot inside my belly tonight, as I see this breaking dawn, that just got newly color-splashed. And I realize, dreams do come true. You just have to hold on to them, a little longer that you thought you could.


Talking about your wedding with your mom is weird thing. As you are discussing the time, jewellery, the events, the works. Listening to her talk to you about how you should equip yourself to handle new responsibilities, the way she sees right through you and knows that when you don’t want to get married just yet, you actually mean you don't want to shoulder the responsibilities all the new relationships are going to bring.
She asks me, "And how many days are you going to fly like a careless birdie. After all you have your nest on earth; you are not a sky dweller." To which I grin and quip, "Till I grow old." She retorts as effortlessly as it can be, in her typical poetic demeanor and verbiage," No matter how old you become, you'll have to come back to your nest, isn't it? Won't you like to teach a small birdie like you how to fly, just like I taught my small birdie?” And just like that that battle is lost.
The journey of a mother and a daughter is such a queer one. It’s as if you both metamorphose into womanhood together, side by side. Learning from each other, sharing each other’s feelings as though you are just friends, taking each other's advice, sometimes fighting and then quickly making up because you both share the tendency of not being able to stay angry with people you love for too long. And you realize, you never want to leave her womb and see what they call "the world". For that is where your world is.
Maa….You are where my world is... There was never really another way without you, was there?

~~ If you must know ~~


If you must know...
There’s rarely been a moment,
Where my slender hopes have not been met,
With an ambition, stunningly audacious
That comes from dawning that you're here.
And you shall forever be.
We swap places when life makes us.
You're the sturdy one sometimes,
And I am, in others.

If you must know.
When we fetch each other light,
I think to myself, and agree
I'd rather bask in a tomfoolery
And think utopia exists.
Then I see you smile and conclude,
With clarity I rarely have,
I'd rather not do it any other way,
But to hang on to you.
Forever and beyond….
If at all….you must know.

~~ Crimson Death ~~


People die. And with that they leave behind an abyss. In one room, amongst sob and shock and stare and a sinking feeling looming large your world would have fallen apart. And nobody knows. Nobody ever can. The cynic smirks when they offer you words.
What are they thinking? Don't they know that moment words are just sounds, echoes of a redundant now, which simply glide above and around you, and never through you? That moment all you have passing through you is just a colossal barrenness, engulfing your blood pumping machine which resonates with the raucous white noise of a simple truth. People die.
Words never seem shallower. More crimson. I don't know what helps. I merely silently stand. Alongside.

I stand here and watch the people of this world:
All against one and one against all,
angry, arguing, plotting and scheming.
Then one day, suddenly, they die.

And each gets one plot of ground:
four feet wide, six feet long.
And so that they can scheme their way out of that plot,
They set the stone that immortalizes their name...

It hurts me. Death is sad but sadder is the fact that most people don't live at all….
Now poses the question, am I alive at all….coz I am already in an abyss...?

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Day in the life of a dreamer….


Obsessively, compulsed, and disordered. Anxiety-ridden and pill popping. Insomniac one day, hypersomnia the next. High soaring skies, deep valley lows. Today is yesterday’s future and tomorrow will be today’s threat. Impossibility but possibly magnanimous. Throat muscles clench. The strain. They have quick jolts. Hard to breathe. It’s hard to exhale. A flood approaches in the north while an earthquake stirs in the south. Is it time to go yet? The sky is closing in. Everyone seems bigger. The skin crawls. Scratch, scratch, and scratch the maggots away. Did you see how big that one was? Pulsating legs, fast beating heart. Take my hand. It is sweating but cold. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Only two minutes have passed. Look down. Look at the watch. Scratch your arm. Look up. Watch out for that car. Watch out for the cars in the opposite direction. Step back. Step BACK. Wait on the curb. The short hand begins. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tock. Green. Go. Cross. Look up. Are we there? No. When did the commute take a century? Help. I may collapse. Am I turning a sesquipedalianist?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. What time is it? Not five o’clock? Ugh. Look busy. Turn your head. Look busy. What else can I Google? Google about birthdates, dogs, herbal medicine, etc. Is it too early to Google about Black Friday? Ugh. How am I feeling today? I’m not sure. I think a bit better. I’m still slightly sad but better than I was about three to four days ago. I’ve been feeling extra lonely. Growing up I’ve always had this image of myself of someone in a wealthy lifestyle but all alone. I was to amass a fortune, attend galas, donate lots of money but be alone. My life was one of making and giving away money. I didn’t picture a husband, kids or a dog. I thought corporate world would build me up to be one of its minions. Sadly, the being alone part has come true. I have no husband or kids. I do have a dog though. I guess that’s progress. Almost every day I feel alone. I feel entrapped in my life of solitude and independence. I was taught to be independent and do things on my own. Sadly, I wasn’t taught how to share or do it with others. As a result of this, my achievements, successes, and happy moments have always been alone and behind closed doors. I’ve never truly had anyone to share my intimates with, my life. I’d like to change that picture. I created my life and now I want to alter its course. After all, I am the author and protagonist.

