A Thought Experiment

So much

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 20:04:00 +0000

Gifts you can give me this holiday season

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 05:24:00 +0000

I would hate for you to be confused about what to buy me this holiday season. So, here is a list:

- A backpack/ handbag

- Shoes/sandals (never enough)

- Earrings (anytime, anyhow, any number)

- Money (I am going on a long trip. You could sponsor a lunch or so)

- Winter Clothes (that includes a whole lot of options, so use your imagination)

- Jewelry (this is a separate point from the earrings, because earrings deserve a separate point)

- Books – Anything else by Malcolm Gladwell other than Blink and by Tim Harford other than The Undercover Economist and others if you feel generous.

- Sunglasses

PS: All gifts make me happy – some more than the others, but ALL GIFTS MAKE ME HAPPY.

Things I want to do at this moment:

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 05:27:00 +0000

Things I want to do at this moment:

- Wear a sari and swirl around

- Eat mushroom and spinach lasagna

- Say a big thank you to my Dad.

Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 18:42:00 +0000

I thought friendship was nice

But it sucks!

Why should I

Be sick, or troubled or unhappy

For you to consider even looking at me!

I am not a number on your task list

Or an extra to keep you company.

I deserve to have a friend

Because I am here

Trying to be one.

May be friendship is nice

But you just make it suck!

PS: Written for someone from someone else.

This week

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 08:12:00 +0000

The week has been really sweet. Yes, sweet is the word.

I have not been keeping well, so I take a rickshaw to work everyday. Yesterday, the driver charged me Rs. 10 less because he kept me waiting at the Petrol pump while he was getting gas. Today, the rickshawwala charged me Rs. 7 less because I didn't have the change.

The generosity surprised me to no end. So did the smiles that followed.

This week has been really nice, I guess.

Something's wrong

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 11:47:00 +0000

I have not been the best version of myself lately.

I see an aged couple stepping out of the rickshaw below my building. I recognize them as the lovely people who fed me tea when I had gone to their place to get a survey filled. They have several shopping bags with them and they are clearly finding it difficult to carry all of them together.

I am slightly dressy as I am heading out for a party. It troubles me that for that moment when I saw them step out of the rickshaw, all I wanted was, to get that rickshaw, take me to Bandra which is where I was headed. For a mini fraction there, I remember me telling me that I should be helping these sweet old people with their numerous bags. But I didn’t. I just smiled, got into the rickshaw and drove away.

On another day last week, I was boarding the train from Kandivali and a heavy plastic bag hit the back of my arm. I turn to see a woman holding a boy of about four years old in one hand and the bag is another. I DO NOT consider her history or her context which I should have. Instead, as I enter the train, I INTENTIONALLY push her.

I don’t know why I am being so cruel. These incidents are etched in my brain because I DON’T do stuff like this. I DON’T.

But I did.

Bygone

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:15:00 +0000

I used to secretly be in love with you
It is hard to believe now,
For time has moved and so have we
But it’s true
I used to be in love with you.

Making a poem

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 08:12:00 +0000

I wrote a poem about the man I love

but it didn't seem like the right reporting

I tore it to pieces and burnt it to ash
And finally my heart started hurting.

Resolution

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 07:57:00 +0000

I am going to start writing again!

My Family

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:49:00 +0000

My family
We play chor chor
Like our house is a fort.

We run around in two teams gleefully
My Ma and I
Against Papa.

But at every turn
I find myself
Lodged in the bedroom with Papa.

The door closes
And he zips open his pants
Ramming me under him.

My blue frock is torn
Knickers hanging down my straddled leg
As I scream for my Ma.

She is outside listening
I know my Ma
She cheated again.

You make me so happy

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:47:00 +0000

You make me so happy.
I can hardly write
Barely breathe.
I am overcome
And overwhelmed.
I am floating away in some colourful spectrum
Of no thoughts and no masks.
There is a smile lingering and am continuously finding it
And continuously losing it.
I am playful
On a swing.
Running through sprinklers
Lying on my bed listening to the sea.
You make me so happy.
I am laughing for no reason and all reason
As if on an inside joke.
I am touching a little more
Feeling a little more.
I am more here than somewhere else
Feeling my hair and nails grow.
You make me so happy,
When you are happy.
That is all it takes my friend
Share a smile with me, sometime

Oldage

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:40:00 +0000

She looked at herself
The hair like frills on a dressy frock
She powdered her face
As to even the wrinkles
She began to redden her lips
But gave away halfway
Rubbing off the scarlet off her pale face
There was no need to bother
Time was on her side now -
The cherished anniversaries and the running children
The secret kisses and the sunshine
The snow and the smoky cinema halls
The huge family and the loud music
The tattered photographs and the attentive husband.
Her face was a map
Every gnarled fold
Was a brief lifetime
She looked at herself
And could not help but notice
A crimson blush on her smiling face

My best friend

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:38:00 +0000

Its 2:12 pm, I definitely remember.
I was 9 steps away from the TV.
We were watching a show about sharks
The one we were not supposed to.

