Curiosity made best friends

“Ask me questions. I love your questions.” he said.

And he loves answering them. Especially when they are about the universe, about the stars and the planets, about evolution and everyday science.

I’m baffled, most of the times. I find that I know very little about this world after all. Things that seem so obvious to me, are not so obvious.

His revelations amaze me, and sometimes, I so want to stick to my beliefs, and he so wants to stick to the facts, that we have an argument, a fight. Over science. That’s right.

But whether it leaves me amazed or mad, I learn something.

Maybe sometimes he does, too, when he asks me about non-science stuff.

And that’s how our conversations have grown. That’s how we got interested to talk more and more to each other. Questions. Answers. Amazement. Admiration.

We’ve been the best of friends a long time.


Freedom From…Perfection

Picked white flowers fallen on the rain-soaked road on a breezy post-shower evening.

Walked all alone with myself, breathed in the sweet smell of wet mud, and sighed.

As the skies got darker, and so did all the colours of nature around me, I saw the miracle and the life that exists in that changing.

Life exists in changing.

I was alone, and I felt safe in my arms and in my mind.

I looked around, and for a moment, I felt like an invisible particle of the universe, something that existed only to observe and rejoice in the observation.

Then when I closed my eyes and looked nowhere, I felt that what was inside me was the centre of the universe.

I held those flowers together in my muddy hands. I felt the graininess of the moist soil on my fingers. The graininess, that which I came from.

I saw with magnifying eyes, traces of earth, black and brown, sprinkled and smeared across those pretty little whitelings.

What beauty in imperfection! I thought.

I caressed their petals, as the thought caressed my soul.

What I learnt about Love from Maya Angelou

Giving unconditionally.

Knowing that we are all the children of God, beyond age, race or creed.

Protecting, but liberating from protection.

Nurturing, but also a offering a free mould from the nurturing.

Not judging nor classifying as deserving or undeserving.

Not expecting it to be returned.

Forgiving, and accepting completely of having forgiven.

Love is: I love you if you are in the next room, I love you if you are in China, I love you if you are on a different hemisphere. And I’d love you even if you weren’t around anymore.

Love is: I love you for the soul that you are, that cannot be touched, only experienced. I’d love you even if you were a janitor.

Love is: I love you and what you have done to me doesn’t change that. I have forgiven you, and you shouldn’t feel indebted, you should feel loved.

Love is: I raised you, and I did it with more love than sense of duty. I’d like to fiercely protect you and treat you as my responsibility till I die, and I’d like to see you happy and hear you say I did good things for you always. But when you must go, and you ought to, because it is a beautiful world for you to explore, and your explorations will be unique and different from mine. I want you to be happy, and find your own happiness. And you can always come home. I love you. Go.

Love is: I love the human form you gave me, and everything else you gave me ever since. You steered through tough times and made sacrifices, many of which I wasn’t even aware of it. And you taught me that all I want I must work to get. There are still a lot of things to find, a lot of truths to seek. I will find them, but never impose them on you, or try to change you. Because I love you and how you liberated me. And you shall never be forgotten. And your life shall truly be your message. And your child shall be a blessing to the world.

Love is: I love my spirit, and I embrace the mind and body it came with. I love how close I am to the universe, and I can make choices in life every day. I love every bit of my life, and every moment, and every face, and every colour and landscape I see. Because I am empty of everything. But love.

Why so kinky?

Day in, day out, I see women who treat themselves like a mannequin that has to be displayed outside a kinky dress shop.

They put on clothes that they know don’t complement the workplace nor their own personalities. I see certain women wearing bridal sarees to work every day, and some certain others look like there’s a disco area on their floor.

The multi-layered ‘twilight-white’ make-up, the unruly open hair. Such folks can’t seem to step off from before the mirror; and they derive assurance of their beauty from the looks people throw at them, and from the sweet lies of their submissive friends.

I wonder why women treat themselves this way. Why they throw themselves over to get attention. Why they don’t give themselves, their natural, unpainted, unpolished selves, a chance.

I’m sure most of these certain women would look beautiful if they did. At least they would hurt the human eye a little less.

In 50 or less: post 5: sleep

The lover grieves a broken dream.

The parent counts his worries.

The young girl tries to solve her wonderments.

Their eyes want to draw in.

The mind won’t stop ticking.

And the night passes, unappreciated.

And the morning sun shines with little effect over our sleep and wake.

In 50 words: Post 4: Love

We all live but for love. And love is our greatest survivor.

We live because there is love breathing beneath every strife, every sin, every act of kindness and every thin ray of hope.

Love is never truly proposed or denied. It can only be given, subtly, selflessly, silently and unconditionally.