In the future, I still see myself well off BUT now I’m with a life partner who is hot, has a nice humor, is romantic, and I have tons of good friends and loving people around me. I still attend galas and donate money but now I have more love in my life. I am happy. I am content. I have a loving, gorgeous, and romantic husband. We laugh together and spoil each other rotten. We complement each other well and we inspire each other. Our dogs are wonderful as well. They love running around in our big three bedroom, three and a half bathroom apartment in Donno-where. After about five years of marriage, my husband and I are contemplating children. We’ve saved up enough money to retire and are already living lavishly well. I want to give my husband four children. During the holidays, we’re always together. In fact, everyone celebrates the holidays at our place. Both of our families adore each other. At summer time, we’re away at our summer home. The children love playing in the ocean. They know they are loved and are happy. We are one big happy family- Me, my husband, our four children, and our four dogs.

There is an acute sense of resurrection I find from scraps of conversations I chance upon time and again. Conversations let adrift into space, uttered by souls who are ignorant of my existence, but speak as if it was all concocted for me, just for me.

Have you ever sat up and suddenly taken notice how mere words seem to exude the misty iridescence of sated hearts, like luminous inventories of graceful thoughts that pour out from beautiful minds? And as they tumble down, and alter the contours of your emotions and ordain your weather beaten spirit, you are nothing but humbled to be able to swallow the incredulous beauty of it all?

Tonight I am so wonderfully satiated, sitting here, wrapped up in a mustard yellow blanket that faintly emanates of a distilled willingness, to step into cobbled pathways that lead me to your fecund homes, engulfed with a rare serenity very few manage to find. And to return ever so redeemed, and ever so alive.

I am overwhelmed and bereft to say much, hence shall leave you with this: a fragment of my blessed heart, hoping it will reach your happiness stained windows and mirth lined walls, breeze in your kitchen and sprinkle you with silvery sunshine.

Sturdy imprints on my mind, in autumn touched sepia's hue.
I am waltzing tonight into a quaint land that’s known only by few.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

~~ Complimentary Supplement ~~


On a normal day, I watch the dawn break on my window asking me to pull together my reveries of not-so-fabulous ruminations and just go to sleep instead.
On a normal day, I wake up by this bugging alarm to see my dreams are over or to be jolted awake from nightmares, and ready to run in a race which I don't care of, still thinking about the delusions of my unconscious mind.
On a normal day, I wake up past 11, have brunch, watch a movie, surf, read, nap, brew ginger tea, tune in for a rerun of Lie to me or Friends or Master Chef Australia, cook and have the whole house, to me.
On a normal day, I write letters, in a white notebook, that vaguely smells of petunias, elucidating to it petite promises I make to me when there is no one to hear.
On a normal day I think of my parents, breathe the sweet familiar scent of them, listen to her laughter, watch her angel like visage, listen to his concerned voice ~ and taste tranquility drench me by.
On a normal day, I like curling up on the sofa with a story book, as I sip a mug of hot coffee viewing the drizzle from the sky.
Somebody said,"You live in moments that come in between pauses."

Life is messy. That's how we're made. So, you can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them. But there are some lines... that are way too dangerous to cross... You always need a complimentary supplement.
So on the other days, I just shrug and saunter past.
What do you do on your "other" days?

~~Anticipation~~


If ever should these waiting lips,
Touch softly on your face;
They'll leave a trail of passion,
Time never will erase.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....


If ever should these empty arms,
Be filled with loving you;
You'll never want another,
Each time will be brand new.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed to feel your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....

If ever should these hands of mine,
Across your body linger;
You'll know the heat of my desire,
With the touch of every finger.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....

If ever should my body,
Lay touching yours alone;
As we explore each other,
Like two souls coming home.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed so for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...