Abby was slow and purring
The way she gets when I give her all my food.
Suddenly there is knocking
There is not supposed to be knocking.

I want my mummy
Or is it she outside?
I raise myself off the couch
Walk 34 steps towards the door.

At the 14th step I stop
The knocks are getting louder
Like a hammer ramming into my brain
Abby and I know then it’s not mummy.

Foreboding shadows loitering outside the door
Abby rubs herself at my legs, slow and purring
The way she gets when she knows I am afraid
But she struts ahead brave and sure.

I follow her trail
I am 11 steps away from the door
When Abby raises her head
Scratches at the door and roars like a lion.

Its 2:27 pm I clearly remember
When Abby puts me to bed
She licks her paws
And places herself next to my wild beating heart.

Heartbreak

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:36:00 +0000

I enter the party
in my first black short dress.
Walking three inches higher than myself
I have left my spectacles at home.
I smile broadly at alien faces
until I notice you and her.
I tremble and heave
as you look at me.
You let go of her arm
and walk towards me.
I almost smile
Before you say
“Don’t try so hard,
You are just not as beautiful.”

A 100 word story

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Thu, 07 May 2009 06:26:00 +0000

“Brown or white?” Sujoy wondered. He made a quick call to Anjali. “White bread,” she said nonchalantly as if she were expecting the call.

Sujoy smiled. He was lucky to have a wife who could read his mind. His smile broadened as he decided to get her roses for the first time since their wedding.

In their small apartment, Anjali was tutoring their 18-year-old neighbor Jason who had failed his physics exam again. However, her mind was elsewhere, ripe for another deep-set depression. Her predictable marriage was suffocating her. Her world was dizzy as she moved in to kiss Jason.

love

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 15:59:00 +0000

Try me

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 06:19:00 +0000

Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 18:42:00 +0000

Realisation

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 18:41:00 +0000

It is a scary feeling. There is a deep hollow in my brain because of memory reprocessing. All my memories were stored believing, confirming, and affirming that I was a shy individual. However, I have come to realize that I am just plain cowardly. What I viewed as being shy, turns out is that part of me refusing to be called cowardly and hence is refashioning itself into an appropriate, innocent and feminine quality, which I have never had and possibly never will.

Such is life, a bundle of bittersweet reality checks.

I positive

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 18:22:00 +0000

That little piece of flesh

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 18:14:00 +0000

Remember those Levi’s dangerously low jeans? Bare bodies models adorning every billboard in town. Our orthodox and overactive cultural police did do a successful job of bringing down those ‘shameless’ pictures but that in anyway did not bring the sales down.

The jeans crowded the colleges. Books were dropped, butt cleavages exposed. Laces were tied, anal hair exhibited. Elders would roll their eyes and an occasional aunty would mock, “Kids nowadays!”

If that was not enough remorse for the elders, the underwear never caught up with the trend. Or they probably did. Suddenly names of American men were boldly visible on huge waistbands above the dangerously low jeans.

On the other hand, the panties were a little more conscious of the fashion development, and coordinated with the dangerously low producing tiny insignificant underwear which my mom had trouble folding.

The t-shirts got stuffier and tinier. For the kurta-jeans crowd, the side slits got larger and longer. And actually that’s where my story begins.

I am on the yatra sitting with a couple of girls. All of us belong to different age groups and different parts of the world. G is from a Kenya and has a healthy curiosity about anything remotely Indian. A is educating her on Indian marriages. There is great camaraderie and every five minutes someone breaks into giggles.

A is from Coimbatore. She is dressed in a casual kurti up to her hips and jeans (high waist one). She says, “I could never wear this at home.”

G is shocked. She looks at me. I am dressed in a knee length kurta and raggedy jeans (mid rise one). I say, “I always dress like this.”

I am reaching out to the top berth to get some water. Looking at me, A explains, “See, the difference is, I can wear what she is wearing but for that little piece of flesh.”

