Friday, December 31, 2010

sin-ster this song is like a terribly sexy song. and ever since i heard it on the soundtrack of "love actually" it's driven me crazy. it's what inspired me to write the piece below. i hope it reminds you of that someone or something that reduces you to nothing. i say something, cos right now in my life, sin and temptation only pertains to oreo cookies.
listen to it while you read it :D

It's sin and you know it very well. And you know better that you're going to give into it. There could be hell to pay. You dangle the choice like loose change in your pockets. Your breath is a demented prisoner, caught somewhere, tangled and mangled in its own delirium. The blinding flash of desire. You let your self melt away into the moment. Doubling over with want. Your fingers chase the restless spiders in your hair and an icicle makes its slow, painful progress down your spine. Deafening pounding in your ears and your chest tightens till you think you'll explode with what you contain within yourself. sweet lust. the buzz in your head and your silly palpitating heart, flailing like a fish out of water. that delicious moment. words reduce your stomach to water. will becomes a weak would. knees made of melting wax and veins flowing with white heat. better than chocolate. better than ice cream. better than the warm amber of whiskey. forever waits like a foolish lover in the rain. the moment is all you know and you care. and you felt alive, like never before! The moment you touched.

Hell hath no fury like the types of me scorned

I'm in trouble. Big trouble. No I'm not pregnant with the immaculate conception. Christmas is over people! Enough with the falalalala spirit, already! Ok-hey….this is how it goes.
Recent events have seriously jeopardized my status as chief family rebel. Okay maybe not chief… but certainly vice-president rebel. i, who was supposed to make people gasp their entrails out by doing something scandalous is now being looked at askance by the younger lot. My parents are just waiting for the cue to breathe their sigh of relief. Well they have been holding their breaths for three years now. And now, with some people doing the i'm-a-rat-i-desert-this-ship act, my folks have all the reason to see hope in me. OH NO. how does that make me feel? it makes me feel THREATENED. Like a tiger who's misplaced his dentures. What will they expect me to do next? Jump over hoops of fire? Oooh ..that appeals to the dramaqueen in me. Like you know, hoops of fire being a metaphor for arranged marriage, into which I'm expected to make the leap of faith …..ooh too much! And then what? Fall flat on my face? WHAT THE HELL! JesusMaryJoseph..what have i become? There's every chance that I could wind up being a shining example!! Like the conduct-chart superstar I was with. And that is quite mortifying you know! Mum holding the ex as an example to be emulated. Suddenly the enemy is the golden boy? "See look at him. Such a nice boy. Listening to his parents and giving them no grief" Ooohlalallala….rub it in my face like it's a facial, won't you? See the thing is, when a boy or a girl comes across as a family boy or a family girl, there's every chance that they're a HIS FAMILY guy or a HER FAMILY girl. Which means D.U.M.P.E.D for those foolish enough to be in a relationship with them.

So what went wrong here? The person or the event that was supposed to make my dad turn around and glower like the armless dude in Sholay (with the requisite jang-jang-jang music in the background) and make my mum put her hands to her head and cry out "Naaaahi" like Hema Malini, turned tail and chickened out. Squawk Squawk. And is now brand ambassador for the matrimonial columns. Soon we might be subjected to the privilege of seeing his mug (with the missus, of course) with curly-wurly fonts proclaiming them to be a success story in the newspaper. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Dutiful son. Such a story for a film! NOT.

Things have come to pass that even my friends have dared to mention the "A" word to me. Not adults-only, you dimwits. ARRANGED MARRIAGE!!!!! and some more exclamation marks, if you please. My little cousin, she asks me straight out, "Are you going to embarrass us all by going for a typical manoramamatrimonials marriage? Nanakaedu. (which translates into For Shame! Only thing is, in Malayalam, like most things in Malayalam, the effect is multiplied by the gazillion - that it's strong enough to peel paint) Arranged marriage are for wimps, man. Marriage should come with plenty of drama. "No certainly not" "She's older than you" "He's younger than you" "I won't consider it..not with someone who doesn't belong to our faith" "Whaaaaaat? you want to marry an infidel?" "Are you saying you want to marry a terrorist?" "But she's of a lower caste!! Certainly not..especially when the sun shines out of our caste's ass." "Out of the question..she's a she and you're a she!! HAVE YOU LOST IT!!" (I don't know why, but as i'm writing this, I've got this eerie deja vu. I suspect, that it COULD be because this has been my pet subject for a while now… nah i don't think so.) So my problem is…. I have a reputation to maintain. The scalp scalloping red indian CANNOT turn into a missionary priest. the very thought gives me diarrhea. All of you dear people..appeal to the gods and the forces that be…that such a cruel and mortifyingly embarrassing fate will not be mine!

Sorry about bringing up the tiger example again. It IS getting a little repetitive, I know. But as long it doesn't lead to more dwindling tiger numbers, I don't see what's the harm in using its name in vain…which by the way, isn't in vain, cause i'm making a parallel to myself. That would make me vain, wouldn't it….. eerrrr…where were we? Oh yes, the tiger. So all these years, I've made a lot of noise and gung-ho and played the you-can't-tame-me-cause-i'm-a-feral-feline act. And now after all that dolby-effect, mighty roaring and show of claws, if I meow like a little kitten and jump on someone's lap waiting to be stroked? How am I supposed to live that down? (Speaking of which, I wonder if a grown cat ever gets over the childhood trauma of being a playful little kitten)
So if i do end up this way, this post is my anticipatory penance slash bail. Cause, like they say, Que. sera sera! damn you sera..whoever you are.

P.S: And yes, after a brief sabbatical, the sarcastic bitch is back!

Monday, December 6, 2010

i miss the sea

The sea reached out to me like a benevolent mother. The ebb and surge of the tide were notes of her ceaseless lullaby. Somehow she knew where I hurt and she reached out to those places with certainty but without presumption or brashness. Standing on the promenade, I was a hesitant child – knowing well that my precious hurt was but a particle in her dark fathoms. But when the sea sings, you cannot but listen. She holds the burden of livelihoods, the demands of plunder and the prayer of hope. And the infiniteness of death.
Her constant disquiet can still even the severest disturbance. With the mellifluousness of poetry, she awakens the deadened soul, thaws the numb heart and restores the sense of wonder with her cache of simple treasures. The whiteness of the sand that meets the water with open arms, the exhilaration of the sweet-tinged breeze as it skims the sea’s surface, the inviolate, creamy hearts of the sea shells. The purple flowers that grow silent and voluptuous – a sensuality of which sweetness hasn’t been drained out yet. The silence that only the sea gull’s cry, distant foghorn echoes and fisherfolk sound can be. They go on around you, but all you hear is the sound of stillness inside you as your distraction folds its wings like a bird retiring to roost. The sea always heals. And I left her side with the taste of her salty kiss on my lips.