In 50 words: Post 2: Woman

Life is war. You wake up, and raise your shield against the world.

Protect yourself from every man you see. Trust no one. Carry pepper spray.

Watch the gory news. Be scared. Overdress. Look serious and suspecting. Get home early. Cook.

Woman, you change. You adapt. Yet you bleed unnoticed.

In 50 Words: Day 1: Me

I am a simple woman.

I have goals, but I don’t live at their mercy.

I’m ambitious, but not more than I’m humble.

I enjoy luxury, but I also enjoy letting go.

I have few friends, but we value each other greatly.

I’m not everything. I’m what I’ve made me.

This and that, and that

It is good to want less, I’ve heard. Is it also good to want less from yourself?


To want to be one thing less, to struggle toward one dream less, to desire to excel in one thing less?

The inner well of self-belief once discovered, is surprisingly deep and unrealistically wide. We make ourselves want to be extraordinary, we make ourselves believe we have purposes to fulfil. In this world of reckless contest, even more so. We want to learn more, be more, do more. We want to get rid of what we have because we believe we want something else.

We burden ourselves with expectations, then push ourselves, often half-heartedly, the other half filled with pressure and uncertainty.

We push ourselves, yet can never be satisfied by the extent of our push, and we push more. And we exhaust before we achieve.

We feel powerless, and think lesser and lesser of ourselves and our life. We start wishing more. And stop appreciating whatever little or much we have.

At the end of the day, no matter what we have done, or how close we have gotten to our goals, we are still dissatisfied. Unhappy with the extent of our achievement. Because it is nothing when compared to what we fancy ourselves achieving.

Why do this to ourselves? Why think lesser and lesser of our life? Why not cut loose a couple of aspirations, why not ease out the pressure we carry day in and day out?

Why not be just a great something, rather than struggle to be a good everything?

Why not hold on to one thing with both arms, rather than spreading ten fingers ten ways, trying to hold ten things?

Why can’t we get rid of the whip of comparison and expectation?

Why can’t we just do one thing at a time, focus on one thing at a time?

Why do we have to think about a car, a home and a bank balance, when we can just choose one of them to start with?

Most of us spend one-third of our day at work. Some of us even two-thirds. Why can’t we just plain focus on the job, and not on some clout of aspirations that you want to fulfil with the money that it will bring you in the next x years? If not, why can’t we just leave the job, and take the plunge into doing the thing we know would be right and best for us?

Why always this and that? Why not just this or just that? At least for now?

Champion’s cup

The yellow coffee machine was at one of its busiest days, and was grinding its 50th chunk of beans, while two men stood waiting, their shiny right shoe tapping impatiently, and their perfumes conflicting. The darned coffee machine gives you too many thought-free seconds to stand through. Or for some of us, thoughts drag themselves in, anyway.

“Don’t give me that look that mocks the look on my face.”

“But it’s the ‘we-fought-again’ face. Your eyebrows are wiggly. How can I not mock that?”

“Haha. So now the expression is so common that it even has a name.”

The wiggly-eyebrowed man stepped aside with his full white company-merchandised cup, the froth of the cappuccino dancing on its brim. The coffee machine looked relieved. It was one of those cups he wasn’t very fond of. It was company merchandise. How attractive can one expect it to be?

The other guy placed his cup on the dashboard, and the machine rumbled and gushed to fill it up in like it seemed to have been waiting for that very cup all morning.

“I’m tired, man. Don’t you ever get tired of these stupid mind games women play?”

“Not me.”

“Oh, don’t tell me. You’re the one who says you’re wife’s a hard task master.”

“Yeah, well she is. But we’re good. Hell, we’re more than good! See, Sabrina knows how obsessed I am about work and about ‘winning’. So if I want something, anything, she makes me have to win it. And usually, eventually, and I’m quite sure it doesn’t come to her as a surprise, I win. That way, I’m happy I won what I want. And she’s happy coz the winner….is….her’s!”

“Yeah, but what when you don’t win?” which is usually the case when it comes to me.

“Then she does! And I get to be the lucky…owner! And besides, women are contagiously happy when they win. Especially against a tough guy. Then they’re on fire, man! I mean, they’re sweet, caring and…ravishing at the same time! So trust me, my occasional loss is more than compensated. You should try losing up sometimes, you know! Incredible results. Gotta go.”

As the man walked, the wiggly-eyebrowed friend looked enlightened.

You know what I love about that man? When he talks, life doesn’t seem all the trouble it is.

The coffee machine looked in usual awe at his briskly walking hero.

You know what I love about that man? When he walks, the froth at the rim of his cup doesn’t dance.