She is referring to small triangle of skin that shows between my kurta and my jeans at the sides.

The politics of clothing has always amused me. How deep is a deep neck? How short is a short skirt? How short can a sleeve really go without being slutty? How mini is a mini?

Now I am at Govandi station arming myself to get into the train. I notice the woman next to me stare at me two seconds too more. I look at her and smile.

She comes close and says, “tumhaara kurta phat gaya hai.”

I am surprised and worried and as I pull it back and front to see where exactly, she looks at me and points to that little piece of flesh.

Three weird/funny things I saw today

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 06:38:00 +0000

1. The local homeopathy college has their annual festival - Palpitations 2009.
2. Bhaidas hall is hosting the India-Russia Friendship Contest.
3. A neo-nazi skinhead with his bulky bike of red swastikas was traveling down the highway.

Good Samaritan Day

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 06:32:00 +0000

Its just another day on the Mumbai local. I have had a lovely evening with M, but still it has not done much for my overall mood which has been quite abc. Abc because, I don’t know quite know
how I feel.

I am been down on company lately. Do not want to meet anyone. Anyone means anyone. Given a choice I would lock myself in a room and cry myself to bits thinking about how lonely I am. Self inflicted, yes.

It so happens that this evening at 10:30 pm, as I am trying to get back home from Grant Road station, I have a lot of company. But, just the kind of company I need – strangers.I am sitting in the train, relaxing, for the lack of anything better to do. I make two random phone calls, which I ‘should’ and even secretly wanted to. I was hoping that they would liberate me of my abcness.

M calls and we talk irrespective of the fact that we spent the last 5 hours together. The wind is nice and soft and I raise my legs on to the seat.

Suddenly a man enters. Rapping a huge stick on the edge of the seat, he says - Bandra. I jump fearfully only to realize that the train is now empty and he is animatedly asking me to get off. I mutter a thank you and urgently leave. Turns out this train is not taking me home and the last thing I want is to sit in a dark train at the khar train yard feeling abc.

I hang up on M and get into the next train to Borivali. I get pushed into the train just the way I like it, floating, with no effort, but for a woman ahead of me who refuses to move forward and is holding fort as if we are in a war. I try to reason with her but she refuses to budge and I am amazed at her fierce spirit.

She wishes to get down at Andheri and is following the strict instructions her sister gave her – get in and do not move until Andheri. She persists with a monologue of how she hates trains and crowds and though the buses take longer, at least one does not get pushed around without any respect whatsoever.

Somehow, indigenously as always, everyone gets comfortable even the old koli woman who had been rattling off in her Marathi at the young girl who shrieked at her for her fishy smell and the huge crate she had hosted at the entrance. The koli woman was still muttering and I caught much disdain in her voice for the youth who considered fashion more important than human beings.

I was in a pathetic enough a mood to actually enjoy what was happening around me. Lodged between the crate and the exit, I was looking around humoured and amused. On my right, a woman in bright blue hanging by the door was about to vomit. It was the fish smell. The old koli went on about how a true mumbaikar should eat, sleep, breathe fish and though historically, she is correct being the first inhabitant of this island city, but much has changed since she the 1800s. The vomit woman was told to take deep breaths to avoid puking. She was stationed at the door in such a way that if she did, she would puke outside but at the same point of time, the wind would not carry the puke to the window next to the door.

While this physics was at work, a younger koli woman (probably the old koli woman’s daughter) was asking the old koli to shut up about the benefits of eating fish, which was making a mighty lot uncomfortable.

Meanwhile I kept apologizing to a huge woman next to me. My elbow kept running into her full breasts. I kept saying sorry repeatedly but I doubt she had any clue what my sorry(s) were about. On my left, taking the door’s support was a girl dressed in a sober brown salwar kameez. She had deep-set features and spoke a strong Hindi with occasional awkward English. She was chatting away throughout with one hand holding onto the door and the other on the phone. She had all the top phalanges on her hand missing and it was unbelievable how she held on to the phone with such incredible ease.

Andheri finally arrived with me making hesitant conversation with the old koli women in my urban twanged Marathi. I continued to stare at the girl with the missing phalanges and her hand struck me so pretty. I wanted to tell her how beautiful her hands were but she was lost in the crowd as I helped the old koli women bring down her crate.

Strangely, I didn’t feel abc anymore.

Busy

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 16:32:00 +0000

Love only you

noreply@blogger.com (A Thought Experiment) — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 16:31:00 +0000