The B-thing

Why do women get so bitchy? All the competition and sarcasm and the snide remarks and rolling eyes must root from some place? Whether its a dolly aunty's strong urge to spy on her neighbour's daughter or a workplace colleague's spent energy and time over the other's successes and pitfalls. Why do women bitch? At this point I must make clear one point - bitching is not the same as gossiping (men do that all the time, they love gossip). Gossip is essentially more harmless while bitchiness is a woman with a plan - there is an agenda and a specific aim, i.e. to make so and so's life miserable or to make the girl gang hate X. It stems from envy or habit but is nevertheless malicious as hell.

Most bitchy women don't resemble the soap kinds. They come in sweet packagings and never lose their calm. They manipulate and take their time to screw you. Even when they bitch they make it sound like it hurts them to do it. They are usually extra-nice, extra-helpful and go out of their way to be nice to some people, hence, the claims of the one being bitched about usually go down the drain.

But what does the victim do? There are only two solutions - Be nice, say yes and stay out of harm's way or beat them at their own game. The latter is difficult because it means you will have to cultivate the bitchy mindset and spend a lot more time in thinking strategies, tactics and "sweet" revenges. The key is to be on high alert at all times and also put in extra effort at everything you do. A lot of hard work. Good Luck!

once upon a time...

song of the rain

smell of the soil

feel of the feet

touch of the sweat

intertwined in fabric

gasping for breath

of fingers and eyes

eyes shut and eternal sunshine

The thing that has no name

Of course it wasn't lust, lust lacks passion because passion comes from the heart as does love and creativity.... lust is of the body. I knew it wasn't lust. It could be the Long Island Iced Teas you ask? I've had those before but none has taken me to a level of purity, of basic instinct of a feeling as natural as breathing.

Infatuation then? Infatuation is hesistant, it wants to please...there was none of that, it was as if we have known each other from a time that is beyond this dimension, a fouth one perhaps. Infatuation wants to prove a point, but there was only joy passing between two souls and a comfort level you achive with your pillow of 10 years.

Maybe it was attraction you prod? Possible. Likely. Untrue. Attraction is fatal, it is selfish and it dies. This is soft, slow, unending and timeless. Attraction demands posessiveness, this merely awakens sadness deep down, knowing that it may be incomplete forever.

Then what you silly girl, would you call it love? No. That's insulting! Love is transcendental. It comes, it goes, it fades off, it gets weary...this has the quality of picking up where it stopped, it lingers on in every molecule and atom and thread of thought. Love needs a conclusion while this is a never-ending story. It sees no right and wrong...that's for teh earthlings...this is a soul connection, a plane of its own, a life of its own and a breath of its own.

It is nameless, fateless and endless. do you have nay more questions?

Bits of me and you

I just realised that when you love someone, you dont realise it but a piece of you starts living in that person. My Dude has been mising for a week, we will get him back somehow that's for sure but I just realised how important he was to me. I also realised how important some other people in my life are - parents, friends, special friends....but if I have left so many little pieces of me inside other people what am I made of? little pieces from people other people who love me?But wait a minute, waht if there's an imbalance. What if I love more people and not enough people love me back? Won't I be left empty, incomplete?

I guess we struggle throughout our lifetime to tally our balance sheets. I dont think it ever balances though. One bit to and fro, some tossed away brutally, some cherished for life, some lovingly cradled and some bits just longing in mid-air...what happens when you try to collect all your pieces back from the people you love or worse people who dont appreciate your love, I think you look complete but so static, so hollow that the 'complete' would be so meaningless. So I'm just going to leave my pieces in people I love, of course, it will hurt but what the hell, at least I'll lead a full life. Touche to that!

new underwear

While travelling to office in the morning I was thinking about a lot of things like I always do...I was looking at school children, tired women, cracked heels and the afternoon sun. Amongst other things I was thinking how I needed to go an buy some new underwear.. mine were still in good shape, comfortable, no holes and not faded or discoloured but they were a year old...and I just thought I had to have new ones. Then suddenly another thought popped up...arent relationships like underwear? Like new underwears are crisper, you take more time to settle in with them, you keep them more carefully, you make sure they are washed carefully, you keep a tab on them for a while and then after a few washes they become just another underwear...of course some are still more special than the others but you are still take them for granted and expect them to be there in your drawers. You no more keep them wrappd in teh the bag you bought them in or keep them only for special ocassions....dont we all need new underwears in our relationships? When we take our partners for granted...they are comfortable, not torn, well-worn, not faded but they are just 'old'.....hmmmm.....sigh...maybe I should go shopping

pseudo-modernism

I just finished reading The Girld of Riyadh (thanks Neha for lending me the book). Its not the first book on the Islam or its people that I have read, its a subject that has always interested me. My friend told me this book was different. It was. An account of the lives of Saudi Arabia's velvet class, teh story of four young girls and their quest of finding love, happiness and their identity. I started reading with a sympathetic eye...poor girls - dominating men and no license to drive and I belong to the cosmopolitan Mumbai - wear lesser clothes, can drive, can go out alone, can fall in love.

Rajaa, the author of the book talks about her four friends and their lives where all but one are unsucessful because of some Saudi men who are keen to fall in love with these vivacious and outgoing women but prefer a wallflower to get married to. But that's the story here as well. I speak for myself and my life so maybe people who read this disagree with what I have to say. But inmy experience I have come across men, their dream girl is different from tehir ideal wife - Simple not evolved, loving not passionate, pretty not hot, educated not fiercely ambitious, selfless not independent, homely not wild, shy not outspoken, boring not a gypsy at heart, presentable not sexy, shy not over the top, knows to cook not to grind, makes babies and not endless love...we may call ourselves modern, the new generation, different from our parents - but listening to rock and sporting a Louis Vuitton doesn't chnage the minset. The difference between Mumbai and Riyadh is simple if you ask me - they acknowledge and believe in what tehy implement and live large within that but we under the guise of being 'cosmopolitan' still wear dhotis in our mind. I guess thats the difference between conviction and hypocrisy.

As is this

As posessive as death. As deadly as a secret. As destructive as a grapevine. As cold as an unloved heart. As loving as a puppy. As alive as life. As beautiful as the mirror. As honest as the soul. As cunning as the mind. As warm as a hug. As painful as distance. As guilty as envy. As elusive as a woman. As tempting as chocolate. As pure as making love. As absorbing as passion. As forgiving as a mother. As touching as friendship. As healthy as the morning sun. As wild as youth. As nonchalant as boredom. As reassuring as hands. As life-changing as birth. As maddening as money. As curious as a lover. As innocent as a virgin. As humble as poverty. As rich as desire. As liberating as an orgasm. As selfless as love. As unholy as infidelity. As precious as books. As sturdy as family. As old as tradition. As rooted as rituals. As baseless as rumours.